by Jenna Black
“Your place or mine tomorrow night? We have unfinished business.” He leered at me, and I probably leered back.
“Mine,” I told him, and he nodded agreement.
I took a slow, steadying breath as he pulled out of my driveway. Then I turned and headed for my front door without sparing a glance for Andrew.
I felt him following me, but I didn’t turn around until I’d unlocked my front door and turned the lights on.
“Wait here,” I said over my shoulder, then closed the door in his face.
I dropped my bags by the front door, then retrieved my Taser from the coat closet. I don’t carry it very often—by the time I’m called in to deal with an illegal demon, it’s already in custody and contained. But sometimes it’s comforting to own the one weapon that can bring a demon to his knees.
I checked the battery—good to go—and turned off the safety. When I opened the door again, I pointed the Taser smack-dab at Andrew’s chest.
Now, you might think this is a strange way to greet my own brother, but the last time he’d paid a visit, we’d gotten in one hell of a fight, and the bastard had punched me. Knocked me out cold. When I came to, I’d seriously considered filing assault charges against him. In the end, it hadn’t been worth the hassle, and I knew nothing would come of it. Yes, technically assault was a violent crime, and the state could throw the book at him. But though he’d knocked me out, he’d hit me with only human strength. If he’d hit me with his full strength, I’d be dead.
Oh, did I forget to mention my brother is a demon host? Ever since he turned twenty-one, the legal age of consent. I’ve never forgiven him.
We were pretty close as kids. Well, as close as a brother and sister can be when only three years separate them. Up until I was about ten, I practically worshiped him. But when he hit puberty, the Spirit Society’s brainwashing started him seriously thinking about becoming a demon host, and he changed.
He’d always been more into the Society than me—no doubt a large reason why he was the family favorite—but when he started thinking about hosting, he became almost a fanatic. My parents were so proud of him, but I knew it meant I’d lose my big brother someday soon, and I hated it.
Andrew looked at the Taser and raised his eyebrows. “Are you planning self-defense, or revenge?” he asked, his voice mild.
I thought about that a moment. I didn’t think he was going to hit me again. I’d had to work really hard to get him that angry last time. Now that I knew he had a temper under his usually calm exterior, I wasn’t anxious to bring it to the surface.
“Revenge, I guess,” I said, then shot him. The probes latched onto his leather jacket, and fifty thousand volts slammed into him.
He gratifyingly collapsed into himself, landing on the doorstep in fetal position, screaming.
When I got my Taser license, one of the requirements was to take a shot yourself, just so you’d have a real clear understanding of the power you hold in your hands. I’d seen two-hundred-pound macho men scream like little girls. I wish I could say I’d taken it in stoic silence, but I’d screamed as loud as anyone. Never felt anything like it. Never want to again.
“Sorry, Andy,” I said softly, talking to my real brother, the one who was imprisoned somewhere in that body. I wasn’t clear if the host could feel the demon’s pain or not, but just in case it could, I felt the need to apologize.
It took the demon more time to recover from the shot than it would have taken a human. The electricity really fucks up their control of the nervous system. He lay in a panting heap for a while, then uncurled and pushed himself to his knees, looking up at me from behind a lock of reddish blond hair that had fallen over his eyes.
“Should I bother getting up,” he asked, “or am I in for some more fun?”
He was still so infuriatingly calm it made me want to zap him again. But he’d only hit me once. Fair’s fair. That didn’t mean I was putting the Taser away, but I ejected the cartridge and let him pluck the probes out of his jacket.
“Remember,” I warned him, “I can still use this like a stun gun without reloading.”
He laughed and pushed his hair out of his eyes, then stood up slowly, keeping a close watch on the Taser. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So, what, the pain doesn’t even bother you? You just laugh at it?”
He shrugged. “It bothers me. But I deal with pain all the time on the job. If I fell to pieces every time something hurt, I’d be useless.”
