Adelaide Upset

by Penny Greenhorn

  * * *

  Everything was a blur at the hospital. The drive had taken less than fifteen minutes, but waiting as they wheeled Lucas away, well, everything after that lasted an eternity. I tried to fill out his paperwork, tried and failed. I didn’t know his social security number, which wasn’t surprising. But I was surprised to find that I couldn’t answer a host of other questions, some very basic. Did he have insurance? I assumed so, him being a business owner and all, but I couldn’t supply the details. Not about that or his medical history. Did cancer run in the family? Diabetes? I gave up, returning the clipboard, only a few lines filled in, rather embarrassing as I’d already professed to be his girlfriend.

  I thought it would give me better access to him, smudging the lines about our relationship, but they didn’t tell me much anyway. They were removing the knife, followed by stitches and x-rays, etc. etc. He would be on pain medication, asleep most likely, and groggy if not. I was welcome to wait, but the nurse hinted it would be a day at least before he was well enough to speak with me.

  I didn’t want to do what I did next. It killed me, but I did it for Lucas. He shouldn’t be alone. I called the Crowne, knowing Elaine would still be skulking about. I left a message for her at the front desk, saying it was urgent. I had no doubt that she would be waiting when he woke up. I would not be. I had something to do, or to be more specific, something to fix. And thanks to Nancy Bristow’s prediction, I knew just how to do it.

  * * *

  The ER was much busier than the rest of the building. I wandered the halls, a plan having formed. All the ingredients necessary could be found in the hospital, with once exception—bolt cutters. Ah, well, I’d just have to improvise.

  I had a bad habit of rushing forward, recklessly putting myself into danger. I’d done it with Beagban, and with Smith’s killers. It usually felt right, almost relieving to just jump. After years of idle island life, the one day at a time mentality, always lying low, new excitement was infectious. But apparently the thrill only extended so far, and demons were the limit. I didn’t want to summon a demon. It was an undeniably dangerous avenue, and it felt like digging my own grave. But the alternative—letting Lars keep the demon’s secrets—was not an option.

  There were a string of unoccupied rooms at the end of a corridor, and choosing the last and furthest from the nurses’ station, I slipped inside and shut the door. Two narrow beds, a bathroom and television, the sliding curtain pushed back, but available should someone need the illusion of privacy. I hated hospitals, my time in convalesce after the well incident had been long and boring. The current smell brought back the memories all too clearly.

  I went into the bathroom and washed my hands. I don’t know why. But after that I felt a bit more prepared to spit out the dreaded word. And I did, expelling it as I nervously stood in the center of the room, the creature’s name pulled from the back of my throat, stealing my breath as I gave the quiet, dry cry of “Raulriechmydl.”

  I searched the room, waiting for some magical glimmer and shine. And suddenly I felt ridiculous, understanding why people preferred pomp and ceremony with their demon dealing. This was all falling kind of flat, and worse, nothing was happening.

  “Raulriechmydl,” I repeated. “I, ah— summon you?”

  I was becoming skeptical with every ticking second that passed, thinking that Anastas had it wrong. Maybe treading through the veil did require a gift, not merely a name. But then I felt it, a popping sensation in my ears. The pressure shifting as one realm opened to another.

  Chapter 35

  The demon appeared, thickening from midair. Unlike the ghosts, he wasn’t pearly or light, but a blot of darkness, his shapeless form filling in like poured ink. I waited for some relatable aspect, like when he was peeled out of Anastas’ body, but it never came. No eyes, no mouth, just a malformed oblong creature of shadow.

  “She calls,” came the creaking voice, overlaid with an odd, hissing quality I recognized from my nightmares. “She wants...”

  I swallowed, trying to buck up and show no fear. “She wants you to shut up and listen,” I said, pleased by my own bluffing. “You want Demidov’s diary, well, I’m going to help you get it.”

  A croaking sound, it might have been a laugh. The blanket of shadow shifted, almost chuffing in place. Creepy.

