Demonsense (Demonsense series Book 1)

by Sara DeHaven

  But there had been that darkness to his base energy that first day she read him. Given he had some kind of hiding spell, there could be worse yet to find if he ever let her do a deep read on him without the hiding spell in place. She sure as hell wasn't going to work with him on this if he didn't allow a deep read.

  Still, what if he was capable of getting some answers without getting drawn in too deep by the demons he was studying? Wouldn’t his be a valuable combination of abilities? He was right, she realized, he did need monitoring. But how to monitor effectively? Her tears slowed, then dried as she considered the problem. Daniel kept silence and let her think.

  “I can’t believe I’m even considering this,” she finally muttered, then straightened and faced him. “Okay, maybe, just maybe I can see where you’re coming from. And I think I see a little how to do it, the monitoring I mean. But there’s a lot of danger in this, and not just for you. I saw you master that demon yesterday, and maybe you’ve had success other times as well, but have you ever lost control of one?”

  “I’ve had a few close calls, I admit, but apart from that first one I called, no.”

  “Okay, that's marginally reassuring.” She hesitated, then mentally braced herself and continued. “I don’t know if Kevin told you, but my husband Seth was killed by a demon during an exorcism. This whole question of whether demons are getting better at hiding might be relevant. We both missed how powerful the demon was. He was primary, so I'm still not entirely sure how it happened, but the demon burned him to death. I banished it in the end, but not in time.” She felt tears trying to come back up, but this time, she forced them away. “So you can imagine that I’m not eager to go through that again.”

  Daniel gently put down the cat, then moved to sit next to Bree on the couch. He took her hand, holding it so hard it almost hurt, met her eyes, and said intently, almost fiercely, “The whole point of it all would be that no one would have to go through that, ever again.”

  And there was little to argue with in that, Bree reflected. Daniel’s hand was hot. All her whirling thoughts came to a sudden halt as a tremor of desire moved through her. She was wide open from reading him, and she felt the moment when the same thing happened to him. The energy between them spiked, and for a minute, Bree lost track of what part of the desire she was feeling was hers and which was his. She couldn't help but wonder how much of this he was reading. Seth hadn't been a reader. In fact, she'd never dated another reader, so she'd never been in a situation like this before. There was a merging sensation that was intoxicating and a little frightening.

  She gave his hand a squeeze, then let go, needing to end the contact. If she was going to do this mad thing, she was going to have to stay objective. And that meant keeping her distance, emotionally and physically. Not that she had a clue how she was going to manage that. If she was this attracted to him knowing what he was, it was likely to be an uphill battle.

  Maybe he decided the same thing, because he stood up, and his tone became businesslike. “How about we talk details over breakfast. Tell me what your concerns are, ask me what you like, and maybe we can find a way to do this thing that would make sense to you.”

  “I haven’t said yes,” she cautioned. She was far from certain she wanted to take this on. It would mean contact with demons, probably big ones, and she felt cold down to the bottom of her soul at that thought. Not to mention the fact that what they'd be doing was highly illegal. But what he’d said a moment ago had resonated deeply. If teaming up with him might lead to some kind of way to banish demons altogether, how could she say no?

  “Talking may help you decide,” he pressed.

  Damn the man, he was right. Bree nodded assent, and led the way back to her kitchen so they could come up with a way to do something no one in the history of the world had yet managed.

  Chapter 9

  “Master, must we go in?” Scanlon heard Justice say in that strange, two-toned timbre his voice got when the demon talked through him. Today the demon seemed strong. Demon Masters could have that effect.

  “Just one more church today, Tirakku,” Franchesca said over her shoulder, in what sounded to Scanlon like fake sympathy. He was no Reader, but after two days of trailing around after her, he was starting to get a sense of the woman. She could turn on the charm all right. She'd had every priest they talked to eating out of her hand within five minutes. She didn't give a shit about him or Justice, though she seemed fairly fond of Justice's demon.

