Demons Undone: The Sons of Gulielmus Series (14 page)

“Oh, it was nothing. I just wondered if you could take a look at my roof tomorrow and maybe tack my gutters back up. They got shook up real bad during the last hurricane that blew through.”

Ariel nudged his shin with her foot. “You don’t have to. I’ll pay someone to fix it. Don’t let her put you to work. She’ll have you shackled to a toolbox and tinkering with every rusty thing in the house if you let her.” She stabbed her finger in her grandmother’s direction, accusingly. “Momma, you should have told me about the roof. I would have found you a contractor.”

Ms. Morton flicked a dismissive hand at her. “I was getting around to it. Insurance was draggin’ its feet. They just now cut me a check. I figure we can go to the Home Depot tomorrow and pick up some things. I don’t reckon it’ll take you long.” She gave John that beatific smile again — the one that said
You wouldn’t say no to a little old woman, would you?

“Sounds like fun,” John said, choking down a laugh again. “I don’t mind, Ariel.”

“And maybe when you’re done with the roof … ”

“Momma.”

Ms. Morton zipped her lips.

After dinner, John ambled into the small, tidy living room and sank into the plush sofa, waking his phone from his slumber.

Claude had finally checked his text messages.

“Angels? Interesting you should ask, actually. Yes, they’re around. They’re actually a bit more visible than their counterparts at times. Sometimes they just blend into the background and seem to lead normal lives. They tend to intercede whenever one of us tries to stake a claim on someone they’ve been guiding closely.”

“John, do you want a cup of coffee?” Ariel called from the kitchen where she was scrubbing dishes. “Pie’ll be out soon.”

“I’ll wait on the pie. Thanks, sweetpea.”

“I managed to crack into a couple of my old books. I couldn’t find symbology similar to what’s on your palm in all my usual sources, so I decided to look up the opposite team. Perhaps your mother has an angel, or Papa thinks you do.”

John scoffed and brought up a reply screen.
“Wouldn’t I have known if I had an angel? I’m not exactly living a charmed life, here.”

He didn’t expect an immediate response, so he deleted the message history — just in case — and looked up right as Ms. Morton padded into the room bearing a tray. It was piled high with coffee mugs, pie slices, and a half-gallon of ice cream with scoop.

“You folks always eat this well?” he asked.

Ms. Morton sank into the recliner at the end of the coffee table with a huff and immediately put her swollen feet up. “Got a touch of the gout,” she explained.

“Ah.”

“And thank you for the compliment. I remember back in the day when Ariel was a little thing, she used to hate it. All the beans. Little to no meat. I was lucky to get a ham hock back then. Grew on her, though. I guess by the time she was in high school, she didn’t mind it so much. When her little friends came over, though, I tried to do a little better.”

Ariel’s face was so red John worried her proximity would melt the ice cream she was attempting to serve. He thought it was charming for her to be embarrassed, because he got it. He really did.

“Here, let me.” He wrapped his fingers around hers on the scoop and gently pried it away.

“After she went off to work,” Ms. Morton continued, now squinting at the remote control buttons. “She’d send me a few dollars here and there. Used to hurt my pride. Sent them back.”

“Momma … ”

“What?”

“It was the least I could do. I’m not expecting a trophy for it.”

Momma flicked her dishrag at her. “You didn’t have to
do
anything. Didn’t expect you to.”

Ariel’s cheeks flooded. It was obvious the attention made her uncomfortable. Would she have preferred it not being mentioned? Or perhaps he’d just discovered a personality quirk of hers now that they’d added a third person to the mix. What bad could come of a little praise? He tuned back in.

“She paid off my house, John. When I wouldn’t take the money, she used to send the checks to the mortgage company. Of course
they
weren’t going to send them back.”

Ariel’s head was down. She poked her dessert with her fork as if she expected it to bite back.

“I’d get to the bank to pay it for the month, and they’d tell me she’d beat me to it. I don’t how much a junior art director makes, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t enough to pay my mortgage and her Los Angeles rent.”

“Ma.” Now Ariel’s voice was soft. Resigned. “I lived in a studio in the valley. It was a good deal. I think my landlady felt sorry for me. She was so sweet. She used to bring me little angel figurines and set them in my windows.”

