[Morgan Kingsley 04] - Speak of the Devil

by Jenna Black

  Chapter 26

  “Someone please kill me now,” I moaned as pain hammered at my skull and nausea roiled in my stomach.

  I was lying on my very own bed, finally able to return home now that Lugh had been convicted and supposedly punished for my crimes. It wasn’t much of a comfort, not the way I felt. Saul, who was playing nursemaid, laid an ice pack on my forehead. It didn’t really help, but I couldn’t stand just lying there, suffering without trying to make it go away.

  “You’ll feel better soon,” Saul assured me, but he was wrong. The last time I’d gotten this sick, it had lasted a solid three days, though admittedly the intensity had eased over time.

  The doorbell rang, sending a spike of agony through my head. For a moment, I thought I’d black out, but no such luck.

  “Sorry,” Saul murmured, then sprinted out of the room.

  I threw the useless ice pack aside, then pulled my pillow out from under me and hugged it to my face, hoping blocking out the light would make the pain go away. The pillow muffled my hearing, but not so much that I couldn’t hear Saul greeting Barbie at the door. When he’d invited her to come over—against my wishes, though I was too sick to put up much of an argument—he’d considerately let the front desk know in advance and asked them not to call up to the apartment. I wished he’d told her not to ring the bell, though how he would have known she’d arrived, I don’t know.

  My nose told me she’d brought dinner, which made my very empty stomach heave again. I couldn’t even keep down a couple sips of water, and if I didn’t get the vomiting under control, I was going to end up in the hospital so I could get IV fluids. And wouldn’t it just be great fun to have the doctors there trying to figure out what was wrong with me? I’d be poked, prodded, and probed for the duration of my stay, and it would all be for nothing.

  “Saul!” I yelled, as loudly as I dared. I didn’t think my voice carried at all, but the sound still made my head pound.

  “Did you call?” Saul asked a few moments later.

  “Yeah. Can you please close the door? The smell of food is not doing good things for me.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Sure.”

  The door closed, and I was left by myself, fighting the pain, wishing I could fast forward my life. Through the closed door, I heard the soft murmur of Saul’s and Barbie’s voices, punctuated by the occasional laugh. They were getting along famously. I tried to be glad about that, although I thought it was risky for any of us to hang out with her for any extended period of time. She was just too perceptive, and I feared she would begin poking holes in our story in no time. Hell, considering how she had Saul thinking with his little head instead of his big one, he was probably spewing all our secrets right now. I was in no shape to stop him if he was.

  The voices eventually died down, but I knew Barbie was still here. I had a good guess why she and Saul were suddenly being so quiet, and soon, the occasional barely suppressed gasp from the bedroom next door confirmed my guess. At least they were considerate enough not to make a racket.

  I think I drifted off for a while, though the pain still reverberated through my head while I was sleeping. The next time I was sure I was conscious, I heard Barbie’s voice tentatively calling my name.

  “Morgan? Are you awake?”

  Maybe I should have just pretended to be asleep, but I decided I’d prefer to have something else, anything else to think about than how lousy I felt.

  “More or less,” I answered, though I’m sure it was hard to understand from beneath the pillow I still held to my face.

  I heard her cross the room, then felt the side of my bed dip as she sat.

  “I won’t bother asking you how you feel,” she said, “but is there anything I can get you?”

  “A gun so I can put myself out of my misery?”

  She laughed weakly. “I really should insist you go to the hospital.”

  I pulled the pillow off my face and opened my eyes a crack. The light didn’t really make my head hurt any worse—it just seemed like it should, so I was cautious with it.

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  One corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “I didn’t think so. But it was worth trying.”

  Although I was pretty sure she and Saul had been doing the horizontal bop next door, she looked as perfectly put together as always. She was disgustingly pretty, and I reminded myself I didn’t like girly-girl cheerleader types.

  “Is there something you want?” I asked in my surliest tone of voice.

