Reap & Repent (22 page)

Rashnu descended from the pedestal to meet him, staying well out of reach, he noticed.

“Deacon, I see you have urgent business. Let’s retire to more private accommodations, shall we?”

Deacon rolled his neck and heard his vertebrae crackle. “Not until these souls are deposited. Then we do indeed have other business.”

“Of course, let us do that in private as well, shall we? Many eyes are watching, and we have much to discuss. More than I think you are aware.”

Deacon looked warily at Rashnu. He knew that he’d probably never return if he went into the inner sanctum. But if it meant keeping Ruth safe and saving himself from a life like Kylen’s, it would be worth it. Still, a warning nagged at the back of his mind.

On the other hand, he felt as if he could wrestle rhinos right now if necessary. The energy he contained seemed to be getting stronger with every passing minute. He realized with growing terror that he was a hazard. Trying to calm himself, he assessed Rashnu. The angel, of course, had no aura. The bastards were the master manipulators of auras. Wrote the book on them.

Deacon felt an almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and touch Rashnu.

Not a good idea, man. Keep it together!

He was coming undone.

Rashnu motioned to a doorway in the far corner of the depot. The door swung open, illuminating a hallway filled with bright white mist. Mesmerized by the light, Deacon followed as the angel disappeared into the white cloud ahead of him.

Down, down, down they walked, until the mist parted, and they passed through yet another door into a brightly lit chamber. What he saw in front of him was nearly indescribable.

At the very end of the corridor, a figure in a white flowing robe was standing on a platform. Part human in appearance, it was clearly
more
than human. Its face was something between a man’s and a child’s, and it seemed to be fluid and changing. Three sets of great wings extended from the entity, stretching out behind it, and it appeared to be floating on the platform, its feet not quite touching the stone floor. The creature’s essence was so bright it hurt to look at it. Even so, Deacon couldn’t pull his gaze away.

Seraph.

The souls inside of Deacon stirred and swirled, beating against his corporal form, demanding release. Never had a soul he carried struggled so much to be discharged. They were drawn to this being by a force he could no longer contain. The demon, on the other hand, was cowering in some metaphysical corner.

Deacon fell to his knees before the creature and threw back his head. His mouth opened in a yowl, and the souls spewed forth in a thrum of power, screeching and tearing themselves from his body. The demon latched on inside him with invisible claws, grappling for purchase.

Deacon held fast against it.

Rashnu nodded toward the creature, giving it a slight bow. “Deacon, meet Grim. You two seem to have some things in common.”

Deacon locked eyes with the being as the souls that had fled his body swirled around it in adoration. Just when he’d thought things couldn’t get any stranger.

What the hell? Grim—as in THE Grim Reaper—was a Seraph?

Rising to his feet, Deacon looked over at Rashnu for…
guidance?
He didn’t know what he expected from the angel.

“Go,” Grim commanded, sweeping his hand toward the souls. Hesitantly, they began to stream away. They vanished up through a chimney in the center of the stone room, drawn to their destination by an unseen force. Deacon’s retinas felt as if they were burning. The glow coming off the creature before him was sharp and painful.

“Sorry for the glare, it’s an occupational hazard, I’m afraid. With great power, comes great light. I’m sure you’re feeling a bit of that right about now, as well. Power, that is,” Grim said, his feet settling against the floor.

Yeah, power. That was what he was feeling all right. That and a whole lot of
what the hell.
The demon thrummed inside him.

“Approach,” Grim commanded.

Deacon hesitated a second before approaching the being.

“You have a gift, Deacon. Capturing a demon is no easy task. Few survive it. I suppose that you’d like to find some depository for it other than yourself? Yes?” Grim asked, folding all of his wings, which disappeared behind him, and settling down into a large chaise on the platform.

A depository?
Yes, that is definitely what he wanted.

Wait, no, not a depository.

He wanted it destroyed.

“No, destroyed. Permanently,” Deacon managed to say, his hands trembling.

