by Julie Kenner
“Actually,” I said, “I’m thinking about Eric.”
His bushy eyebrows rose above his glasses frames. “My grandson, eh?” He pulled out a chair. “In that case, I’ll have a seat and you can tell me all about it.”
At the moment, Eddie was the closest thing I had to a father. And since I needed a shoulder to cry on, I took him up on his offer and basically spilled my guts.
Laura tapped on the back door just as I was finishing my story. I let her in, then brought her up to speed as we traipsed back to the table. Eddie was still there, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the Formica.
“Father Donnelly,” he said. “Interesting.”
“Why?” I asked, my ears perking up at his tone.
“Just that he’s as crooked as they come. If Eric was working with that one, then he musta been crooked, too.”
I reeled backwards with as much force as if he’d slapped me, rage bubbling up. “What the hell are you talking about? This is Eric! You didn’t know him. You can go around pretending you’re part of this family, but you’re not. You don’t know us, and you sure as hell don’t know Eric.”
I pushed back from the table, my hand clapped over my mouth, ferocious anger warring with total mortification. I ran out of the room and up the stairs, then fell onto my bed, pulling a pillow tight against my chest.
I knew I was overreacting, I knew it. But I’d been hit too hard lately to even bother trying to rein my emotions in. Damn Eddie! What right did he have to trash Eric’s good name? My husband wasn’t corrupt. The idea was completely absurd.
I closed my eyes and buried my face in the pillow. As pissed as I was, I still hated myself for lashing out. I may have only known Eddie for a few months, but I did love him, and I knew he loved me. He was brash and obnoxious and often thoughtless, but he’d never hurt me on purpose.
On accident, though. Well, he’d definitely got me good, there.
I heard a soft tap on the door, then felt the mattress shift as someone sat down next to me. I opened my eyes to see Eddie peering at me. “Wanna take a punch at me? Just do it in my gut. Be a crime to ruin such a perfect nose.”
I smiled despite myself. “No punches. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
He stroked my hair. “No, girl, I deserved it. Never liked Father Donnelly, and I opened my mouth without thinking. Maybe he ain’t corrupt after all. Father Corletti likes the pansy-ass jerk, so maybe he’s okay.”
I propped myself up on my elbow, still listening.
“And even if the rat-bastard’s as crooked as the day is long, well, that ain’t no reason for me to go accusing Eric of throwing in with him. Eric might not’ve known. Or maybe he was trying to trap Donnelly.”
Laura sat down on the other side of the bed. “Like a sheriff going in to clean up an outlaw town.”
“That’s it, girlie.”
I almost managed a grin, liking the picture of Eric stepping up to battle corruption wherever he found it. I still didn’t like him keeping the battle a secret from me, but if he had to have a secret, I wanted it to be a noble one.
Actually, the more I thought about it, the more plausible Eddie’s revised-and-more-palatable theory sounded. After all, chasing after corruption can easily get a guy killed . . .
“Kate?” Laura pressed a hand to my shoulder. “You okay?”
I sat up, nodding and feeling a little foolish. “I’m fine. I’m sorry,” I said to Eddie.
“No need,” he said. “And that offer to punch me still stands.”
I shot him a wry look. “I’ll save it for when I really need it.”
I splashed water on my face, and we all traipsed back downstairs. I’d just poured a fresh cup of coffee when the phone rang. I answered, surprised to find David Long on the other end of the line.
“I need to talk to you,” he said. “Can you meet me?”
“What? Right now?”
“Yeah. Right now.”
“I . . .” I made a shooshing gesture to Laura and Eddie, who were asking who it was in very non-whisperish stage whispers. “David, what’s this about?”
“Have you read the paper this morning?”
I tensed, fearing I knew where this conversation was going. “Yeah.”
“Then you saw the article about Jason Palmer.”
“Yes, I did. I’m so sorry. He sounded like a good kid.”
