by Jane Kindred
Theia got up from the chair beside her gurney. “I think I’ll go see what’s taking Rhe so long with those lattes.” She and Rhea had ridden with Phoebe in the ambulance, filling her in on the binding ritual Ione had led them in after her friends at the Covent turned her down. What Theia called the “Lilith bond” had given it the strength to work against Carter’s magic even without the Covent’s influence.
Rafe frowned when Theia had gone. “I’m serious. You threw yourself in front of a knife.”
“And you’re very welcome, Mr. Cranky Pants.”
“Phoebe—”
“Your jugular was bleeding like a fountain and that necrofreak was about to take your heart. I wasn’t going to just watch him do it. You would have done the same for me, wouldn’t you?” Phoebe narrowed her eyes. “You’d better say yes.”
“Of course I would have, but that’s different.”
“How is it different? Because you have a penis? Were you planning to use it to block steel? Because I have news for you—your cock is amazing, but it’s not that amazing.”
Rafe made a half-strangled laugh and then looked angry about it. “Not because I’m a man. Because I’m quetzal.”
“Which you’ve been for all of twenty-four hours. And, again, you’re welcome.”
Rafe sighed and sat in the seat Theia had vacated. “Point taken.” He took her hand. “I just don’t ever want to be that scared again.”
“Okay, well, I’ll make you a deal. You don’t get tied to any more sacrificial altars by a power-hungry dick-bag who wants to cut your heart out of your chest and offer it to the god of the underworld, and I won’t throw myself in front of any more knives.”
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “Deal.”
“Speaking of the power-hungry dick-bag, what are we going to do with him?”
“I’m trying to work that out. Ernesto’s holding him for the moment. Apparently it’s the bones Hamilton possesses from each of his victims that enable the shades to retain such complete control when they step in. Seems like you’re the only one who’s been able to successfully throw them out. But we can’t keep Ernesto inside him forever.”
“Can we throw him into an active volcano?”
Rafe’s laugh was cut short by the arrival of Ione at the partition.
She gave him an awkward nod as he stood. “Rafe. Glad to see you’re none the worse for wear. I’m sorry about the Covent—” She stopped in surprise as Rafe enveloped her in a bear hug.
Phoebe tried not to laugh. Ione hated hugs.
“Screw the Covent. You and your sisters saved our lives, plain and simple.”
Ione tucked her hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture when he released her. “Well, I’m glad it worked. I’m just sorry I wasted so much time.” She glanced at Phoebe. “I should have listened to you.”
“Hey, you had a perfectly good reason not to want to believe it.”
Rafe bent to give Phoebe a kiss on the forehead. “I’m going to go see what’s taking your sisters so long with those lattes.” He winked and stepped out.
Ione sat beside Phoebe, looking defeated. “My ego almost got you killed.”
Phoebe wanted to laugh but her back hurt too much. “I hate to have to point this out, but that’s a pretty egotistical thing to say.” The shocked, hurt look on Ione’s face wasn’t what she’d been going for. “I should also point out I’m on an awful lot of Dilaudid and I don’t think that came out right.”
“I was trying to apologize to you, Phoebe.”
“I know. I just meant you don’t have to. You didn’t do anything wrong. He used both of us.”
Ione sank against the chair. “But I brought him here. I pushed Rafe to let Carter represent him instead of you. In my mind, you’re still my rebellious kid sister, and I told myself I was just looking out for you, when the truth is, I thought I knew better than you. I wasn’t even honest enough with myself to give you the respect you’ve more than earned over the past ten years.”
Phoebe glanced at the Dilaudid drip to see if it had accidentally gotten turned up. Those were words she’d never expected to hear Ione say. She put her IV-taped hand on Ione’s. “You didn’t bring him here. He’s been planning this for years, waiting for the perfect opportunity. He just wanted you to think it was your idea.