Andrew is a firefighter. Almost all of the legal demons make themselves into ultra-useful members of society, using their powers for good, justice, etc. They know they have to do a lot of good deeds to make up for their occasional bad eggs, like the one I’d encountered in Topeka. Because demons can heal the bodies of their human hosts, they often take on really dangerous jobs. Andrew is always rescuing people from burning buildings. He’s a fucking hero.
Okay, so maybe it’s not fair to be mad at him for being a hero. But, see, I’m not a hero, and I never will be. Sometimes that makes me feel small and selfish in comparison. I’m all for doing good deeds. Just not at the price Andy paid.
“What do you want, Andrew? I’ve had a really shitty couple of days, and I so don’t want any family drama right now.”
He ran a hand through his hair—a very human gesture, but then if you just met him on the street you’d never know he wasn’t human. “It’s been two months since our, uh, problem. I thought maybe it was time we buried the hatchet.”
Oh, yeah. This was a conversation I wanted to have right now. Personally, I’d have been just as happy if we never spoke to each other again.
“Andrew—”
“Morgan, we’re family, whether you want us to be or not.”
This was somewhere along the lines of the conversation we’d had last time. I wondered if slamming the door in his face would be my best option right about now.
“Andy’s my family! You’re just a parasite using his body, like a big, lethal tick sucking the life out of him.”
He grimaced. “Lovely image. You’ve always had such a way with words.”
I went for the door slam, but he stopped it with the flat of his hand. I was pissed enough that I tried to use my Taser like a stun gun, but he saw it coming and knocked the Taser out of my hand. He could have broken bones in the process, but somehow he hit just the right spot to make my fingers loosen without even hurting me.
I cradled my hand to my body anyway, hating him, wishing it wasn’t illegal to exorcize a demon from a willing host. But it’s considered murder, and no matter how strongly I felt about Andrew’s demon, I wasn’t willing to go to prison or face execution.
Andrew pushed past me into my house, shutting the door behind him. Anger glinted in his eyes, and there was a steely set to his jaw that Andy would never have been able to pull off.
“Violence isn’t the answer to everything,” he said, sounding disgusted. “Stop acting like a two-year-old having a temper tantrum!”
I glared at him. “I wasn’t the one who threw a punch the last time we argued.”
He lost some of his righteous indignation, and his lips pursed like he’d tasted something sour. “I really am sorry about that, Morgan. The last time I walked the Mortal Plain, my host was an inherently violent man, a warrior. We may suppress our hosts’ personalities, but some of it does leak through, and a lifetime of it can affect our behavior. I am…embarrassed that I allowed that to happen. It won’t happen again.”
I cocked my head at him. “So you’re saying it wasn’t really you that hit me? That it was some remnant of your last host?”
As an exorcist, I’m technically an expert on demons. And being raised by a Spirit Society family, I have a little bit of extra expertise from up-close-and-personal experience. But even us “experts” don’t really know all that much about them. We only know what they tell us, and I would bet my life that they’re not telling us everything. That’s one of the things that scares the shit out of me. What a
ren’t they telling us? And why?
Andrew took my question as evidence that I was ready to have a lovely little heart-to-heart chat and invited himself into my living room.
My house looks nothing like me. I look like the sort of woman who should live in some kind of ultramodern condo with spare, sleek lines and uncomfortable furniture. Instead, I live in a little cottage that could have been plucked straight from the English countryside, complete with hedge roses and a cobblestone walk. My living room features an overstuffed floral chintz sofa and a butter-yellow love seat capable of swallowing a medium-sized adult whole.
Andrew is not medium-sized, though he’s not huge, either. He’s right around six feet tall, two hundred pounds of pure muscle. If he weren’t my brother—sort of—I’d think he was pretty nice to look at. He sank into the love seat, but managed not to be smothered by it.
Bowing to the inevitable, I sat on the sofa and clutched a throw pillow to my chest. My nerves were too raw from the nightmare in Topeka. I didn’t feel like coping, and I didn’t feel like having any deep conversations with this creature I despised.
