by Jenna Black
seven
BECAUSE ADAM WAS TIED UP WITH POLICE BUSINESS, our second council meeting in two days didn’t convene until after four. As I waited for the council to arrive, I watched a Phillies game on TV, hoping to keep myself from thinking too much. It even worked, for the first couple of innings. Then I saw another Spirit Society recruitment commercial, and I lost all interest in the game. I turned off the set and wondered if I’d ever enjoy watching TV again.
The council members straggled in by ones and twos, just like the day before. And just like the day before, Raphael was the last to arrive and was about ten minutes late. But no one said anything to him about it, so at least we didn’t immediately start the hostilities.
Adam filled us in on the details of Mary’s murder. Not surprisingly, Mary’s host, Helen Williams, had a long rap sheet, even though she’d been only twenty-two years old. Arrests for drugs and prostitution riddled her record, and, as is unfortunately often the case with people like Helen who live high-risk lifestyles, the police weren’t going to spend lots of manpower and taxpayer money to hunt down her murderer. So far, there’d been no sign of any friends and family beating on their doors demanding justice. The prevailing theory was that she’d run afoul of a drug dealer and been “punished.”
If Helen Williams had been a different sort of person—the kind the police saw as valuable members of society—the authorities might have pressed Adam harder about why she’d had his card. His explanation, after all, was a bit thin. But there was only so much time and effort they were willing to put into the case, and Adam was a high-profile, upstanding citizen, so he was getting something of a free pass. Damn convenient for us, but I couldn’t help feeling a surge of disgust at the police department’s lack of interest in the death of a young woman. I understood all the reasons why it wouldn’t be a priority, but I didn’t have to like it. It gave me another reason to really hope we caught up with whoever had forced Helen Williams to summon a demon she didn’t want. A little vigilante justice might hit the spot.
How many more people like Helen Williams were out there right now? I shuddered to think.
“I guess we need to go on another hunting expedition,” Raphael said. His compassion for the dead woman was underwhelming, but then I hadn’t expected anything more from him.
“No,” Barbie said. She sat rigidly on her straight-backed chair. “We just got that poor woman killed. I’m not doing that again.”
“Fine,” Raphael said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “We’ll use someone else as bait.”
“No, you won’t,” Barbie retorted. Anger flushed her cheeks, but her voice remained level and reasonable. “The only reason to do it would be to try to get to the next rung in the ladder, which isn’t going to happen if whoever we question gets murdered within hours of us talking to them.”
It was a very reasonable-sounding argument, though I felt certain Barbie’s refusal to take part was out of something other than cold logic. She’d felt guilty last night, when Mary had only been roughed up a bit. I bet she felt really horrible right now, knowing that Mary … no, that Mary’s host had been killed.
I glanced over at Andy, the guilt king. He might not have been present for the interrogation, but he’d raised no objections during the council meeting where we’d concocted the plan. Sure enough, he was staring at his feet, his lips pressed together in a thin, unhappy line.
“I don’t feel good about getting Helen Williams killed, either,” I said, still looking at Andy, “but it’s not like we could have guessed it would happen.”
Raphael followed my gaze to Andy, then rolled his eyes dramatically. I clenched my teeth and ordered myself not to tell Raphael what I thought of him. Never mind that Andy and his hangdog act were getting on my nerves, too.
“We’ll just have to pick a better mark this time,” Raphael said, quickly losing interest in his former host. “Mary had only been on the Mortal Plain a couple of days. She hadn’t had a chance to meet with her contact yet. If we can question someone who’s been here at least a couple of weeks, he or she might be able to give us a name, or at least a description.”
Barbie sat forward in her chair. “So it doesn’t bother you at all that a woman was beaten to death because of us?”
Saul, sitting beside Barbie, laughed bitterly. “Do you have any idea how many people have died because of the things my sire has done? Expecting him to feel remorse is like expecting him to grow a halo and wings.”
