Reap & Repent (7 page)

They both sat for a while, lost in their thoughts. It was almost impossible to absorb, yet Ruth’s brain was soaking it up like a sponge. The possibilities seemed endless, and she was excited that there was so much to learn. If this was all true, what else didn’t she know? It was crazy and dangerous and exciting and right all at the same time.

She felt as though she’d spent her entire life wondering why she was different and what it meant. Now she felt as if a door was being opened for her, ready to reveal answer after answer if she was only willing to look.

“How old are you?”

He hesitated and drew a hand through his hair, smoothing it away from his eyes. “Two hundred and six.”

Wow, no wonder he looks so tired.

She could not wrap her mind around that because the man sitting at her kitchen table didn’t look as if he could be more than a few years north of thirty.
Weathered? Yes. Tired? Definitely. But more than two centuries old?

No. It would probably have been easier to accept if he had long gray hair and a Dumbledore beard, but Deacon Walker, the man, the
reaper,
before her? That was tough to believe.

Now that the peanut butter was starting to work its magic on her brain cells, she felt as if she was beginning to piece some of the events of the last thirty-six hours into a more acceptable framework. The puzzle was starting to come together.

“Why do you look so young? And is that why Kylen said he thought you might have cashed in? Because you’re two hundred and six? And while we’re on the subject, what
exactly
is Kylen? Those eyes were not…human.”

Deacon let out an exasperated sigh. “Do we have to cover the entire history of the netherworld tonight? One of the benefits of being a reaper is that we stop physically aging after our first reaping. But much like this conversation, it’s
still exhausting. After reaping a sleeper and taking a hitchhiker to Purgatory and back, being interrogated by
you
is intolerable. Besides eating, we also need sleep to rejuvenate. Seriously, no more tonight.”

Ruth felt chastised, but one thing he was going to have to learn about her, and soon, was that she was nothing if not persistent. She was willing to let it go for now, but she didn’t graduate with a PhD without learning a few things about finding the answers to hard questions.

“Fine,” she said, slamming the now empty jar of peanut butter down onto the counter. “You can shower down the hall if you want. I don’t have any clothes you can change into, but you can clean up in there. The house has three bedrooms. You can sleep in my mother’s room, on the futon in the junk room or on the couch. It’s your choice. But don’t think this is over …”

Deacon made eye contact with her. His eyes had brightened back to blue-green, she noticed—they were no longer the icy gray they’d turned while he was carrying her father’s soul.

He gave her a curt nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Chapter Eight

Ruth tossed and turned. How would she ever fall asleep with a man-that man—in the next room? What was he
doing
in there? Why had she insisted that he stay? Every instinct told her she was being foolish. She’d only known him for a day and a half, and he was certainly not human.

Or at least not
just
human.

A million questions plagued her, and she wished she had some sleeping pills or a stiff drink to calm herself down. Her mother had neither in the house.

When her mind wasn’t busy adding to an ever-growing list of questions, it kept returning to the image of her father’s ghost and everything that had happened in Purgatory. How had things come to this? Had her parents known she was different even before she admitted to seeing auras? She replayed her memories in her mind, trying to see them in the new light of the knowledge that had been awakened in her. Her parents had seemed so shocked that day in the car when she’d kept harping on about that white light. Although she’d mentioned the lights before, the brightness of her father’s that day had been overwhelming. Clearly her ability wasn’t normal, but they couldn’t have known she was different even as an infant.

Could they have?

And what of the “memories” Rashnu had unearthed? Where had
those
come from? A woman with dark curly hair and sad eyes, standing with a large group of people around a bonfire?

She wanted to turn her mind off. Shut it down. She wanted a little relief, if only for a while. It was just too much. Way, way too much. Ridiculous actually. The stuff of fairy tales
or nightmares,
she thought.
Yes, nightmares.
And the man in the next room? What about him? Was he the prince or the villain of this story? Time would tell. She prayed for the prince because if villains kissed that good, she was screwed. Utterly and completely.

