Lily nodded. “Surrogates have a similar scent. It’s not sulfur—that’s too obvious, and they’re not stupid, these demons—but a mix of resins and oils. The Egyptians called it kapet, the Greeks kyphi. Temple incense, mostly.”
My brows shot up. “Demons smell like ancient Egyptian temples?”
“Why not?” she asked. “Why is the ‘odor of sanctity’ sweet, like orange blossoms or other flowers? And it isn’t like demons naturally reek of it, though the scent intensifies significantly with death.”
I huffed a dry laugh. “So, we go around sniffing people to find out who’s a demon?”
“Pretty pervy,” McCue observed. “Might could get in trouble for that.”
Lily smiled briefly. “The woman earlier, the surrogate who attacked you, Gabriel. Did you smell anything?”
I shrugged. “Perfume.” Two sets of eyes stared at me. “Oh. Yeah. Okay. Well, shit. Am I supposed to worry about every woman I get up close and personal with, now?”
“Can you remember her scent?” McCue asked. “Would you know it again?”
I thought back. My mind had not exactly been on perfume with her hands on portions of my anatomy. But yeah, I’d been aware of a scent. “I couldn’t tell you what was in it.”
Lily’s torc glinted as she shifted. “Do the job right tonight, you’ll know what it smells like. Go over there, flush out the demons, kill ’em. Don’t worry about exorcising them; the bodies aren’t possessed humans, aren’t actual living human hosts, but ghosts. The humans are long dead. You only use exorcism if a living person has been possessed, because there’s a host to save.”
“Flush ’em out . . .” Remi echoed dryly. “Any suggestions how we do that?”
She sent us both a glance that was clearly amused. “Oh, I think that will take care of itself.”
I was reminded of how she’d described us earlier: newbies. “Wait,” I said. “Grandaddy said hell could track us now, because our beacons are turned on. Our souls? So we go after these things, and they know we’re coming?”
And I recalled what the other woman had said to me. “You lit it up last night. I felt it. And it shines so bright, it does. It’s so very pretty. But now I’m going to extinguish it. I’m going to extinguish you.”
Lily said, “You can be proactive, or reactive. It’s your choice. But yes, you are targets now. Anywhere you go where there are surrogates, they’ll know you. Not all are strong enough to track you—there’s a hierarchy among them as there is among the heavenly host—but all can sense you. You walk into a place where even a lesser surrogate has set up shop, made it a domicile, just as this roadhouse is, and that being will know you. But you’ll learn to do the same, to sense a demon’s presence.”
I shook my head. “How the hell are we going to be able to do that?”
She folded her arms, leaned against the cabinets. “The way Jubal explained it to me is that you, Remi, can read people. At some point, with experience, you’ll be able to recognize a host who’s been possessed no matter how human it appears. You, Gabriel, are sensitive to places. Kind of a living Electromagnetic Field meter. In certain places you’ll sense demonic presence, whether they’re in human hosts or something else. But it takes time to learn. No one is born knowing everything, even with heaven’s essence in you. You’ll have to survive long enough to learn.”
Yeah, a good goal, survival. I was up for that.
“So—tonight you’ll go in after your first surrogates. Whether you live or die is up to you.” Her tone sharpened from matter-of-factness to a hard precision. “But you need to realize this, to always remember this: if you die by normal means—and that’s possible, because you wear human flesh—you go to heaven. But a heavenly soul that is extinguished by a demon goes to hell. Literally, to hell. Forever. No angelic rescue.” Her green eyes were piercing. “And you really don’t want to go there, because Dante got it right about all those circles and suffering. Trust me, it’s no comedy, and it’s certainly not divine.”
“Dante emerged from hell,” Remi pointed out, before I could. “Found paradise. Found God.”
“And if we’re made of heavenly matter—” I began, but a look in her eye made me stop. “No go, huh?”
“Jubal could tell you better than I.”
“He’s not here, and you’re hedging,” I accused her.
Lily shrugged. “I have my own agenda. I’m not an angel, remember. I’m not even a Christian.” Her smile was faint, and oddly feral. “Remember the mythology, Gabe. All the various branches. Parse between them. You’ll find your answers there.”