I tensed, thinking this conflict was about to escalate, but Raphael surprised me with the mildness of his answer.
“Whether I feel remorse or not doesn’t matter,” he said. “I know what you all think of me, and, frankly, I don’t give a damn. I’m giving you my opinion of what I think we should do next, but it will ultimately be Lugh’s decision.” He looked at me. “The council is here for discussion and advice, but we all know who’s in charge.”
“Care to comment, Lugh?” I asked.
I’m afraid remorse is not a luxury we can afford, he answered. We need more information, and these newly arrived demons are the key to getting it.
I didn’t like his answer—even though I knew he was probably right—so I didn’t share it. “Does anyone have a better idea?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound like I was pleading.
“Lugh agrees with me,” Raphael said, reading Lugh’s answer in my face. “But perhaps there’s a way to make our course of action more palatable.”
“I’d love to hear it,” I muttered.
“When we’ve finished questioning our next subject, Morgan can perform an exorcism. Without the demon in residence, there would be no reason for our enemies to kill the host.”
Adam looked dubious. “Even if the demon was keeping the host shut out, the host might know something damaging enough that they’d kill him anyway.”
Raphael shook his head. “After we’ve already questioned him and wrung every possible drop of information out of him? What would be the point? It would be an unnecessary risk.”
“Of course, if the demon’s had a couple of weeks to do a hatchet job on the host’s psyche,” I said, “the host might not survive the exorcism.”
“But you believe that exorcism is the lesser of two evils when an unwilling host is involved,” he countered. “Even if by some miracle the demon and host get along famously, they’re going to be under the thumb of someone who regards humans as nothing more than cattle, to be used and discarded as necessary.”
“You mean like you?” Saul muttered, but Raphael ignored him.
“It’s a good plan,” Raphael said. “We get the information we need, and the host gets rid of an unwanted visitor. Surely even you can’t object to that, son.”
Usually, Raphael shows a remarkable amount of restraint around Saul, considering how heavily Saul goads him. But every once in a while, he got his subtle verbal jabs in, almost like he couldn’t help himself. We all knew how Saul objected to any reminder that Raphael was his father. Hell, Saul wouldn’t even use the word “father,” but insisted on calling Raphael his “sire,” if he had to refer to him at all.
Saul bared his teeth. “Don’t call me that!”
Barbie reached over and put her hand on Saul’s leg. “Down, boy,” she said. “You know better than to let him get to you.”
Sometimes, when Saul works up a head of steam, as it looked like he was doing now, it was really hard to rein him back in. Apparently, Barbie was having a good influence on him, though, because as soon as she spoke, he relaxed back into his chair and shook his head.
“You’re right,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s not worth it.”
I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing at the sulky, sullen look on Saul’s face. Neither Saul nor his host was a kid, but he looked like your stereotypical rebellious teen.
Raphael was examining his fingernails with sudden fascination, his lowered head keeping his face in shadows. Sorry to say, I knew him too well to be fooled by his apparent apathy.
It hurt him every time Saul denied him.
So why the hell does he keep poking his pins in Saul, when he knows very well how Saul will react? I asked Lugh silently.
Because when Saul strikes back, Raphael can think “Oh, poor me” and throw himself a pity party, Lugh responded. Sometimes, I think he’s really changed. Then he pulls something like this, and I realize he’s still the same old Raphael.
I wasn’t sure I agreed with Lugh on this point. Yeah, Raphael was a pro at feeling sorry for himself, but it seemed to me he had … matured since I’d first met him. Specifically, I remembered a time when Lugh had taken over my body to confront Raphael. I’d thought he just meant to have a conversation, but it had quickly turned into a fight. But although Lugh and Raphael were about evenly matched in power, Raphael had refused to fight back, willing to let Lugh send him back to the Demon Realm and Dougal’s tender mercies rather than risk a fight that could get Lugh killed.
