Pure & Sinful (Pure Souls) (20 page)

MARC: MUST SPEAK TO YOU IN PRIVATE. PLEASE STOP BY MY PLACE AROUND 9-R

“Fuck me.” His hand slapped over his mouth when he realized what he’d said in the house of the Lord. Looking up into the ether, Marc frantically whispered, “Sorry!” and swore he heard a forbidding roll of thunder from the skies above.

Of course, he couldn’t go. Of that, he had no doubt. Dee was right; he and Riona couldn’t be trusted alone. Now that he had tasted her lips, felt the euphoria of stirring desire within her, the anticipation of being inside her — it was too much to take, too much to resist. He’d been able to write off a lot of his actions to Asmodeus’s lust charm, but that didn’t explain the other times he’d been on the edge of slamming her into a wall and ravaging her. When they ended up in the hot tub together at the gym, his body pressed against hers as they made their escape… Pushing her against the lockers at St. Cecilia’s... Hell, even just seeing her way back when she slayed her first demon, sending that opportunistic demon scum of an ex-boyfriend packing, he felt dangerously drawn to her. He had to fight with his own judgment telling him that Riona was his woman to protect.

His inherent guilt manifested in the sensation that someone was watching him. Marc reminded himself that as a Pure Soul, he was sensitive to paranormal environments. Churches always had a low-level buzz of spirituality. He didn’t know exactly how hiding in the broom closet as he messaged Riona was going to shake that feeling for him, but he felt like too much of a dolt doing it in the rectory.

Panting like a beagle on a Mississippi afternoon in August, the response made with hands shaking was almost too much to hit the right keys and proved difficult: I’LL CALL D & SEE WHEN WE CAN BE THERE.

NO. ONLY YOU. PLEASE???

He shook his head like she could see him. BAD IDEA.

WHY?

Did she really have to ask? 

ALMOST DAMNED US BOTH LAST NIGHT. WILL NOT DO THAT TO YOU.

THAT’S WHAT I WANT TO TALK ABOUT. AFRAID I DAMNED MYSELF. NEED TO ASK FORGIVENESS.

NOTHING TO FORGIVE. I DON’T HOLD IT AGAINST YOU.

?? NOT FROM YOU. FROM HIM.

As though she sensed his confusion, a few seconds later, his puzzled expression dissolved in the echo of his phone’s message alert.

GOD.

YOU’RE NOT A CATHOLIC. NOT EVEN CHRISTIAN.

DOES GOD CARE ONLY FOR CHRISTIANS? AM I NOT WORTHY OF HIS FORGIVENESS?

EVERYONE PENITENT IS WORTHY.

HELP ME. HELP ME ASK HIS FORGIVNESS.

What could he do? Had he not made a vow to the church to come to the aid of all those who sought such guidance? Riona may not be Christian, but she was sincere. If she was asking for his help on this, he knew her well enough to know she wasn’t making it up. Everyone had a dark night of the soul. After what they’d nearly done the night before, it stood to reason that the witch was doing some serious reflection too. Dee wouldn’t understand, of course. He was patient with Marc’s faith, but was relieved beyond measure when he learned that Riona was just as pagan as he was. If she were in a fragile state, like it sounded that she was, she didn’t need that sort of sarcastic tone regarding doctrine and discipline of his at the moment.

With a sigh and a silent prayer for strength and resolve, Marc opened the closet door.

I’LL BE THERE IN TWENTY MINUTES.

Chapter 21

How the hell could so much sleep get crusted in the corner of his eyes when he’d barely caught a wink?

Dee swigged the last bitter drops of coffee as he sat at his desk. Behind him, Suzette gathered up the files of the new members in preparation for his weekly review. A curious look overcame her features when he requested the stack; Dee generally did his review on weekends when she wasn’t there. Still, she wasn’t about to tell him no. Especially not since he paid her so well for the relatively small amount of work he asked of her.

He needed a pen, but the items on his desk were playing an impromptu round of hide-and-seek with all writing utensils. As the demigod shoved invoices and old envelopes left and right, a small pixel of blonde hair from the bottom of the pile caught his eye. There was no mistaking what it was; he just didn’t think he had any more copies of that picture lying about.