McCue’s tone was skeptical. “If you’re the Morrigan.”
“Do the job,” she told him, unfazed by his observation. “Survive, come back to me, we’ll talk further. If you die, well . . .” Again, that feral smile, “. . . then it doesn’t matter, does it?”
I eyed her thoughtfully, realized we’d get no more out of her with this particular line of questioning, so I moved on. “We were in the Zoo last night, and I didn’t sense anything.”
“Did you try? The way Jubal always asked you to?”
I rolled my shoulders, sensing criticism beneath her tone. “It’s not a habit, and there was no reason to.”
“And you wouldn’t have recognized it if you had; you’re still just a baby.” She twitched her brows dismissively, mouth flat. “So, now you try. Become that EMF meter. Your grandfather started you, but it’ll take time.”
I remembered the day before upon the mountain, when I’d sensed the peace of the place, the slow beat of the earth’s pulse.
I looked at McCue. “Since you read people—you get any kind of vibe off that woman? The demon?”
Remi cocked an eyebrow. “Other than she had the hots for you and was ready to jump your bones? Yeah, I noticed you two on the way out the door. ’Course that was before she decided to gut and strangle you, that is. Nope. Nada.”
I considered that. “It might have been helpful if you had.”
“What, you want to drag me around to bars where you go to pick up women so I can tell you if they intend to kill you? Not my idea of a good time, boy. Not for me, leastways. That’s on you.”
I frowned, looked at Lily. “Did you know what she was?”
Her eyes sparked. “Who, me? When I’m just an imaginary creature out of mythology?” But she relented. “Macha might have. Dogs are very good at sensing things, far better than humans. But me, no. I didn’t know what she was until she tried to extinguish you. You might do better to ask if Jubal knew last night. He’s a seraph. They know far more than the rest of us.”
Just like that, Grandaddy was outed as something a little more important than an agent. But her words stung. “He’d warn me. He wouldn’t throw me to the wolves like that.”
She laughed at me. “I saw you, Gabriel. All that woman did tonight was give you a stare, a glint, a smile. After that it was all testosterone, boyo. No throwing was done at all, to wolves or otherwise, that you didn’t do yourself.” She gestured at the items spread out across the counter. “Take it. Guns, knives, ammo, herbs, water, oil—call it a starter kit. You’ll add your own things to it along the way. Like I said, I’ll resupply you when we’re in the same vicinity—and there are others of us out there, too—but you’ll need to find your own sources, learn how to do this for yourself. For one another.”
I cast a glance at McCue. For one another. When we were as yet strangers. But the cowboy looked back steadily, briefly quirked brows and tilted his head slightly as if to say he was willing to wait and see.
Lily noted the exchange. “You are not the only soldiers in this fight,” she declared. “There’s a world out there in trouble, and neither I nor Jubal nor anyone else in this war can be in all places. Yes, your bright little heavenly beacons may—may—summon help in times of great strife, should you call on them to do so, but most times you’ll have to
pick up that shovel and dig yourselves out of whatever hole you’re in. But then, you’ve been taught self-reliance. Whether you knew it or not, Jubal was training you. But so was life. Now—” She waggled beckoning fingers. “—come on into the living quarters, have some whiskey, kick back for a bit. In about four hours, couple of hours after closing time, you can head over and kill a pair of surrogates.” She shrugged. “Or, well . . . die.”
I shook my head. “We could just walk away. Call bullshit on everything, go back to our lives. Be normal.”
“There is no more ‘normal’ for either of you.” With a gesture, she led us out of the garage into elegant surroundings. “And have you ever walked away from a fight in your life, Gabriel Harlan?”
“Well, no. But I sure as hell don’t go looking for them, either.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Lily waved us to a seat upon the couch, the recliner. She poured whiskey into glasses, presented each of us with one. “Things are different, now. This rig is protected, but the minute you step outside it, that ends. They know you’re here, probably knew it last night when you put on the rings and clasped hands, but I’m betting they held back because of that woman. She must outrank them.”