  “Since I summoned you, here are the ground rules: You don’t leave this room until we reach an agreement. No personal questions or observations, this is all strictly business. Now, I understand that negotiations are a lot of back and forth, but we don’t have time for that. So I’m just going to lay it all out there—I’ll give you the means to recover the diary, and by that I mean a body, if in return you answer my questions and cooperate.”

  “Impossible,” it hissed, seeming to twitch with irritation? Maybe anticipation? Who knew. “Unless the body is yours...”

  “No,” I said firmly. “But all you need to possess someone is their permission, right? I can get you that. Now tell me why you want Demidov’s diary.”

  “Answers don’t come cheap,” the creature said, drawling out the words. “And although your terms are acceptable, you don’t have the means to carry them out. Were you a religious zealot, with your own faithful servants, you could command one to lend me their body. Were you a queen, a princess, a warrior woman, then you could coerce a supplicant. But you are not. You do not wield that kind of power. You offer me nothing,” it hissed.

  “As I said, we don’t have time for this. As of—” I glanced at the wall clock. “—an hour ago the diary was taken by Lars Hurst. I’m not sure how your ability to watch us through the veil works, but incase you haven’t seen him, I can assure you, he’s a brute. And while demons seem to get off on world domination, something tells me you aren’t interested in sharing your secrets, considering you went to all that trouble possessing a dead man to get them back. So I’ll ask again, why do you want the diary?”

  “Some secrets aren’t meant for man,” was the creature’s oblique reply.

  I let him think I didn’t know what he was talking about, knowing not to bring up the black covenant. “So you told Anastas some secrets because you really, really wanted to borrow his body and now you’re what? Scared the other demons will be mad at you?”

  The creature said nothing, swaying in place. It was probably my imagination, but it seemed to leave an oily film behind, contaminating the very air it passed through. Dealing with ghosts had not prepared me in the least. I was extremely uncomfortable, and doing my best to hide it.

  “How did you manage to find the diary before?” I asked, changing tactics. “Your last words, they hinted at a connection.”

  “The diary is a piece of myself, my essence, my—”

  “Aura,” I offered, familiar with the concept because of Raina.

  “No,” the demon uttered. “The diary is of my essence, it carries my knowledge and secrets, much like a demon soul. Anastas Demidov poured out his creativity and feeling, it is his aura that lingers...”

  I guess there was some distinction between the two that I was missing, but it didn’t matter. “I just need to know if you can find the book,” because I sure as hell didn’t know where Lars had snatched it off to.

  “The summoner Demidov and I reached many agreements. I am attuned to his aura,” the creature shifted, slinking in place. “How do you think I reached your dreams? You invited me, my peach. Every time you read his words, his essence was a film on your fingers and mind.”

  I’d forgotten, like most do, about my dreams and the ‘endearment’ he’d used in them. I was not a fan, in fact, it curdled my stomach, but since we were finally making headway I let it slide. “So because of your essence, and Demidov’s aura, you can find the book?” I asked. He’d been vague, intentionally so, and I knew better than to assume anything.

  “Yesss.”

  “Alright, then,” I said, thinking fast. “I’ll get you a body, which you may only possess as long as it takes us to find the diary, destr
oy it and return. You cannot harm the body, or linger in it,” I said, thinking of how he’d somehow tricked Anastas, stealing into his corpse. “Do you agree?”

  “Yesss.”

  Suddenly my heart burned, and I had to bite back the creeping taste of acid. I rubbed my chest, unsure of what was happening.

  “It is sealed,” the creature observed, flitting around the room. I suppose he could move more freely now that we’d reached an agreement, but he wasn’t going anywhere, not if he wanted a body. The demon’s inhuman voice sliced through the space between us, settling in my brain and making me edgy as he asked, “How does she propose to keep up her side of the bargain?”

  That was the real question, wasn’t it?

