Reap & Repent (17 page)

Rolling the wheelchair over to the bed as close as she could, she set the brake. She eased Deacon’s legs around before remembering that the tubes were still attached to him. Removing them from the equipment seemed like a better plan than ripping them from Deacon’s body. She placed one hand on the monitor, pushed a shot of OJ into it, and tore the tubes and wires free.

She held her breath, waiting for alarms to sound. When none did, she pulled Deacon’s legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed him under his arms. Using gravity, she guided him down into the waiting chair.

Deacon was somewhere north of two hundred pounds of solid muscle; it was no easy task. Luckily for him, he was still unconscious. She wrestled him around like an alligator in a death roll until he was somewhat upright in the chair. He was still dressed in a hospital gown, which she tucked back down and around him, stuffing his arms into his lap in a less haphazard arrangement. He was like a life-size G.I. Joe doll. His head lolled to one side, and she rummaged around the room until she found his clothes in a plastic bag in the closet. Pulling out his belt, she secured it around one of his shoulders and the handle of the wheelchair so that he wouldn’t flop over forward.

She lifted his feet onto the flipper foot rests and grabbed one of the thin blankets off his bed to cover him and the myriad of tubes. She didn’t think this could possibly work, but she prayed as hard as she could that they wouldn’t be questioned or stopped on their way to the chapel.

Poking her head out once more, she assessed the hallway, and was reassured to find it empty. She wheeled him out and down the corridor in the opposite direction of the nurses’ station, not prepared to press her luck with Nurse Barbara.

Ruth was relieved to reach a more crowded part of the hospital as she made her way down the maze of corridors and back to the chapel. Another wave of panic coursed through her as she approached the chapel doors, certain that her doorstop hadn’t worked after all. But as she drew nearer, she saw that it was still there.

Ruth pushed the door open and rolled Deacon inside.

To her relief, they were back in the chapel. And they were alone.

Her adrenaline abandoned her, and she nearly crumpled to the floor on her shaky legs.
We’re not safe yet,
she reminded herself. It had taken much longer than ten minutes to get back to the chapel. She prayed that Nate’s magic door was open. She wasn’t sure what would happen if it wasn’t, but she didn’t want to accidentally pop out blocks or miles away from his house or, worse yet, in the middle of a cemetery somewhere.

She worried that the address alone might not be enough to get them there. She was too new at this to know any, let alone all, of the metaphysical rules and loopholes. Kneeling beside Deacon’s chair, she slid one arm over his shoulders and the other under his knees, holding on to as much of him as possible. Repeating Nate’s address over and over like a mantra, she began to feel that now familiar pull work its way up and through her body.

Please let this be the right decision.

They flew through the consecrated subway like a fourth-quarter Hail Mary pass.

* * *

“Jesus Christ!” Nate yelled and leaped back from the crumpled heap that had materialized in the middle of his living room. They landed hard, and Deacon ended up falling on top of Ruth. Her lungs burned, desperate for air as his weight crushed against her. She was pretty sure she also had a broken rib.

“What the hell?” Nate asked.

Ruth was more than willing to try to explain, but he was going to have to free her from Deacon’s weight before that could happen. Recognizing her dilemma, Nate managed to get hold of himself long enough to carefully roll Deacon off her.

“Is he dead?”

“Not yet.”

Yep, she was Captain Obvious.

“How far is the closet fast-food place?”

Nate looked at her as if she was speaking a foreign language.

“Food. How far?” she asked again.

“Two blocks.”

“Go. Now, please. Get three large chocolate milkshakes and one of each number meal on the menu and bring them here. Fast!”

Nate didn’t budge—he was clearly confused and maybe in shock, too. It was late and they had popped into the middle of his living room out of thin air, demanding a ridiculous amount of fast food. She could sympathize with his bewilderment, but Deacon needed calories immediately. There was no time for explanations.

“NOW!”

He shook himself out of his stupor and got moving. Sliding into a pair of flip-flops, he grabbed his wallet and keys and was out the door. She didn’t bother pointing out to him that he was shirtless and wearing his boxers. Hopefully, he’d use the drive-through.

