“How is that not a big deal?” And how had Oliver not brought up the subject? His lips were looser than his morals—well, most of the time, anyway.
“They talked to me and Oliver shortly after we returned. Oliver fed them some story about how we’ve been trying to convince you to turn yourself in. So that’s our official story.”
I shoved my hands into my pockets, grimacing when my hand brushed against a crusted patch of dried blood on my pants. “And they bought that?”
“They think you’re the embodiment of evil. They assumed we were good supernatural folk that got hoodwinked by you. It wasn’t that difficult to convince them.”
I pulled a hand from my pocket to rub my eyes. “So even the seer’s shroud—?”
“We explained it all away,” Leanne said. “I could stand here all night telling you everything we said, but the point is, they believed us, Gabrielle. They believed us.”
Leanne opened the door to the back of the car and tossed her purse inside. “Oliver and I have been encouraged to continue persuading you, so these visits won’t get us into trouble. You really don’t need to be worrying about us.”
I nodded, pressing my lips together. I couldn’t help it. I’d bartered my soul for their lives.
“I’ll see you soon,” she said, and then she stepped into the car.
I stood outside a long time after Leanne’s vehicle drove off, staring into the distance, wishing I could drive off into the night just like she had.
Another car sat in front of Bishopcourt. Its driver leaned against it, smoking a cigarette.
Suddenly, my situation was overwhelming. Intolerable. Hiding here, waiting for death to find me. I glanced over my shoulder, well aware that Andre would have the hissy to end all hissies once he learned that I’d slipped away. And he’d know, thanks to our connection.
I decided I didn’t care. Time for me was running out.
Plus, I had an idea where I wanted to go.
Chapter 24
Jericho Aquinas was a messenger.
That’s what he called himself at least. He wouldn’t elaborate on whom he was a messenger for, but I could guess. The scent of divinity rolled off of him. Like some of the other big players in this game, Jericho was more than just the withered old man he’d have me believe. He moved too fluidly, especially for a man with stooped shoulders and twisted hands.
And, judging by the slight crinkle of his nose, he could smell the damnation wafting off of me.
I watched him press a clothbound book into the shelves of his emporium. I read the spine: The Extraordinarily Long Life of Comte de St. Germain, Vol. III (1706 – 1754).
“Vampire?” I asked? nodding to the book.
“‘Not all that glitters is gold.’”
Yay, another supernatural that spoke in riddles. Awesome.
“Aw, are you going Tolkien on me?” I asked, recognizing the quote.
Jericho peered at me though the thick lenses of his glasses. “I’m impressed you know the quote.”
“Okay, now you’re just trying to be offensive,” I said, folding my arms and leaning my hip against the bookshelf.
A mischievous smile stretched across his face. “Aye, I am, aren’t I? Apologies. And no, the Comte de St. Germain is not a vampire. What is it you’ve come to inquire about?”
Now that was the question. I hoped he could answer that for me, otherwise my little excursion through the town of Douglas to find this place would’ve all been for nothing.
“Nona sent me here.”
He glanced at me sharply. “She did now? How is that wily fate?”
My throat worked. “Dead.”
“Ah. I see,” he nodded. Noticing my face, he patted my shoulder. “Now now, it does you no use to grieve over immortal beings. She’ll be back soon enough. That’s the way of things with fates.”
I nodded, appreciating his words.
Jericho pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and cleaned his glasses. “I’ll be guessing that she wanted you to finally collect on your mother’s deal.”
My attention sharpened at his words. “My mother’s deal?”
The thought that Celeste might’ve stood here and talked to Jericho had my heart twisting.
“Aye. It’s not just fairies and devils that do deals.”
“You mean you bargain as well?” I caught another whiff of divinity; the idea of something pure striking deals with humans seemed outlandish.
“I am a messenger. I do not have the power to make deals, but from time to time I fulfill deals on behalf of Her. Sometimes the Woman herself allows trades to be made—”
Whoa, whoa, whoa. “We are talking about God right now, and not like Satan’s third cousin, twice removed that rules some other land I’d never heard of, right?” I asked.
God was a woman?
“We are.”
I rubbed my temple, pulling my thoughts back on track. “But She doesn’t make deals.”
“Oh, she doesn’t now?” Jericho said, mirth dancing in his eyes.
“No … ?” It came out unsure.
“Isn’t that what prayer is?” he asked.
“But that’s a request, not a bargain,” I argued.
“Ah—but the very act of praying is part of the deal. Faith and love have high currency in our world, and both go into prayer.”
He hobbled down the aisle, pushing his cart of books and knickknacks, coming to a stop in front of a display of lamps and adding a lantern to it.
“Undying light,” he said, nodding to the lantern as he set it on the table.
“So you mean to tell me praying actually works?” Why had I not gotten the memo sooner?
Jericho gave me a chastising look. “Of course it works,” he said as he pushed the cart. “Doesn’t mean every prayer is answered how the person intended. God does indeed move in mysterious ways.”
He stopped again and pushed the cart into an alcove that housed several music boxes and perfumes encased in crystal decanters.
He dusted off his hands. “Follow me,” he said, shuffling to the back of the building. I picked my way through the cluttered store, following him.