Reap & Repent (21 page)

Deacon clammed up after that, and they rode the consecrated subway to three more cemeteries, repeating the process with no luck. Two more possibilities remained on the list for the night. Both were at East Lawn Cemetery.

* * *

At almost eight acres, East Lawn Cemetery was another one of the larger cemeteries in town. To Ruth’s relief, though, it was tucked away from the main streets. The downside was that the streetlights were far enough away that the numerous trees made it almost impossible to navigate until their eyes adjusted. One by one, the white headstones appeared out of the darkness like blooming moon flowers.

Ruth’s night vision obviously wasn’t as good as Deacon’s. She could make out shapes but little else as she shivered in the cool evening air. Her discomfort wasn’t entirely caused by the temperature. Something was off here.

They were being watched.

They rounded a large crypt with a marble angel perched on top and stepped into the path of some sort of animal scurrying through the cemetery. Ruth jumped and gave a little squeak.

Deacon didn’t even flinch as the raccoon raced by—instead he studied the direction from which it had come. Something had frightened it. A dog would likely have been racing along behind it already if it had been the culprit.

Ruth squinted hard into the darkness, trying to make out the shapes and forms around her. Deacon’s hand began to glow with white light. He closed his fist, holding it over his head until it radiated like a giant flashlight. Projecting the ball of energy in the direction the raccoon had come from, he watched as it exploded into a camera flash of light upon its impact with the ground.

It was long enough to see the silhouette of a man standing just outside the perimeter of the cemetery grounds. The smell of sulfur wafted across the cemetery.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Deacon cursed.

“What?”

“It’s
another
fucking demon.”

The demon, who most assuredly was
not
Kylen, was standing just outside the perimeter of the cemetery, at least a hundred feet away.

Planning and researching a confrontation in her mind was much different than executing it. A prayer whispered through her head. She didn’t want to screw this up.

“Stay here, Ruth. When I tell you to go home, do it. Don’t hesitate,” Deacon whispered in the darkness.

She nodded, hoping he saw her response. Her throat closed with fear. She wasn’t any kind of hero, nor did she feel all that lucky. The one thing she could do was put her trust in Deacon.

* * *

Deacon approached the demon, projecting confidence and determination. Knowing that he was well armed didn’t calm the turmoil in his heart. Keeping Ruth safe was first and foremost on his agenda. He’d expected Kylen, not
another
demon. They were multiplying like rabbits. Why did they keep appearing in Meridian? It wasn’t that strange for one, maybe two, to “leak” out into a territory from time to time, but this?

He drew his scythe, challenging the demon. No need for a lot of talk. The demon brandished a small knife, and Deacon nearly laughed out loud. At least this time the odds were a little more in his favor. Deacon carried no souls and his weapon was much, much larger. There was no way to know how many souls the demon might have harvested, but considering the quickly deteriorating flesh on its human host, it was safe to assume he was near capacity. The bastard needed an upgraded ride in the worst way.

One thing he did know was that it hadn’t gotten its bounty from the cemetery. Demons couldn’t cross consecrated ground unless they possessed a reaper or some other holy ride. Hospitals and accident scenes were a different story. It was quickly becoming a game of Whac-A-Mole. Put one demon down, and another popped up.

Could this night get any more fubar?

An added bonus: unlike Deacon, the demon could choose to abandon its body if things went south. It had nothing but a shell to lose. Deacon had a whole hell of a lot more at stake.

Of course, dead was never really dead in the supernatural world. The best he could hope for was that the demon would stream away to the portal to Hell, wherever it was, and disappear like the others. He flicked open his scythe and made his move.

The demon squared off and crouched low, twirling the knife in its right hand as it cocked its head to the side, staring at him with its black eyes. It didn’t advance, but it didn’t retreat either. It was acting damn strange actually.

It couldn’t enter the cemetery but it
could
retreat.
Should
retreat. It was no secret what Deacon was.