Do you really think the old Raphael would have made the same decision? I asked Lugh, trying not to think about how ironic it was for me to be defending Raphael, whom I loathed.
Perhaps not, Lugh conceded, then fell silent.
“Another trip to The Seven Deadlies, then,” Adam said, bringing us back on topic.
Barbie let out an unhappy sigh. “I guess so.”
“You don’t have to be the bait,” I told her. “I’m sure someone else can do it.” Not that anyone seemed in any rush to volunteer.
“No, it should be me,” she said. “This is the kind of stuff I do for a living.” She frowned. “Well, not really, but …” She huffed. “You know what I mean.”
And I did. Barbie had once described the biggest part of her job as “convincing people to tell me things they’re not supposed to tell me,” with an obvious corollary of “convincing people to do things they’re not supposed to do.” She was the right person for the job, even though she didn’t like it.
“I guess that means we’re all settled,” Adam said. “The club isn’t open on Sundays, so let’s head out there tomorrow night.”
“Whatever you say, coach,” I said, feeling tired now that we were winding down and I could let myself relax a bit. I don’t function well on less-than-optimal sleep.
There was a little more chitchat after that, but nothing of great importance, and no one came to blows over anything. As the council members trickled out my front door, I noticed that Brian was hanging back. I couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, he and I really needed to talk. On the other hand, this wasn’t the kind of talk we should have while I was tired and grumpy.
When Brian and I were finally alone in the apartment, he turned to me. I held up a hand to forestall whatever he’d been about to say.
“Can it wait until I’ve made a fresh pot of coffee?”
Dominic had brought me some fabulous, extra-strong Italian roast that I was dying to try. He’d probably meant me to make it for the meeting, but I wasn’t about to share my treasure with seven other people.
Brian gave me one of his boyish grins. “It can wait. I know better than to get between you and your coffee.”
“Smart-ass,” I replied, but I meant it affectionately.
Brian followed me into the kitchen and watched in silence as I scooped out fragrant coffee and filled the pot with water. I set the pot to brew, then turned and leaned my butt against the counter, examining the man I loved, trying to get a feel for what he was thinking. But, unlike me, Brian was a pro at hiding his thoughts.
“Okay,” I said as the coffeepot began to gurgle. “What’s up?”
His eyebrows arched. “I need an excuse to want to talk to my girlfriend?”
“Of course not,” I answered irritably. “But considering how we left things, I don’t think you’re here to make small talk.”
Brian reached into the cabinet beside my head and got out a coffee mug. Without another word, he pulled the carafe from the coffee maker. A couple drops of coffee hissed against the hot plate, but I’d never abide a coffee maker that made you wait until the pot was done before you could get a cup, so there wasn’t much of a mess. There was only enough coffee in the pot for about a third of a cup, but Brian poured it into a mug and handed the mug to me before putting the carafe back.
“For medicinal purposes,” he said.
I rolled my eyes at him, but that didn’t stop me from taking a cautious sip from my mug. I managed to burn my tongue despite my caution, but it was worth it for the rich, dark flavor. It was a shame to dilute that with cream and sugar, but I only drink coffee black if I have no choice. I closed my eyes and inhaled the scent, letting the comfortable familiarity of the coffee ritual calm me.
When I opened my eyes, I saw that Brian had gotten the half-and-half out of the fridge and put the sugar bowl in front of me. Ah, the joys of being predictable. But it was nice to be able to doctor my coffee so I could pretend not to notice how intently Brian was watching me.
“I had an idea during today’s meeting,” he said. “I want to run it by you, but I don’t want you to answer right away. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”
Uh-oh. I didn’t like the sound of this. I tore my attention away from the coffee and glanced at him cautiously. “Is this one of those ideas that requires me to put down breakable objects before you present it?” I asked, holding up the coffee mug for display.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I’m not sure. Why don’t you put it down just in case?”
