Grave Matters by Jana Oliver Page A

I’m so proud of you,” she said.
    He took her hand and kissed it. “Then there is still a chance for us?”
    “I think so, if I can get my head straightened out.”
    “Good.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek and then smiled. “Then let’s get this supper over with, so it’s just us two, okay?”
    Riley’s cheeks warmed at what his husky tone implied.
     
    After more social chitchat among the guests, which carefully avoided the twin minefields of politics and religion, the group headed for the formal dining room. It was spacious, and sported two fireplaces, one on each end of the long room. Unfortunately the majority of the heat headed directly toward the high ceiling and Riley’s feet and ankles didn’t like that.
    As she gazed around, she realized the dining room sent two opposing messages: the long table was set with expensive bone china, elegant crystal and silverware, a fine welcome to any guest. In contrast, the walls were lined with swords and other implements of war, many arrayed in intricate fan shapes. It was a not-so-subtle reminder that their hosts could easily shift from hospitable, to lethal, if the situation warranted.
    Walk softly and carry a really big sword.
    She shot a look at Beck and he nodded ever so slightly to indicate he’d gotten the message as well. Since this evening, they’d been on the same wavelength, more like they had been in Atlanta. Riley prayed that would continue.
    Her good mood vanished when Riley found herself seated across from the summoner, who continued to stare at her. MacTavish sat at the head of the table, Kepler to his right and Beck to his left. There was a light sheen of sweat on Beck’s forehead, his way of showing he was nervous. She gave him a reassuring you’ll do fine look and then directed her attention to the conversation around her.
    Around them, Brennan and the maid circulated with bottles of wine. When he gave her a questioning look, Riley shook her head. Even though she could legally drink in this country, her mind was just starting to clear. No reason to mess it up again.
    Some sort of thick and creamy pale orange soup was delivered and her stomach growled in response. Fortunately no one else heard it. Picking up a spoon, she looked down the table at Beck, who was staring at his assortment of silverware in total bewilderment.
    MacTavish said something to the druid, then pointedly picked up the proper spoon from his selection. Beck, ever the quick study, followed suit, then looked over at her.
    She winked and addressed the meal.
    “Miss Blackthorne? I trust you are recovered from the incident at the graveyard?” the summoner asked, lobbing the question across the table like a live grenade.
    Riley nearly choked on her soup. She hadn’t expected anyone would ask that kind of question, especially here. Farther down the table, Brennan’s eyes widened as he refilled a wine glass. Beck’s brow furrowed and she could tell he was pissed.
    MacTavish, however, made no move to deflect the question. Perhaps he was hoping just this kind of confrontation would occur.
    Play dumb. That was the best response, especially with the monsignor at the table. The last thing she needed was for the Vatican to take a renewed interest in her life.
    Riley hedged. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean,” she replied.
    “Of course you do,” Fayne insisted. “My superiors told me everything.”
    “Your superiors?” Beck cut in.
    “Summoners Enfield and Minton. They were supposed to be here tonight, but I requested to take their place. I just had to meet Miss Blackthorne after everything I’d heard.”
    “What exactly happened?” the monsignor said after wiping his mouth with a napkin.
    Riley kept her groan of despair to herself.
    “Someone tried to summon a demon in Edinburgh and it went wrong.” Fayne’s chilly tone indicated she wasn’t that concerned, even though three people had died. “Novices. Such things happen when they are involved.”
    The