“He was a good kid.” I heard David draw in a noisy breath. “It’s all related,” he finally said. “Jason. The dead guy in the janitor’s basement. And more.”
Uh-oh.
I stayed silent.
“Kate?”
“I’ll meet you,” I said. “At the cathedral.” As much as I hated to admit it, I still wasn’t certain about David Long. There were too many questions. He may have passed the holy water test, but he knew too much, and I wasn’t going to be completely satisfied until he walked on holy ground. And even then, I wanted a damn good explanation.
“The cathedral,” he repeated, speaking slowly.
“Is that okay?”
A pause, then, “Yeah. Sure. I can do that.”
“Great. See you there.”
I hung up the phone and looked from Laura to Eddie. “I guess now we’ll see what David Long is made of.”
Eddie And Father Ben were with me, the three of us sitting on a step just in front of the communion rail, when David stepped through the doors. He paused, then saw us and lifted his chin in silent acknowledgment.
“Come join us,” I said, watching him carefully.
He hesitated, but he came, taking one step and then another down the aisle toward the altar. I searched his face for hints of pain. Nothing.
I still wasn’t sure what David’s story was, but at least I knew he wasn’t a demon.
“I didn’t realize we’d have company,” he said, as soon as he’d reached the three of us.
I shrugged. “Father Ben and Eddie are interested in the kind of story you’re here to tell. Besides, I’ll tell them after the fact, anyway. They might as well hear it firsthand.”
He considered that, then nodded, reaching out to hold the communion rail. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what you three musketeers are up to?”
“You suppose right,” I said. “You came here to tell me something. So tell.”
“It’s about the boy who died. Jason Palmer. He was badly mutilated. But he was wearing a surf club jacket and so the police brought me in, hoping I could identify the body.”
“Could you?” Father Ben asked.
“Yes.” He shivered, looking a little green. “Yes, I could recognize him.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching out to brush his sleeve.
“I saw something,” he said, shaking himself and squaring his shoulders. “When they brought me in. The boy had a ring. He wore it on a chain around his neck.”
“A ring?” Eddie asked. “What kind of ring.”
“Thick, like a class ring, but with planetary symbols engraved all over it.” He watched our faces, but none of us reacted. Maybe Ben and Eddie had a clue, but I didn’t know why I should care about a planet ring.
“Asmodeus,” he finally said, his voice flat. “We’re dealing with Asmodeus.”
“We’re dealing with?” I repeated, even as Eddie blurted out, “Holy Mother of God,” then crossed himself. “Sorry ’bout that, Father.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Father Ben said. And then, to David, “You’re sure?”
“About Asmodeus? No. How could I be? But with the ring—with everything that’s been happening—I’d say it’s a damn good bet.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, holding up a hand and turning to rail on David. “Who the hell are you and why do know about demons?”
“I’m on your side, Kate.”
I shook my head, holding firm. “That’s not good enough. Not good enough by a long shot.”
“Kate.” Father Ben’s hand closed on my arm. “Look at where we are.” He swept his arm out, in
dicating the length and breadth of the sanctuary. “There’s work to be done here. For now, let’s trust him.”
I looked from the padre to Eddie, who nodded. I drew in a breath, fisted my hands, and gave in. They were right. “But we’re going to talk,” I said. “And it damn well better be good.”
“We’ll talk.”
“Asmodeus,” Father Ben said, getting us back on track.
“Hold on,” I said. “I’m about five minutes behind you guys. Who’s Asmodeus?”
“A demon,” David said.
“Thank you,” I retorted. “That much I figured out.”
“A High Demon,” Eddie said. “And one of the tricksters. He teaches his followers skills to entice, then bequeaths them with a special ring.”
“With planets on it,” I said. “But what’s so special about the ring?”
“It bestows on his followers the power of invisibility.”
“Wow,” I said, looking to Father Ben for confirmation. “Really?”