  * * *

  Bill Shrader was easy enough to find, the police officer standing outside his room was something of a tip-off. You would think getting past a guard was a legitimate obstacle. That I’d have to create a diversion, pull the fire alarm, something to that effect. The problem with that was that they’d check on Bill first thing after everything was sorted. I needed to get in and out without raising red flags.

  Thing was, I’d been planning how to get the diary back before I’d even given it to Lars. As a result I had Raina’s syringe stuffed down in my pocket, taken from my house before I’d driven off with Lucas. If it was a duplicate of her last dose, then it was capable of putting a person to sleep, and I knew from firsthand experience that it was fast-acting.

  With every moment that passed Lars Hurst could be reading his way through the diary. Knowing that my sense of urgency pushed me along, forcing me to act. I crumpled a Styrofoam cup, bits of white falling to the floor as I squeezed it into a ball. I glanced down the hall casually, seeing the officer no more than ten feet off. It was a woman, a conveniently short woman, and she wasn’t paying attention to me. Feeling tired and bored, her mind and emotions were listless and inactive. I tossed the crumpled cup, watching it bounce by her feet and roll on down the hall. The second it caught her attention I moved, closing the distance as she turned away. Her uniform and vest gave me no choice; I pressed the needle into her neck, with no other soft bit of skin available to puncture.

  She gasped, trying to turn, hand falling to the holster on her hip. I flattened her against the wall with my body, pressing my palm over her grasp on the butt of the gun, not letting her lift it. She began to slip along the wall, her body going pliant. I followed her down until she was a heap on the floor. Then I grabbed her by the collar and dragged her into Bill’s room.

  I saw him sit up in bed, eyes wide. “What are—”

  “Shut up,” I commanded my voice firm and unforgiving. He responded, doing as I said.

  Capping the empty syringe, I slipped it back into my pocket. No need for bolt cutters now. I extracted the keys off the lady officer before hauling her into a chair by the door, making sure to move her arms and legs into a more natural position, preparing should someone walk by.

  After that I gave Bill my full attention, feeling a fear that wasn’t mine. “Do you think I’m here to finish you off?” I asked, secretly amused.

  That he was pathetic was disarming. A bandaged head, gauze wrapped and white, with nothing else but a flimsy garment on, little bows holding it closed. I could still see his paunchy flesh, the curly chest hairs and red, ruddy skin. This was how he’d tricked me, with his appearance, especially those ugly sneakers. I’d written him off, seeing only the dorky accountant and not the killer within. He should be dead, I thought, hating him.

  “You must know I never meant it,” he insisted, grunting as he sat up. The handcuffs clinked, securing his right wrist to the bed frame. “I just wanted to scare you a bit, that’s all.”

  “I can see why you would want me to believe that,” I said, pacing around his bed. I could tell it unnerved him. “It would mean a reduced sentence for you, the whole... attempted murder thing brushed right under the rug.”

  He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably.

  “Well, today’s your lucky day. I won’t go to the police, but only on one condition.”

  He eyed me shrewdly, his true colors showing. “What?”

  “You have to say the following words: Raulriechmydl, I give you dominion over my body.”

  His face twisted unpleasantly. “Why?” he asked. “Is this some sort of—”

  “Just say it,” I told him. “If not we’ll wait together until the nice lady cop wakes up. Then I can tell her how you strangled me, beat me over the head with a shovel, and... what was that other thing?”

  I could feel him relent. “What was that first part again?”

  “Raulriechmydl,” I said, sounding it out again slowly. “Rawl-rick-meedle.”

  He lay back in bed, having relaxed. “Raulriechmydl,” he said curtly. “I give you dominion over my body. There, I did it, now leave.”

  I’d made the demon wait where I’d first summoned him, knowing that every second we were together he was learning me, my habits and weaknesses. He hadn’t disagreed with the order, and I figured that when he got the permission he needed, he would know, much like I felt our bargain in my body. Could he now feel Bill’s aura? Were they linked together somehow, now or for forever? I guess I should’ve felt bad, tricking Bill like that, but I didn’t. Just then I didn’t care at all. In some ways I was the worst sort of empath.