“Well, that is a whole other thing entirely. A demon can be destroyed. Everything that is born can perish. Demons are born of death and evil, so they can only die in the purest white fire. You have the bare demon’s essence inside you for sure, but the question remains: Do you have the fire in your belly to follow through? Because, you see, if you consume it and destroy it completely, there’s no going back. To
consume
the darkness and remain living yourself brings great power. You’ll be endowed with new strength if you succeed. After that, things will become…more interesting.”

Deacon had no idea what the Seraph was talking about, but he wanted this thing gone, and if it was within his power to destroy it, he was all in.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

Grim continued. “If you succeed, you’ll be elevated to the Potentates:
The Powers.
You’ll be recognized as an angel of the Sixth Choir—a warrior, as I once was—expected to be completely loyal to God. You’ll guard the border between the realms, protecting human souls from the very demons who inhabit your friend and, for the moment, you. You may choose this path, or you may relinquish the demon, and we shall send it back to Hell. Of course, that would be temporary. The demon may return at any time to continue its quest for souls. And it will. What is
your
choice, Deacon? Choose wisely.”

Deacon’s mind reeled.
Powers?
He tried to remember the hierarchy of angels, learned long ago in his reaper history lessons: Angels, Archangels, Principalities,
Powers,
Virtues, Dominions, Thrones, Cherubim, Seraphim? Yes, that seemed correct.

It appeared he would be skipping a few steps. If having your mind blown was a side effect of ascension, then he was already halfway there.

And as for choices? Deacon didn’t think there was one. He’d do anything it took to survive this and return to Ruth. And though he’d spent half his life trying to avoid the spotlight, the power that suffused him made him feel that there was only one path left. Forward.

“Let’s do this.”

“Very well. Summon your new power and purge the spirit that cowers inside you. Allow your light to consume it.”

“How is it that the demon hasn’t overcome me like Kylen’s did him? What happens to me? Can I go back up top? What changes?”

“You, dear boy, didn’t invite the demon in. You reaped it. For now, you should continue on with business as usual. There will be many changes, but you’ll continue to inhabit your corporal form. You’ll no longer be limited to the consecrated paths, and you’ll be able to move between the planes and heavens freely. Other gifts will develop with time. And, of course, there will be many challenges. It’s not all ice cream and rainbows.”

“And Ruth? Kylen?”

“Oh, yes…the orphan and the traitor. No path is clear or predetermined, Deacon. We all make our own choices, and then must live with them. They may soon face some hard choices, as well.”

“What’s going on with all these demons? Why have so many of them been showing up topside?”

“There has been discord since the beginning, Deacon. The faces change, but the battle remains the same. Someone always wants what someone else has. In what is perhaps the oldest battle, Lucifer continues to toy with God’s greatest and most pleasing creation: humanity. He wishes to find purchase on the earth and establish dominion over what is not his to dominate. It’s our job to fight against him and his minions. The demons’ increased activity is a sign that a new battle is coming…so is the fact that your powers have been awakened. The Powers are only activated when they are needed.”

“Are you going to stand here chitchatting all day, or are we going to get on with this?” Rashnu asked impatiently. “Sir,” he corrected.

Deacon didn’t know which was more disconcerting, discovering that his hero and now mentor Grim had ascended to Seraph, and they were all about to be on the frontline of an epic battle, or having Rashnu call him “sir.” Both were troubling.

Deacon closed his eyes and attempted to summon his power from its real source: The One True Light. Almost immediately, energy began to pour through his body. He imagined the energy as a bright white fire forming around him. His body on turbo charge, the power exuding from him was more intense than anything he had ever experienced. Opening his eyes, he was blinded by his own spectacle.

The demon twisted inside him, trying to retain purchase with its invisible talons. It was a losing battle. The thing streamed through Deacon’s sternum, a wild frenzy of black smoke that became trapped within the walls of the circle he held.

Flattening his palms against the barrier of light, Deacon sent electric-blue fire coursing through it until the demon dissolved into dust. Deacon’s white fire consumed the ashes, drawing them back into his sternum like an errant soul, until nothing was left of the demon. He collapsed into a heap, exhausted. It was done.