Andrew clasped his hands between his knees and stared at them intently. “I take the full blame for what I did, Morgan. I’m not a Viking anymore, and I should have had better control over myself. Yes, Einar affected my personality, but I’ve been with Andrew for ten years. I should have been able to readjust by now.” He looked up at me, and his lips twitched with a hint of a grin. “Though you could bring out the devil in anyone.”
I laughed, though grudgingly. Then I swallowed back the moment of humor and fixed him with my steeliest gaze. “Like I told you before, I’ve had a really lousy couple of days. I just want to take a long hot bath and then go to bed. Can you hurry this along a bit?”
His raised eyebrow made me blush, because of course he’d seen me drive up with Brian, and he’d known that meant it wasn’t relaxing I’d had in mind. Luckily for both of us, he let it drop without teasing.
“All I want is to make things right between us. Or at least as right as they can be. What can I do to apologize for my horrendous behavior?”
My first instinct was to tell him to shove his apology where the sun didn’t shine. But I must be gaining a little maturity in my old age, because I managed to squash that first instinct. Things would never be “right” between us as long as he possessed my brother’s body. But since he was offering me something…
“You can tell me your name,” I said, almost holding my breath, wondering if he would do it. The demons adopt their hosts’ names when they’re in the Mortal Plain, but they have names of their own. Names have power for them, though I’ve never been clear what kind of power. Another one of their damned mysteries.
He gave me a long, searching look. “If I tell you my name, will you promise not to address me by it in public or tell it to anyone else?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” I said glibly.
He thought for another moment, then nodded. “My name is Raphael,” he said, and I had to fight not to let my jaw drop in amazement.
He’d believed me? I sure as hell wouldn’t have!
Damn. If he was actually trusting me with the knowledge, I might feel honor bound to keep his secret.
“I’ll be your friend, if you let me,” he continued.
“Hell will freeze over first.” Maybe that was mean-spirited of me after he’d just made such a nice peace offering, but I tend to be honest to a fault. And I wasn’t going to pretend we’d be best buds.
The pronouncement made him look very sad, which made me feel like a heel, but I wasn’t about to take it back. He sighed and stood up.
“Be that as it may, I’m here if you need me, Morgan.” He flashed me a sad smile. “I think your Taser landed under the couch.”
“Thanks,” I said, and walked him to the door. He took a step out, and I found myself reaching out and grabbing his arm. I let go hastily, surprised at myself.
He turned back to look at me, waiting patiently for whatever I was going to say. I cleared my throat, wishing I’d just let him go.
I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a coward, at least not most of the time. So I held my head high and met his sad brown eyes.
“I just want you to know, it’s nothing personal,” I said. “You seem like a decent guy, for a demon. But my brother’s dead because of you, and that’s just not something I can forgive.”
“He’s not dead,” Raphael said, his voice gentle.
“He might as well be.” As far as I was concerned, Andy was worse than dead. He was a prisoner, his mind alive in a body he couldn’t control. He could never speak to anyone, never touch anyone, never have any human interaction whatsoever. And I would never understand how anyone could willingly submit to such an invasion, no matter how many heroic deeds it allowed him to do. Maybe that makes me shallow and selfish—that’s certainly what my family thinks—but I can’t change who I am.
Raphael looked like he might say something else, but thought better of it. With a little shake of his head, he turned away and walked to his car.
Chapter 4
I woke up to find myself seated at my desk in my study. I blinked a couple of times, groggy, disoriented.
The room was dark, save for the moonlight that streamed through the open curtains of one window. The digital clock perched on top of the bookcase across from me said it was one-thirty.
I groaned. Not again! This sleepwalking shit was really getting on my nerves. As I started to push back from the desk, I noticed the pen clutched in my hand. Then I saw a sheet of paper lying on the desk. I could tell there was some writing on it, but it was too dark to read.