I made a face at him, but put the coffee mug down. I had no clue what he was about to say, and that made me nervous.
“Okay,” I said, bracing myself. “Lay it on me.”
“Again, remember that I don’t want you to answer me now. I just want you to keep it in the back of your mind.”
I nodded and made a “keep talking” gesture.
“It occurred to me that we’re probably past the point where it’s necessary to keep Lugh hidden behind your human aura.”
Because of my unique relationship with Lugh, no one examining my aura could tell I was possessed, as long as I was the one driving my body. When Lugh took control, I did show up on the radar as possessed, but that happened so rarely it hadn’t been an issue. This had made my body the perfect hiding place for Lugh when Raphael first tricked me into calling him to the Mortal Plain.
It wasn’t hard to see where Brian was going with this, and I immediately bristled. “You want me to pass Lugh off to some other host?” I had so many objections to this idea I couldn’t even figure out which one to lob out first.
Brian held up his hands. “Let me finish before you bite my head off.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, my chest feeling tight and achy. I didn’t have to hear him out to see the danger signs. Brian had thought about what life would be like continuing to date me with his new understanding of just how present Lugh really was, and he wasn’t able to accept it.
I was so stunned and upset by the implications that I couldn’t think of anything to say. Brian took that as a sign it was safe for him to keep talking.
“When you were first hosting Lugh, it was pretty much just the two of you against the world, and secrecy was your best weapon. But now … Now Lugh has the council and powerful demon allies. Plus, Dougal doesn’t seem to be actively hunting him.”
“And just who would you ‘volunteer’ to be Lugh’s new host?” I asked through clenched teeth. “Not that I’m conceding your point, you understand. And if you say Andy, I’m going to …” I couldn’t think of a creative enough threat. “Let’s just say it won’t be pretty.”
Brian gave me an affronted look. “I’m not a complete moron. I’d never suggest you should give him to Andy, even if I thought Andy was willing to host him.”
“Then who?”
“If all goes as planned, tomorrow night, you’ll be kicking a demon out of an unwilling host. Who might not be in good shape when the demon’s gone. And who we’ve already determined is unlikely
to have friends and family who would be distressed—or even notice—if he or she disappears.”
My jaw dropped, and I stared at Brian in utter shock. “You want me to transfer Lugh to an unwilling host who, I’ll remind you, might recover even if he’s catatonic after the exorcism?” I tried to keep my voice down, without success.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed he’d propose something so patently immoral. In the past, I’d always seen him as a model citizen, law-abiding and ethical almost to a fault. True, I’d found out that I’d put him on a bit of a pedestal, but still …
Brian wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You could always have Lugh transfer temporarily, and Lugh could tell you whether he thought there was any chance of recovery. Besides, for all we know, the host will be brain-dead, not just catatonic.”
It was true that in about one percent of all cases, a host would be brain-dead after an exorcism, unable to function on even the basest level—like, say, breathing—without the demon in residence. I shook my head violently.
“So you’ll be hoping the poor schmuck we exorcize tomorrow turns up brain-dead?” I wasn’t making any attempt to keep my voice down anymore. I was so pissed I wished I hadn’t put the coffee mug down. Brian had subtly nudged it out of my reach, and if I wanted to grab it and pitch it at the wall, I’d have to go through him to do it. Actually, that wasn’t sounding like such a bad idea.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” I said with a shake of my head. “You’re supposed to be one of the good guys! The good guys don’t condone possessing unwilling hosts just because it’s convenient.”
The look on his face hardened. “Oh, so it was okay to let Raphael take Tommy to save your brother the trouble of hosting him, but it’s not okay for you to give Lugh to a host who’s already damaged beyond repair?”
I couldn’t help flinching. It was a low blow, but I probably deserved it. I was being a hypocrite. Yet even knowing that, I was still fighting to rein in my temper. “What’s happened to you, Brian? I never thought I’d hear you argue that two wrongs make a right.”