  And she was clearly in charge of their little gang of three. She hadn’t asked for advice on the plan for locating Thorvaldson's woman. She'd already had a map of the Catholic churches in the greater Seattle area printed out when he’d shown up at Carson’s office yesterday. In fact, Scanlon spent most of both days wondering what she wanted him there for. Oh, she made small talk with him, even flirted a little, but he'd finally figured out she was on autopilot. Her real attention was elsewhere. The only time Scanlon felt she actually saw him was when she asked about the battle with Thorvaldson. It came up during their late night break in yesterday at Thorvaldson’s house. He’d really hoped for a major find at Thorvaldson’s. If the man kept a casting book of his personal spells, they hadn’t been able to find it.

  Scanlon expected, at the very least, to be involved in some aspect of how these scenes with the priest played out. Instead, he was the chauffeur and a bit player. He’d been working all day today at trying not to show how it galled him. He couldn’t afford for her to make a poor report of him to Carson.

  At least he had some idea what Carson wanted him there for: To keep an eye on Franchesca Gambrini.

  They walked up the grey concrete steps of St. Stephen’s church and in through the plain wood doors, which opened with a squeal. It looked to be one of the older churches in town, a down rent gothic cathedral wannabe. It was built of stone, with vaulted ceilings, pointed arches and stained glass, but all of it somehow too short, too dark, and overall appearing not quite clean. It was in the north end of town, right up against the city limits, where housing reverted to blue-collar neighborhoods and older apartment buildings after the more prosperous, well tended properties further south ran out. Scanlon had never seen the church before, but he was familiar with the neighborhood. There was an area of Aurora Boulevard nearby where one could easily find a hooker or score a variety of drugs.

  They spotted the priest in the side chapel, removing spent candles from a bank of red glass votive holders. He was a tall man with a broad back evident beneath his black cassock. As he turned to face them, Scanlon saw he was broad of face as well, with a mushroom of a nose under brown eyes, and a comb over across the top of his balding head.

  The priest broke out into a genial smile. “Well hello there, I didn’t hear you come in. I must have been lost in thought. I’m Father Steuben. What can I do for you?”

  Scanlon watched with amusement as Franchesca turned on the damsel in distress routine. She had dressed conservatively, in a long black skirt, blue blouse, and a black winter overcoat with a plaid wool scarf. Her hair was up in a loose bun that let some hair escape around her face to fall in wispy little curls.

  “Oh Father,” she said a little breathlessly, “I’m so glad you’re here. I was really hoping to speak to a priest today. I’m only in town two more days, and I know my sister won’t do anything about it once I’m gone. She’s not a believer,” Franchesca confided in a half whisper.

  “Slow down, dear. You’ve found me, and I’m free for the next half hour or so. We have some time to talk, or pray together, or whatever it is you need to do." He looked enquiringly at Scanlon, and then at Justice.

  “Oh, these are my cousins, Walter and Jerry,” she replied, indicating first Justice, then Scanlon. “I’m Margaret, Margaret Nelson. I do want to talk to you about something, if I may. But really, Father, I don’t know how to start. I’ve never done anything like this before,” she said, trailing off helplessly.

  “I’m sure whatever it is, it’s best just to start a
t the beginning,” Father Steuban responded warmly. “Why don’t we just sit down over here in one of the pews? We seldom have visitors this time of day, so we should have privacy.” He led the way, and settled his bulk down with a sigh. Franchesca sat next to him, with Scanlon next to her. Justice stood at the end of the pew, hands in pockets, looking down at his feet.

  “You said start at the beginning, Father, but I don’t know where that is,” Franchesca burbled on once they were settled. She gazed shyly and earnestly up at the priest, and Scanlon was hard put to keep the smirk off his face. She’d gotten better at this all day, and this time looked to be a real award winning performance. “I just know that when I got here last Saturday, I could tell something was different about Walter. He’s my oldest sister’s boy. There are nine of us kids, and I’m second to youngest, so Walter and I are almost the same age. We grew up together, so I would know. I know he’s not my child, Maria keeps telling me that, but sometimes you can’t see what’s right before your face, isn’t that right Father? Jerry saw it too, but Maria thinks we’re crazy. And Walter here doesn’t know what to think.”