“He knew Rafe had the potential to become quetzal, and he murdered Barbara Fisher to set Rafe up. And then encouraged you to recommend me to Rafe to help with the shades, because he knew about our ancestry. Seducing you was just a spiteful cherry on top of his twisted sundae. He actually said he was going to use you as an insurance policy to ‘top off’ his quetzal power if it started to wane.”
Tears slid down Ione’s cheeks as she listened without speaking—something else Phoebe couldn’t remember her ever having done before.
Phoebe handed her a tissue from the box on her “invalid tray.”
“Make sure you get as much use out of that as you can. They’re charging me ten dollars a tissue.” She managed to make Ione laugh—would the day of firsts never end?
“So, Rafe...” Ione sniffled and wiped her nose. “He’s really this ‘quetzal’? What exactly—?”
“He’s the embodiment of Quetzalcoatl, his ‘nagual’—a sort of shape-shifting expression of the divine. And, God, is he good in bed.”
Ione smiled. “I think the Dilaudid is talking again.”
Phoebe shook her head, lying back against the pillow. “No, ma’am. He is fucking fantastic. And I made him come so hard he sprouted wings.”
Her sister covered her mouth with her hand, laughing into the expensive little tissue until the tears started to flow again. Maybe it was a wee bit of Dilaudid talking.
* * *
While Phoebe recuperated, Rafe had one last bit of business to take care of with the shades. The altar Ernesto had revealed to him had to be destroyed, the bones, like Gabriel’s, burned to release the shades and spirits the necromancer had enslaved. Hamilton, it turned out, had been using Rafe’s father’s house since his arrival in Sedona, and the altar was there—in Gabriel’s bedroom.
The shades assembled around him in the great room as he set up his own altar, all of Hamilton’s victims—all except Ernesto, who’d promised to remain within Hamilton until he was dealt with—watching as Rafe pricked his tongue to let the blood drip into the bowl over the bones.
“With the blood of the quetzal, I release you. You are no longer bound to the false Tezcatlipoca, or to me. You are free to leave this plane or stay as you please. Go where you will.” He emptied the bowl into a wooden box that held Hamilton’s supplies and placed it on the fire, watching the flames lick over it, taking quickly to the dry wood.
Weeping openly, Barbara’s shade gave him a cool, spectral kiss on his cheek as she faded. The others acknowledged his gift with less personal goodbyes. Matthew, whose bones hadn’t been here, Rafe never saw. It seemed Hamilton had simply killed him to keep him from revealing what he knew.
Jacob, in his jeans and shit-kickers, watched him from a spot apart from the others, leaning against one of the column supports that framed the open architecture. “You made me a promise.”
Rafe sucked at the blood on the tip of his tongue. “I did, and I mean to keep it.” How he was going to break it to Phoebe that he’d made such a promise without her consent, he wasn’t sure.
“I mean to hold you to it, quetzal.” Jacob walked in the direction of where Lila had last been standing and dissipated.
Rafe returned to his brother’s bedroom with the bowl, not knowing what else to do with it. As he set it on the bureau, something caught his eye in the mirror. He whirled to find Gabriel seated on the bed, watching him.
“Gabriel...” He took a tentative step toward him, afraid the ghost would spook. “Phoebe released you. How are you still here?”
Gabriel tucked one foot under his leg in a gesture that made Rafe feel he’d stepped back into the past. “I know. It turns out spirits who’ve crossed can visit whenever they like.” An almost-smile touched his lips. “You didn’t do anything so terrible to me, after all, crossing me over.”
“Gabriel...” Tears choked him as he recalled the ritual when he’d turned a deaf ear to his brother’s pleas for mercy.
“I’ve wanted to tell you that, many times, but you’ve never been able to see me.”
“I was wrong,” Rafe choked out. “I ignored you—I ignored you while you were still living, when you needed my help. I could have protected you.”
“You had to protect yourself. It’s okay. It all seems different on the other side. I wish I could explain, but it’s something you have to experience yourself. I just wanted you to know I’m okay. You can stop grieving.”
Rafe shook with emotion, unable to speak.
