Chicks Kick Butt - Rachel Caine, Kerrie Hughes (ed)

by Chicks Kick Butt (mobi)

  I was constructing a tactful reply—tact not being one of my strong suits—but Patsy continued before I came up with one.

  “She’s only eighteen.”

  “Ah,” I said. The legal age of consent for demonic possession is twenty-one. If the girl really was possessed, then her demon was an illegal, and I could lawfully cast it out. “What makes you think she’s possessed?” Usually, it’s hard to tell that a person is possessed if the demon doesn’t want you to know. When a demon takes a human host, it has access to all the host’s thoughts and memories, and can mimic its host’s behavior to a tee. The legal ones don’t bother, since it’s a matter of public record that they’re in residence. The illegal ones, however, have every reason to hide, especially in Pennsylvania, which is one of the ten states that executes illegal demons that can’t be cast out.

  Patsy frowned deeply. “Melanie’s been acting strangely for a long time now.”

  “Almost a year,” her husband put in.

  Patsy shot him an annoyed look, and a hint of red colored his cheeks. Apparently, this was Patsy’s show, and she didn’t appreciate the interruption.

  “She’s been sullen and rude,” Patsy continued. “She started swearing—she’s never sworn before in her life! And the way she dresses…” Patsy shuddered.

  “She’s going through a goth phase,” Scott said, earning himself another glare.

  “It is not a phase,” she snapped. “It’s a demon!”

  “Sounds like a typical teenager to me,” I commented. I think I managed to keep a straight face.

  Patsy shook her head vehemently. “It’s more than that. She has refused to join us in m—” Patsy forced a cough. “—church.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Church? What were you about to say before you changed it to church?”

  She waved the question off. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if you believe me, either. I want to hire you to examine her aura. Surely you’re willing to do that even if you think I’m imagining things.”

  I sat back in my chair and thought about it. Based on her reference to demons as the Spawn of Satan, I suspected her dislike of demons ran to the fanatical. Had the word she’d stopped herself from saying been “meeting”? As in a God’s Wrath meeting? My gut instinct was yes, and that was a serious cause for concern.

  If the girl was possessed, then I had no problem with casting the demon out and sending its ass back to the Demon Realm where it belonged. But if Patsy was a member of God’s Wrath, she would be unlikely to accept exorcism as a solution. According to the wackos in God’s Wrath, those who host demons must be “purified” by fire. As far as they’re concerned, demons cannot possess the pure of heart. Therefore, if you’re possessed, you’re corrupt enough to justify being burned alive.

  Was Patsy the kind of God’s Wrath wingnut who would burn her own daughter? I had no way of knowing, but just the suspicion made me want to refuse.

  She’ll just find someone else to do it, Lugh reminded me. And that other someone might not care what happens to the girl if she’s possessed.

  Once again, Lugh was right. I was far from the only exorcist who had ever hated demons. Generally, you didn’t get into this profession if you thought they were here for the good of mankind. I balked at the idea that any of the exorcists I knew would look the other way while God’s Wrath burned a young girl to death. But there were plenty of exorcists I didn’t know.

  “All right,” I said, trying not to sound as reluctant as I felt. “How do you want to do this?”

  As a general rule, I deal with the police, casting out rogue and illegal demons that have already been judged guilty and sentenced. Those ceremonies are conducted in the demon containment area beneath the courthouse, with the demons thoroughly restrained and fitted with stun belts. Those who try to resist are given a good jolt of electricity, which fucks up a demon’s ability to control its host’s body. If Melanie really was possessed by an illegal demon, I couldn’t see her holding still long enough for me to examine her aura.

  Patsy reached into her fussy little purse and pulled out a business card. The address printed on the card was crossed out, and another one was handwritten off to the side.

  “Come to the house tonight at ten,” Patsy said, putting the card on the top of my desk and sliding it toward me with one finger.

  That sounded suspiciously like an order. I don’t take orders well. “Sorry, but I only operate during normal business hours.”

