Divine Temptation (20 page)

“Stop acting so innocent,” Ray teased, his long dimples accenting his smile. “Did you honestly think I could get reservations at this place on a Saturday night in less than a week?”

“Raymond! Are you telling me I’m sitting in another woman’s chair and eating her meat?”

“All I’m trying to tell you is that I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

The conversation continued to flow easily throughout the rest of dinner, and Maggie started to think Father Tom’s distraction tactics just might work after all. The first awkward moment didn’t happen until the end of the evening, after Raymond had driven her home and walked her to her front door. To kiss or not to kiss. Maggie was warm from the wine and feeling nothing but good things about the man in front of her, so her vote was for kiss. She was pretty sure he felt the same, but he fidgeted and seemed unsure of how to go about it, so she decided to make things easy for him.

Even in her high heels, she had to lift up on tiptoes to rake her fingers through the thick hair at the back of his head and bring her inviting lips within inches of his. “Thank you for dinner,” she murmured, not breaking eye contact.

He answered by lowering his mouth to hers.

That could’ve been it. A simple, light kiss. But when he began to break away, Maggie pulled him back to her. She wanted a man’s mouth crushing onto hers, needed it. He responded by wrapping his large hands around her back and giving in to her need.

When he finally came up for air, he gasped. “Wow. It’s been a long time since…wow.”

Maggie didn’t say anything, but leaned the side of her face against his broad chest so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. The entire time she’d been kissing him, she’d been thinking of Evan.

Chapter 14

M
AGGIE
M
ET
R
AYMOND
L
ATE
I
N
T
HE
F
OLLOWING
W
EEK
for lunch. She really did like him, and even though she continued to feel a pull toward Evan, progressing with Ray seemed to be her best shot at keeping the angel where he belonged in her heart.

“So how are your kids adjusting to school?” Ray asked after he’d finished describing a roommate issue one of his sons was having at college.

“Fine. Great, actually. Kirsten seems to like being at the high school as much as your Jason does. And Liam’s doing okay too, but he’s been bummed this week. One of his friends is being nasty to him.”

“It’d sure be easier to raise our own kids if we didn’t have all those other kids to contend with too, eh?”

“Sometimes I think so. But his friend Tommy is usually such a sweet kid, so I don’t know what’s gotten into him. I’m wondering if it has something to do with when he got sick at our house at the end of summer. You know how the last thing you eat right before you get the stomach flu becomes unappetizing for, like, ever? Do you think he could’ve made that association with Liam? The two of them were playing, I walked in to see if they wanted a snack, and the next thing I knew Tommy was puking all over the place. Oh, sorry,” Maggie added with a slight laugh when Raymond lowered his spoonful of broccoli cheddar soup back into the bowl.

He gave her a teasing scowl and moved on to his sandwich.

“The really tough thing,” she continued, “is that I can’t decide whether or not to give Tommy’s mom a call. My experience has been that no parent ever thinks it’s their own kid’s fault.”

“That’s a sticky situation for sure. Have you talked to the teacher about it?”

“No, not yet. But that’s a good idea. I’m sure Liam’s not lying, but I never know how much he might be exaggerating. And if he’s not, well, then maybe the teacher can handle talking to Tommy’s mom.” She smiled. “Thanks for the advice.”

“You’re welcome.”

Tommy Wilson didn’t show up to school the next week; his mother had called him in sick. By Wednesday, the boy’s condition was severe enough that his mother called the church office and spoke to Brenda, asking to have a priest sent over.

“For an anointing? Is it that bad?” Maggie gasped when Brenda told her.

“No. He’s not in the hospital or anything, but she did sound freaked out,” the office manager explained as she dialed the rectory. “Hello, Monsignor. It’s Brenda. Grace Wilson just called in hysterics. Her son is ill, and she asked for a priest to visit them ASAP.”

A few hours later, Sarto stalked into the office from the front entrance and went directly to Maggie’s desk. “Mrs. Brock, can you make arrangements for your children tonight? I need you to accompany me.”

“Does this have something to do with Tommy?” An ill feeling pooled in her stomach.

“It does. Can you arrange it?”

“I…yes. Kirsten’s old enough to stay with Liam. What time do you need me?”

“Just after dusk, seven thirty. I’ll pick you up at your home.”

He exited the office before Maggie could ask any more questions. He’d seemed angry, and she was certain the Wilson kid must be pinning something on Liam. She felt immediately guilty for thinking that about a sick child, but as far as she knew, he wasn’t sick at all and was just being dramatic.

To be better prepared for whatever she was about to face, she had a good talk with Liam before the monsignor picked her up. Her son only repeated the same things he’d been telling her all along, and part way through the interrogation he teared up. The only thing he confessed was that he missed his best buddy.

“Okay, baby, don’t cry.” Maggie hugged him and stopped her questions. “I’m going to help Monsignor Sarto figure things out and we’ll get your old friend back.”

At precisely seven thirty, Sarto’s car pulled into the driveway, with Maggie waiting at the door. “To bed by nine if I’m not back by then!” she called to the kids.

It felt strange sitting next to the priest in his compact sedan. He always emanated an almost otherwordly presence, so it was odd to see him doing something as normal and everyday as driving an ordinary car. She’d halfway expected him to show up in a pope-sized Batmobile.

“Are we going to the Wilson’s?” she asked.

“Not right away,” he answered curtly. They drove a little further in silence before he spoke again. “We’re going to Somme Park.”

Maggie’s chest tightened. “I thought you wanted everyone to stay away from there.”

“I did. But not everyone listens.”

Maggie was confused—was he saying he wasn’t listening to himself? “Isn’t the park closed?”