John’s grin waned and he had that feeling in his gut again — the same one when Ariel bought those peaches on the roadside. Angel figurines? Why not cats or palm trees?

“She’s good people, John. People tell me I raised her good, but she was always good. Got a good heart.”

Well, that he knew. It was obvious, and he didn’t have to have magic to see it. All he had to do was be near her and he could feel it in her energy. It was apparent in every nervous smile she gave him.

His phone buzzed, and he plucked it out of his pocket while Ariel distributed coffee cups. It was a text message.

Claude said,
“I don’t know, little brother. Maybe he got spooked. Angels and demons feud regularly. I’m not privy to everything that happens to Papa on a daily basis. For him to try to ward you from that side may mean he was worried someone had an eye on you. They may try to rescue you. You want rescue?”

He put the phone away and smiled when Ariel handed him a fork.

Did he want rescue? Only if it meant he’d have a normal life — to spend every Saturday like this one with Ariel and Ms. Morton. If it meant he’d be working for the other team, still traveling the roads like a vagrant in search of a new case, he thought he’d let it pass.

His eyes tracked upward to the decorative cross hanging over the front door, then around the small room and through the kitchen entryway. There was another cross, a wicker one, hanging in the kitchen.

The more he searched, the more holy icons he found. Some were stealthily incorporated into the décor. One of the sofa’s throw pillows, for instance, had a crèche scene. When he looked up at Ms. Morton, he was fondling a cross pendant that hung between her breasts. He squinted and verified that just behind that one, there was a Star of David, and something else John was too ignorant to identify.

She’d watched him scope the room, and now assessed
him
with narrowed eyes.
What must she be thinking? Does she think I’m judging her?

He ended the staring competition and doctored his coffee with sugar.

Maybe all the crosses would keep Gulielmus out, at least for the night, because he sure didn’t want to leave.

• • •

Ariel leaned against the living room archway, watching John tuck sheets into the sofa crease. When he looked up, she tossed a pillow across the room at him.

He caught it handily. “Want to explain to me why your grandmother keeps men’s pajamas handy?” He pointed to his exposed ankles. Naturally, the pants were short.

A scoff passed her lips before she could stifle it. She eased into the room, paused to push the coffee table back a couple of feet so John wouldn’t bump it with his shins in the middle of the night, and had a seat on the sofa arm. “She bought those for my ex. We flew out here last fall for her sixty-fifth birthday and Momma got sick of seeing him strut around in his briefs.”

John didn’t look amused by that story. Just as well, because Ariel wasn’t so amused by telling it. It’d been an awkward trip.

“He was kind of rude when he was here. I was embarrassed, but I knew that was the way he treated his own parents. I don’t know why I expected he would have been
nicer
just because she was my family. I regret bringing him.”

“Is that why … ” He sat in the middle of the sofa and turned so his left arm was over the chair back. “ … you broke up then? Did you break up, I mean?”

“I’m embarrassed to say that, no, unfortunately that didn’t bring me to my senses. We didn’t break up until I got headhunted last month.”

He looked down at his knees. “You’re pretty much on the rebound, then.”

“No, I wouldn’t say that. I was gullible and stupid when I started dating him. The relationship was really … tenuous, I guess. Always was. I was his girlfriend when it was convenient. When he needed a date or a screw. When it wasn’t, he could hardly be bothered to remember my name. It made company-wide meetings somewhat embarrassing for me. People would give me these knowing looks. I think everyone there thought I’d slept my way to my job.” She scoffed again. “It wasn’t even that great of a job, as far as art director gigs go. I hope I’ll be happier here. No. I
know
I’ll be happier. I’m back in my own culture.”

There. Now he probably pitied her. Just as well. Every time she came home, she felt like this pitiful little girl who didn’t have her shit together and damned should have by the age of twenty-six.

It was unreasonable and she knew it. In the scheme of things, she was pretty successful. She had a good job. Steady income. Paid her bills and then some. Truth was, she didn’t really have any expenses. Didn’t spend her money on clothes or vacations. What was left at the end of the month just sat in the bank. Maybe she’d take a vacation and do some sightseeing one day like John had suggested.

