Reap & Repent (15 page)

“You’ve been a good student already,” Deacon teased.

“I might need a raise,” she countered.

“You haven’t even finished your first day yet.”

“Speaking of raises, umm, will I actually be paid?”

Deacon chuckled. “Yes, you’ll be compensated. Well and regularly. But let’s make it through your first week before we open your 401(k) and start planning your retirement.”

* * *

Though Ruth felt as if she stuck out like a sore thumb, particularly given her overstuffed backpack, no one seemed to notice them. Ruth supposed they looked as though they were coming on or getting off a long shift. In a hospital the size of St. Mary’s, two new faces were nothing to get excited about.

He led her to the critical-care ward, quizzing her on the auras of the patients in each of the rooms they passed. Ruth felt like an ambulance chaser or a vulture waiting to pick the bones of the dead. In a way, she guessed that’s what she was, but she tried to keep the spin positive.

It wasn’t long before they found what they were looking for. Right there in 303 was a withered sheath of an old man with a nice, bright white halo around his body. He was full of tubes, and all sorts of wires protruded from his frail body, yet he appeared peaceful. She wondered if maybe he wasn’t already dead and didn’t realize it.

Deacon walked over to the man’s bedside and studied him, and then placed his hand on the man’s chest. The white light crackled and sparked all around him, only settling down when Deacon pulled his hand away.

“It won’t be long. We’ll wait.”

Ruth was uncomfortable. She had plenty of questions, but it seemed rude to ask them in front of the man. Besides, she didn’t want anyone to hear them
talking. Even though they weren’t doing anything wrong, she wasn’t prepared for a confrontation. And while Deacon had told her they would be unnoticeable while doing their job, she wasn’t feeling all that incognito. More like exposed.

Deacon stood beside the bed, and—for the second time that week—Ruth sat in a chair by the window of a hospital room. They waited in silence. She had no idea how long it would take, but she secretly willed the elderly man to get on with it. Feeling guilty, she grew more nervous with every passing instant.

Deacon must have sensed her anxiety because he reached for her, offering his hand. She took it, relaxing as the now familiar orange glow slid through her. Relief was immediate.

Already, he was becoming a habit. An addiction.

He kept hold of her hand, and soon the man in the bed gave out a long last sigh. They watched as his soul left his body through his sternum, and then hovered over his bed. Deacon touched the machinery attached to the man and pushed energy into it, silencing any potential alarms. The patient was beyond resuscitation. His time had come.

They watched as the man’s soul settled on the side of the bed, looking down at its former body, and then back to them. At first he seemed confused, but realization settled over his features, smoothing away the tension.

“It’s time to go.” Deacon said.

The man smiled and nodded, and when Deacon reached out to him, the soul dissolved into a gray stream. Stepping forward into the stream, Deacon consumed him. Even though she’d seen it once before, it was still disconcerting.

“Okay. Let’s go find one for you.”

Ruth was pretty sure her mouth gaped open because she was so not ready for one of her own.

Deacon led her into the hallway, and they checked each room on their way out for white halos. She was more than a little relieved when they didn’t find one, and she said a little prayer of thanks.

Disaster averted.

Chapter Sixteen

“Next stop is the morgue.”

Great,
she thought.
More opportunity for disaster.

They took the elevator down to the basement, and then Deacon led her through the morgue’s unsigned double doors. It looked just like morgues did in TV shows and movies—clean, white and sterile with an abundance of stainless steel. Two employees worked at computers at stations on one side of the room, and both of them looked up when Deacon and Ruth walked in.

“Hey,” Deacon said. “I’m here to check out the new arrivals for Rothford and Sons Funeral Home.”

“Right,” one of them replied, returning to his work, which appeared to consist of online poker.

“Sure thing, two and six are the latest. Both came in last night,” the other morgue employee said. The first guy continued punching away at his keyboard, uninterested.

Deacon walked over to a stainless-steel door marked Two and pulled out the long tray which held the pale, mottled body of a middle-aged woman. Frowning, he placed a hand on the woman’s chest, giving her a shot of orange energy. Ruth didn’t see anything happen. No soul, nothing.

