Pure & Sinful (Pure Souls)

by Killian McRae

  “And you expect me to, what? Sit here and let Marc be drawn into damnation in my place?”

  “Hell, no!” Jerry yelled back. “I told you, I can help. Lucifer’s been my area of study for eons, even back when I was human. If we act now and work together, we might be able to stop him.” Jerry looked back over his shoulder toward the source of the rhythmic tick-tock. “He texted Marc making it look like it was from you, told him to meet you — um, him, in about a half-hour from now. If we hightail it over to your place, we might get there in time.”

  Twisting around in the angel’s grip, he turned towards Dee. The demigod shrank back like he smelled something foul.

  “I can help her with this, but I need a body,” Jerry continued. “And it can’t be Riona’s, because she and I need to work together. A human soul is too slippery for me to anchor to for long, and doesn’t have the genetics for magic I need. But with a body that’s not entirely human, like a demigod’s...”

  With a snap of recognition, Dee clicked his tongue. “Oh, hell no. Your slimy, have-me-no-corpus demon ass is not getting in here. You’ll never give it back, and you’ll have Riona on her back the second the danger’s been averted.”

  Jerry’s eyes went all puppy dog. “I swear, I will not use your strength to force Riona to do anything. Please, I promise you, as soon as we clear this up, I’ll head back to Hell and leave you alone forever.”

  Dee gave a spot-on impression of paint drying.

  “Dionysus Zitka, son of Zeus and Pure Soul defender of the innocent, I swear in Clare’s name and sacred memory to relinquish your body as soon as I help Riona save Marc, and herself. Please, Dee.” Jerry’s throat bobbed, his eyes turning back towards Riona. “You lost your true love when she laid down her life for you. Please help me to save the woman I love from doing the same thing for hers.”

  Riona gaped, stumbling back while Dee’s jaw fell to the floor and his fists clenched tighter than a banker’s paw. Finally, after a few moments of consternation, Dee looked up, grinding his teeth as he growled, “Fine. Just… Just do it quickly, before I change my mind.”

  With a grunt, Ramiel propelled the demon’s spirit forward. Jerry melted into the confines of the demigod’s body with ease. The conjoined spirits momentarily wrestled, causing the hulking frame of muscles to stumble and twitch, as though trying to fight off a swarm of bees. When the body finally righted, Riona had to look closely, but then the difference became apparent. A certain dimple that escaped her attention before caught her by surprise. Gone were the desert sands that Dee so often pitied her with. The eyes that stared back at her from the familiar face were full of mischief and vanity, and cerulean like the Caribbean Sea.

  “Jerry?”

  Confused, he looked at her like a man possessed. Well, like a man successfully possessed.

  He nodded, and before she could do anything to stop it or even wonder if she should, he was kissing her.

  Chapter 22

  It was possible that while he was tossing and turning through the night, experiencing an interplay of soul-wrenching guilt and frustrated need, Marc had become the victim of a secret experiment in which priests were forced to host lab rats for observation in the cavern of their bellies. At least, that’s what it felt like as he stood motionless in front of Riona’s apartment door: as though woodland creatures were using his organs for soccer practice.

  This was a bad idea. A terrible, horrific, stupid idea. What the hell was he thinking, coming here alone? If Riona Dade needed spiritual counseling, any number of preachers, rabbis, tribal shamans and a horde of Starbucks baristas were available for consultation in the greater Boston area. It wasn’t like he was the only uniquely qualified person to handle her situation. How did he let himself get here? Maybe he had been a philandering ass in a previous life, and this was karma’s way of getting him back for his scandalous ways.

  Marc bit his tongue and remembered that he didn’t believe in karma. Nope, he was just an idiot, plain and simple. Had always been one way or another where Riona was concerned, from the very moment he met her.

  His mind flitted back eight months, to when Dee and he first located the new Keystone. While Dee worked his charms, both physical and magical, over the nurses and staff at the McLean Psychiatric Hospital, Marc enchanted the locks on Riona’s temporary holding room.

  “Who are you?”

  She looked like a woman who’d gone through hell and back. Alone in a padded room, though luckily not wearing a straitjacket, her slender frame backed against the wall where she sat on the floor. Her red hair could have been coiffed by Picasso; it stood off her head at conflicting angles. The pockets beneath her eyes were so deep and black, he wondered if she snuck in a bare-knuckled street fight before being committed. But what Marc noticed most was the way she didn’t give him more than a passing glance when he walked into the room. She just kept staring at her hands curiously, vindictively, like his presence was of no consequence to her.

  “My name is Father Marcello Angeletti,” he began. “I’m here to help.”

  “Nothing you can do for me, Father,” she answered in a tone that was neither rude nor welcoming. “Not unless you have a degree in physics or are ready to tell me there’s a tumor in my brain, which is going to kill me soon that explains what happened. Or, if you’re truly a humanitarian, hit me hard enough with something heavy that wakes me up from this goddamned dream.” She winced, giving Marc the first sign of emotion he’d seen — regret. “Sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to …”

  He stopped her with the raising of his hands and took a seat on the floor next to her. “It’s okay, my child.” Inwardly, he scoffed. She looked like she might actually be a few years his senior. “I understand you’ve been through quite a night.”