Her grey eyes were just as beautiful as he remembered. How often he used to whisper to her that he could see his purpose in those languid orbs of hers. Clare had been more than just a Pure Soul, she had been the most beautiful woman, both inside and out, that he had ever had the honor to hold. He would have loved her even if she hadn’t been a kickass witch, or if she’d been as ugly as a polecat, or if she hadn’t had that enduring refusal to take any of his goading. She had just the right dose of attitude balanced by enduring compassion. The perfect woman, as his father was fond of saying, was a gazelle during the day and a tiger in the night. As much as Dee hated his father’s objectification of the fairer sex, he’d hit the nail on the head with that one. Clare made his heart melt and his head spin. She loved him too much for her own good. Perhaps if she’d been a little less self-sacrificing, cared for him a smidgen less than she had, maybe she’d still be alive. Dee had yet to find a way not to blame her death ultimately on himself, no matter what the others told him at the time.

“Pretty girl,” Suzette eyed the photo as she set the files down in front of her employer. Dee held it up for her to examine closer; her interest was obvious and sincere. “Old girlfriend?”

“Something like that,” he admitted dryly. “Wife, actually.”

Suzette, whose curves, while a little worn by life, could still turn a straight man’s eye, play-slapped Dee’s shoulder. “Get out! I didn’t know you were married!”

“Not anymore.” With an exhale, he let his hand lower. He pulled out a desk drawer and let the photo fall unceremoniously before gently pushing it shut. “She passed away.”

“Oh, Mr. Zitka! Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t know.”

Dee reached up to Suzette’s trembling hands and pulled them away from her gaping mouth. “It’s okay, Suze. I don’t talk about her much. It still hurts once in a while.”

Which was a lie. It hurt every day.

“I loved her, but she’s been gone for a long time.”

“But you miss her.”

He nodded as he presently pulled the blonde gently into his lap. “Of course.”

“Mr. Zitka, if I can ever, ever do anything to…”

He knew he was just dulling the ache, but Suzette wasn’t exactly in the habit of refusing an occasional dalliance when he needed comfort. He never pressured her; their first time had been born of her initiation. A single mom, she was dedicated to raising her teenage son, and was doing a damned fine job of it, too. She didn’t want the complication of a relationship. She and Dee had an unofficial arrangement. Every so often, he let her find a temporary solace in his arms. No strings attached, and no loss to their friendship.

He’d given Suzette a key to his upstairs apartment, both for matters of business and as a means of access. As sadness grabbed him, he felt drawn to that lonesome and waiting bed. He wanted to pass a few minutes in taking this fine woman there and letting her touch paradise as he brought her body to the heights of Olympus and back. He knew she would be willing to let him bury his sorrow in her, to pass a few moments in indulgent bliss. 

For a moment, the invitation danced on his tongue. When it came down to it, however, what he really needed at the moment was sleep and serenity. Knowing she wouldn’t take his denial as rejection, he leaned his head against her chest and listened to her heartbeat.

“Not tonight, Suzette, but thanks.”

She took his chin in her hands and turned his face up to hers, kissing him gently on the lips. “Anytime, Dee. I know what it’s like. Anytime.”

A clearing throat brought both of their attentions to the office door, which must have been open the whole time, and to the ashen-faced woman trembling in the frame.

Riona stood, blank-faced and curious. “I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry if…” Her head dashed wildly to the side; her body followed. “I can come back later. I’m sorry.”

Rising to her feet, Suzette trailed a finger down Dee’s chin. Even though he knew tonight wasn’t to be, his lips couldn’t help parting when her fingertips made contact. “Seriously, Dee. Anytime.”

And without an ounce of shame or apology, she left the room.

Riona oozed through the door, sullen and sulky. Clearly she’d not been a victim of the sandman either. Where the hell did that bastard fairy spend his time these days?

To hell with coffee. Time to get tipsy.

From another drawer of his desk, Dee took out two glasses and a bottle of ouzo. “Have a seat, Riona. I can see you feel like I look.”

“On the contrary, Dee, the last thing I feel is half-Greek god and strong as steel.” Her fingers beckoned with a twitch. “More.”

“You sure? This isn’t exactly a wine cooler.”

“The blood of generations of Irishmen runs through my veins. Don’t insult me, Dionysus Zitka. Booze is like breath, as my grandda would say.”

When a woman asked nicely, Dee felt compelled to oblige. But she’d be feeling that double shot in the morning, that’s for sure. Hopefully, despite a nasty hangover, intoxication would grace both of them with a bit of shut-eye too.

“I didn’t mean to be so harsh,” he offered by way of a spontaneous apology, remembering how she’d been badger-killing mad at him the night before. “It’s just, I don’t want to see something bad happen to either one of you. Marc’s been my best friend for three years, and I’m pretty sweet on you too.” He took a swig of the alcoholic ambrosia and hissed. “In a totally professionally, or big brotherly type of way, that is.”