  She was still smiling that half-smile. “Just hoping I could divine the real truth by looking at you.”

  I groaned. You’d think after we’d confirmed all her suspicions about me and my supposed possession by Jordan Maguire’s demon that she’d be satisfied and stop asking questions. Well, no, you wouldn’t really think that, not unless you’re an idiot.

  “Don’t do this to me,” I pleaded, too sick to pretend. “Not now when I’m practically defenseless.”

  She shook her head. “I doubt you’ve been defenseless a day in your life. I’m just telling you that all the pieces of your story don’t add up. Remember, we’d already determined that you weren’t stupid enough to shoot Hillerman when you were the prime suspect.”

  “I’m not. The demon was.”

  She snorted. “Right. I just want you to know that I’ll help you if you let me. Whatever’s going on with you, it’s a lot weirder than the pat little explanation I came up with last night.”

  Geez, had that only been last night? Amazing how time doesn’t fly when you’re not having fun.

  “But I won’t bug you with it now,” she said. “I just wanted to say to you what I said to the demon: If you ever want to level with me, just give me a call.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, then pulled the pillow back over my face in a subtle bid to end the conversation.

  Barbie sighed quietly before she left, but she refrained from asking any more questions.

  For the next three days, I basically sat on the sidelines of my life. I rarely left my bed, getting up only to go to the bathroom. By the end of the first day, the nausea had eased enough that I could drink small quantities of water without tossing it back up, but clear fluids were the only things I could even get past my lips. My head pounded mercilessly, and I was even grouchier than usual. In retrospect, I feel kind of sorry for Saul, who tried his best to be helpful but probably wished he hadn’t.

  Dominic stopped by to see me once, letting me know he’d brought some homemade chicken soup for when I was up to eating. It was great incentive to get better soon. Barbie stopped by at least twice, but mostly to see Saul, not me. Adam came to check on me a couple of times, though his visits were brief. Raphael, perhaps being a smart-ass, or perhaps actually meaning to be nice, sent me flowers. There was no word from Brian, of course, though I had hoped he still cared about me enough to send flowers, or at least a card. Andy didn’t visit either, which hurt almost as much.

  By the end of day three, I was beginning to feel a tiny bit better—meaning I no longer daydreamed about blowing my brains out. That was when Andy finally paid me a visit—with Raphael practically nipping at his heels.

  I didn’t know what to make of Andy and his former demon showing up together, and I was even more confused when Raphael shoved Andy into the room and then stood blocking the doorway.

  I propped myself into a sitting position as Andy approached, his head down, his hands jammed into his pockets. Because of the headache, I was still keeping the room pretty dark, so at first I didn’t see the bruises. When I did, I gasped.

  “What happened?” I asked. One of his eyes was blackened, and bruises bloomed all around his throat, like someone had choked him.

  He opened his mouth a couple of times, but rejected whatever he’d been thinking of saying. Even in the darkness, I could see Raphael rolling his eyes.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Andrew!” he barked. “Grow a fucking backbone.”

  Something sparked in Andy’s eyes,
a glimmer of anger that made him look more alive than he had in a while. He withdrew his hands from his pockets and clenched them into fists. I couldn’t help noticing the knuckles of his right hand were bruised.

  “You’ve been in a fight?” I prompted when he still didn’t say anything.

  “Not exactly,” he answered, and I could tell he was struggling to find words.

  “How about if I get the story started for you,” Raphael said, speaking slowly so he could get the maximum level of condescension into his voice. “I stopped by your apartment to encourage you to get off your ass and visit your sister …”

  I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like Andy was grinding his teeth. By now, I was, too. I was on the verge of telling them both to get the hell out when Andy finally started talking.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t visit earlier. I just thought being around me would do you more harm than good.”

  “Bullshit,” Raphael interrupted. “You were just too busy moping to make the effort.”

