Forgiven (18 page)

‘Of course he does.’

Riley whirled round in fright. To her relief, it wasn’t Lucifer this time but a solemn old lady in a long black dress and orthopedic shoes. Or, if you knew her real form, Martha, the angel of Oakland Cemetery, the one who’d made the deal for Simon’s life that had left Riley on the hook to prevent Armageddon.

‘How are you, child?’ the angel asked, her eyes kind.

Riley could think of a dozen different snarky replies. She decided not to go there. ‘I’ve been better.’

A sage nod. ‘You came to see the entombed one. Why?’

‘I keep hearing him in my mind. I know that’s crazy.’

‘Not really. You’ve been touched by a Fallen. That does not fade quickly.’

‘If you knew what he was, why didn’t you warn me?’

‘It was your choice if you trusted him. Free will, you see,’ Martha explained.

That means . . .
‘You know what happened between us?’

‘Of course,’ was the swift reply. Martha tidied a leaf off a headstone like it was somehow responsible for all the chaos in the world. ‘I made sure to be at the
far
end of the cemetery that night when you were with him.’

‘I thought he . . . loved me,’ Riley said, her cheeks flaming in embarrassment.

‘You mortals always do.’

Riley’s eyes rose to the marble figure. ‘What keeps the cemetery people from seeing him? I mean, they’d have to notice a new statue.’

‘They won’t see him. Only a few of us realize he’s here.’

Since it seemed to be a good time to ask, Riley thrust her palms towards the angel. ‘What are these inscription things on my hands? You know, they got me in a bunch of trouble with the Vatican.’

‘Heaven’s seal appeared when you agreed to help us,’ the angel replied. ‘And the other mark was inscribed when you agreed to work for the Prince.’

‘What does that make me? Good or evil?’

‘It makes you human, dear.’

Riley dropped her hands. ‘Did you know Simon would turn on me like that?’

‘No,’ Martha replied. ‘I’m truly sorry that happened. That young man has a lot to answer for.’

Riley opened her mouth to fire off the next question, the one about how she should stop Armageddon, but the angel shook her head. She was reading Riley’s mind again.

OK . . . next question.
‘He,’ she said, jabbing a finger upward at the statue, ‘is messing with my mind. Why is he doing that?’

‘You shall have to ask him that question. He’s one of the most honest of the Fallen so you might even get a straight answer. Of course, that’s not saying much, is it?’ Martha promptly vanished into the morning air.

Cold even with her gloves on, Riley slotted her hands inside her pockets as she gazed up at the stone angel.
Oh well, what can it hurt?
She could always go back to bed later.

‘I’m here and now you’re all quiet. So what do you want?’ she muttered, annoyed.

If there was a reply, it was inaudible. To the east, the sunlight sifted through the bare trees, rosy gold. There was the occasional twitter of a bird in a nearby magnolia tree. Riley’s eyes roamed to her parents’ graves. Then to the mausoleum. Her memories sparked to life: the myriad candles that had awaited them when Ori had opened the doors that night. His warm wings, his seductive words.

His lies.

When she regarded the statue again, the sunlight had reached the top of the angel’s head, crowning him in silky light, almost like a halo. The glow did not remain stationary, but continued to spread downward, caressing his face, then his neck and then touching his chest like a lover might. Each muscle was outlined, each feather glistened like a prism, bending the light into an iridescent rainbow.

She recalled the velvety softness of those feathers and how Ori had brought her to a new awareness, gently tutoring her in what it meant to be a woman.

Riley shivered at the memories, running her hands up and down her arms to warm herself. She was about to turn away when the glow halted at the top of the angel’s jeans. With a flash of light, the golden marble turned soft, and then it became skin.

‘Hey, what’s going on here?’ Riley manoeuvred around a headstone until she had a clear path to run, just in case Ori escaped his marble prison.

The angel shook out his wings, dropped his arms to his sides and gazed downward, his eyes pinning her in place.

‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. His dark hair hung around his face, framing it. His black eyes seemed as endlessly deep as that night he’d held her, made love to her.

‘Come to gloat, have you?’ he said, his voice harsher than she recalled.

‘No! You were the one who called me here.’

‘You know why Lucifer only allows me to see the dawn? It’s revenge. He knows I crave the Light, and so he torments me with it every morning.’

No.
If she’d been on that pedestal, watching the sunrise would have given her hope that someday Lucifer might turn her loose. But the angel wasn’t seeing that, too caught up in his imprisonment and the shame at having failed his master.

Ori struggled against the remaining marble, but it held. Swearing in Hellspeak, he roared his fury into the morning sky. Though she was frightened, Riley held her ground. As long as she remembered what he’d done to her, what he really wanted, the angel had no hold over her.

‘Why did you want me here?’

‘So that you could see what you’ve done to me. You are to blame for my imprisonment, Riley Anora Blackthorne.’

‘Wait a minute. I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?’ she gasped. ‘You seduced me you asshat! You stole my—’

‘No!’ he shouted, his voice echoing off the stillness. ‘I didn’t
steal
your virginity. I
accepted
it.’

She felt her cheeks warm. ‘You stole my dad’s soul. You can’t deny that.’

The angel shook his head. ‘If I hadn’t stepped in, that Archfiend would have killed Paul Blackthorne and fed on his corpse. Instead, I gave your father chance to live, to spend more time with his beloved child.’

‘He died anyway. You broke your part of the deal!’

Ori’s dark eyes went flinty. ‘If I had known the rogue would go after Paul, I would have stopped it. By the time I realized what was happening, your father was dead. That proved . . .’

‘Inconvenient?’ she chided, her fists clenched.

‘An ill omen,’ he replied. ‘The death of Master Blackthorne sent a message that the Prince is incapable of protecting his own. That weakens His position.’

‘Why would us mere mortals care if Lucifer isn’t top dog? It’d still be all Hell and damnation no matter who was in charge.’

‘There are worse who would take his place.’ Ori frowned in thought. ‘Perhaps it is time that they did. Perhaps we have been too merciful.’

His gaze drifted down to meet hers again.

She heard other words now, in her mind, telling her how it would be so easy to set the angel loose from his prison. How grateful he would be. All it took was her to touch her blood to the stone and they could be together forever.

‘No!’ she said, shaking her head to dislodge the treacherous thoughts. ‘It’s not happening, you lying bastard. We’ve done this dance and I’m not going to get hurt again.’

‘You are a vain, selfish child,’ the prisoner retorted. ‘Do you not see the bigger picture? Of the war that comes our way?’

‘I know what’s coming,’ Riley replied, her voice calmer now. She’d resisted his best efforts and that gave her courage. ‘I’m supposed to stop that war, or did you forget that?’

‘I will continue to hammer at your mind until you free me. Or you will go insane.’

‘You can try, Fallen.’

Ori’s rage abruptly vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He fell silent and shook his head in deep despair: the golden glow was climbing up his torso now, then sped upward across his chest. The angel saw it too.

‘So soon,’ he said sadly. Ori flexed his wings, as if desperate to absorb the sunbeams even as his body swiftly returned to stone.

The last of the glow melted away, leaving alabaster marble in its absence. Water droplets fled down Ori’s face, much like tears. This time the Fallen’s hands were not raised in anger, but at his sides in resignation, wings partially folded against his back. His dark eyes were closed, head bowed, as if it was too painful to see the world and not be part of it.

Worried that the masters would wonder where she was, Riley returned to Stewart’s place as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, her host’s car was in the driveway, which meant both of them had returned from the warehouse. She parked behind Stewart’s vehicle, turned off the car and just sat there.

Ori’s mental pull had been so strong she hadn’t even thought of the consequences or what exactly might happen to her and to Stewart if the Vatican found out she was hanging with a Fallen.