  Father Steuban’s look of attentive patience was slipping toward bemusement. “Er, think about what, Margaret?”

  “About demon possession,” Franchesca whispered, leaning forward and putting her hand confidingly on the priest’s arm.

  The priest's expression turned serious. “Not many believe in possession anymore. Much of what used to be considered possession we now know is mental illness, or perhaps epilepsy. Most often, what’s needed is a visit to the doctor, or some counseling, or both. That’s always the best place to start. I have some excellent referrals if Walter here needs some.” He raised his eyebrows and looked over her head at Justice, who refused to meet the priest’s eyes.

  Scanlon could see the sweat starting to break out on Justice’s forehead, just as it had in every church they entered. He’d never been with someone demon ridden in a church before. Keltoi weren't exactly real big on going to church. Somehow, Scanlon had thought it would be like in the movies, and Justice would start screaming or writhing around or something, but nothing like that had happened. Justice just acted restless, got sweaty, and seemed to avoid looking around.

  “But Father,” Franchesca went on, voice quavering, “I was told you do exorcisms here. Maria’s husband’s aunt’s neighbor came here for one a while back. Some nice young woman helped her. She couldn’t remember the lady’s name, but she said she was young, had brown hair, and nice eyes, kind of medium height. She said she maybe looked Irish. Or maybe she said the young lady was wearing one of those Irish rings, you know the kind I mean? With the two hands holding a heart with a crown on top? And that you knew how to get hold of her. I didn’t really understand that part, I thought the priest did the exorcism, but of course I don’t know how it all goes. Anyway, won’t you just have a look at Walter? I’m so worried!” She looked up into Father Steuban’s eyes, wringing her hands. Scanlon thought that bit was overdone, but the priest didn’t seem to notice. Father Steuban’s expression softened, and he leaned toward Franchesca.

  “Perhaps if you could tell me a little of what concerns you? Or perhaps Walter would like to tell me?” He looked enquiringly again at Justice, but Justice had wandered off up the aisle, back toward the door.

  “Oh, thank you Father! Well, you see, Walter is so different now. So angry. He gets upset easily, and he never used to be like that. And he, he…” Franchesca looked down at her hands and continued in a softer voice, “He's been cruel to his two dogs. And his voice is different, Father, and his eyes. He’s not sleeping, and he’s eating everything in sight. And he hardly talks to anyone anymore, unless he’s angry. He agreed to come here with me, but when he got here, he changed his mind. Jerry and I practically had to force him to come into the church. Jerry told me he heard Walter talk in what sounded like another language, and when he asked Walter about it, he looked at Jerry like he was crazy, didn’t he Jerry?’

  Scanlon nodded, and replied, “It’s true, I heard it.” His small part played, he sat back and watched Franchesca wind up her performance.

  “I do realize, Father, that this all sounds like it could be depression. But you see, I really do know Walter. And when I look into his eyes, when I touch him, I feel cold and frightened. I feel evil, Father, I really do!” She delivered this last line with a quite convincing little shudder.

  Father Steuban sat quietly for a moment after she finished, looking thoughtful. Scanlon felt the urge to hurry things along. He was getting hungry. Franchesca must have sensed something, because she shot him a quelling glance.

  “Well of course, I’ll be happy to talk to Walter, if Walter wishes it,” Father Steuban finally responded. Justice had come closer again, and gruffly mumbled, “Okay,” when the priest looked over at him.

  Father Steuban got up and gestured for Justice to come with him. He walked slowly with Justice toward the front of the church, speaking with him so quietly that Scanlon couldn’t hear anything. Franchesca knelt in apparent prayer, and Scanlon joined her. “This is looking promising,” Franchesca murmured

  “God, I hope so,” Scanlon replied. “I’m starving. Please tell me we can get something to eat after this one. I know this Korean place near here…”

  They were interrupted by a shout from Justice. Father Steuban had maneuvered him up to the altar and had apparently handed him a crucifix. “Looks like the priest knows what he’s doing,” Franchesca said, looking intently at the action at the front of the church. “The crucifix alone probably wouldn’t have gotten that reaction. He must have tried one of the testing prayers along with it.”