  Andy whirled on him. “Did you bring me here so I could talk, or so you could? Because if you’re doing the talking, I don’t need to be here.”

  “Oh, by all means, talk away.” Raphael made an expansive hand gesture.

  Andy turned back to me, though his eyes didn’t quite meet mine. “I’m sorry for … the way I’ve been lately. Raphael tells me I’ve been feeling sorry for myself and need to pull myself up by the bootstraps. I promise I’ll try.”

  My throat tightened, and I reached out to give Andy’s hand a squeeze. I was still pretty much mystified by what was going on, but that was the most words I’d heard him string together since Raphael had moved out of him, and that had to be a good sign.

  He squeezed my hand back and forced something that vaguely resembled a smile. I wanted to tell him I loved him, but we’d never been real sentimental with each other, and I thought it would come out sounding artificial.

  “I’ll leave you to get some rest now,” he continued. “But I promise I’ll come back, and not just for council meetings.”

  The lump in my throat ached too much for me to talk, so I just nodded and gave him my most encouraging smile. By the time I thought I could speak without bawling, Andy had pushed his way past Raphael and was probably halfway to the front door. Raphael held up one finger in a gesture I took to mean “I’ll be right back,” and hurried after Andy. I realized I still had no clue what had happened.

  Andy and Raphael shared some angry, hostile words—though I couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying. Then the front door slammed. My aching head loved that.

  Raphael, shaking his head, was back in my room moments later. I figured my raised eyebrows were enough to convey my slew of questions.

  “Everyone’s treating Andrew with kid gloves,” he said. “I prefer the brass knuckles approach. I went to his apartment to drag him over here for a visit. He had a few objections.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is that how he got the bruises?”

  Raphael nodded, and there was a hint of a feral grin on his lips. “I pissed him off so much the moron took a swing at me. I think he hurt his hand more than he hurt my face.”

  “And he got the shiner when he tried to head-butt you?” I growled as I glared at Raphael, hating the thought that he’d hurt my brother yet again.

  Raphael shrugged. “So I hit him back. He had it coming.”

  I swallowed the next words that wanted to come out of my mouth, because really, what was the point with Raphael? “What about the bruises around his neck?”

  “I told him if he was really ready to check out on life, I’d be happy to put him out of his misery. Funny how being unable to breathe can make someone decide life is worth living.”

  I could do nothing but gape at him.

  “It’s not going to fix what’s wrong with him,” Raphael continued, “but at least I proved to him that he does, indeed, want to live.” He grinned savagely, and my headache spiked. “Just think of it as the demon equivalent of tough love.”

  Someday, I was going to have to let Lugh take control so we could beat the crap out of Raphael. It might almost be worth the pain and nausea that followed.

  “Just get out,” I said, sinking back down into my bed, hoping to escape into sleep. “I can’t deal with you right now.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said with a laugh, slipping out the door before I had a chance to respond.

  When I woke up on day four of my misery, I felt a little stronger. I was bold enough to try sipping some orange juice, and I even dragged myself out of bed for a while. My head still pounded, and my whole body was weak, no doubt in part because I hadn’t eaten anything in days. When the orange juice stayed down, Saul made me some dry toast. My body was starved enough for nourishment that it actually tasted good.

  By lunchtime, I was eager to try a real meal, but Saul turned bossy on me and would only let me have broth with Saltines on the side. On the plus side, Dominic had made the broth, so it was rich and flavorful.

  “So,” I said as I sat at the dining room table with Saul and spooned up some broth, “there was a lot of coming and going while I was, um, convalescing.”

  Saul gave me a look that would have done Nurse Ratched proud. “Oh, is that what you call it?”

  I’m sure I was a lousy patient, and if I’d been in Saul’s shoes I’d have been tempted to smother me with the pillow I’d continually clutched. Of course, I hadn’t asked Saul to play nursemaid.

  I decided my best course was to move on without a retort. “Is there any news I need to know?”