* * *

Deacon tossed and turned on the couch. Ruth had tossed a blanket to him before disappearing into her room. He pulled it over himself. He usually slept in the nude, but that wasn’t going to work out here on the couch in a strange woman’s house. He settled for taking his shirt off. At least the scrub bottoms were loose and comfy. The couch sucked. He needed to sleep in a bed. His bed…or hers.

Shut up already,
he told himself.

He could have slept in her mother’s bed, he supposed. She’d offered, but that seemed…weird.

Like this whole situation isn’t weird?

Hell, he was never going to fall asleep out here. Now that Ruth was out of sight, he kept thinking about how much work he was missing…and it wasn’t like someone else would pick up the slack. His work was compounding like the interest on bad credit. In the hundred or so square miles he covered, there were six to ten deaths a day. He could carry as many as six souls at a time, more in an emergency, but it left him more vulnerable than he liked. Even though he was a
workaholic and didn’t take very good care of himself, he didn’t have a death wish anymore…most days. He’d reaped one soul today. He should be out working now. Meridian’s population of a quarter million people cycled in and out, living and dying on a daily basis.

At least he had job security.

The good news was that it paid well. In fact, he’d never wanted in his life. Then again, he’d never really wanted much of anything to begin with—material possessions were meaningless to him, and he’d always preferred to travel light, especially after the whole Kylen debacle. The idea of planting roots and developing attachments had utterly lost its appeal. While he hadn’t exactly rooted himself in Meridian, he had found himself lingering in spite of the occasional fantasy of falling off the map on some permanent vacation.

He could feel the tug of detaching souls, but if he didn’t rejuvenate himself with some sleep, he couldn’t adequately confront Kylen. And tomorrow, he was planning to draw him out while he caught up on work. He needed to be strong for that. But despite his total and utter exhaustion, he wasn’t about to fall to sleep here on the couch.

On Ruth’s couch.

He feared that his inability to sleep had more to do with her than the dubious comfort of her furniture or his guilt over his job. Damn, he was in trouble.

* * *

When Ruth woke up the next morning, it felt decadently late. She halfheartedly opened her eyes and did a fast recap in her head. Stretching, she let her weight sink heavily into the mattress. It was a child’s bed. The cheap twin mattress had worn out its springs long ago. Her mother hadn’t spared any extravagance on herself or the house, let alone on Ruth. Mary Scott hadn’t exactly been frugal—more apathetic. She’d never recovered from her husband’s death. Without any hobbies or close friends, she had poured all her energy into her work as an RN at the very hospital where she eventually died. There wasn’t even cable or internet at this house, for God’s sake.

Given how far the house was from town, Ruth wasn’t even sure those were options, but one of the first things she planned to do today was find out and get some groceries. Thinking of Deacon was enough to motivate her to get out of bed and head for the bathroom. She went through the motions of brushing out her hair and scrubbing her face and teeth. Digging through her suitcase, she found an old T-shirt and shorts. She hadn’t even had time to unpack, and her to-do list was getting longer and longer.

Heading to the kitchen, she stopped, drawing in a surprised breath when she caught sight of Deacon’s prone form on the couch. One arm was thrown over his face and eyes in an effort to fend off the growing light beaming through the living room window. The other arm was resting across what might well have been the most beautiful bare stomach and chest she had seen outside of a celebrity magazine. Not that she read that trash.

Mercifully, he still had his scrub bottoms on, but his feet were bare. God help her, but that was the icing on the couch cake as far as she was concerned. She had an almost overwhelming desire to start rubbing her face against his chest like a cat, but that would
not
be an appropriate reaction.

He must have felt her staring at him because he shifted a little, and then opened his eyes.

“Morning.” His sleepy gaze sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine. He was tan and lean and hard in what appeared to be all the right places. With the morning light bouncing off him, he almost seemed to have a halo around him.

“Morning,” Ruth managed to choke out. Then, because all she wanted to do was stare at him some more, she spun around and headed into the kitchen.

“There’s no milk, and I don’t think there’s too much to eat in the kitchen unless you want peanut butter out of the jar,” she said, unscrewing the lid and peering inside the empty jar. “Or maybe not even that. I need to go to town, run some errands and get moving on that grocery list you made for me. You’re welcome to stay or …” She let the
or
hang in the air. She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to do: stay or go. Last night she’d planned to grill him to the nth degree, but this morning, in the light of day, things seemed less dire. There would be plenty of time for questions later. Probably.