Deacon made a wide swipe through the air in a long slashing X pattern, trying to get a rise out of the thing and spur it to some action. Instead, the beast stayed right where it was, as if it were content to let him walk right up and slice its head off.

But as Deacon finally crossed from the consecrated grounds and came within striking distance, everything went haywire. The demon threw the knife toward Deacon’s torso like a dagger, and then pulled out another from behind its back. When Deacon dodged to miss the blade, the demon darted along the edge of the cemetery, finally running away.

Right to where Ruth now stood.

* * *

Ruth wasn’t even sure what she planned to do until she found herself climbing over the fence, several hundred yards down from where Deacon was
confronting the demon. She thought that if she could get behind the thing she might be able to distract it enough for Deacon to finish it off.

And no. It wasn’t a great plan. Especially considering the puny weaponry she brandished: a silver kitchen knife and table salt. Terrifying.

The one thing she wasn’t going to do was stand by and allow another one of those bastards to hurt Deacon.

She’d just passed over the wrought-iron rail, careful not to puncture her more sensitive areas with the pointy spikes on top, when she looked over to track their progress. The demon was closing in…on her.

A sound she didn’t even know she could make escaped her as she fumbled for the little knife and closed her hand around a pocketful of salt grains. It was the equivalent of throwing sand in a bully’s face, but it had worked for her once. She just didn’t know if she could stand her ground as the hideous thing charged her.

“Ruth, run! Back to the cemetery. Go home!”

She wanted to. She really, really did because the folly of the situation wasn’t lost on her as the demon came ever closer, Deacon a few paces behind it. The problem was that she was frozen like an armadillo in headlights, and by the time she decided to move…it was too late.

* * *

Deacon brought his scythe down onto the back of the demon’s neck in one powerful stroke, and watched the head fall at Ruth’s feet. It was quickly followed by the bastard’s body, which tumbled across the lawn, folding into a pile like a
train wreck. Seconds later, the black demon streamed out of the open cavity, and Deacon’s heart stopped. Instead of flowing away, it headed directly for Ruth.

It wanted a new host.

Demons couldn’t enter a reaper without being invited. Apparently, this one hadn’t gotten the memo. When Ruth opened her mouth to scream, the abomination silenced her with its filthy essence, trying to force its way into her.

Ruth’s eyes were wide with fear, and Deacon all but lost his mind as he began to manifest the most powerful energy he’d ever conjured. He grabbed hold of Ruth’s head, one hand on either side of her face, and pushed bright blue energy into her with a force that would have vegetated a human upon impact.

Seeming to understand what was at stake, Ruth somehow managed to summon her own energy, which sparked and crackled against Deacon’s, merging into a bright blue orb around them both. The demon backed out but remained trapped within the orb. Its dark black essence grew light gray the longer it was exposed to their light. It filled the space around them until Deacon drew it inside of himself like a reaped soul. It streamed into him and the blue light instantly faded. When he looked back at the body, three souls hovered above it, reformed beside their broken shuttle. Drawn by the force of his energy like a vortex, they streamed into him, as well.

Stunned, Deacon backed away from Ruth, waiting for the beast to overtake him. He wasn’t sure what the bastard might make him do. Maybe he’d even make him kill Ruth. He felt so full of both good and evil that he thought he might burst at the seams.

Deacon looked back at Ruth. She wiped tears away with both her palms and started to come toward him. “No. Stay away from me. You have to go home. Nate can protect you.”

“No, I won’t leave you again.”

“It’s only a matter of time before the demon takes me over. I’m surprised it didn’t happen immediately. Go, Ruth. Go before I can’t control my actions.”

She hesitated, frozen in place once again.

“Now, Ruth!” His harshness was enough to break her out of her shock. “Go while you still can.”

“Deacon, no!”

“Do it!”

Ruth blinked at his ferocity but scrambled back over the fence with tears in her eyes. He hated himself already. And he knew the answer to the question that had haunted him for years. How could Kylen have ever let something like this happen? How could he have chosen to become possessed?

Now he knew.

“Go!” he spat at her with as much force as he could muster.