  Scanlon’s interest was piqued at that. He really didn’t recall that much about exorcism. Once it had been clear to him he didn’t have Exorcist or Demon Master talent, he’d figured he didn’t need to know any more about it and focused instead on developing his Caster abilities. “That'd make him the first priest we've seen in all this who might actually know something about exorcisms.”

  “Most priests, especially here in America, wouldn’t know a demon if it bit them on the ass,” she answered derisively, albeit quietly.

  Justice had moved away from the priest, and was rubbing his palm. Father Steuban was apparently talking rapidly now, and put out a hand in supplication. After a time, Justice nodded in affirmation to something the priest said. The priest reached into his pocket and retrieved a handkerchief, wiped his hands and forehead with it, then gestured back to where Scanlon and Franchesca were kneeling. He and Justice walked back toward them, and Father Steuban joined them again on the pew.

  “I admit, there is some cause for concern with your cousin, Margaret. I think perhaps it may be worth taking the next step.”

  “Is it to be an exorcism then, Father?”

  “It may come to that, but first, there’s someone I want Walter to meet. There are some laypeople that have a gift for perceiving demons and assisting in exorcisms. As you may recall, in scripture, Jesus tells his disciples to cast out demons. I don’t think Our Lord meant that only the priests of his church would be able to do so. I believe we all have some responsibility to be alert for evil in all its forms, and that God has given some of us special abilities to do this work. I’m afraid, though, that it’s not likely to be the same person who helped your aunt’s friend. She suffered a death in the family and needs to take care of herself right now. I do know a man who could help, but I don’t believe he will be available immediately.”

  “Oh, but Father,” Franchesca implored, “I don’t think that’s going to work! I really believe that if Walter is willing to try this now, we have to act quickly. It seems he’s only willing to listen to me on this. Jerry tried to take him to a priest before, but Walter wouldn’t have it. And I have to leave so soon! Besides, we told him what we heard about this woman who helped someone we actually know, and that’s what decided him to come. I know it’s a lot to ask, but couldn’t Walter just meet her? Maybe if she met Walter, she’d care
enough to, to…” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a tissue, and dabbed artfully at her eyes.

  Father Steuban looked flustered, “Well I suppose I could ask Bree, but I honestly can’t say if she’ll be available.”

  “I can only ask that you try, Father. Would it help if I called and talk to this Miss…” She put a hand again on his sleeve.

  The priest didn’t bite. “No, no need. I’ll call her and put your case before her. If you could just wait here a minute while I go to my office, I’ll give her a ring now.”

  “Shit!” Franchesca hissed once the priest was out of range. “I almost had the name from him. Now I’ll have to try a casting, and I don’t have time.” She carefully placed the bit of thread she’d purloined from the priest’s cassock sleeve down on top of the tissue she’d been holding in her hand. Then she pulled her purse off her shoulder, and dumped the contents on the pew next to her. She rummaged frantically around in the debris until she came up with a piece of copper wire, a dirty grey feather, a yellow silk scarf, and a small knife.

  She spread out the scarf, arranged the thread on it with the copper wire touching it, placed the feather next to the wire, then pricked her left thumb with the knife. She touched the drop of blood that welled up to the opposite end of the wire and held it there. She took up the feather with her other hand, and waved it five times over the middle of the wire, eyes closed, chanting an incantation under her breath. Then she touched the feather to the wire, then to each of her eyelids. She sat silent after that, brow furrowed in furious concentration. Finally, a gasp escaped her lips. Her eyelids fluttered rapidly, then opened. She dropped the feather, and grabbed up a pen and a scrap of paper, and scribbled what looked like a phone number down. “Got it,” she said with satisfaction.