Pretty Dark Sacrifice (7 page)

Sensing her unease, Azrael moved closer until his fiery shoulder touched hers, cloaking the chill that was trying to take up residence under her skin.

Do not let your emotions defile this sacrament, Quinn.
His hands gripped the pommels of the two curved swords at his hips, alert and ready to protect and defend.

My presence here is enough to keep them from feeding on the grief pouring from the souls gathered here today, but I fear if you do not hide yours from them, it will tip the scale, and I will not be able to kill them all before they get their claws into your friends. Stay focused. Raise your shield, and by all that is holy, try to control your feelings.

Azrael was right; this was not the time or the place to incite a fight. His echo within her mind smoothed out the wrinkles in her thoughts. It was his job to stand vigil, and he would watch them, keep them safe, while she focused on mourning. Steadying her breathing, she closed her eyes and reinforced the all-encompassing shield against the darkness. Calm steadied her essence.

“Eternal rest, grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them.

May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.”

“Amen,” Quinn added her voice to the others.

When she opened her eyes, the shadows flickered and faded into the background as she closed off her connection to the spirits of the Underworld completely. Azrael nodded his approval. Light streamed through the trees where the shadows had been, painting the world in beautiful amber hues, buoying Quinn’s own spirit.

Aaron’s father and brother approached the small marble headstone. Both were tall and slender, one dark haired, the other gray and haggard. They looked as if they hadn’t slept in weeks. Josh twisted a guitar pick between his fingers, reminding her of Aaron’s nervous habit. His father clasped him on the shoulder and bent, stiff kneed, to place a bouquet of roses beneath Aaron’s name.

Josh knelt at the headstone with his father. He pressed the tip of the plastic plectrum to his lips and placed it next to the flowers. Quinn wanted to run and throw her arms around him then and there, to apologize and beg his forgiveness. She dug a heel into the mud, twisting and grinding it deeper and deeper into the soft ground.

Her movement caught Josh’s attention, and he turned his green eyes, the exact shade of emerald as Aaron’s, swollen and rimmed in red, on Quinn. Her breath caught in her throat, and she gasped. His fierce glare, filled with pain and accusations, pierced her heart. Guilt etched itself on her face, and she quickly looked away. She couldn’t blame him, any of them, for their sidelong looks and hushed whispers. This was her fault, after all. Soon there would be nothing left but empty grief for an empty grave.

“Receive Aaron James Collier into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints of light. Amen.”

Reese had an arm tight around Marcus, her soft sobs muffled against his heaving chest.

“Amen,” they all said in unison. Once those final words were spoken, people filed past the marker, placed a flower or a trinket on the soft earth, and then scattered to the wind. Off to grab a coffee, back to work, to move on with life. Even Josh and his dad didn’t stick around for hugs and condolences. Weeks of waiting and wondering must have left them drained. To them, this was the end of it, say goodbye and move on, something they’d had more experience with than most. Quinn wished they could teach her how. Together, they turned their backs and walked, stiff and halting, back to the waiting red pick-up.

“You coming?” Cade hugged his sister and she shook her head.

“I need a minute. You go on.”

Cade nodded and followed their dad out of the cemetery and into the parking lot.

As the cemetery emptied, Quinn, Reese, Marcus, and Jenna gathered around the grave. Four pillars crumbling under a sky full of heartache, the last ones to see him alive.

Aaron had no idea how long it had been since he’d been ripped away from his glimpse of nirvana, but the vortex slowed again, suspending him in front of a red door with a brass handle this time. He turned away. The door turned with him, placing itself directly in front of him. Closing his eyes didn’t help either; the door still floated in the blackness, taunting him. He shook his head. Whatever was behind this door wasn’t something he was ready to face. When the handle turned, his whole body trembled. And then the portal swung open, and Aaron’s stomach rolled.

Beyond the door, Quinn, in a tight black dress, stood in the cemetery of St. Angeles. Sunglasses swallowed her face, hiding her eyes from his. Misery and remorse pulsed through her, and he could feel every tear falling from her cheek. Her emotions jumbled inside her like a box of broken glass, each one slicing into his soul as she mourned the loss of someone she loved. Aaron swallowed the boulder in his throat. Not just anybody—him. This was his funeral.

“Quinn!” His voice sounded hollow, empty. “I’m here. Look at me.” She stared at the ground; he felt guilt pinch her gut as his name crossed her lips like a prayer. Could she sense him? The longing to hold her in his arms overwhelmed him, and he balled his fists at his sides. Aaron ached to run to her, but he remained trapped in the dark tunnel that held him, forced to be a voyeur to her pain. Would the torture ever end? If he could get through the portal, he would be home, with her. Closing his eyes, he focused all his thoughts on walking through the doorway and into the cemetery, but his body was stuck, suspended between life and death.

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.” He sent out his appeal, a steady knock against the door that could bring him home. Quinn could bring him home, if she would just look at him. “Please, look at me. Please help me. I want to come home. Dammit. Look at me!” Fingers clawed at the air, and his soul begged to be released.

They all stared at his headstone for what seemed like a lifetime, each wrapped up in their own thoughts, none of them ready to say their goodbyes. Wind moaned and bellowed through the ruins, rattling the broken stained glass windows of the long forgotten chapel. It set Quinn on edge, and she shuffled her feet and stared at the ground, afraid that if she looked at anyone, she would crack into a million pieces.