  He placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder, and could still feel the buzz of her power, raw and sharp as newly-cut teeth, crawling over her skin. Not every aura was an open book like that. Half of him wondered why hers was so easy for him to sense. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

  “I’ve already told everyone what happened. The police, the doctors… Why do you think I’m here in the loony bin?”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy, Ms. Dade. I am a man of God. I know there’s more to this world than what can be entered into the log of a detective’s casework or measured with a hospital’s instruments. Please, tell me?”

  Her eyes lit briefly as her head turned towards his, giving Marc a full view of their bloodshot state. “I don’t believe in God, Father.”

  “It’s possible, however, that He believes in you.”

  She sighed languidly, but then, obliged, walking him through the terror of her previous twenty-four hours. Her boyfriend, Jerry, had called and told her to get ready to go out, that he had a surprise for her. When they ended up at the food processing facility, she was perplexed, but willing to go along with whatever he was planning. The blush that overcame her features when she attempted to say in a not-so-scandalous way that the two of them had a habit of “experimenting” in non-traditional places was endearing. She seemed shocked when Marc let slip out, “Oh, you’re sex adventurists, then.”

  “Father?”

  A little of his naturally sarcastic self slipped into their conversation. “Celibate doesn’t mean ignorant. If you heard a quarter of the things I hear in the confessional… Hell, I could probably give you pointers.”

  A quixotic expression overcame her. “Okay, um… Well, when we got there, he took me to the door of one of the big industrial freezers and told me to close my eyes. He kissed me… I mean, he kisses me a lot, but this time was different. It was more like a goodbye kiss. You know, like the ones you see in movies when the guy is getting on the train and the girl knows she might never see him again? And before I could figure out why, he grabbed me by the arm and threw me into the freezer, crying about how sorry he was
and how he really did care about me. And there was this guy in there with one of the biggest knives I’d ever seen, and he just… he just start… started going after me.”

  Tears teased the corner of her eyes before pouring out in earnest. Marc found himself responding immediately, putting his arm around her, drawing her close to him, rocking her gently. He knew all of this already, of course — Dee had cracked into the hospital’s patient records with a little help from DivinIT. What was critical, however, was not how she’d gotten into the situation, but how she’d gotten out.

  “Then what happened?” he coaxed.

  “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “You’re already in a mental hospital, Ms. Dade. I don’t know what other ramification you could expect.”

  A little laugh escaped her. He could feel her body shake next to him, and felt her aura brighten a bit. It was the first taste of her light, unfiltered by gloom, that he had. This witch was powerful. Untrained, but powerful. The waves of ambient magic floating off her were far stronger than any human he’d ever felt. Dee’s demigod nature had a different quality, but it was more about length than strength. Riona’s aura felt almost angelic in its proportion.

  “I panicked. The guy was drunk or crazy or something. I don’t know how he got there — obviously Jerry had something to do with it though, right? And you might laugh when I say this, but I think he was crazy. That guy just had this look in his eyes, like he was possessed. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I had to get out of there. I kept running my hands over the walls, then got back to the door, but the handle was locked. I started pounding my fist on the door. And then… Then… Well, then I…”

  “You walked through the door,” Marc completed.

  Her fretting stopped on a dime. She sat up straight, slipping from his side. All confusion cleared. “I know, it’s not possible. But I did. Only, it was still closed when I did it.” Doubt again clouded over her. She balanced her forehead on her fingertips, squeezing her eyes tightly. “At least, that’s the way I remember it. I don’t know. Maybe my mind is just creating some sort of alternative explanation for what happened. All I know is that I had to get out alive and I didn’t want to have to kill that guy to make it happen. I couldn’t hurt him. I don’t think I did. But did I? Maybe they’re lying to me, and I really did hurt that guy or even kill him, and they’re waiting to see if I’ll confess by throwing me in here.”

  “Or maybe, you really walked through the door,” Marc countered. She looked at him like he was the one committed. “You’re not crazy, Ms. Dade. You just were unprepared.”

  She stood, her fisted hands planting on her hips as she glared down at him. “I know I’m not crazy, but unprepared for what?”

  Marc held up his hand, fanning his fingers before him. “Something like this. Matiae, non emped admeum.”

  Marc wasn’t a Keystone. He was a wiccan, not a witch. All the magic in his body could barely top off a Dixie cup. But he could put his mind over matter well enough to plunge his hand up to the wrist into the floor.

  He didn’t know what her reaction would be to their Hagrid-Harry moment. For several seconds, there wasn’t one. Riona stood stoically, just looking at the floor.

  Then, she began to laugh.

  “I knew it!” she said, falling to her knees before him. “It really did happen, didn’t it? But how?”

  “Magic, Riona,” he said. “Your boyfriend, Jerry…”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” she corrected.

  Marc gave her an acknowledging bow of his head. “Your ex-boyfriend, Jerry, is a demon. He’s one of Hell’s most successful agents of evil. Pure Souls like me have been trying to send him packing home to Lucifer for centuries, but the asshat is majorly gifted at avoiding us. It’s like he sees us coming.”