He slid the tray closed and moved on to door Six. Sliding out the tray, he cursed—it was a teenage boy, and he was a mess. His limbs mangled and broken, he looked like Frankenstein’s monster with the pieces rearranged. Ruth’s stomach
churned. Despite the cleanliness of the body, it was a horrific sight. Deacon shot him with OJ with the same result: nothing.

“When did these two come in last night?” Deacon asked.

“Both around 4:00 a.m., I guess. I can check the log if you’d like. Car wreck. Both of them died at the scene out on I-64.”

“Thanks.” Deacon gestured toward the door, and stalked out of it. Ruth hurried to catch up to his heavy and determined steps.

“I can’t believe they didn’t ask more questions,” Ruth said, amazed that they weren’t being followed out.

“They won’t even remember us by the time we get to the elevator,” Deacon said gruffly.

“Why didn’t you reap them? Because those guys were there?”

He whipped around to face her. “No, I could care less about those two. There wasn’t anything to reap. They were already gone.” He dropped his gaze to the floor and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that Kylen’s demon poached them while we were making love last night. That’s what it means. It means that they’re both in Hell now because I wasn’t on the job.” His hands clenched into fists, and he looked as if he was about to punch a hole in the wall.

Ruth didn’t know what to say to him because the revelation made her feel queasy, as well.

“You can’t work twenty-four hours a day, can you?” she asked in a whisper.

“No. But we have to be more diligent. These are people’s souls. Our work is serious. I haven’t been this distracted in a long time, and I can’t afford to be.
We
can’t afford to be. Not now that there are demons …”

“Is there no way to get them back?” She reached for him, but he backed away from her touch.

“Not unless he hasn’t taken them through the portal to Hell yet, and I’m sure he has. He wouldn’t wait around this long with pirated cargo. He must have been on the scene of the accident within seconds. I didn’t even feel them pass.”

“What about the soul you hold?”

“I can hold several at a time if it’s needed. Carrying them one at a time is actually more exhausting than carrying multiples.”

“But you said you were more vulnerable when you carry a soul.”

“I can take care of myself,” he said, averting his eyes from hers. “I’ve been doing it for a while now.”

His entire mood seemed to have gone dark and edgy, and she was pretty sure that if he’d possessed an aura, it would have been as muddy brown as the transporter’s.

She was glad he didn’t.

They made their way back to the chapel. When they walked in, Kylen was reclined against the altar.

* * *

Deacon stopped abruptly inside the doorway to the chapel, as the double doors swung shut behind them. Ruth could hear the lock clicking into place, and dread pricked up the hairs on the back of her neck.

Stepping in front of her, Deacon used his body to block her from Kylen’s direct line of vision. His large frame made a pretty good shield, and she appreciated the gesture. She was all for women’s lib in general, but there was a time and a place for everything. And now was the time to accept protection. When she placed her hand against Deacon’s lower back, she could feel him vibrating with anger.

“What, no greeting? No thank you for pulling up your slack?” the demon sneered.

“Those people didn’t need your kind of help.”

“Well, I saw no reason for them to go to waste while you were…otherwise engaged,” the demon taunted.

Ruth wondered if he really knew what they’d been doing, or if he was just baiting Deacon. The demon casually knocked candelabras and various accoutrements from the altar with a careless swipe as he made his way across the room. Deacon stood his ground.

“So much pomp and pageantry for a God who does so little for his subjects,” the demon said, striding closer.

“I suppose you think you have a better deal?”

“Oh, without a doubt. For the truly ambitious, there are countless treasures without any of the limitations of pesky morality,” the demon said.

“What are you doing here, Demon? There are no more souls to reap here today.”

“Pity.
However,
you carry one now. Correct? How about we barter over that one, eh?” the demon purred, his eyes growing blacker with each step.

“I have no interest in anything you have to offer.” Deacon squared his shoulders, readying himself for confrontation.

“Oh, I think you might.” The demon carved a long, clawed fingernail down the wooded arm of the pew. Ruth caught glimpses of Kylen from her shelter behind Deacon. She held tight to the back of his shirt, working it into a damp ball in her fist.