  She gave me a schoolteacher glare. “Naturally, you will receive a bonus to make up for the … inconvenience. Would double your usual fee do?”

  “Depends. How do you plan to convince your daughter to hold still for the exam if she’s possessed?”

  “Leave that to me. She’ll hold still for it.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. But, as Lugh had said, if I didn’t do this, someone else would. And double my fee was undeniably tempting.

  Feeling sure I was making a big mistake, I agreed to the deal.

  * * *

  The Sherwoods lived out on the Main Line, which was the border between Philadelphia proper and its suburbs. I’d known the Sherwoods were well-to-do based on their clothes, so their enormous house—big enough to hold my apartment three times—came as no surprise. I parked by the curb, thinking they might not want my junker cluttering up their driveway.

  Patsy met me at the front door before I had a chance to ring the bell. Being my usual contrary self, I hadn’t bothered to change into anything more formal, and I could see it bugged her. But hell, it was still hot and muggy, and the air conditioner in my car hadn’t worked since the previous century, so she was just going to have to deal with my outfit.

  For a moment, I was sure she was going to shut the door in my face, but she somehow resisted the urge.

  “Come in,” she said, her tone of voice telling me I was about as welcome as a door-to-door salesman.

  The house was refrigerator cold, and goose bumps peppered my sweaty skin the moment I stepped inside. I’d hate to see their electric bill. The decor was almost as cold as the air, everything blue or beige or white.

  In the living room, the furniture had all been pushed to the walls, and a large circle of white pillar candles had been laid out. A white blanket emblazoned with a stark black cross had been neatly folded in the center. Scott Sherwood sat on one of the chairs against the wall, his elbows resting on his knees, an empty highball glass in his hands. He looked up and gave me a brief nod, then left the room—in search of more booze, if I read his expression correctly.

  “We’re operating under the assumption that you will perform an exorcism once you’re satisfied that Melanie is possessed,” Patsy explained.

  The words should have soothed me. After all, if they planned on having the demon exorcised, that meant they weren’t going to burn the poor girl at the stake. Right? But my feeling of unease persisted. I would be glad when this was all over and I could get the hell away from Patsy and company.

  I nodded. “And where is Melanie?”

  “Follow me,” she said, and then led the way upstairs.

  The stairs were not carpeted, and the house was eerily silent. The clack, clack, clack of Patsy’s heels echoed as she climbed, as did the thwack of my flip-flops. I paused briefly to look at a stiff, formal family photo on the wall. Scott and Patsy stood behind two pretty blond girls. The younger girl, who looked about twelve, smiled brightly at the camera, but the older one—Melanie, I presumed—looked bored and resentful.

  When we reached the top of the stairs, Patsy reached under her jacket and pulled out a Taser.

  I came to a screeching halt, wondering if I would be better off charging forward and tackling Patsy to the floor, or leaping off the side of the staircase in hopes of avoiding her first shot. But she didn’t turn the Taser on me, instead arming it, and then holding it down by her side.

  “I put enough chloral hydrate in her cocoa to knock out a horse,” Patsy said, apparently not having noticed my doub
le take, “but just to be on the safe side.” She held up the Taser.

  I gaped at her. “You drugged her?”

  Patsy looked surprised. “Of course. How else would I get her to submit to the examination?”

  I took the remaining stairs two at a time. If Patsy’d given the girl enough chloral hydrate to affect a demon, then it was probably enough to kill her if she wasn’t possessed.

  Patsy followed more slowly. She didn’t look at all worried that she might have just killed her own daughter. “The demon won’t allow its host to be harmed,” she assured me.

  I wanted to grab Patsy by the shoulders and give her a good shake. “Where is she?” I demanded.

  Patsy gestured to one of the closed doors down the hall, and I sprinted for it. I had visions of bursting through the door and seeing a dead or dying teenager. But when I shoved the door open, I saw nothing but an empty twin bed, looking forlorn in a barren room.