McCue shook his head. “Quite a picture, ain’t it? Demonic chain of command.”
I, in the recliner and somewhat uneasy about the nearness of perch and crow—the bird was huge, with a mean eye and a nasty-looking beak—met Remi’s eyes. The cowboy’s expression was thoughtful.
Lily shrugged. “One hierarchy in heaven, another in hell. Balance. The two surrogates would have gone after you last night, unless someone of higher rank staked a claim. First dibs on Gabe because of primogenitura. You’d have been next, Remi.”
I swore, ran a hand through loose hair. “So—you’re saying for sure she’s a demon?”
“I’d think so,” Lily replied matter-of-factly. “Probably possesses a human host.”
I thought about that. It made me exceptionally uncomfortable. Nothing about her had suggested she was anything but all human, entirely a woman, and a highly hot one at that. But . . . now major squick factor, yeah.
I shifted in the chair and looked at McCue with an undisguised appeal. “Listen, if you’re good with seeing demons in people—you gotta let me know if one’s hitting on me.”
The cowboy’s grin was slow. “Or if you’re hitting on her?”
“Yes,” I said fervently. “I mean, that is, if you feel it. Smell it. Whatever it is you do.”
“I don’t do anything yet,” McCue said, eyes bright with humor.
“Because I don’t want to fu—” I broke off, slewed a glance at Lily.
“I am familiar with the word,” she said gravely. “And yes, it’s entirely possible a surrogate might seduce in order to extinguish you. They’ve been known to do that kind of thing.”
“Sooo, a succubus, in essence.” I heaved a sigh. “Damn, everything’s real, now? Succubi, incubi, sirens, kelpies, selkies . . .” I trailed off, because she was nodding. “Godzilla?”
“Probably not Godzilla,” she conceded, “or King Kong. Not sure about a Transformer. But sure, Remi can get into his truck, drive away. You can get on your bike, ride away. But they’ll follow you. They know you, now. You walked into their domicile, and you ignited your souls.”
I remembered that moment. Remi McCue and I had clasped hands, clicked rings together at Grandaddy’s behest—and now everything in my life, in our lives, was changed.
Lily Morrigan—the Morrigan?—drank whiskey, sat down upon the carpeted floor and crossed her legs, completely at ease. “It’s not an easy life, but if you listen and learn—and rely on what you’ve been taught—you’ll make out all right.” The wolfhound folded down and settled, putting a massive head into Lily’s lap. She stroked the wiry hair, gazed on us both out of bright green eyes set in fair, unblemished skin. “I know this is new—but you need to understand the risks. There’s no going back. You can’t do control-alt-delete. You are what you are. But what you need to remember is . . . hell knows you’re here.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Four hours later, under Lily Morrigan’s sharp, bright eyes, I wanted to laugh out loud. But McCue was being very serious, and she equally so; I doubted they’d understand my humor.
We were gearing up like some kind of serious macho testosterone movie. Or, yeah, like the elegance of James Bond discovering what new tech Q had for him.
I grinned. Biker leather and cowboy denim. Elegance, my ass.
When it came to armaments, I opted for the long-barreled version of the Taurus Judge, preparing to load with the silver-jacketed .45 caliber rounds Lily explained had been washed in holy water, then dipped in oil of abramelin.
“Which recipe?” I asked dryly. “Samuel Mathers’? Aleister Crowley’s?”
“The original,” she answered. “Abraham the Jew’s, as described in the Book of Abramelin. But there will be an extra ingredient in the mix just to give it a little kick: the breath of two souls born of heaven. So go on, boyos. Blow on the bullets.”
McCue’s head shot up. “Do what?”
I stared at her. “You’re kidding, right?”
Lily didn’t smile. “I don’t joke about weapons of war.”
After a moment’s thoughtful hesitation, Remi took five bullets into the palm of his hand and blew gently upon them, looking to Lily for confirmation. I, desiring more of a flourish to make a point, picked up the bullets one at a time, huffed a brief breath at each, then loaded it into the chamber.
