I look up at Heathcliff, a hysterical giggle bubbling out of me. He chuckles too and tilts his forehead against mine. He rocks his hips, his ass clenching as he drives deep one last time. His breath huffs against my cheek. “You feel like heaven.”
“I’m calling 911,” falters Edgar.
“Go ahead.” Heathcliff shifts back, his big body moving away from mine. His cock slips out of me, and I cup myself instinctively, needing pressure to replace the thick wholeness of him.
Naked, Heathcliff saunters down the steps toward Edgar. “Go ahead,” he repeats. “Call the cops. Tell them how you murdered an innocent young woman and raised a god.”
“Raised a—what are you talking about?” Edgar retreats a step as Heathcliff paces toward him. “We performed a ritual to seal the demon away. To keep him suppressed forever, so your kind can’t raise him. My father says you Lockwoods have been a plague on this town for years, always trying to cause trouble. Well, now we’ve won. It’s over. Except…” His eyes flick back to me. “How…how did she…”
“I resurrected her. Because I fucking love her.”
“But you couldn’t have brought her back,” Edgar protests. “You were away, you were…busy, and there were men to watch—”
He doesn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. Heathcliff’s hand clamps around Edgar’s neck, lifting him right off his feet and shoving him against the nearest wall.
I leap off the platform and run toward them. The banshee inside me is restless, ready to scream, but I think Cernunnos is throwing off my perceptions. I can’t tell if Edgar’s death is imminent or not.
“I don’t usually use my full strength on people,” Heathcliff growls. “But I used it on those watchdogs you mentioned, and I’vegot a mind to use it on you now.”
“Heathcliff,” I say warningly.
“Cathy,” he replies through gritted teeth. “Don’t ask me to spare your murderer. How can I?”
“He may have agreed to it, but he isn’t the one who held the knife,” I say. “And we need answers. About Ian Holcum. Would you please loosen up before you crush his vocal cords?”
“Fine.” Heathcliff eases off on the pressure and allows Edgar’s feet to touch the floor. “Answer her questions, limp dick, or else.”
Edgar’s gaze twitches to me—and unfortunately for him, his eyes flick down to my naked body.
Heathcliff catches the glance and smashes a fist into Edgar’s face. He pulled his punch, thank goodness, or I’m pretty sure Edgar’s delicate facial bones would have all been smashed. As it is, he seems to have escaped with a bloody nose and some sore teeth. He chokes and drools blood.
“I’m going to put some clothes on,” I tell Heathcliff. “We both should. Then we can question him.”
“Question me?” sputters Edgar through the blood streaming from his nose. “I’m not your prisoner. I’m the pastor of this church, and…”
Heathcliff cups one big hand over Edgar’s mouth. “Go on and change, Cathy. I’ll take his phone and make sure he’s not going anywhere.”
***
We must form a strange scene, the three of us on the church platform. Heathcliff and I are dressed in choir robes, facing a bloodied Edgar whom we bound to a folding chair with some duct tape Heathcliff found in a closet.
I don’t know what Heathcliff said to Edgar while I was cleaning upand getting dressed, but it worked, at least temporarily. Edgar speaks slowly, his bluster gone. “I met Ian Holcum at a coffee shop. He saw the books I was reading, about the occult and Irish folklore, and he came over to chat. Said he’d spent years studying all the lore. He told me he had a master’s in folklore studies and a PhD in Religion, Psychology, and Culture from Vanderbilt. We got to talking, and I felt like I could trust him.”
“Why?” asks Heathcliff.
“I…don’t know. Whenever we talked, I got this feeling that he knew what we were dealing with, really understood it, you know? I felt like he cared about me. Like we could be friends…brothers. He called me ‘brother’ all the time. And he said I was special. That I might be a prophet, sent to keep down the old gods and prepare the way for the Second Coming of Christ.”
“He talked you intokilling someone,” Heathcliff points out.
Edgar’s forehead furrows. “To keep the demon from rising—”
“No. The opposite. He’s agod, not a demon, and he rose already. He’s awake.”
Edgar’s eyes widen. “What? Where?”
“He’s…” Heathcliff clears his throat. “Inside Cathy.”
“Insideher?”