“Come out, come out, little one,” the demon sang.

“Stay back,” Deacon growled.

“What? We aren’t friends anymore? Kylen is hurt. He’s still in here, you know. Calculating. Plotting. Second-guessing his choices. But of course that’s all we are in the end, is it not? A product of our
choices?
” The demon laughed, advancing in slow, methodical steps. “Choices like bedding the woman who cowers behind you like a child, still so soft and fragile. Why, she hasn’t even reaped a soul yet, has she, Deacon? A veritable virgin, so to speak. Ripe for the picking. So fresh and new and…
malleable.
There are so many possibilities for her …” The demon trailed off.

“That’s enough.”

“Please, you can’t possibly be that tied to her already? You reapers are all so weak and predictable. Dear One, I could be a much better mentor for you. I
have power, endless resources and a master with a vision like you can’t imagine—this reaper is at the end of his usefulness. All I need is a change of scenery, a new body, and then we could have so much fun …” the demon taunted, edging nearer.

“Stop right there, or you’ll see that I’m not used up just yet,” Deacon challenged. “I won’t repeat Kylen’s mistakes.”

“But you already have.” The demon sighed. “So proud and sure …” He drew a long, curved knife from the holster on his spine. “We shall see, Reaper.”

“Ruth—HOME!” Deacon commanded, as he stepped forward and drew a similarly curved knife of his own from the top of his backpack.

Ruth was confused and conflicted. She couldn’t believe that they were about to have a knife fight in the middle of the day in a hospital chapel.

She hesitated.

“NOW!” Deacon ordered.

Ruth concentrated on her little living room with all she had, just as Deacon had instructed her. As her hands and feet began to tingle, her head grew swimmy. Like a giant rubber band stretched too tight, she felt the pull from her sternum. Closing her eyes, she willed herself not to pass out and offered up a silent prayer for Deacon. She let herself snap through the consecrated subway and back to her house.

Chapter Seventeen

Ruth landed hard in a crumpled pile, her foot twisted beneath her. She was back in her living room. Alone.

It was a miracle.

She felt the circle close behind her. She worried that Deacon might not be able to flash back to the house with the circle closed, but he would be furious if she left it open. She wasn’t afraid of Deacon, but she was afraid of Kylen and whatever other creatures he might send for her.

In an attempt to reinforce the circle, she concentrated on the sphere being a strong silver-blue snow globe of supernatural protection. As energy and light filled her body, her skin tingled, feeling as though it was stretched too tight across her frame. Exhausted, she decided that the circle was good enough. It would have to be—she didn’t know what else to do.

A prisoner in her own home now, she realized for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, that she didn’t
want
to be alone. For a moment, she thought about calling Nate, but what could or should she tell him? She’d have to wait it out alone.

For the longest while, she sat on the couch, waiting, worrying, and waiting. It was excruciating. She had no idea what was going on back in the chapel, but the fear she felt for Deacon bloomed like a fire in her belly, filling her with dread. Not knowing was worse than being there and watching. She knew that
leaving had been the right thing to do. She would only have been a dangerous distraction for Deacon if she had stayed. Still…this was painful.

Hunger and weakness overtook her, and she made her way to the kitchen to warm up some lasagna and fix a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a frozen burrito and maybe some cereal. The traveling and the stress had burned up her breakfast and then some, and she was starving.

Deacon wasn’t kidding about the food part.

If she needed this much fuel after using the consecrated subway, what was going to happen when she actually reaped someone?

She should have felt like puking after having eaten so much. Instead, the pit in her stomach demanded more. Insatiable, she ate an entire box of crackers, half a pound of cheese, some fruit and a bowl of cereal before her hunger abated.

Ruth looked around at all the dirty plates and scraps of food on the table. It looked as if a church potluck dinner had exploded in her kitchen. But instead of an entire congregation eating it, it had only been her.

She puttered around the kitchen to clean up the mess, but she didn’t know what to do with herself once she finished. Though she felt compelled to return to the chapel, she worried that with her luck, she’d end up somewhere else entirely…or worse, between the two of them at exactly the wrong moment.