Pure & Sinful (Pure Souls) - By Killian McRae Page 0,22
gander at her from head to foot. Her red hair gave greasy an updated look, and lay like saucy, sticky spaghetti clumps. Her fair skin, usually well-hydrated and powder smooth, sported blotches and paste as though hung in a modern art museum. Riona could at least boast clean clothes, but wrinkles creased the fabric as though she slept in that same exact Nike tee last night and hadn’t bothered to change.
“How’re the luggage sales going?”
Riona cocked her head to the side.
“Sorry, but given those bags under your eyes, thought you opened up your own store.”
She expelled a hefty sigh. “I wish.” Her eyes lost focus as she looked away. “Haven’t been sleeping well. Bad dreams and stuff. And, oh yeah, then Ramiel showed up.”
Dee dropped his pencil, leaning back in his chair and treating her to a healthy chuckle. “Uh-oh, looks like they’ve decided you’re ready to assume your jurisdiction. You must have really knocked their socks off, going after your ex and all. So, what’s the job this time?”
Her face screwed up. “Something we’re going to need Marc’s help with. A lot.”
The witch fell silent, as though all her energy were being used just to breathe in and out.
“Hey, Riona?” Slowly her eyes focused in on him. “Honey, really, you don’t look so good.”
She threw her hands up and scoffed, “Dreams, Dee. The dreams are getting to me.”
He nodded, like it wasn’t exactly news to him. “I know the fat load of good this doesn’t do to tell you, but being the Keystone, your dreams are going to be a lot more vivid now. Especially bad ones. You’re tapped into everyone’s psychic mojo, and your subconscious is going to try to sort all that out at night. Downside of magic. But you are still human. You’ve got to get a handle on this. Without sleep, you’re going to be useless.”
Her sarcasm clearly wasn’t affected by her insomnia. “Yeah, Dee, thanks. Sleep, right. I’ll get right on that. Why didn’t I think of that while I lay awake all last night?”
Rising from his chair, Dee circled the desk. He sneaked an arm behind Riona’s back and guided her through the door.
“Come on, sweetie. The gym doesn’t open for another half-hour. Why don’t you go hang out in the hot tub and relax a bit? Let your muscles get a little TLC. Then I’ll take you to my apartment upstairs so you can get some sleep.”
Even as he led her towards the women’s locker room, she felt the pain in her head begin to subside. Wow, the power of suggestion, she concluded. Maybe Ramiel was right. Maybe what she needed wasn’t more ibuprofen or coffee, but just the proximity of her teammates. Odd, though, that Dee’s presence alone was enough to begin easing her anxiety. She thought she’d need Marc nearby too.
“I don’t have a swimsuit,” she tried to argue, though a little voice in the back of her head was telling her to shut the hell up and find the hot tub already.
“Don’t need one. No one else will be in there until at least seven. Just don’t stay in too long. Leave your clothes in one of the lockers in the women’s room. Plenty of towels to wrap up in afterward. Come grab me when you’re done and I’ll take you upstairs.” He laughed into the back of her hair. “I promise, it’s cleaner than my office.”
“Thanks, Dee, you’re so sweet.”
“No problem, sunshine. Just trying to make sure our fearless leader gets what she needs.”
CHAPTER 8
Whatever mojo Dee had worked, the healing magic regulated itself to Marc’s arm and disregarded his back and shoulders. There, the dull ache caused by overexerting himself still nagged with the tenacity of a Jewish mother telling her son to find a good temple-going girl and marry already. And of course, being overly confident in the abilities of his late twenty-something body to resist injury, he didn’t remember to bring anything for pain.
In his locker, his cell phone beeped. A text message asked if he could fill in at noon mass for the ailing Father Paizetscki. Running the necessary T-route through his cerebral mush, he concluded he’d be left with a couple hours to head back to his apartment and at least try for a little catnap. He didn’t know how, but he suddenly felt like the sandman had finally remembered his digits. Looked like Dee’s plan was finally working. True, five a.m. workouts were a killer, but at least, then he wasn’t at