Gabriel rose and came close to him, brushing him with an embrace he could almost feel, though Gabriel’s limbs floated through him. “I’ll visit again sometime. You can tell me all about Phoebe.” His smile this time was warm and genuine as he dissolved into the ether.
Rafe lay on the bed—untouched except by the cleaning service since Gabriel had last slept in it—hugged the pillow to his chest and let himself sob for the first time since Gabriel’s death.
It was while he lay drying his eyes that he thought of the absurdly simple solution to the problem of Carter Hanson Hamilton.
Chapter 32
“You really think this will work?” Phoebe reclined on the couch on her first night home from the hospital while Rafe laid out his plan.
“All we need to do is make sure Ernesto can do a convincing impression of a pompous douchebag.” He smiled. “I’ve been working with him. If he slips into his own accent a little, they’ll just chalk it up to affectation, part of Hamilton’s obsession with appropriating my culture.”
“What about afterward?”
“Ernesto has agreed to stay with him until Hamilton is sentenced and behind bars. We’ll provide a confession in Hamilton’s handwriting and Ernesto will swear in court as Hamilton that he wants to plead guilty to the murders of Barbara Fisher, Matthew Palacio, Monique Hernandez and my father, and that he wants you to represent him.”
“Why would anyone believe he’d want my representation? He’s smarter than that.”
“Because he had an attack of conscience after becoming involved with your sister and this is his way of making it up to her. Besides, he doesn’t need an experienced trial lawyer since he’s pleading guilty. All you have to do is walk him in there and hand him over and Ernesto will handle the rest.”
There was a little more to the process than that, but she had to admit, it was a good plan. “Using necromancy against the necromancer. I like it.”
* * *
Carter’s surrender to the police went smoothly, earning Phoebe a rather more satisfying fifteen minutes of fame.
The compromising positions in which she and Rafe had found themselves of late took on a different significance when Carter revealed in his confession that he’d engineered the secret photography and leaks to the press to throw suspicion on his own client for the crimes he himself had committed. Phoebe was even reinstated with the Public Defender’s Office, although plenty of offers were flowing in from private law firms wanting to cash in on her success.
The most satisfying moments, however, were in private consultation with her “client,” when Ernesto, with Phoebe’s leave, gave Carter the temporary freedom to express his true feelings on the matter. His impotent rage, silenced when Phoebe ordered it, almost made up for the memory of being drugged by him. Payback was a bitch.
* * *
After celebrating “Phoebe’s” victory once Carter was safely behind bars awaiting sentencing, Rhea and Theia announced they were heading home.
“You don’t have to do the drive tonight,” Phoebe protested. “Get some sleep and leave fresh in the morning.” She tried to help them tidy up in the kitchen but Rafe steered her back to the couch as they insisted she stay put and give her back a rest. They could be pains in the butt, but she was going to miss them when they were gone.
Ione leaned on her elbows on the back of the couch when Rafe excused himself to use the restroom. “Honey, shut up. You’re going to give that poor sweet boy a case of blue...feathers. He’s been looking at you like lunch in front of a dog that’s been ordered to sit and stay since you got home from the hospital. Just get laid and enjoy it while the rest of us live vicariously.”
Phoebe blushed, but she couldn’t help grinning. “Jesus, Di. You’re as bad they are.”
“Yeah, well, turns out we’re all related.” Ione winked.
“Hey, what do you think about their theory, by the way?” She’d forgotten about it in all the excitement that had followed the revelation. “About the Lilith blood?”
Ione straightened. “Some other time.” She smiled as Rafe returned from down the hall. “Hey, my warlock friend, we’re going to take off. Think you can get this one tucked into bed?”
Rafe laughed. “Yeah, I think I can manage.”
Ione swung her purse over her shoulder. “You know I can talk to the Covent about your standing. After everything that’s happened, I’m willing to bet they’d reconsider.”
Rafe tucked his hands in his pockets. “That’s okay. I think my beliefs have evolved a bit beyond Covent doctrine these days.”