“I’ve got to get home. I need to get changed and replenish my backpack,” he said, crossing over to her. “I don’t suppose you have a newspaper this morning?”

“Nope. Why?”

“I need to work. Today. The souls are piling up. It would be easier to read the obits and catch up that way than have to feel my way at this point.”

“Okaaaay, so do you want me to drive you? How exactly did you get here, by the way? I didn’t see a car parked anywhere.” Things had happened so fast since Deacon had shown up at her house that she hadn’t even stopped to consider how he had gotten there.

“I used the network. I checked the hospital chart and found your mother’s address. You were listed as next of kin. I figured that I might find you here. I was lucky I found you sooner rather than later. I came up in Good Springs Cemetery about two miles from here, then… I walked.”

“Well that seems inconvenient.”

“Not most of the time. I reap in the city, so it’s pretty easy to move around. I can move from consecrated ground to consecrated ground through the network. There’s practically a church, chapel, cemetery or funeral home on every other block in the city. It’s out here in the rural areas that things get more…complicated. You’ll need to have your home consecrated so you can travel back here more easily.” He grabbed his scrub shirt off the end of the couch and pulled it on, covering that beautiful chest.

“How am I supposed to do that?” she asked, pretty sure that there wasn’t a Yellow Pages heading.

“A bishop or a witch has to do it. It’s easier to get a witch than a bishop. Bishops ask way too many questions. If they only knew… Don’t worry, I know a guy.”

Well of course he did.

“When your home is consecrated you can travel to any other consecrated ground from here. It will also be circumscribed so that nothing can come in or out without your permission. As long as you’re within the consecrated circle of your home, you’ll be safe, unless you break the circle and allow something inside or bring it in with you. Mind you, that doesn’t mean they can’t be waiting around the borders for you to leave. You’re going to have to start being more careful.”

Ruth shuddered, remembering the “things” she’d seen in Purgatory. She was pretty sure she was safe in the daylight. Why she thought that made any difference she didn’t know, but it sure was easier to have a positive attitude about things when the sun was shining.

“I wouldn’t object if you wanted to drop me off at Good Springs on your way.” Deacon scooped up a handful of dry cereal. “I’ll meet you back here at dark with my guy. We’ll get this place locked up tight.”

“All right,” she said, unsure.

“Do you have any weapons?”

Ruth didn’t even try to hide her shock. “I have pepper spray.”

“Pepper spray won’t cut it. Salt spray might help, but pepper is useless. How about a backpack? Do you at least have a backpack you can carry with you? I can find a few weapons for you to use until we get you some training.”

She rummaged through the pile in the living room and found her backpack. It was still full of books and notebooks from school. It was hard to
believe that part of her life was over now. Stacking them into yet another pile, she handed him the bag.

He rummaged around the kitchen, pulling open cabinet doors and drawers, then piled a few things onto the kitchen table—a silver serving knife, a can of iodized salt and a cast-iron pot hook from the back porch.

“This is all I could come up with right now, but it will be a deterrent if you have any trouble.” Deacon tossed the backpack on top of the collection.

“What kind of trouble are you expecting me to have?” she asked, feeling more and more uneasy despite the sunny day. In fact, she was beginning to think that tagging along with him all day might be a better plan. Cowardly, but she wasn’t feeling all that heroic at the moment.

“Probably nothing. By tonight we’ll be all set. Do your thing today, and if any odd beasties approach you, pull out this silver knife. Silver will hurt most supernaturals and even kill a few. It takes a lot longer and a lot more energy to heal a silver wound. But you probably won’t even have to use it. Think of it as insurance. Here …” He poured a handful of salt into his hand and walked over to her. He grabbed hold of the waistband of her shorts and pulled her to him. She braced her forearms against his chest between them, unsure of his intentions or what she was supposed to do. He leaned in, his face mere inches from hers, and then she felt him slide his hand into her pocket…and fill it with salt.