  “You got a colorful vocabulary for a clergyman,” she commented. “Pure Soul?”

  “We are the guardians of the gates from Earth that lead to Heaven, and descend to Hell, and you are one of us. You, Riona Dade, are a witch, and our Keystone warrior. All the magic granted to us by the Council of Seven, flowing from Heaven, is in your hands.”

  She inched back on her knees, creating a distance between them. “You hiding out here from another cell? You sound even crazier than I am.”

  He’d had much the same reaction in his time. “I may be crazy, and you might be too, but I’m still right.” He leaned over and raised his hand to her face. Tapping two fingers to her forehead, Marc bespoke the charm that would bring her into their order. “Terra, caelum et infernum portae custos sum, et tu sororem meam venenatis.”

  Her breath hitched. Magic worked its way through her soul, through her veins, riding on the waves of her pulsing heart as the fibers of his magic wrapped themselves around her earthly being and fully awoke her abilities. The touch passing from the divine rocked her body as it had done with him years before, taking him to the edge of the purest ecstasy a human could ever feel. Shock waves rolled over her as Riona rocked back and forth on her heels, panting and moaning, riding out the impulses that filled her. When her heavy-lidded eyes opened, they were filled with knowledge, understanding, and trust.

  And a smidgen of lust.

  Despite his given occupation, Marc knew the look. Though he kept to his vows and remained celibate, a fine looking man like him had been offered more than several opportunities to indulge in the flesh with overeager parishioners who tried to use the confession box as a seduction chamber. He was a mortal man, and wouldn’t deny his mind wandered sometimes before he recalled himself. But looking at Riona Dade reeling from his touch, cresting because of something he had initiated, even if his intentions and motives had been pure and necessary…

  The flame lit, and nothing he tried to tell himself was dampening it.

  He let his back fall against the wall. “The Awakening is quite a rush, isn’t it?”

  “Fuck.” Wickedly, she grinned and threw her arms around him, letting her head fall to his shoulder. “I’ve never, ever felt anything like that. How did you…?”

  “It wasn’t me. It was your soul coming to its calling. Feels just like a… um, you know.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  She smiled against his chest.

  Many times, Marc had comforted tortured souls. He had prayed with the repentant, nursed the sick, and paid homage to the workers of good deeds. Even prayed with Red Socks fans. Together with other Pure Souls, he had stood against evil, vanquished demons. Always for the benefit of humanity, always for the powers of good. He had never thought of himself.

  As he felt the rise and fall of Riona’s chest against his, that all changed. He brought joy to her life by revealing her own true being and power to her, and it made him feel good. Enough so that he found himself wondering what else he could say in that moment that would allow her arms to stay wrapped around his neck a little longer.

  In the weeks that followed, he forced himself to pull back into a widening shell of sarcasm and snide remarks. He never criticized her ability, but anything about her person he could insult — her hair, her clothes, her choice in what she called music — was fair game. Anything to keep her frustration and disgust with him at a slow and steady boil. Allowing her to think of him as a friend would be too much of a draw. Defining affable, the witch was the type of person who liked to spend time with the people she treasured. It wouldn’t take much for that little puff of smoke that arose when he held her in his arms to grow into an engulfing flame. It would be too easy to fall in love with Riona Dade.

  A little voice in the back of his mind goaded him. So, you already fucked up major by not recognizing Hermosa was a demon, showing how much you suck at being a Pure Soul. Now you’re going to continue showing your dedication to the Church by turning away a supplicant in need of guidance, showing that you’re also a screw-up as a clergyman. Might as well turn in your collar now, Fa
ther, because someone who’d do that ain’t worthy of it.

  “Am too,” Marc found himself proclaiming to no one in particular through clenched teeth.

  Everyone made mistakes, everyone screwed up sometimes. But the worst failure one could fall victim to was not trying at all.

  With a fervent drive and promise to be there for a soul in need, the priest fisted his hand and rapped the door three times.

  It was clear from the inflamed swaths of flesh under her eyes and tears wetting her chin that the poor thing was strung out. She wore woe like an accessory. When Riona saw Marc, looking at her perplexed, she broke into a spastic smile and threw her arms around his neck.

  “Thank you,” she cried. “Thank you.”

  Her smile was divinity, tempting, to be sampled with the tip of his tongue as her wet cheek pressed against his. Keeping his hands behind him, suppressing the desire to encircle her in his arms, he cleared his throat and tried to sound as professionally compassionate as possible.

  “I am a servant of the light. If you need help, I am here. If you need me, I’m here.”

  Moments later, he found himself sitting on the couch opposite where she sunk into a chair, dotting a tissue to her eyes.

  “I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” she offered between sniffles. “It’s just… I didn’t know who else to call. And since what happened last night…”

  “You mean, what almost happened last night.” For his own self-confidence, he needed to remind himself that they did stop, no matter the reason, before anything mortally sinful had passed.

  Her fleeting smile faltered. “Right, since what almost happened, I’ve been thinking. Not just about last night, but about my whole life. I think I finally figured out what my problem is, of where I keep screwing up.”