“Pfft! Don’t mention it.” Riona tipped a sip and growled as the burning liquid slipped over her palate. “Damn, that is some strong stuff. It’s cool, Dee. We sort of deserved it. Me especially.”

“How so?”

He would have sworn her feet were shuffling just out of his line of vision. “Marc’s not to blame. I was pushing him. I felt the charm, yeah, but he got himself together enough to back away. Or at least he was trying to, before I decided he was going to be a human jungle gym.”

Dee waved his hand through the air dismissively. “Lesson learned, right? I think you guys will be fine, as long as you listen to me and don’t let yourselves be alone again. But if that’s really how it went down, I think you owe Our Good Father an apology.”

Leaning forward, she placed the empty glass on the corner of his desk. “That’s why I’m here, actually. That, and Lucy convinced me to stop by. I was sort of hoping you wouldn’t mind going with me to see him.”

Dee arched an eyebrow. “Lucy? Shagging-on-the-shag-rug girl?”

The memory of looking up from where she lay with Lucy on her living room floor, and seeing Dee and Marc’s gaping expressions returned to her. “Oh, my God. Is that what you guys call her?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You discuss the near ballroom bump you and Marc had with your girlfriend?”

The witch flushed. “She’s
not
my girlfriend. Not that it’s any of your business, but we haven’t ‘shagged.’ And no, not in detail.  No mention of demons or goddess half-sisters, that’s for sure. Lucy said I should be the bigger man and try to make peace.”

“Lucy sounds like she knows her stuff.”

“Well, she’s an HR person. A recruiter of some kind, I think. Yeah, she’s been pretty cool about my moodiness through all this.”

“But you’re not an item?” There may have just been an inappropriate tone of idle curiosity in his voice.

“We never really got to that point, though I kinda thought we were heading that way for a while. Thing is, she suspected there was someone else. She came right out and asked me this morning. I must have worn the answer on my face like a seaweed facial, because I didn’t have to say a thing.” Her somber eyes looked up to Dee. Her sadness almost crushed him. “Oh, God, Dee. I didn’t even realize I was telling her before it all came tumbling out. I told her that I love him. And I do, Dee. I love Marc. What in the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

He didn’t know what to do for her, what to say. With a quick step, he rounded the desk and pulled her into what he hoped was a comforting embrace. “I don’t know, sweetie, but ain’t nothing wrong with love, so love him.” He stroked her hair and gave a half-laugh. “Just try to point the needle as far towards platonic as possible, okay?”

“You mean, don’t let his
needle
point towards me?”

He kissed her forehead. “Exactly.”

The steady tick of the wall clock counted out the minutes. Riona cried, Dee held her. Like a sister, like a friend. He knew the longing of an unfilled heart. He would stay there for as long as she wanted him. But Riona, of course, wasn’t going to indulge this sappy-sappy any longer than necessary. A few minutes later, she drew the line and swallowed the tears. With a half-sob, she smiled up at him through the thick jail of his muscled arms.

“When I got your text asking me if I wanted to talk about what happened last night, Lucy said it was a divine sign for me to head over here. So, you game?”

Dee’s eyebrows knitted closer than mittens on a drip line. “Text message?” He picked up his phone from his desk and brought up his message file. “What text message?”

“The one where you said ‘Don’t be too down. I’m at the gym if you need me.’”

Confusedly, he showed her his screen. “I haven’t texted you since last night when I said Marc and I would meet you outside the club.”

Riona, likewise, held up her phone and showed him the alleged message.

For the longest three seconds in either one of their lives, they stared at each other.

“You have your car here?” Dee shouted as he pocketed his phone and turned off the lights.

“Yeah, around back.” She was bursting at the seams. “We could be wrong, right? This doesn’t mean anything evil is going on. I mean, there’s no such thing as tech demons, right? This could all be nothing? Some kid playing a joke? Ramiel and one of his pranks?”

As though summoning a genie from his lamp, the harkened angel in question materialized between them. Riona screamed in shock and Dee rammed into him like a cartoon character into a brick wall.

“Not me.” The angel interjected himself straight into the conversation. “Not by a long shot. It’s bad, y’all. Really bad. Bad enough to make me do this.”

The angel’s left arm flew out, his fingers flexing as though curling around the handle of a broom. When he jerked the appendage back in towards his chest, his grip was filled with a green-skinned, blue-eyed, trembling demon dressed in cheap khakis and a Punky Brewster t-shirt.

“Jerry?”

Riona hoped Dee didn’t like the color of his office walls, because her head was going to explode any second.