I didn’t feel sleepy anymore. My pulse shot up and my mouth went dry. Maybe I should just tear off that sheet of paper and throw it away without reading it.
Yeah, that’s what I should do. I didn’t want to face any more of my subconscious fears. But instead of listening to my own advice, I reached for the desk lamp and turned it on, shutting my eyes against the glare.
I took a long, deep breath before I opened my eyes and read what I’d written in my sleep.
Morgan, this isn’t your subconscious. You really are possessed, but you’re so powerful in your own right that I can’t get a foothold except when you lower your guard—like when you sleep. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m as unwilling to possess you as you are to host me, but
That was it. All it wrote. No, all I wrote, because there was no way I was possessed. None!
I was so freaked I was shaking. I crossed my arms over my chest and hugged myself.
“Calm down, Morgan,” I told myself. “You know you’re not possessed. Val would have seen it in your aura in Topeka.”
I didn’t feel reassured.
Once again, I tore my note off the notepad and wadded it into a ball. This time, though, throwing it in the trash wouldn’t be enough. I didn’t want those words on that paper to exist.
I grabbed the wad of paper and carried it to the living room. Then I stuck it in the fireplace and burned it. And though I went back to bed and cuddled comfortably under the covers, I didn’t sleep a wink the rest of the night.
Brian came over at seven the next evening for dinner and sex, not necessarily in that order. I’d been miserable all day from the combo of sleep deprivation and worry. He judged correctly that it was a dinner-first sort of day. And he cooked. Like Val said, he’s a keeper.
That thought made my mood sink even lower. Brian might be a keeper, but I couldn’t see him keeping me indefinitely. Yeah, he talked about moving in together, but let’s get real. He’s your all-around, mom-and-apple-pie nice guy. What was he doing with me, anyway? He should be with some sweet, girl-next-door type. Not some surly exorcist chick with an attitude problem.
Yeah, that’s the kind of mood I was in. And I’ll freely admit I was feeling sorry for myself. Another of my not-so-appealing features. Sometimes I’m secretly jealous of Brian and his normal life. No fanatics in his family. Everyon
e gets along like family is supposed to. Doesn’t mean they don’t fight sometimes, but it’s healthy fighting, if you know what I mean. He has a nice, steady, safe job—he’s a lawyer, but the boring kind, not the sleazy kind—and he believes that people are good at heart as a general rule. What he sees in me is a total mystery.
I think even your usual unobservant guy would have noticed my mood, so I wasn’t surprised when as soon as the table was cleared, Brian pulled me into his arms for a hug and asked, “What’s wrong?”
I sighed and snuggled into the warmth of his body. “Nothing. I just didn’t sleep well last night.”
He pushed me away gently then raised my chin with his finger so I’d have to look at him. His whisky-brown eyes were full of concern. “Sleepwalking again?”
I swallowed hard, fighting down a hint of panic as I thought about waking up with that damning piece of paper in front of me. I nodded, not sure I could trust my voice.
Brian smoothed his hands over my hair. “You should see a doctor.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant a physician or a shrink, but I didn’t care either way. “No doctors,” I said, and my voice came out sharper than I meant it to.
I hate doctors. Almost as much as I hate dentists. I never like to be around people who make me feel powerless.
“Morgan,” Brian started, and I could hear him slipping into his persuasive lawyer voice.
“No, Brian. Don’t push this.”
He held up his hands in surrender, and I thought I was home free. He slipped an arm around my shoulders and guided me toward my bedroom. I went with him, but my mind really wasn’t on sex right that moment. Which says something about my state of mind, because I’m always thinking about sex when Brian’s around.
We kissed as soon as we stepped over the threshold. I melted against his body and opened my mouth for him, stroking his tongue with my own, but my heart wasn’t in it. I thought I was faking it pretty well, but when we lay down on the bed together, Brian pulled away a little bit.