She finally began to shimmer and dissipate before his eyes, leaving him alone in the cemetery to deal with his demons. And a decapitated body.

Perfect.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Deacon crossed back into the cemetery and steadied himself against a large crypt wall, trying to ground himself. Between the demon and the three souls he’d just consumed, his insides felt like a macabre kaleidoscope of swirling colors and emotions. He expected his free will to be overcome at any moment. God help the souls when that happened.

God help him, as well.

He wished he could purge them all, souls included. But there was only one place he could even hope to accomplish that. Maybe if he could make it to Purgatory in time there might still be a chance to rid himself of the fiend.

Then there was the body to contend with. Normally he’d find a place to dispose of it, but he didn’t think there was time. Improvising, he carried the corpse and its head back to one of the larger crypts, popped the lock with a blast of orange and threw them inside. He locked the padlock again and memorized the name above the door, hoping the Summerall family didn’t have a lot of frequent visitors.

He paced in front of the crypt, wasting even more precious time trying to make up his mind. Now that Ruth was out of his immediate reach and hopefully safe at home, the souls were his most important consideration.

Worst-case scenario: he’d be overcome by the demon in Purgatory, causing him to make a scene, and Rashnu would smite him.

Best-case scenario: he didn’t hold out much hope for a best-case scenario.

Once again he’d sent Ruth away unprepared and unarmed. Of course, the alternative was no better: frying pan or fire.

He replayed the events over and over in his mind. The demon had appeared to be waiting for him. So where was Kylen?

His head hurt. His
heart
hurt. He wanted the demon inside him destroyed. Good and dead. Since it hadn’t made a peep yet, he had no idea of its name, so exorcism was out.

And who knows if Nate can really do what he says he can.

Deacon wasn’t equipped to do the job himself, having never successfully captured a demon. Reaping them had never occurred to him as an option…until it was his
only
option. And now? He’d give anything to be rid of the evil force inside him.

Realizing that Rashnu was his only hope was one of the worst parts of the situation. He’d almost rather make a deal with the Devil than that pompous asshole angel, but Deacon was confident that Rashnu would know how to destroy the demon permanently, or that he could at least lead him to someone who could. He needed permanent. For all their sakes. Because
two
demon-possessed reapers on the loose would not end well for anyone.

He willed himself to the one place he might seek refuge.

* * *

Landing in Purgatory, Deacon strode toward Rashnu, his rage increasing with each step as the demon pulsated within him. He hoped he had enough time left to state his case.

The reaper hoards parted in front of him as he stalked across the depot. Surrounded by a glowing bright white light, which—he realized with surprise—was his own aura manifesting, electric-blue sparks danced from his fingertips as he made his way.

He was death incarnate. And Death was pissed.

* * *

Rashnu raised his eyes to the spectacle approaching his platform. Looking down at his doppelgänger at the other end of the depot, he gave a silent signal. The queue before him turned in unison to face Rashnu’s alter-self, making their way to the other end of the platform, well out of the wake of the approaching storm.

Through all the many millennia Rashnu had been the soul sorter in Purgatory, he had known only one other Potentate that had risen the ranks. It took a special combination of lineage, skills, talent and motivation to create such an entity. The stars had to be aligned just so. Grim had been the strongest, the most powerful, and until recently, the
only
Potentate.

But Grim had ascended and there was a vacancy to be filled. As Rashnu watched the light and dark energy emanating from Deacon, he was all but certain there was a new sheriff in town.

* * *

Deacon grimaced as the reapers parted, giving him a wide berth on his way to Rashnu. It occurred to him he felt…good. Really good.

Pissed, but good.

Traveling through the consecrated subway had somehow revitalized him, making him feel more powerful and electrified than he’d felt in the cemetery. He was certain that this feeling and the new aura were signs that the demon’s tentacles were digging in and preparing to overtake him. His nerves were tight as springs, ready to snap into action. Still, whatever the reason, he felt energized. Alive. And all but crackling with power.