“Good work, Deacon.” Grim rose and motioned toward the door. “Now, let us walk and discuss some
other
matters.”

Deacon stretched inside his skin, happy beyond measure to be free of the invader. Now, if he could only do the same for Kylen.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ruth landed upright for the first time, on her own, in her living room. Closing the circle immediately, she was relieved to hear a whole lot of nothing but the tapping of rain on her metal roof.

She was exhausted. And Deacon was God knows where facing God knows what…and there was nothing she could do but wait. Again. She had a feeling that more things would continue to go wrong.

Tears threatened to spill down her face, but she blinked them back with stoic resolve, refusing to let them come. Because if they started…she’d be lost.

Padding across her living room, she made her way to the master bathroom. She turned the water as hot as she could stand it and stepped into the shower. Letting the water rush over her, she willed it to take her worry and uncertainty down the drain with it. Walking out into the steamy bathroom, she towel dried her hair, picking it out until the rats were gone.

Nightgown on and her hair blown dry, she crawled into bed at 5:00 a.m. She felt like hell. As she pulled the covers up around herself, she prayed for peace. Prayed for Deacon. Prayed for them all. As she began to drift off to sleep, she remembered at least part of the reason why she was so spent…she hadn’t eaten. She’d expended more energy than she’d taken in as fuel maybe ten times over. At this point, she was too exhausted to do anything about it but sleep. There was no delivery out here and no one around to send for groceries. And although
she couldn’t completely rule it out after all she’d seen lately, she wasn’t going to count on fairies bringing her a nice plate of heated lasagna.

Had she remembered to reinforce the circle? Suddenly she was sure that she hadn’t, and she definitely needed to do that …

She did the only thing she was capable of achieving at that moment.

She closed her eyes and let sleep pull her under.

* * *

The phone was ringing.
Where was the damn phone?

Ruth wanted to answer it, but apparently twelve hours of sleep wasn’t going to be enough to get her body to cooperate with the orders her brain was issuing.

And then she remembered that she hadn’t eaten. Anything. Deacon had warned her of what might happen if she let herself get too depleted, and she was feeling the effects of it now …

Still with the ringing?

She managed to fling her arm toward the phone on the nightstand, making an awkward, fumbling connection with the receiver. She plunked it down in the general vicinity of her ear and mouth. If this was a solicitation, she was going to ask the caller to dial 911, because she was pretty sure this effort was the last one she’d be able to make without help…and a Big Mac.

“Hello,” she managed to squeak out.

“Ruth?” Nate asked, concern apparent in his voice.

“Yeah.”

“Ruth, what’s wrong with you? You sound terrible. Is Deacon there? Are you okay?”

“No and no.”

“Are you in danger? Are you under attack?”

“No…food.”

“You haven’t eaten? You need food? Can you get it?”

“No,” she said, letting the phone fall from her hand and crash down to the floor. Faintly, she could hear Nate still talking, but she began to slide past consciousness, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to find her way back up.

Moments later, she was swimming through a dark lake filled with white and bloated floating corpses. Some were facedown, others faceup. A woman’s hair fanned across the surface of the black water as Ruth bobbed up and down, riding the waves, trying to push her way toward the shore. She was far away from it.

She tried, without success, not to touch the corpses. But she couldn’t keep them from bumping up against her and poking at her with their inanimate limbs. They bobbed along the surface for as far as she could see. The entire landscape was colored in shades of gray, and none of them had auras. They were good and dead.

In the distance, there was a faint glow on the shore: a tiny beacon. She concentrated on getting to that light. After swimming for a while, though, she was too exhausted to do anything more than float and let the water slowly push her toward the lights. She wondered if she could stay afloat until she got there. It
seemed as though she’d been bobbing along endlessly. Hours already. It would be so much easier to stop trying and let herself sink down to the bottom and be done with it.

So easy to give up.