could barely top off a Dixie cup. But he could put his mind over matter well enough to plunge his hand up to the wrist into the floor.
He didn’t know what her reaction would be to their Hagrid-Harry moment. For several seconds, there wasn’t one. Riona stood stoically, just looking at the floor.
Then, she began to laugh.
“I knew it!” she said, falling to her knees before him. “It really did happen, didn’t it? But how?”
“Magic, Riona,” he said. “Your boyfriend, Jerry…”
“Ex-boyfriend,” she corrected.
Marc gave her an acknowledging bow of his head. “Your ex-boyfriend, Jerry, is a demon. He’s one of Hell’s most successful agents of evil. Pure Souls like me have been trying to send him packing home to Lucifer for centuries, but the asshat is majorly gifted at avoiding us. It’s like he sees us coming.”
“You got a colorful vocabulary for a clergyman,” she commented. “Pure Soul?”
“We are the guardians of the gates from Earth that lead to Heaven, and descend to Hell, and you are one of us. You, Riona Dade, are a witch, and our Keystone warrior. All the magic granted to us by the Council of Seven, flowing from Heaven, is in your hands.”
She inched back on her knees, creating a distance between them. “You hiding out here from another cell? You sound even crazier than I am.”
He’d had much the same reaction in his time. “I may be crazy, and you might be too, but I’m still right.” He leaned over and raised his hand to her face. Tapping two fingers to her forehead, Marc bespoke the charm that would bring her into their order. “Terra, caelum et infernum portae custos sum, et tu sororem meam venenatis.”
Her breath hitched. Magic worked its way through her soul, through her veins, riding on the waves of her pulsing heart as the fibers of his magic wrapped themselves around her earthly being and fully awoke her abilities. The touch passing from the divine rocked her body as it had done with him years before, taking him to the edge of the purest ecstasy a human could ever feel. Shock waves rolled over her as Riona rocked back and forth on her heels, panting and moaning, riding out the impulses that filled her. When her heavy-lidded eyes opened, they were filled with knowledge, understanding, and trust.
And a smidgen of lust.
Despite his given occupation, Marc knew the look. Though he kept to his vows and remained celibate, a fine looking man like him had been offered more than several opportunities to indulge in the flesh with overeager parishioners who tried to use the confession box as a seduction chamber. He was a mortal man, and wouldn’t deny his mind wandered sometimes before he recalled himself. But looking at Riona Dade reeling from his touch, cresting because of something he had initiated, even if his intentions and motives had been pure and necessary…
The flame lit, and nothing he tried to tell himself was dampening it.
He let his back fall against the wall. “The Awakening is quite a rush, isn’t it?”
“Fuck.” Wickedly, she grinned and threw her arms around him, letting her head fall to his shoulder. “I’ve never, ever felt anything like that. How did you…?”
“It wasn’t me. It was your soul coming to its calling. Feels just like a… um, you know.”
“Yeah, I do.”
She smiled against his chest.
Many times, Marc had comforted tortured souls. He had prayed with the repentant, nursed the sick, and paid homage to the workers of good deeds. Even prayed with Red Socks fans. Together with other Pure Souls, he had stood against evil, vanquished demons. Always for the benefit of humanity, always for the powers of good. He had never thought of himself.
As he felt the rise and fall of Riona’s chest against his, that all changed. He brought joy to her life by revealing her own true being and power to her, and it made him feel good. Enough so that he found himself wondering what else he could say in that moment that would allow her arms to stay wrapped around his neck a little longer.
In the weeks that followed, he forced himself to pull back into a widening shell of sarcasm and snide remarks. He never criticized her ability, but anything about her person he could insult — her hair, her clothes, her choice in what she called music — was fair game. Anything to keep her frustration and disgust with him at a slow and steady boil. Allowing her to think