  The shadow came, slipping into the room, oozing through the door’s open gap. The haze seemed to swallow up light, filmy and unpleasant. Bill noticed, gaping as he gripped the sheets.

  “What is th—” His words cut off, dying in a wheeze as the demon dug into him, blackness sinking under the skin.

  The sight repelled me, and unconsciously I stepped back, the wall stopping my back. For a moment Bill Shrader didn’t move, looking almost dead, eyes open and unseeing. But then, very slowly, he blinked. It was a reptilian gesture, inhuman and deeply disturbing.

  “I can feel it,” the demon said, his voice all Bill’s. “Demidov’s diary. It’s close.”

  I made myself turn away, casually flinging the keys at his chest. They bounced off, falling into his new lap. I guess demons didn’t have that whole catch reflex. “Good,” I said, flipping through Bill’s chart, it had been hanging at the end of his bed. “Because we have less than an hour before the next nurse does rounds.”

  Chapter 36

  It was uber-creepy having a demon in my passenger seat. It didn’t say or do anything unless it was directing me. Every time we came to an intersection the creature would point, following some internal guide. We were headed back towards St. Simons, and I was curious to find out where Lars had holed up. I would’ve expected him to have left already, but according to the demon the book wasn’t far, and so must he be.

  It was nearing midnight when we rolled through town, the sky a murky blue-black. When the demon gestured toward the Crowne I was skeptical, saying, “Are you sure?”

  I glanced over, catching Bill’s chubby fingers massaging the plastic door handle. “Yesss, my peach.”

  I couldn’t take it anymore, gritting, “Don’t call me that.” I instantly regretted it, knowing I shouldn’t have said anything. It was just a crumb of insight, but ants made mountains out of crumbs... and the demon was a bug for sure.

  Movement caught my eye, a head of dark hair escaping through the front entrance, the lights on either side giving her a silhouette. Francesca. She must have just finished up a late shift, unusual hours, but not the first time.

  “Stay here,” I said, hurrying to park and shut off the car. “Don’t move until I come back.”

  I lurched from my seat, running to catch her. She’d marched around the building, disappearing into the employee’s parking lot out back. There was a scattering of oak trees, gnarled and looming in the dark, so unlike the crisp new palms that were planted with precision. I breezed between trunks, catching her just in time.

  She was just opening her car door when I called out, “Francesca!” She whipped around squealing. “Shut up,” I co
mplained, jogging to meet her. “It’s just me.”

  “You scared the shit out of me!” she hollered. “What are you even doing here?”

  “Listen,” I said, my breath a little heavy from the run. “I need to know if someone is staying here. Hurst. His name is Larson Hurst.”

  “Oh, yum,” she said, a bit giddy. “He’s staying in the green suite, has a bunch of guys with him. Rough type, but definitely loaded.”

  “Will you do me a favor?” Best not give her a chance to think about it, I plowed on. “On your way home, call the front desk and tell them that Mr. Hurst has a— a friend waiting out front. Say it’s a woman, and she didn’t want to come in. Imply something sordid.”

  “Are you trying to lure him out of the hotel?” she asked, intrigued and suspicious in equal measure.

  “Will you do it?” I said, shifting impatiently.

  “Yes, alright fine,” she agreed. “I’ll say she looked like a hooker—blonde wig, revealing blue and white dress, oh, and mustn’t forget the thigh-high black boots.”

  “Whoever’s working the front desk won’t pass the message along if they’ve ever watched Pretty Woman. I need them to take you seriously.”

  “It was just a joke, you know I can be convincing. But, Adelaide,” she said while getting into her car. “I’ll scratch your eyes out if you get me fired.”

  “What does it matter?” I asked. “Soon you’ll be riding off into the sunset with your rich prince Conner.”

  I was being facetious, but for some reason the comment distracted her, and not in a good way. She waved and left, feeling a little sad. Jeez, it was obvious she hadn’t come to terms with marrying him, so why was she pushing forward?