“Understandable.” Ione turned to the twins. “So, you two are hitting the road, aren’t you?”
“Nice hint,” said Rhea.
Theia tossed a dishrag at Rhea’s head and the two of them came over to give Phoebe their parting hugs.
“Use that tantric position I sent you on Facebook,” Rhea whispered loudly. “Keep you off your back.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Go away now.”
The twins gave Rafe his own goodbye hugs. Rhea cupped her mouth against his ear and apparently left a parting nugget of Rhea wisdom with him, as well.
Phoebe grinned as Rafe colored to the tips of his ears. Damn, that was hot. It made her want to say inappropriate things to him in mixed company all the time.
As the house got quiet in the wake of the Carlisle clan’s departure, both Phoebe and Rafe found themselves temporarily tongue-tied.
“So.” Rafe rocked on his heels. “Guess they’re gone.”
“Guess they are.”
“Guess I’m supposed to put you to bed.”
Desire rose inside her like an uncoiling snake. With all that was going on, she’d put the thought of intimacy with Rafe on the back burner, and Rafe had kept his distance while her back healed. The stitches had come out yesterday, but she and Rafe hadn’t really had any time alone since the morning she’d woken the quetzal—not even to explore in the abstract what might be between them.
“Guess you are.” She started to her feet, but Rafe stepped in toward the couch and swept her off them, lifting her in a smooth motion with both hands beneath her ass while she caught herself against him with a gasp, arms wrapped around his neck and legs around his hips.
“Your back okay?” His dark eyes were heavy with desire.
Phoebe nodded, unable to take her eyes off his.
“You want me to—”
“Yes.” Phoebe didn’t care what he was asking. Any of it. All of it. She brought her mouth to his. “Do what you want with me,” she whispered against his lips.
He made a noise deep in his throat and dove for her mouth with his, drinking her in like she was ice-cold water and he was a man who’d been adrift at sea for days. He made a soft humming noise into her mouth and Phoebe echoed it, her panties damp inside her cotton shorts as his jeans swelled against them. She worked his T-shirt
up his abs, and Rafe drew his mouth away from hers long enough to pull the shirt over his head before unbuttoning her thin cotton-and-lace cami. He lifted her higher to bring her breasts to his mouth, sucking a nipple through the rough lace of the bra cup until Phoebe was whimpering against him.
Rafe somehow held on to her with one arm at the small of her back while he tugged open the drawstring of her shorts and shimmied them down her thighs. Phoebe released her legs from his hips long enough to let the shorts fall to the ground with her panties, wrapping her thighs around him once more with a moan as he jerked open the buttons of his fly. A condom packet appeared like magic from a pocket, the foil between Rafe’s teeth for an instant as he tore it open with an animal growl. Phoebe clung to him, shaking with desire while he rolled it on, and then slid down over him, soaking wet, and groaned as he pulled her in close and hard.
Her bra had slid up on her breasts and Rafe tugged it higher to free them from it as she rode his cock, a groan of relief escaping him as if he’d needed to see them. He held on to her waist and thrust into her hard, rough, panting noises of encouragement following each rising moan she emitted as he rocked her toward orgasm.
Phoebe threw herself against him, clinging tight to his neck, breasts slick with sweat against the rock-hard terrain of his pecs, and wailed aloud, unapologetically, as her whole body tingled with the rush of her climax, made even sweeter when Rafe’s hips picked up speed in response.
He stilled and almost stumbled back with the force of his own climax, his fingers tugging hard on the hair at her nape as he came inside her. And then his quetzal wings sprang from his shoulders and spread over them both with the outburst of sound he ended on.
Phoebe let her body collapse against him, twitching with aftershocks, and realizing after a moment that tears were streaming down her face.
Rafe must have felt them against his shoulder. “You okay, love?” His voice was a soft whisper of concern.
Phoebe nodded against him, her heart leaping at that little word. “Yeah, I am.” But okay wasn’t anything close to what she was. She sighed against him. “I’m absolutely perfect.”
