Prophesy

by Bliss Addison

  Chapter Five

  “As subtle as a tornado,” Keegan said beneath his breath. Reluctantly, he set Echo on her feet.

  "Did he see us?" Echo asked.

  Smith rattled the knob and tried to force his way inside. “Keegan, it’s too late to hide. I see you. Let me in.”

  Sheepishly, Keegan looked at Echo.

  She laughed. “Like you said – subtle.”

  “Later.” He smiled, appreciating her sense of humor and good nature. He opened the door with his best get-lost expression, hoping Smith would take the prompt, but knowing he wouldn’t.

  Smith squinted and pushed past him. “What was the holdup, man?”

  Keegan stepped aside before the five-seven welterweight, Bermuda-clad, hi-top sneaker-wearing Smith trampled him. “I was in the middle of something, as you can see.” It was unlike him to be so candid. Embarrassment spread through him like a brush fire.

  Smith looked at Echo. “I see that. Keegan, you old dog. You’ve been holding out on me.” He took Echo’s hand and kissed it. “Enchanté. I’m Smith, and you must be Echo. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  Echo was a good sport, playing along with Smith. Keegan liked that, too. In fact, he liked everything about her.

  Whoa. He reminded himself that he shouldn’t let himself become attached. What they were about to have – sex – was just that. It could never be anything else with her. She was a celestial being, perhaps even a goddess. When her mission was finished, she would move on, probably picking up where she left off with the Greek god. Keegan would be left with a broken heart if he weren’t careful.

  “You look familiar. Have we met before?” Smith asked, eyeing Echo from head to toe.

  She laughed. “I don’t think so. I’m sure I would remember.” She looked at Keegan and grinned.

  Smith hitched his shorts on his narrow waist. “True. I’m pretty memorable.” He ran his hand down the length of his ponytail, looking at Keegan sideways before he turned and faced him. “Look at you with your shirttail out of your pants.”

  “Not to rush you,” Keegan said. “But why are you here?” His erection pained him no end and seeing Echo all breathy and flushed was pure torture. She looked at him and he was lost. How long had it been since Bonita, the woman who wanted him to believe the only thing important in life was sex? At the time and for awhile, she'd made him a believer. Little by little, he'd outgrown her belief and eventually, gotten over her. There were more important things in life than sex. At the moment, though, he couldn’t think of one. Thoughts of him sliding into Echo and images of their sweat-slicked bodies crowded his mind. If he listened closely, he could hear her moaning and crying out his name as he thrust into her, harder…harder…harder until she begged for mercy.

  It was pure agony to stand this close to her and not be able to touch or taste her. He shuddered as he felt himself losing control. Maybe Echo worked for Satan and this was their plan all along. God in Heaven, help him.

  As though reading his thoughts, she turned and looked at him and smiled, a delicious smile that dented her cheeks. Lord Almighty, give me strength, he prayed. He bit down hard on his tongue, hoping to alleviate some of his anguish. It didn't work.

  Get a hold, Keegan.

  He could do it.

  Mind over matter. He repeated that mantra in his head until his brain had all it could take and fought back. One hand weighed mind while the other weighed matter…no contest. Mind won. He prayed for guidance, or in the alternative, a cold shower.

  Smith walked to the bar fridge, and helped himself to a beer. “I thought you might be in some trouble,” he said and took a long pull on the brew, his eyes watering from the chill.

  “As you can see, I’m fine,” Keegan said. “Thank you for your concern, but…” He opened the door and shoved a hand in the pocket of his trousers and impatiently waited for Smith to leave.

  Smith wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and burped. “Nope. You’re not fine, and I’m not leaving.” He wagged his finger in front of their faces and asked, “Now, who of the two of you is going to tell me what’s going on?”

  Keegan closed the door and opened his mouth to deny that anything was, but shut it abruptly when Smith spoke.

  “And don’t tell me, ‘nothing.’ Something’s definitely going on. I can see it in your eyes, Keegan. That little light is gone that makes your eyes all sparkly and drives grown women to giggle like schoolgirls. What happened to it?”

  Knowing Smith like he did, Keegan admitted it would be senseless to try to feed him a plausible explanation, albeit an untruth, but judging from her expression, Echo seemed to think she could manipulate Smith. He gave her a nod and without delay, she took control of the situation.

  “Smith…may I call you Smith?” She latched onto him and linked her arm with his.

  “You may.”

  She laughed. “I have a feeling we’re going to become great friends.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Keegan watched Smith covertly take in every bit of furniture, every lighting fixture and each speck of dust in the cottage. He was not believing anything Echo said. Smith knew something was going on, but didn’t know what and would stay until someone told him the truth. He would recognize the truth, too, when he heard it.