“I’ve read a little bit about this demon,” he said. “He is said to have possessed Jeanne des Anges, a nun at Loudun. That takes extreme power. He’s not a demon you want to mess with.”
“But he’s here,” I said. “Messing with us.”
“It looks that way,” David said.
“But if Jason had the demon’s ring, then we must be getting close to an answer, right?” I asked. “I mean, he must have got it from someone. Or somewhere.” I looked at the men. “Could it have come through the book? Do you know about the book?” I added, the question directed to David.
“I figured it out,” he said, the answer making me frown. “But I don’t know whether the book can produce a ring.”
Honestly, the possibility seemed ridiculous. Although, when you tossed an invisibility ring into the mix, maybe it wasn’t so absurd.
“Don’t think so,” Father Ben said, apparently not thinking the idea was ridiculous at all. “From what I’ve read, the book can only conjure words. Although . . .”
“Although? Although doesn’t sound good.”
“Under certain circumstances, the book can conjure spirits,” he said.
“Other demons?”
“I’m not certain,” he admitted. “But the book definitely can’t conjure objects.”
“So someone had to give the ring to Jason,” I said. “But who?”
As soon as I said the question, I knew the answer. “Cool,” I said. “It has to be Cool.”
David’s forehead creased. “What makes you say that?”
I shot a questioning look at Father Ben, who nodded. I drew in a breath, hoping we weren’t wrong about David. Then I filled him in, telling him what we’d learned about Cool, Coastal Mists, and Dermott Sinclair.
“So Cool’s a demon,” he said. “But is he the demon Asmodeus? And if he is, what does he want?”
“I’ve got a couple of ideas about that,” Eddie said. “Our buddy Asmo used to be one of the order of seraphim, right?”
“Well, don’t look at me,” I said. “I just work here.”
“Right,” David said. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. I looked at him, my eyes narrow. “My off period,” he said. “If I’m not back in time, I’ll be the one called to the principal’s office.” He nodded at Eddie. “But I’ve got some time. You were saying?”
“Seraphim’s one of the highest orders of angels. So Asmo had the farthest to fall. And he’s probably pretty ticked off about that, don’t you know?”
“Revenge?” I asked.
“Bingo,” Eddie said. “He frees those demons in Tartarus, and he’s got some damn powerful allies. A nearly invincible army to wreak hell on Earth.”
“Okay, but how?” I asked. We all looked at each other, clueless.
“Looks like it’s back to research,” Father Ben said.
I checked my watch. “If it’s time for research, I think that’s my cue to leave. Besides, I need to go rescue Laura from my son.”
“I need to get back to school,” David said.
Eddie said he’d stay and do some research with the padre, and Father Ben promised to deliver him home sometime that evening.
David and I walked to the parking lot together, the silence between us an odd mixture of tension and familiarity. Or maybe it was the familiarity that was making me tense.
“Get in,” I said. “We need to talk.”
“I’ve got my car.”
“Just get in.”
I thought he was going to argue again, but then he nodded. He kept one hand pressed against his stomach as he climbed into the passenger seat, then leaned back and closed his eyes.
“You look a little green.” He did, too. And his forehead had broken out in beads of sweat.
“I’m fighting a cold,” he said.
I shot a frown his direction. I didn’t like the unhealthy way he looked, but at the same time, I knew I was being foolish. The fact that he looked like shit now—away from the cathedral, in a car, on the asphalt—was purely coincidental. There was absolutely no way he could have stood in that cathedral and talked to us if he were a demon. My suspicions were not only absurd, they were petty. Like residual distrust from the way he’d waltzed in all knowledgeable about Asmodeus. As if I were jealous that David had stolen the limelight or something. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
Beside me, he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
“I think the cold is winning,” I said.
He opened his eyes long enough to aim a weak smile at me. “And here I thought I had this fighting thing down.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything, just concentrated on driving. By the time we reached the bottom of the hill and turned onto the Coast Highway, David’s eyes were open, he was sitting up straight, and his skin no longer looked green.