She tried to make Deacon as comfortable as possible on the floor while they waited. There was no way she was going to be able to move him onto the couch or anywhere else without Nate’s help. Finding the bedroom, she grabbed some pillows and dragged Nate’s comforter off his bed to wrap it around Deacon.

She rearranged his hospital robe again and tried not to think about how different last night had been from this one. Examining his wounds the best she could, she realized that while they weren’t exactly healing, none of them looked life threatening. The E.R. doctors and nurses had treated his wounds and given him fluids, which was all well and good, but she was pretty sure that from what Deacon had told her about reaping—and the fact that his head was still resting on his shoulders—calories were what he needed…and a lot of them. Much more than that one little IV drip had been pumping into him.

Between the traveling, the reaping and the fighting, she was fairly certain he was in the reaping equivalent of a diabetic coma. She was hopeful that he’d be able to heal himself if they could get some significant calories into him. Ruth was flying by the seat of her pants, but if three triple-thick chocolate shakes couldn’t revive him, they were screwed.

Nate burst back through the door fifteen minutes later with two giant bags of fast food. It all smelled decadent and yummy. Her stomach growled, loud and demanding. She realized that she was starving again, too.

Nate helped her raise Deacon into a somewhat seated position, and he also attended to the various tubes and wires attached to him.

“I was afraid to touch them.”

“I’m an EMT.”

Well, of course he is.

While Nate worked, Ruth tried to force Deacon to drink some of the milkshake. She stroked his throat with her hand, but it wasn’t working. She didn’t think it would be such a great idea to pour it down him, and she was pretty sure you couldn’t administer a milkshake intravenously even if you had the proper equipment.

“Nate, don’t freak out.”

“Too late for that.”

Ruth put her hands on Deacon’s chest, closed her eyes and concentrated on pushing some orange juice into him. Her hands grew warm, and they tingled with the glow of a faint orange light. She pushed the small offering into Deacon, hoping it would be enough to kick-start him into at least drinking the milkshake.

“What the hell is that?” Nate asked, his face drained of color.

“Feed him the milkshake, please.”

Nate dipped the straw into the milkshake and tilted Deacon’s head back to release the fluid into his mouth. Ruth kept pushing OJ into Deacon all the while, and was relieved when his throat began to work up and down.

Nate filled another straw and repeated the process until Deacon started to suck the now-melted milkshake through the straw on his own.

He drained the first one, and they fed him two more, nearly three thousand calories’ worth, before he managed to open his eyes. Ruth was so thankful that
tears welled up in her eyes, and she smiled at him. His eyes were icy reaper-gray. The soul from this morning was still inside him.

She wasn’t sure if there was an expiration date on souls, but right now that was the least of her worries.

Nate emptied the bags of food and fed one French fry at a time to Deacon, who finally managed a weak smile. He tried to speak, but couldn’t seem to get any words out. She leaned in closer. He whispered, “You should have seen the other guy.” His breath was warm against her cheek.

Ruth let out a relieved laugh, as did Nate. Deacon tried to sit up a bit straighter, and the other man helped him. Ruth dug through the bag of fast-food carnage for a cheeseburger and tore off bite-size bits to feed to Deacon. It wasn’t long before he became visibly stronger and more alert. He reached out to take the rest of the sandwich from her.

“You eat, too.”

He didn’t have to tell her twice—Ruth was starving. She devoured two entire supersize value meals as Nate watched them, his face painted with disbelief. They were a motley crew sitting in the middle of a witch’s house in the wee hours of the morning eating fast food. She was exhausted but relieved.

Content that Deacon was no longer in any immediate danger of dying, she relaxed. She couldn’t imagine a safer place for them at the moment than Nate’s house. She sent up a little prayer of gratitude to whoever was listening. It had been a long night.

Deacon ate and ate, finishing off the rest of the spread. He was stronger but still shaky and exhausted. Nate offered to sleep on the couch, somehow managing not to ask one question. She thanked him and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. Then she and Nate helped Deacon up, and maneuvered him into the bedroom and onto the bed.