  “What do you do for a living, Smith?” Echo asked as she led him to the sofa. She picked up her wine glass from the coffee table.

  “I clean toilets.”

  Echo choked, sputtered and coughed.

  Keegan pressed his lips together, accustomed to Smith’s outrageous antics. “Smith is being modest. He is sole proprietor of an extremely profitable plumbing company, has a staff of eight and has never cleaned or unclogged a toilet in his life.” He gave Smith a stern look. “Be good.”

  Smith pressed his hand against his heart. “You cut me to the core, bro.”

  “He’s also a lawyer.” Keegan smiled. It was always this way with Smith. He refused to acknowledge his academic credentials, achievements, or accomplishments, while Keegan felt duty-bound to pay him tribute. Smith had nothing to prove and was secure with who he was. Keegan wished he could say the same about himself at the moment.

  “Now that we have my education straightened out, you can tell me what’s going on.” Smith plunked himself on the sofa chair and crossed his legs.

  Keegan shrugged at Echo, wordlessly leaving the decision to her.

  She cleared her throat. “I can see you’re a very intuitive man.”

  “Why don’t we cut through the crap and get to the crux of the matter – namely, my man Keegan. What kind of trouble is he in, and how can I help?”

  This was textbook Smith – loyal to his dying breath. Everyone should have at least one friend like him.

  Echo apologized.

  “I accept your apology. Now, what’s Keegan got himself into? Double-billing, double-dipping, double―”

  “Smith.” Keegan arched his brows at him.

  “Okay, okay. We all know Keegan’s honest to a fault. He’s so clean he squeaks like crepe soles on a marble floor. Did you know Keegan graduated second in his class?” he asked.

  “Second to you,” Keegan said.

  “By one tenth of a point.”

  Keegan took his whiskey tumbler in his hand and raised it to Smith.

  Smith looked at Echo. “You were about to tell me what the problem is.”

  “Earlier tonight, Keegan was stung by a bee ― ”

  Smith uncrossed his legs, slammed his feet flat on the floor and looked at Keegan. “But you’re all right, right?”

  “I injected myself in time.”

  “How many times have I told you it was hazardous to your health to live alone?” Smith blew out a breath that Keegan recognized as relief as he looked from Echo to Keegan. “I’m sensing a but.”

  “Unfortunately, there was a glitch,” Echo said.

  Keegan added a log to the fire and sat in the wing back chair, absently listenin
g to Echo’s explanation of the night’s events. He had to give Smith credit for exhibiting self-control. Questions would undoubtedly come later – like machine gun fire – once she finished her exposé, if Smith stayed true to form.

  He sighed, thinking that if this kept up, all of Bristol Harbor would know of his plight. Not that Smith couldn’t be trusted with a secret, but information sometimes had a way of seeing light no matter what precautions were taken.

  “And so now we must reunite Keegan with his soul, but, more importantly, before we do that, we must find the demons’ toran – portal from the underworld – and close it.”

  Smith stood, walked to Echo, and said, like he heard this type of story every day, “Nothing should be more important than finding my bud’s soul and hooking them up again.”

  “Keegan is in no immediate risk, and trust me, you don’t want these demons freely walking the earth.”

  “She’s right.” Keegan told him what he'd witnessed in the alley. “They’re here for my heart, Smith, and while they’re looking for me, they'll kill anyone in their path. Closing their toran should take priority.”

  Smith rubbed his whiskered jaw and paced the length of the living room. “A conundrum.” After three revolutions around the living room, he stopped in front of Echo and asked, “What are you? An angel? You look like one.” He flipped her around and ran his hand over her back. “Where’re your wings?”

  Echo gawked at Smith, obviously at a loss for words.

  A reflection of light outside caught Keegan's attention. He peered through the garden doors and watched a parade of single headlamps come up the drive. He turned to Smith. "You called the bikers," he said, despondently. He threw his hands in the air. "I can't believe you called the bikers."

  “Only Duplex and Forty-Ouncer,” Smith said as he sprinted to the door. He looked out the glass. “Oh, good. They brought…it looks like, the Mango Triplets, Grunge, and Scooter.”

  Keegan still couldn’t believe Smith had called the bikers. “I’m surprised you didn’t phone Mom and Pop,” he said out the side of his mouth.

  “Which reminds me.” Smith shoved his hand in the back pocket of his shorts and came out with a cell phone. He punched in a number and put the cell to his ear. “Hello, Mother. It’s Smith.” He stared at the floor and listened. “Yes, he’s fine. I’m with him now. ... Uh-huh. ... Uh-huh. ... I know, sweetness. I’ll tell him.”

  Keegan groaned. Smith was not a diplomat. Keegan could only imagine what Smith had told his folks. Undoubtedly, Keegan would have a lot of explaining to do.