“I hope you’re not angry about Momma strong-arming you into fix-it work.”

“It’s okay.” He reached up and pushed back a swath of hair that’d fallen into her eyes. He let his hand linger there by her face, grazing her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I like being helpful. Besides, you drove me a couple thousand miles. I feel like it’s the least I can do.”

“Nah.” She slipped down onto the sofa cushion to give his roaming hand easier access.

He took immediate advantage of it, adding his other hand to the mix and rubbing it up her naked thigh.

“I liked having you with me in the car. It was a wonderful trip. I don’t regret a thing.”

“Neither do I.” His fingers laced through the back of her hair and drew her head closer to his.

She closed her eyes and savored the brush of his lips against hers and the sound of his gentle breaths as he lingered there, caressing her cheek. “I like you, John.”

“I’m glad you like me. Glad you didn’t kick me out of your car, ’cause I like you, too.”

“You sure it’s not just my driving you like?”

His tongue flicked against the seam of her lips, teasing it to open, so she let him in.

He kissed her long and tenderly, and although Ariel knew that on this night the kiss wouldn’t escalate to sex, it somehow seemed the most erotic thing they’d done to date. Maybe it was
because
it was just a kiss and not foreplay. Not a come-on. Not a tease.

He drew back with a sharp inhale and took a moment to catch his breath, resting his forehead against hers. “The driving’s just a bonus. You’re a special woman, Ariel.”

She’d heard
that
before. A couple of times. “Are you about to give me the
it’s not you, it’s me
speech?”

“No. I’m not giving you an escape route. You’re going to have to put up with me.”

“You make that sound like work.”

“You have no idea. Would you be content with being with a man with no education? Who works with his hands for a living?”

“What kind of woman do you think I am?” Of
course
she’d be content. Going home to a man like that every night? Someone who made her feel like the woman she was and not some silly little rube? Who wouldn’t be content? An idiot, probably.

“One that’s too good for me.”

He sounded like he really meant that. She leaned back and gave him a good, hard stare. “What makes you say that?”

“Sweetpea, you picked me up from a roadside. I spent the first twenty-eight years of my life in a cult where I was trained to believe I had no value. I had even less value than some guy’s fourteenth wife. I don’t know how to do a whole lot. I don’t have any friends. I’ll never be able to take you home to meet my mother. I’m rife with dysfunction. You have a life. I’m basically your roadie. You’re the headline event, Ariel.”

She rolled her eyes. “
Stop.
You can have a life, too. You’ve just got to put down some roots somewhere. Figure out where you want to be.”

“I’d follow you to the bottom of the sea and put down roots there if I had to.”

Her cheeks burned and she had to pull her gaze away from his intense blue stare for fear she go lightheaded. She stood. “Don’t stay up too late. Momma gets up early, and five
A.M.
seems especially hellacious when she’s rattling around in the kitchen.”

“You getting up early to go running?”

“No. I think I might just sleep in for a change.”

“What would your grandmother say if I … ” He stood, too, and pushed back that swath of hair that’d fallen into her eyes again, this time tucking it behind her ear. “ … if I slept in your room?”

“What would she say? She wouldn’t
say
anything. She’d just assume.”

“Assume what?”

“That we’re … together. Monogamous. Committed. Right now, she thinks you’re just a friend from way back when.”

“I’m okay with her making assumptions.”

“And are you okay with the slew of questions that’ll go along with it?”

“I’ll figure something out. I’ll make up a whole history for us. It’ll be fantastic.”

“Okay.” She laced her fingers through his and pulled him to his feet. “You’d better grab that pillow then.”

He did.

She led him to her childhood bedroom, now decorated in simple mauve with minimal embellishment, and closed the door. “There’s no air conditioning in here. You’d better take off some of those clothes.”

“Now-now. Walls are pretty thin. Wouldn’t want to wake your grandmother.”

“I can be quiet.”

His doubtful expression didn’t need translation.

“Let’s see if
you
can be.” She hooked her fingers into the elastic waistband of his pants and eased them down. “Have anything else you’ve always wanted to try?”