  The white walls were stained yellow in places, and little patches of paint had been peeled off here and there. The stains and patches tended to form rectangular patterns, and I had a hunch the walls had once held posters that Mommy Dearest had not approved of. The bed was rumpled as if slept in, and in its center sat a sheet of yellow legal paper.

  I stepped into the room and heard Patsy follow behind me. She gasped when she saw the bed.

  I picked up the paper, read the note, and handed it to Patsy.

  FYI, the note read. Whatever you put in my cocoa tasted like shit.

  Patsy crumpled the note and hurled it at the wall with a furious snarl. Belatedly, I noticed that the open drawers of the bureau were empty. I pushed open what I correctly guessed was a closet door. The hangers were empty, except for a suit, a conservative navy blue skirt, and a couple of prissy white blouses. On the floor were two pairs of sensible pumps, one black, one blue. I suspected this was what Patsy considered acceptable attire for a teenage girl.

  Behind me, Patsy kicked the bureau, her face an unappealing shade of red, the Taser clutched in a white-knuckled fist. Call me crazy, but I got the feeling she was a little annoyed her daughter had chosen to fly the coop instead of drinking the proverbial Kool-Aid. I suspected anything I said would just piss her off more, so I kept my mouth shut, half expecting smoke to come out of her ears.

  Little by little, she regained control of herself. I had to wonder what she did with all that rage when she wasn’t in the company of strangers. Maybe Melanie had more than one reason to run away from home.

  “It appears your services won’t be needed after all,” she said eventually. “Naturally, I’ll pay you for your time.”

  At least the trip wouldn’t turn out to be a total waste, I consoled myself. “If Melanie comes home and you’d like to reschedule, give me a call,” I told her, my feet already itching to be out the door. I handed her my card, and she took it by reflex.

  “Of course,” she replied in a flat tone that told me I wouldn’t be hearing from her again.

  * * *

  That might have been the last of my involvement with the Sherwoods, if I hadn’t received a disturbing phone call the following day.

  I went into my office and was balancing my books—fun, fun, fun—when my phone rang. I checked the caller ID, and saw the name Elizabeth Sherwood. I stared at the name for a moment before I picked up the phone and uttered a cautious greeting.

  “Um, hi,” said a girl’s voice from the other end of the line. I had never asked Patsy about her other daughter, but I guessed this was the smiling child from the family portrait. “Are you an exorcist?”

  “Yes,” I confirmed, trying to keep myself from speculating about why she was calling. My Spidey-senses were telling me I was about to get dragged into something I’d be better off staying out of. “Can I help you?” I tried to keep my voice gentle.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe. My name’s Beth Sherwood, and I think my parents hired you to examine my sister’s aura last night. Is that right?”

  Her voice was kind of quavery, like she was on the verge of tears. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have answered a question like that, figuring it would be some kind of violation of client confidentiality. But too many aspects of this case had given me the willies, and I couldn’t in good conscience put the girl off.

  “Yeah, that’s right. I was supposed to examine Melanie’s aura last night, but she was gone by the time I got there. Has she come home?”

  “No,” Beth said. Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I think my mom is hiring a private investigator to look for her.”

  There was an awkward silence on the other end of the line. I got a feeling Beth wasn’t used to reaching out for help.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound impatient. I’ve never been the nurturing sort, and I have a tendency to be abrasive, even when I don’t mean to be.

  Beth took a deep breath, then let it out with a whoosh. “I think Melanie’s in danger,” she said, her voice even softer now. “My mom is convinced she’s possessed, and she … doesn’t like demons much.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that. Is your mom a member of God’s Wrath?”

  She seemed taken aback by my question, but she rallied quickly. “There’s no law against that.”

  I smiled, glad she couldn’t see me. The kid might not like her mother’s fanatical leanings, but she was quick to leap to her defense. “Of course there isn’t,” I replied. “But you said Melanie might be in danger.”