  “Not a whole lot that’s new. The charges against Raphael were dropped, surprise, surprise. He questioned Shae as soon as he got out, but she claims not to have heard anything from our friend, and he believes her. And your lawyer’s called every day, hoping you’d be well enough to speak to him.”

  I frowned. I gathered he meant the attorney Brian had hired for me for the lawsuit, not the criminal attorney I’d had on call.

  “If he were calling with good news—like, say, Maguire dropped the lawsuit—I presume he would have left a message,” I mused. Damn it, even though I was now cleared of the murder charges, this whole mess wasn’t over.

  “Yeah,” Saul agreed, “I didn’t get the feeling he was trying to reach you to celebrate.”

  “Fabulous.” I’d really hoped that with Hillerman dead, Maguire would lose interest in the witch hunt.

  “But perhaps not completely unexpected.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “Abraham’s big scheme to get you convicted of murder has failed spectacularly. Based on what he’s done so far, does he seem like the type to just say ‘Oh, well’ and give up?”

  “No,” I had to agree. “So he falls back on the original plan until he can think up something even more awful.”

  “That may not be such a bad thing,” Saul said. “It’s highly unlikely that he knows everything we’ve figured out about him, so he’s probably not being overly cautious. If he’s keeping the lawsuit alive, then that means his host is probably someone close to Jordan Maguire Sr.”

  “Unless Maguire just decided to continue the case on his own without anyone needing to nudge him.” But Laura Maguire had sounded awfully sure that Hillerman was the impetus behind the lawsuit.

  “That’s possible, I suppose. But it wouldn’t hurt to see if we can find out where the burning need to sue is coming from now. Maybe if we do that, we’ll find Abraham.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “I’ll give Laura a call. She might be willing to let me know if there’s someone other than her father pushing the case.” I frowned. “Of course, even if it is Maguire, Abraham could have chosen him as his next host.”

  Saul seemed to roll that one around in his head for a moment. “I think that’s unlikely. We’ve already seen how careless he is with his hosts. If he takes Maguire then ends up forced to abandon him for one reason or another, the case will die. I’m sure he’d rather be on the peripher
y, where he can afford to move from host to host with ease.”

  And wasn’t that just a cheerful thought? I was really looking forward to consigning the bastard to an eternity of imprisonment in the Demon Realm.

  “So,” I said, trying to sound casual, “Barbie seems to be coming over a lot.” I glanced at Saul from under my lashes as I took a sip of soup.

  His lips curled into a half smile. “Yeah,” he said, and his voice was dreamy.

  “Did you warn her you’re on the rebound?”

  The smile dimmed, and he didn’t answer.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, then shoved a cracker into my mouth to keep it occupied.

  “I really like her,” Saul said quietly.

  “I can tell. But speaking as someone who’s learned it the hard way, it’s hard to keep a relationship going for very long without honesty, and you can never be even close to honest with her.”

  I’m not sure if I was trying to protect Barbie or Saul. Maybe both. It seemed to me someone was bound to get hurt.

  “Maybe a little honesty wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

  Yeah, she had him wrapped around her little finger all right. “Remember, she started out working for the bad guys. It would be stupid to trust her.”

  “I guess I’m stupid, then.”

  “Saul—”

  “I haven’t told her any state secrets,” he interrupted. “I’m not going to jeopardize Lugh for a woman I’ve known for only a handful of days. But my gut tells me she’s trustworthy.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Are you sure that’s your gut talking?”

  He gave me a dirty look. “Do you realize that when Hillerman died, her paycheck died with him? He was paying her in installments, and she only ever got the down payment. She’ll probably get the rest he owed her eventually, but not until the estate gets around to settling his debts, which could take months.”

  “And this is relevant why?”

  “Because she’s spending practically all her time doing this pro bono work for you and Adam, which means she doesn’t have time for her paying clients. I’d say that’s a good indicator that she’s dedicated to the cause.”