“Better?”
“Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe something I ate. It comes and goes. Right now, I guess it’s going.”
“Good.” I glanced at him. “What’s your story, David Long?”
“Damn. I thought my invalid status would postpone the inevitable.”
“Sorry. No such luck.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Well, for starters, why do you know so much about demons? And why did you feel the urge to call and tell me about Jason’s ring?”
“You seem like a woman with discriminating taste in jewelry?”
“Nice try, but no.”
“Do I get points for creativity?”
“David . . .”
“It seemed like the thing to do. Find a ring that suggests demonic activity, who else would you call but a Demon Hunter?”
I tensed, my arms on the steering wheel going rigid. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No? Well, I can fill you in. Katherine Connor, née Andrews, formerly Katherine Crowe. Level Four Demon Hunter with the Forza Scura, recently reactivated after fifteen years of retirement.”
His words sent a cold chill through me, and I ripped the steering wheel to the right, slamming on the brakes as we hit the shoulder. At the same time, I reached into the map pocket with my left hand and pulled out the ice pick I’d stashed there. My right arm shot out in a bastardization of a protective motion, catching him across the throat as I twisted to face him, jamming the steel point against his carotid artery.
“Jesus, Kate!”
I kept my voice low, dangerous. “There are only a handful of people on this planet who know what you just said. You’re not one of them.”
“Kate, no. I’m on your side.”
“How do you know all that?” I hissed. “And if I don’t like the answer, I’m sliding this through your throat. And your eye, too, just to make sure.”
“You think I’m a demon?” He made a little hmmm sound and nodded. “Yeah, well, I guess under the circumstances that makes sense.”
I jabbed the pick, drawing a tiny drop of blood. “Talk.”
“I know about you because I
know Hunters.”
“Are you in Forza?” I couldn’t imagine that he was. After my pathetic plea for help, surely, Father Corletti would have told me if another Hunter was in town.
“I’m not,” he said, after the briefest of hesitations. “I’m rogue. And I called you because when I saw the ring I realized this was too big for me to handle alone.”
“Forza Hunters aren’t in the habit of sharing information with rogues,” I said. A lot of rogue hunters were dangerous, willing to sacrifice humans for the “greater good” of eradicating the demon parasites from the face of the earth. To my mind—and to Forza’s—that decision rests with God.
“I never intended to be a rogue,” he said. “I swear. But there’s a need. Dammit, Kate, you can’t deny that there’s a need.”
I watched him, saying nothing as the van rocked in the wake of the outside traffic. He didn’t blink, didn’t sweat, didn’t cower. Just looked straight ahead, and waited for me to decide.
I took the ice pick off his neck, but kept it poised and ready. I was starting to trust him again, but I wasn’t there yet. “Who?” I said. “Tell me who these Hunters in Forza are that you know so well. The ones who told you all about me.”
He closed his eyes, and I saw his chest rise and fall as he drew in a breath, then exhaled. He turned to face me, his gray eyes sharp. “Kate, do you really have to ask?”
A shiver ripped through me and the pick tumbled from my hand as I lifted it to my mouth. He bent forward and picked it up, holding the steel and passing it back to me. I ignored it.
“Eric?”
“He was . . . Let’s just say that I knew him well.”
“You left me the key.”
He nodded. “Eric asked me to.”
“But why now? After five years?”
“A lot of reasons,” he said. “But it boils down to finding you. It just took me that long.”
“Why?”
He sighed. “Some other time, Kate. If you don’t trust me, then you can put that ice pick to good use. But I’m not living those years again right now. Not even for you.”
I let that settle in, then decided I could live with it. Not that I had a choice. I wanted to hear about Eric. About how David knew him. About the conversations they’d had and the things David had seen. I wanted to draw every ounce of my husband from this man, then hold it tight in my heart.