  Beth hesitated for a long time, then decided to level with me. “Mom hired you as kind of a concession to my dad. He’s God’s Wrath, too, but he’s not as into it as my mom is. I think if she finds Melanie, she’s going to get one of her cronies to do the exam, and I…” She cleared her throat. “I don’t trust the guy.”

  I thought about this for a moment, rolling the implications around in my head. “So what you’re telling me is you think this guy is going to declare her possessed whether she is or not?” There was no answer from the other end of the line, but I took that silence as a yes. “And you think they’re going to burn her?”

  Beth let out a choked sob, and I felt like a heel. My bedside manner could use some serious work. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have been so … blunt.”

  She sniffled. “No, it’s okay. I’m worried about what will happen if they find Melanie.”

  “Do you think she’s possessed?” I asked. If Melanie really was possessed, then she’d be harder to find. A sheltered teenager might not have the means or the smarts to remain hidden, but a demon …

  “She’s not possessed!” Beth said sharply, then sighed. “Mom would just rather blame a demon for everything than admit Melanie’s got … a problem.”

  “You mean a drug problem?” I prodded gently.

  “Yeah. She started going out with this guy last year.” I could hear the distaste in Beth’s voice. “I don’t know where she met him. He’s too old to be in school. Anyway, that’s when she started to change.”

  I remembered Scott Sherwood mentioning that Melanie had been acting strange for about a year. I also remembered how Patsy had shot him down when he mentioned it. My guess was she hadn’t appreciated the reminder that her daughter’s “possession” had coincided with her new relationship with a human man.

  “The madder Mom got about stuff, the more Melanie changed. She was doing it just to make Mom mad, but Mom saw everything she did as proof that she was possessed. But it’s not a demon that’s making her act like that! It’s her sleazebag boyfriend!”

  I sat back in my chair and wondered what I was supposed to do with this information. Technically, it was none of my business.

  Yeah, and that was going to make me feel much better when Melanie Sherwood’s “purification” by fire made the evening news. I wasn’t sure what I could do to help. But at least I could try.

  “Do you have any idea who Melanie might have gone to for help?”

  “The only one I can think of is Rick the Prick.�
�� She coughed. “Um, I mean her boyfriend.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Shall I look him up in the phone book under ‘the Prick,’ or do you have a last name for him?”

  Beth gave a little snort of laughter, quickly cut off. “You have to swear on your life you won’t tell my parents. I told them I didn’t know his name, because I don’t want them to find Mel.”

  “I swear on my life I won’t tell them,” I promised.

  Beth took a deep breath—for courage, I supposed. “He says his last name is Bull, but that could be, you know, bull.”

  “It’s a start, at least,” I said. “I have a friend who’s a PI. We’ll see if we can locate Melanie.” Before Patsy and friends did.

  “And can you help her? If you find her, I mean.”

  “I don’t know,” I told her with complete honesty. “But I promise I’ll do everything I can.”

  * * *

  Barbara Paget was the kind of woman I usually disliked on sight. Petite, blond, curvy, and stunningly pretty, she looked like an adult version of the cliché vapid cheerleader from every teen flick I’d ever seen. I’d started calling her Barbie when we’d first met, and I’d been unable to break myself of the habit even now that I saw through the pretty packaging to the sharp, driven woman beneath. (Not that I’d tried very hard.)

  She was a private investigator, and she’d been drafted to be a member of Lugh’s royal council when her investigations had led her to uncover forbidden knowledge. She’d turned out to be quite the valuable asset—and a decent human being, to boot. I was counting on her good nature to convince her to help me find Melanie Sherwood.

  Barbie did not disappoint. After I told her about my meetings with the Sherwoods and Beth’s phone call, she volunteered to do a little digging—I didn’t even have to ask. Within twenty-four hours, she had unearthed an address for Richard Bull, aka Rick the Prick, and had put together a dossier that proved Beth was an excellent judge of character. I read through that dossier when Barbie brought it over to my apartment early Friday evening.