by Jenna Black
Being a newbie, she went with the whole formal ritual, complete with a circle of protection and chanted mumbo jumbo. She wouldn’t be able to see Lugh, because as long as I was in control, my aura overwhelmed his, so I wasn’t overly worried. I was just tired and depressed and scared, and I wanted this whole ordeal to be over with.
But as the baby exorcist sat down on the floor in front of me with her eyes closed and her palms turned up, Lugh’s voice spoke in my mind.
Trust me, he said.
Before I could ask him what I was supposed to trust him about, he gently but inexorably pushed my consciousness aside and took control of my body.
I couldn’t give voice to the scream that wanted to erupt from my throat, nor could my pulse shoot up to red-alert speed, but that didn’t stop me from mentally screaming in Lugh’s ear.
What are you doing? You’re going to get us both killed!
I’ll explain later, he said, his mental voice annoyingly calm and collected while I spiraled down into panic. Just trust me.
The exorcist clearly wasn’t expecting to find me possessed. I’m sure your normal illegal demon would be protesting wildly against the examination, trying to wiggle out of it, but I was just sitting there quietly, awaiting her verdict. When she saw Lugh’s aura, her eyes practically bulged out of her head, and she scrambled frantically away, her shoes slipping and sliding on the cold tile floor.
She didn’t officially pronounce a verdict, but the guards got the message loud and clear, and soon, my body was limp and listing severely sideways, held up only by the handcuffs that attached me to the table. Both guards had shot, so there were four Taser probes sticking out of me. Lugh didn’t let me feel the pain of all that electricity running through my body, but that wasn’t much of a comfort.
We were up shit’s creek, and not only didn’t we have a paddle, our boat was taking on water by the gallon. There wasn’t an exorcist on the planet who was strong enough to exorcize Lugh. And if they couldn’t exorcize him, we were going to burn.
Relax, Morgan, Lugh said, still absurdly calm. The guards were fitting him with a stun belt now, something that would allow them to control him even more easily than the Tasers.
You know how slowly the wheels of justice turn for humans. If we go into the human legal system, we could be in jail for months even if we’re eventually found not guilty. And you know how much faster everything works for demons.
A pair of gloved and armored guards—every inch of skin covered so my demon couldn’t transfer out of me via skin-to-skin contact—were now dragging us through the hallway toward the demon containment area. There was practically a squadron of them surrounding us, Tasers drawn, ready to react to the slightest movement, though there was no way Lugh could so much as twitch voluntarily for another eight minutes at least.
Yeah, I responded hysterically. And that means we could be headed to the oven before twenty-four hours have passed!
Lugh’s mental voice was slow and patient, like he was explaining his plan to an idiot. Which maybe he was, but there’s nothing like the fear of being burned alive to hamper one’s mental processes.
No, we could be headed to an exorcism before twenty-four hours have passed. And when the exorcist says “abracadabra,” I’ll transfer you back into control. It will look for all the world like I’ve been exorcized. Even though I was only hearing his voice, not seeing his face, I could sense him grinning. And since I’ll confess to murdering Jack Hillerman and David Keller, you’ll be a free woman once I’ve been “exorcized.”
Okay, even in the midst of my panic, I had to admit, that was a pretty clever plan. But panic isn’t that easy to beat.
What if the exorcist isn’t fooled?
Lugh laughed at me. What other possible explanation could she have for what happens? One moment, she sees a demon aura, the next, it’s gone. Obviously, her exorcism has succeeded.
It was hard to argue his logic. It was also hard not to be terrified. But the die was well and truly cast, and we’d both better hope like hell his clever plan worked.
This was not the first night I’d ever spent in jail, nor was it the first night I’d spent in a demon containment cell. Containing a creature so strong it could probably juggle cars if they weren’t so awkward to grip isn’t what you’d call easy. The containment cells are barren white rooms, with vaultlike doors and steel-reinforced walls.
The stun belt was meant to assure my cooperation at all times, especially those times when someone had to open the cell door. I’d be ordered to the far side of the room, and if I didn’t comply…zap! But this meant I had to keep the stun belt on, and the only way they could be sure it stayed on was to keep me under twenty-four-hour surveillance. The danger— and expense—of keeping a demon imprisoned was considerable. Do you begin to see why the wheels of justice turn at Daytona 500 speed where demons are concerned?
Lugh tried to give me back control as soon as we were safely locked away in our cell, but I was instantly hit with the delightful headache-and-nausea effect of repeated control changes, and Lugh took over once more.
Great idea, Lugh, I complained. I needed yet another control shift to make me feel oh-so-much better the next time.
It would be rather difficult to explain why a demon is puking all over her cell, he countered dryly. Once I’ve been “exorcized,” you can explain your illness by saying you probably have the flu, but since demons don’t get sick…
I understood his point, but I was not a happy camper. I wasn’t sure my mental defenses would stay down long enough to let him be in control for hours on end, for one thing. Like I’ve said, I’m a control freak, and sitting around in the background of my own body was not at the top of my list of favorite things. It was going to take a massive effort of will for me not to try to fight my way back into the driver’s seat.
And I didn’t even want to know how sick I was going to feel when I was back in that proverbial driver’s seat.
Since I was now officially a prisoner of the Special Forces department, I wasn’t surprised to get a visit from Adam, who came to “question” me. He wasn’t in on the plan, of course, and Lugh couldn’t explain it to him straight out, seeing as we were being recorded on camera for posterity. (Actually, for the judge who would be pronouncing the verdict sometime later in the day. Convicting demons was of such prime importance that even the weekend wouldn’t slow it down. There was rarely a doubt as to what the verdict would be in cases like this, anyway.)