“They know we’re coming.”

Those were the last words he spoke before pulling into the parking lot and exiting the car. The night seemed to grow darker as the pair crossed the expanse of asphalt and walked past the night guard with no more greeting than a nod by Sarto. Street lamps along the main path shot cones of white light onto the gravel, leaving everything beyond in a dark gloom.

After curving past the fruit tree grove, Sarto motioned for Maggie to step off the path. They were going directly to the
tholos
, and the closer they got to it, the faster Maggie’s heart beat. This didn’t feel right. Why would he bring her to the very place he’d warned everyone to avoid? She peered sideways at the acute angles of the priest’s profile as they walked, not noticing until then that he’d grasped the back of her arm, as if afraid she might run away otherwise. His face was stiff as always, but his typical coldness was replaced by a burning intensity. He flicked his gaze to her.

“Monsignor, I’m sorry, but can you please tell me what this has to do with Tommy?”

“You’ll see soon enough.” He quickened his pace so that she had to move into a slow jog to keep from being dragged. When they reached the structure, she planted her feet firmly in the grass and refused to step inside. Sarto stood directly behind her, tightening his grip. “What do you feel?” he asked in a low, controlled voice.

“Fear,” Maggie answered.

“That doesn’t sound like what you felt last time.”

“Last time I didn’t have someone forcing me inside,” she said through clenched teeth, her wariness of the monsignor’s connection to the energy growing.

He relaxed his hold. “I apologize for frightening you, but we’re working with a limited timeframe. Please, Mrs. Brock, for the good of the Wilson boy, you must do what I ask without resistance.”

“I don’t understand. How does this help Tommy?”

“His family started noticing the changes in their son after they visited here last July. They didn’t want to admit this to me at first, but once they did I began to form my theory. I think he became infected during his visit; he may have taken something from the urn that wasn’t meant for him.”

Maggie stared at him, showing the confusion she felt.

“You felt stirrings here,” the priest continued. “I suspect the spirit in the urn was attempting to connect with you as well. I need you to be very brave right now and approach the urn, telling me exactly what you feel at each moment. I need to determine exactly what type of influence we’re dealing with. Are you ready?”

“To tempt a demon? What if it infects me too?”

“I’m trained to deal with these things.”

She considered breaking the priest’s grip and running away, but where would that leave Tommy Wilson if he truly was possessed?

Maggie wasn’t sure she could make her feet step into the
tholos
no matter how much her mind willed it. That’s when she saw a soft wash of white through the tree branches. Evan stayed hidden, apparently not wanting to reveal himself to Sarto, but the glimpse was enough to give her the courage to walk slowly, with the priest by her side, to the urn. She inhaled deeply and attempted to calm herself, opening to the energy.

After a few silent moments, she said, “I don’t sense it. It just feels empty.”

Sarto’s hand moved from her arm to the back of her neck, where he applied a forward pressure. Maggie resisted and shifted her eyes toward Evan. He’d moved noiselessly forward, and she could now see the rigid features of his solemn face. Slowly nodding, he kept his steely gaze on hers, silently assuring her he’d be right there should anything go wrong. Maggie attempted to swallow but found that her throat had gone completely dry. She closed her eyes and bent forward so that she hovered directly over the urn.

“Perhaps I should step outside,” Sarto whispered. The pressure of his hand lifted.

Maggie stayed still, trying to clear her mind of everything. She wanted to pray, but was afraid that would only keep the spirit at bay.

Minutes passed, and Sarto lost patience. “Nothing?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Maggie stood straight and opened her eyes.

“It’s gone then. The boy may have taken it all. This is worse than I expected. Come, there’s no time to drop you back at home.”

They ran to the car, and Monsignor Sarto sped along the roads to the Wilson residence. “Should I wait in here?” Maggie asked when they pulled into the driveway.

“No. You’ll stay with me. I may need your help.”

They got out of the car, and he pulled a black satchel from the trunk before motioning for her to follow him to the house. Grace Wilson flung the front door open within seconds of Sarto rapping upon it. Her puffy eyes indicated she’d spent a good deal of time crying. “He seems better,” she said, the high-pitched squeak in her voice betraying her lack of faith in these hopeful words. “I tried keeping him in bed like you said, but he was getting restless, so I let him go into the basement to play his video games. Ken’s with him, but Tommy seems just like normal.”

“Because it knows we’re coming,” Sarto said and headed straight to the basement stairs.

Maggie didn’t say anything, but reached out and grabbed Grace’s hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb as they descended the basement stairs. Tommy stared forward at the television monitor with his fingers busy at the controls, completely ignoring their approach.

“Tommy,” his dad said, “it’s time to stop the game.”

“Aw, just let me finish this level. I’m about to beat it.”

Sarto nodded toward Ken, indicating it was fine to give the boy a few more minutes. The priest set his bag on the air hockey table and pulled out a long, purple stole, placing it around his neck. “Where are the other children?” he asked.

“We sent them for a sleepover at their grandma’s,” Grace explained.

“When this is all over, I’ll want to spend some time with each of them, as well. Just to be sure.”

“Of course,” Grace said in a husky whisper pulling her hand from Maggie’s to cover her mouth as she began to weep.

Maggie took a step closer and gently rubbed Grace’s back. The act of comforting the other woman helped to allay her own fears. Sarto meanwhile unloaded his bag of tricks—a Bible, a bottle of holy water, and two rosaries. He handed a rosary to each of Tommy’s parents and murmured for Ken to sit next to his son and be at the ready to restrain him should that become necessary.

“Okay, buddy,” Ken said to Tommy as he sat down. “Time to stop the game.” When the boy ignored him, Ken laid his hand on the remote.