“Yes,” Lily said, “you looked as silly as you thought you would. But it’s cover your ass time, is it not?” She paused, took from a drawer a shoulder holster and a belt-mount. “Arizona is open carry. No one will give you a hard time. Gabe, you can go with the shoulder holster under your jacket. Remi, you’re a Texas cowboy. Your belt will work.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I stripped out of my jacket, strapped myself into the shoulder holster, put my jacket back on.
I owned a Bowie, but felt most comfortable with the KA-BAR I habitually sheathed at my spine for a fast reach-around. The KA-BAR was a plain old steel knife, no silver involved, but it was comfortable and familiar, and tonight I wanted it within reach. Just having it on me offered a little ease in the midst of confusion, a mental anchor of sorts. At Lily’s suggestion, I wiped the blade down quickly with holy oil.
Remi had opted for the Damascus Bowie, the Hibben trio of throwing knives, and the short-barreled Taurus. But when it came to the Remington shotguns, I recommended powdered-iron cartridges.
When McCue looked a question, I explained that folklore ghosts were most susceptible to iron. Which sounded stupid when I said it, but that’s what legend and folklore claim. “Since we’re doing the Cover Your Ass thing. Though I sure as shit never thought about using shotgun shells on ghosts. In stories, it’s blades.”
McCue seemed unfazed. “If it’s folklore, it’s your wheelhouse,” he said. “I’ll recite the Latin, handle exorcisms, throw knives as necessary, shoot the hell out of whatever—hell, I’ll pray over ’em, if that’ll work . . . but I’ve never contemplated killing ghosts before, so if you’ve got a leg up, go for it.”
“Well, iron and salt are used for dispersal of, or protection against, ghosts,” I explained. “Supposedly to get rid of a ghost for good you have to destroy its source material, such as bones. Now, you do understand I’ve never actually done this before. Just studied it.” I’d taught it, too, but didn’t say that. “But I don’t know jack about demons. Unless you’re a priest, who does? It’s not exactly normal.”
Remi McCue grinned. “I’ve studied exorcisms recited in a dead language. You’ve read how to destroy ghosts. Oh, son, we are so far beyond the vicinity of normal that it ain’t even funny.”
I reflected that this was undoubtedly true. “So, Lily . . . we go in there, flush ’em out, then shoot ’em to
back ’em off? How do we actually kill them?”
“These ghosts were humans, once,” she replied. “You can kill a human by shooting it with anything, if you hit the right spot. What’s true in life is true in death. So hit the same right spot. But regular ammunition won’t work on a ghost or a surrogate.”
I nodded. “Got it. Powdered iron to knock them off-stride, then silver bullets dipped in holy oil—”
“—and don’t forget we breathed on ’em.” McCue was grinning. “Breath of death, instead of breath of life. Kinda like it.” He paused. “Bein’ as they’re demons, and all.”
I shrugged. “So long as we don’t have to kiss ’em, I’m game.”
McCue nodded, looked at Lily. “Just to clarify—if we wing a ghost, we don’t kill it. But we put a shot wherever it’ll kill a human, we’re good?”
“If it’s a human ghost,” Lily clarified. “And yes, you can disperse a ghost temporarily if you wing it, or even with less contact than that. One BB might do. But recall that these are demons in ghost form. It won’t take long for either demon to reconstitute. The first time, they may respond as a real ghost would and dematerialize, because a ghost has sense memory of itself as a human, but that won’t last. Demons can’t be effective if they don’t establish their own powerbase within the host as soon as possible. You can’t just wound a demon in the form of ghost or spirit and keep driving it away. Once, maybe. After that, bet on them being very corporeal, very strong—and seriously pissed off. Call it paranormal adrenaline. That’s when iron won’t work.”
McCue looked at me. “Silver bullet to heart or head.”
I grinned. “Works for me.” But amusement died. I met Lily’s eyes. “Do they know we’re coming?”
Lily stared right back. “I don’t know.”
* * *
—
After dark, the cowboy and I crossed the lot between Lily’s RV and the roadhouse. The moon was nearly full, and the swath of stars above the city was astonishing in its clarity. The only artificial illumination came from the bug light over the back door.
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