Marcus was the first to break the silence. Shoulders heaving, he stiffly stepped forward to face Aaron’s memorial and fell to his knees. Tremors rocked his hands; his chin trembled as he pursed his full, dark lips. Reese trembled with him, patting his shoulder, running a finger through his dark, wiry hair, whispering, soothing even as her own emotions got the best of her. Quinn bit her lip and sniffed. No crying allowed. This was a memorial and nothing more. No body, no casket, no internment.

When Jenna began singing “What If You,” one of Aaron’s favorite songs, in tribute, her clear, rich alto tones wrapped around Quinn’s heart and tugged hard. Blood, metallic and warm on her tongue, trickled from the side of her mouth where her teeth tore at her inner cheek. Each note crumbled a little more of her resistance. Aaron should be singing with Jenna, catching the harmony and weaving through the music, perfect partners. He’d survived the car crash that killed his mother and sister, survived an attempted suicide, only to drown for the sake of saving her. An ultimate act of heroism she didn’t deserve. And worse, he died not knowing how she really felt. Empty grave, empty soul.

A wail erupted from Marcus’s throat that echoed through Quinn’s bones. She wanted to comfort him, share his pain, but something held her back. No right to mourn with him when she was the reason for his torment.

Jenna knelt on the other side of Marcus, linking her arm with Reese’s around his back, finishing the song in soft overtones into his ear, the three of them freely mourning. They didn’t invite her into their grief, and she didn’t intrude. Instead, she stood apart, an outsider.

“This isn’t your fault.” Jenna directed her statement to Marcus, but something about the way she stressed the word
your
, made Quinn squirm. Jenna didn’t have to say it. Quinn knew perfectly well whose fault it was.

“Jenna’s right. You did everything you could to save him.” Reese stroked his back and kissed his cheek. “Quinn’s here because of you. We could have lost them both. You’re a hero.”

Quinn wanted to say something, to agree, but every time she started to speak, her mouth turned dry as burnt toast.

Marcus shook his head and balled his fist. “I’m no hero.” He pulled something shiny from his suit pocket, a round golden medal on a red ribbon. His hand shook as he rubbed his swimming champion medallion between his thumb and finger. “He’s the true hero.” He placed the trophy next to the guitar pick.

“You’re both heroes,” Jenna added, looking sidelong at Quinn through long, dark eyelashes.

Quinn didn’t know what they wanted her to say, didn’t even know what
she
wanted to say, so she stared at the ground instead. Words, thoughts, feelings jumbled up inside her, and she didn’t know how to start piecing them together. Her head throbbed, and she rubbed the scab of her healing scalp wound.

Chaos and tragedy had engulfed her friends while she was stuck between, unconscious in this realm and listening to Azrael drone on about destiny and choice in another. Every precious second she wasted debating on that rock, Aaron struggled to keep her afloat, his energy draining away, fighting for his life while she selfishly debated if she had anything left to live for.

I’ll never forget the desperation in Marcus’s screams.
Reese’s words echoed through her soul, and she choked back a sob.

Regret flowed through her, pumping her heart full of “what if’s.” If she could go back and trade her life for Aaron’s, she would. She should have been the one washed out to sea. It had been her death wish, her selfishness that killed him. Aaron was gone. Quinn ached at the thought. He left a gaping hole inside her that only he could fill. She loved him, and he would never know it.

“Aaron,” Quinn whispered his name as benediction, tears springing unbidden and down her cheeks. All the placating words in the world couldn’t bring him back now.

Clouds passed across the sun. Quinn shivered and drew her scarf tighter around her neck. Something tugged at the edge of her consciousness. The sense of Aaron’s presence overwhelmed her, and she turned.

A shadow, long and dark, moved within the ruins of the old, gothic church, twisting and writhing, taking shape.

Azrael’s wings unfurled, and his fingers hovered over the grip of his swords.
What do you see?
he asked, and she sensed his confusion. It was invisible to him then. Strange. Pressing her finger to her lips, she shushed her Sentinel and crept closer.

“Quinn?” Reese and Jenna both stood, questioning. It was the first time they’d acknowledged her, but she didn’t care. There was only one person in the cemetery she wanted to see right now. Walking right past them, she followed the dark mass weaving between the crumbling markers. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she fought to keep her barrier intact, but the light waxed and waned as the shadow grew closer. Something about it seemed familiar. The light barrier she’d constructed around her pulsed as the thing glided past her to stand behind Marcus.

Quinn’s defenses throbbed again, and as she approached, the shape began to reinvent itself. First came two legs to stand on, then hips, torso, two arms. A long neck surged upward and bounced back like a rubber man, snapping into human shape. One she recognized. She stripped her psychic armor down to nothing. She didn’t care; she had to see him, all of him.

With a flicker, the shadow changed from gray to full color, dark hair, green eyes, rugged face twisted in pain. Had he come to mock her? An angry ghost seeking revenge on her for his death? He reached for her. Ropes tightened around her chest, and she dared not breathe.

“What’s going on?” Reese tapped her foot and glared at Quinn.

“I see him, Reese.”

“Who?” Reese asked.

“Aaron,” she whispered and reached a hand to him. “He’s here.”