To give her time to calm down so the masters wouldn’t know something was wrong, she called Peter to bring him up to date on what had happened with the Holy Water scam. He didn’t answer his phone – probably in the shower – so she left him a lengthy message and promised to work on her homework assignments for class.

When she couldn’t put it off any longer, Riley headed for the back door. The moment it opened she was greeted by the enticing scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. After hanging her coat on the rack, she headed towards the kitchen, putting on a neutral expression. At least one she hoped didn’t say
Ask Me Where I’ve Been. You Will Really Love the Answer.

She found the Scotsman and Harper at the large kitchen table, eating their breakfast. A woman – ample of bosom, rosy-cheeked and with silver streaks in her dark hair – stood in front of the stove. She wore black slacks, a red shirt and an apron that proclaimed
Dinner is Ready When the Smoke Alarm Goes Off.

That wasn’t encouraging. Still, the cinnamon rolls were causing Riley’s stomach to growl in anticipation.

‘Good mornin’, lass, yer just in time for breakfast,’ Stewart said more cheerfully than she thought humanly possible.

‘Brat,’ Harper added, which was about as cheery as he got, but better than she’d expected.

‘Sirs,’ she said. She chose a chair opposite the two masters. Neither of them seemed to be in a bad mood, so maybe they had good news. More importantly, they didn’t seem worried about where she’d been.

‘Mrs Ayers, how’s about we feed up this lass?’ Stewart said after a sip of coffee. ‘She’s too thin for my likin’.’

‘My pleasure. What do you usually eat, Riley?’ Mrs Ayers asked, her words overlaid with a lilting British accent.

‘Ah, usually cereal. Sometimes oatmeal.’

‘That’s all you eat?’ When Riley nodded, Mrs Ayers shook her head in dismay. ‘Oh, no, not in this house, luv. We eat a
proper
breakfast here.’

Five minutes later Riley learned what a proper English breakfast entailed. It could have fed at least two other Rileys. There was a cooked egg, fat sausages, grilled mushrooms, a tomato and baked beans, all jostling for space on one plate. To top it off a massive cinnamon roll sat on a napkin near a tall glass of orange juice.

Who eats beans and tomatoes for breakfast?

Riley made a brave effort anyway and soon came to realize that the hunters had done her a huge favour by requiring her to stay at Stewart’s house, even in the short term. The food immediately calmed her nervous stomach and she could feel her energy level rising though she hadn’t had much sleep overnight.

‘Everyone fine?’ Mrs Ayers asked. There were nods all around. ‘Then I’ll leave you to it,’ she said, and headed into the main part of the house. Apparently she doubled as Stewart’s housekeeper as well.

As Riley ate, the two masters talked back and forth, analysing the raid and what they’d netted out of the warehouse.

‘The paperwork Beck salvaged is mostly an inventory of the bottles,’ Harper explained for her benefit. ‘Nothing that tells us where they were selling the fake stuff.’

‘What about the computer?’ Riley asked.

‘That’s where we got lucky. There wasn’t much on the thing itself, only the files for the labels. But it was registered to the city.’

‘What?’ Riley said, fumbling one of the sausages in surprise.

‘We don’t know which department yet, but I’ve got a cop buddy of mine working on it.’

She pondered that as she scooped up a forkful of beans. ‘How about the department that hands out the tax stickers?’

Stewart shook his head. ‘No. Someone higher up. I’ll swear it.’

‘The building’s owner is raising holy hell,’ Harper said. ‘He claims
we
planted the explosives.’

‘We need ta get our side of the story in front of the public,’ Stewart said. ‘I’ll put a call in to CNN.’

‘Have Beck talk to that woman reporter,’ Harper suggested.

Riley halted mid-chew.
That woman reporter
would be Justine. Like Beck needed an excuse to spend time with her.

‘He’ll be with her anyway,’ Harper added. ‘He might as well be talking up the party line when they’re not screwing.’