Curling next to Deacon, Ruth drifted off sooner than she’d thought she would. She had no idea what the next day would bring, but she was glad this one was over.

Chapter Twenty

Ruth woke up in Nate’s bed, her body wrapped around Deacon’s.

My, how my life has changed.

She cuddled up closer and studied Deacon’s stubble-covered jaw. He was bruised and beaten, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t in any immediate danger of perishing.

His eyes were still closed but a smile found its way across his face, and her heart gave a little leap that had nothing to do with auras or orange juice or fear.

Emotion flooded through her. If she had to put a name on it, she guessed it would be…happiness? It seemed crazy to feel happy in the midst of all this insanity, but she did.

“Thank you,” Deacon said, opening his eyes, his gaze somehow heat and ice all at once.

“You’re welcome.” She stroked his rough cheek.

Taking hold of her hand, he kissed her open palm, and then held it against his heart. She snuggled her face against his chest.

“You saved my life last night.”

“I was scared.”

“You did great,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in tighter.

“Nate’s going to have a lot of questions. He was the only one I could think of who might be able to help us.”

“I’ll take care of Nate,” he said, stroking her hair. “But there’s something else you’re going to have to do for me first.”

He pulled her face closer and brushed his lips against hers. She forgot to breathe. He was so strong and tender, hard and soft, all at the same time. She lit up inside for him, but she didn’t think he looked as if he was up for any sextracurricular activities just yet. Not to mention that Nate had done them enough favors, and it wouldn’t exactly be sporting to make use of his bed while he was in the other room.

Deacon broke the kiss and lay back exhausted. He stared at her with serious concern in his ice-gray eyes.

“You’re going to have to take this soul to Purgatory, Ruth.”

Ruth’s eyes grew as big as saucers. That was so not what she’d expected him to ask her. She began to mutter a weak excuse for why that wasn’t possible, but Deacon preempted her protest, placing his thumb over her lips and cradling her quivering chin in his hand.

“Ruth, you can do this. It’s much safer than what you’ve already done for me. I can’t heal quickly enough with this soul inside me. It’s draining. A few more hours and I’ll be the flaccid mess you rescued from the hospital yesterday.”

Fear bloomed in her stomach and flowed to her chest, gripping her heart. The idea of going back to Purgatory with Deacon was frightening enough, but going alone was unthinkable.

She’d already accomplished things that she would have deemed not only impossible but too fantastical to even consider just a week ago. Now he wanted her to do more?

“Will you help me again, Ruth? I need you.”

Damn.

She melted. She closed her eyes and weighed her fear against her growing feelings for Deacon. No contest. She was less than confident, but she had to try.

“Okay.”

“Good girl.” He smiled.

Damn you and your smile, too!

“You’ve already been there, so there’s no need to worry about where you’ll pop out. Just envision the depot where we landed last time. It will be busy and maybe frightening, but remember that it’s a détente there. None of the reapers can hurt you—it’s forbidden. They can speak to you and try to engage you in conversation, but they can’t harm you. Rashnu would smite them before they drew another breath. There is a zero-tolerance policy for violence in Purgatory. That goes for you, too, Ruth. Don’t allow yourself to be taunted into violence of any kind. Rashnu will have no trial or mercy. There are no second chances.”

“Great.”

She couldn’t imagine any scenario in which she’d be punished for being too violent, but still.

“Don’t talk to anything or anyone except Rashnu. Don’t offer him more information than he asks for, but make sure to answer his questions truthfully and
be respectful. As soon as the soul is out of me, I’ll begin to heal, and you’ll get to complete your first reaping.”

She was happy he would heal, but that didn’t assuage her growing anxiety. She would have liked a shot of the orange juice herself, but he didn’t look up to it.

“Come right back here after you deliver the soul. We’ll be waiting for you.”

She flung herself back onto the bed and sighed. So much drama. Yep, she was a drama queen. Deacon smiled at her.

“Let’s do this,” she said with forced enthusiasm.

Deacon rolled onto her, pressing her into the bed. Her insides went gooey as he looked down at her.