  “Your mother sends her love,” Smith said. “She also told me to tell you to be careful and hoped you weren’t with that vile girl, Bonita, and said not to forget to use protection even if the girl tells you she’s on the pill.” He smiled at Echo, then proceeded toward the entry.

  Embarrassed, Keegan followed him out the door, stopping in the threshold a moment to reassure Echo that he would give all of his uninvited guests the salesman’s rush, then they’d pick up where they left off. She surprised him by suggesting, “Why don’t you invite them in?”

  He looked at her, stunned. Moments ago she was hot for him, now she wanted to entertain. He would never figure out women.

  She puffed her cheeks, blew the air out slowly and shrugged. “First things first. We may need their help.”

  He couldn’t see how they could help, and expressed his concern by pointing out the unorthodox politics of the bikers and their reputable disregard for the law. Ethics to these bikers was merely a word. Much to his dismay, his argument only enhanced them in her eyes.

  “Excellent,” she said.

  He gave in. “But I’m only inviting in Duplex and Forty-Ouncer. The others can wait outside.”

  Three minutes later, Keegan re-entered the cottage with Smith and the bikers in tow. He introduced Duplex, a matchstick-slender, clean-shaven, short-haired man, wearing denim coveralls two sizes too large. “This is Dwayne Peters. A…ah…client.”

  Duplex shook Echo’s hand. “My friends call me Duplex and any friend of the Kee’s is a friend of mine.” He hauled Forty-Ouncer, a golden-ager with an unruly mop of gray hair, to his side. “This here shy, bib-wearing young fellow is BJ Brown, known as Forty-Ouncer around these parts.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” he said, holding his baseball cap against his heart. He gave Echo’s hand a little shake.

  “Likewise,” Echo said with a smile that Keegan was sure had won many hearts. She took Duplex and Forty-Ouncer by the hands and led them to the sofa. “Can I get you boys anything to drink?” she asked after they sat.

  “Mineral water, if you have it, ma’am,” Duplex said. “We’re driving.”

  Keegan watched Echo play hostess. The role suited her well. He imagined she adapted to any situation with ease and class. He brought the bikers their refreshments and sat on the arm of the sofa with his arms folded against his chest. Smith, he remarked, was being uncharacteristically quiet. Probably taking time to analyze the secret they'd shared with him.

  Echo looked at Keegan and asked. “Shall I?”

  “Please do.” Keegan was relieved. He found himself at the disadvantage of not knowing what to tell and what not to and wished they'd had a chance to confer.

  She addressed the bikers like royalty. “Gentlemen, I’m going to say this straight out. There’s been a hit put out on Keegan.”

  “A hit,” Forty-Ouncer said.

  A second later, Duplex, bushy brows to his hairline, echoed Forty-Ouncer’s astonishment and added, “Who paid for the contract? Give us the name and we’ll settle the matter with the stupid son-of-a-bitch.” He looked at Echo. “Sorry, ma’am. Got carried away.”

  “No need to apologize," Echo said. "I use the occasional swear word myself.”

  “How do you fit into this?” Duplex asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  She smiled. “I don’t mind in the least. I’ve been assigned to protect Keegan.”

  “By whom?” Duplex asked.

  “A governing authority.”

  Forty-Ouncer, who had been listening intently, turned to Keegan and asked, “Witness Protection?”

  Echo addressed the question. “You might say that, and there’s nothing more I can add without jeopardizing Keegan’s cover.” She looked at Keegan and winked, then turned back to the bikers. “I’m sure you understand.”

  Duplex rolled up his sleeves. “How can we help?”

  “Well, for now, we’d just like to know we can count on you should we require assistance.”

  “You got it, ma’am,” Duplex said with a nod at Forty-Ouncer.

  Echo stood.

  Duplex dipped his hand in the pocket of his coveralls and came out with a business card. He grabbed a pen from the coffee table, scribbled something across the back, and handed the card to Echo. “This here’s my private number. You can get me day or night.” When she nodded, he patted her upper arm and walked to Keegan. “Take care, man.” He shook Keegan’s hand like he’d never have another opportunity to do so.

  "I will." Keegan choked up from the tough biker’s concern. His emotions were running askew. He felt at odds even with himself. Echo needed to find his soul soon before he became a sniveling idiot.

  Smith was the last to leave, but Keegan couldn't be sure Smith had left the property and shared his concern with Echo.

  “He’s probably camped on a fat branch in the nannyberry out front,” Keegan said, closing and locking the door. He took Echo’s hand. “Now where were we before Smith and the bikers?”

  She rubbed up against him. “I think you were here.” She kissed his neck. “And here.” She kissed his chin.

  He groaned. “Quick. Douse the lights.”