Adam looked distinctly worried when he stepped into the cell. Lugh smiled at him.
“Some great demon cop you turned out to be.” Lugh managed to get a level of mockery into my voice that I probably never could have attained myself. And, I realized, it was a good thing he was in control, because he was a lot better at acting and lying than me. “All the time you spent with me, and you never even noticed when Morgan went bye-bye.”
Adam was keeping his distance, though he had the stun belt trigger in his hand and wouldn’t need to be particularly cautious even if I had been a hostile demon. He’s not exactly a pushover himself. His eyes were narrowed in concentration as he tried to figure out what Lugh was up to.
“And when was that, exactly?” he asked.
“During the exorcism she’s been taking so much heat for, of course,” Lugh responded, and I figured he’d gotten that idea from Barbie and her guesses.
Adam cocked his head to the side. “You mean she made the mistake of touching Jordan Maguire sometime before his demon—you, I gather—was exorcized?”
Lugh clapped like Adam had just performed a particularly impressive stunt. “Bravo! Give the man a gold star.”
“So you’re the one who killed Jack Hillerman and David Keller?” Adam asked, and though his change of expression was subtle, I could tell he’d caught on.
Lugh shrugged. “Hillerman was making my new life … annoying. And Keller was trying to make it even worse. How did you find me, by the way?”
I doubted Adam would have answer
ed that had Lugh been your average, everyday rogue demon, but I’m sure he knew how important that question was to both Lugh and myself. I could only think of two people who could have sent the cops our way: Barbie… and Brian.
I’d shown myself to be a lousy judge of character in the past, but I really hated the thought that I’d started to like Barbie and she might have betrayed me. Of course, I liked the idea of Brian doing it even less. And though he was angry with me and was usually a stickler for the letter of the law, I just couldn’t see him siccing the cops on me. Even my trust issues weren’t that bad.
“We got an anonymous call from The Seven Deadlies last night,” Adam said. “Your friend Tommy Brewster is a regular, so when the report came in that you were seen together, the police came to the natural conclusion that you might be hiding out at Tommy’s house.”
If I’d been in charge of my body, I’d have heaved a sigh of relief. I hadn’t been betrayed after all. I’d merely been recognized. Somewhat surprising, since I hadn’t seen a single police officer during Raphael’s and my foray. And it was downright odd that someone other than a cop would not only recognize me in disguise and in the dark of the club, but know I was a wanted criminal. The only person I’d seen at the club who actually knew me was Shae, and she’d have to be certifiably insane to risk Raphael’s wrath.
There might have been someone else there who recognized you, Lugh suggested. Someone who’s taken a particular interest in your life.
I cursed—not literally, of course, since my mouth wasn’t my own at the moment. Despite the threats we’d considered, we hadn’t taken into account that my good buddy Abraham might be hanging out at The Seven Deadlies in his new body. I hoped like hell he made the mistake of confiding something to Shae while he was there so we could get a bead on whom he’d possessed now.
Lugh twisted my lips into an unpleasant smile. “I do hope my dear friend doesn’t get into any trouble over this little … misunderstanding.”
Adam shrugged. “He’ll be charged with harboring a fugitive, but it’s hard to prove he knew you were a fugitive.”
And either way, harboring a fugitive was not a violent crime, so there was no danger of Raphael being executed. Which I supposed was a good thing, though I wasn’t sure I’d shed a tear if he finally got his just deserts.
“Do you have anything you’d like to say in your own defense?” Adam asked.
Lugh made his laugh sound bitter. “Would it matter?”
The answer, of course, was no, but Adam dutifully spouted the party line about justice being served, yada, yada, yada. He left shortly afterward, but it didn’t take more than maybe four hours for the verdict and the sentence to be read. Lugh was declared both an illegal, for possessing me against my will, and a rogue, for the murders of Jack Hillerman and David Keller.
It was another four hours before the court-appointed exorcist arrived. Those were possibly the longest four hours of my life. Despite Lugh’s calm assertions that we were in absolutely no danger, and despite my confidence in both his judgment and his logic, it was impossible not to be scared. Not when the consequences of failure included being incinerated alive in a cremation oven. Of course, if it somehow came to that, they’d anesthetize me first, and Lugh would block out the pain anyway, but that didn’t take away the primal terror.
Add to that the necessity to leave Lugh in control of my body, and I thought I might go quietly insane before this was all over. Lugh did his best to comfort me, and he tried to give me the illusion that I was under control after all. When I longed to stand up, he did it. When I felt the need to pace to work off my nerves, he did that, too. But it wasn’t the same, and we both knew it.
Frightened as I was, it was still a relief when the exorcist made an appearance. I didn’t get the baby exorcist who’d examined me last night, but Ed Rose, a competent but unspectacular exorcist. He was also experienced enough to have dispensed with some of the formalities, so the whole affair didn’t take more than about fifteen minutes.
But maybe it was those fifteen minutes that were the longest stretch of time in my life, rather than the previous four hours.
What if Ed wasn’t fooled? What if we got the timing off, and Lugh disappeared from his radar before he’d even made an effort to exorcize him? What if my need to be in control suddenly kicked in and I reflexively tossed Lugh out before the ritual even began? What if Lugh had been in control for too long and somehow I couldn’t get back?
If I’d had control of my stomach, I’d have been puking with anxiety, never mind the dreaded aftereffects I was about to endure. At least, I hoped I was about to endure, because the alternative was unthinkable.
But despite all the horrors my mind could conjure, Lugh’s ruse worked almost perfectly. I say “almost,” because Ed looked slightly puzzled when it was all over, like something about that ritual hadn’t been quite right. But whatever it was, Ed shrugged it off. Which was the last thing I noticed before I started vomiting my guts out.
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.”