Devil Take Me

by Karilyn Bentley

  She stands, offering me her hand. “It will. As soon as I pop some ibuprofen. Stop by the receptionist on the way out and set up an appointment next week.”

  “Thank you.”

  I shake her hand. Her confusion and pain slip into my mind before our palms slide apart. She closes the door as soon as I step into the waiting room. Did all people with scrubbed minion memories have a headache? The receptionist didn’t seem to be in pain. Neither did the male client before he left. Perhaps different people reacted differently to having mages invade their mind.

  The waiting room once again relaxes me, all traces of the minion fight vanished from the mages’ nifty room-scrubbing magic. I make an appointment for next week and hope the visit won’t be as exciting.

  While winning a minion fight is a good ego booster, I’d rather focus on the counseling session, i.e. getting my job back. Kathy seemed nice, which made the idea of spilling my lies harder than I feared.

  When I arrive home, a Tesla sits in front of my house. A Tesla? Oh, right, Will was supposed to drop by for a mage training session with Smythe. A stab of jealousy sneaks in. I would love one of those cars. Unfortunately, the chances of me ever being able to afford it rank under the not-happening category.

  Maybe he’ll let me pet, I mean, touch it.

  After opening the garage door, I drive inside, parking under the hanging sign telling me to “stop here.” Once the garage door slides shut, I walk up the steps to the back porch, and open the kitchen door. Everything looks to be in place, no loud noises, no blown-up furniture or appliances, no evidence of dueling mages. Voices sound from the other room, hushed and barely discernible.

  I place my purse on the counter then head to the living room. Will and Smythe sit facing each other on the couch. Will wears jeans and a T-shirt, having clearly changed from his hospital scrubs to street clothes.

  He holds his hands in front of his chest, palms facing each other. His brows furrow in concentration as he stares at the space between his palms.

  Smythe talks in a tone two levels above a mutter. Despite me standing in the entranceway to the living room, I can’t hear him well enough to make out his words.

  Light flares between Will’s hands. His gaze turns to Smythe, happiness and surprise mixing together. Until the light extinguishes. The glee escapes from Will, deflating his excited expression as if he opened a present expecting a thousand dollars and instead received a bag of coal.

  “Whatcha doing?”

  Both men jump at my voice. What do you know? It has to be the first time I’ve ever surprised Smythe. Put that one down on my list of things not happening every day.

  Smythe recovers first, gesturing at Will as he half-turns toward me. “Will is learning to form an energy ball.”

  Cool. “Can I sit and learn too?”

  “Won’t work with you.” He shakes his head. “Sorry.”

  Well, crap. “You sure? Hi, Will. Nice car.”

  Smythe raises a brow. “Of course I’m sure.”

  “Hi, yourself,” Will speaks at the same time. “And thanks.”

  “Can I go look at it?”

  “Sure.” He digs the keys out of his pocket, pitching them to me. “Don’t drive off.”

  Score! I catch the keys and scurry out the door.

  After an ooh and ahh session, complete with a copious amount of petting, I return the keys to Will, breaking his concentration. Since sweat trickles down his cheek and his brow furrows into permanent lines, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mind the break. Smythe, though, is of an opposite opinion, judging from the glare he throws my way.

  I shrug and smile. “You guys ready for dinner?”

  “You cooked something?” Will’s eager expression makes me feel bad for my next sentence.

  “Nah. I thought we could order pizza.”

  “Sure.” Smythe stands, reaches in his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He digs around and pulls out some bills, which he waves at me. “I’ll pay.”

  “You don’t—” Will starts speaking, but stops when I shake my head at him.

  “Thanks.” I reach for the bills, looking Smythe in the eyes as my fingers brush against his. A simple touch, but warmth spreads through me, releasing memories of our short time together.

  Yeah, I want him. I need to swallow my pride and not let anger rule my heart. Easier said than done. Especially when I’m hungry and want dinner.

  I slip the bills into my wallet and carry my purse into my bedroom before returning to the kitchen. Using my phone, I punch in our order for pizza.

  As soon as I sign off the pizza ordering site, T and Eloise portal into the living room, shocking Will into dropping his energy ball onto my couch. Smoke swirls as the stench of burning fabric fills the air. Smythe snaps his fingers and the stench and smoke disappear.

  I release a sigh of relief. No new couch for me. At least I assume that’s what the vanishing smoke means. To be sure, I speed walk to the couch. Yep, Smythe fixed the burn. He’s the best. Maybe I should cut him some slack. I lean over the back of the couch, wrap my arms around his shoulders and squeeze. He stiffens for a second then relaxes, patting my arms as his head rests on my shoulder.

  “Gin?” T’s voice snags my attention from Smythe to my twin.

  “Hey. Sorry. Burning couch.” I tilt my head toward the former burn as I release my hold on Smythe. “How’d it go?”

  “Who’s he?” T points to Will with the hand not holding Eloise’s palm.

  So that’s how it was now.

  I clear my throat to cover a chuckle. “Sorry. T and Eloise, met Dr. Will Wunderliech. T, Will went to high school with us and is one of the docs who works with me in the ER. Will, this is my twin, T, and the Agency healer, Eloise. Do you remember T from high school?”

  T and Eloise step forward, dropping their held hands.

  “Hey.”

  “Hello.”

  Will stands, shaking hands, no longer surprised by their sudden appearance. He squints at T. “I remember you.”

  “Yeah. I remember you too. You were always nice to my sister.”

  “Well,” I clap my hands together. “Now that we have that settled. Tell us what you discovered at the Agency.”

  Eloise stares at Smythe for a second too long, head tilted. She releases a breath and nods. Guess he told her she could talk in front of Will. At least I assume we can talk in front of Will.

  “It went okay,” T says. “Didn’t find a ghost.”

  “You spent the whole day there and didn’t see a ghost?” Smythe raises a brow.

  T shrugs. “It must’ve been hiding.”

  “These things take time.” Eloise pats T’s shoulder.

  “Seriously?” I mirror Smythe’s one brow up expression. “You didn’t see a ghost?”

  T glares at me. “Seriously.”

  But I peek inside his mind where a ghost resides, front and center, no digging around needed. A ghost. At the Agency.

  Liar.

  Get out of my head.

  Since he doesn’t block me, I assume his threat is nothing more than rhetoric. Wiping all expression off my face—no sense in giving away our convo to my uber-observant mentor—I shoot T a stare.

  Make sure Smythe doesn’t see inside your noggin.

  Stay out and he won’t.

  Conversation between Eloise, Smythe, and Will floats around us, but I pay it no attention. If they talk amongst themselves, then they won’t realize T and I carry on our own conversation.

  A way more interesting conversation.

  Does Eloise know?

  Red splashes his cheeks. “I need a beer. Anyone else want one?”

  “Sure,” Will says, but Smythe and Eloise shake their heads, continuing their talk on what sounds like a demon discussion.

  Interesting, but not enough to stay. Why would T lie about the ghost? Only one way to find out. I follow him into the kitchen.

  T, does she know you saw a ghost?

  He yanks open the fridge, pulls out three beers,
sets one on the counter, and hands one to me. He answers as he twists off the top and takes a gulp. Speaking while swallowing poses no problem for telepathy.

  No. Not yet. I’ll tell her. More like ask her to go back. The place is crazy rich. Did you see the gold chandeliers?

  Yes, they are and yes, I did, but we aren’t talking about the money hanging off the walls. Why didn’t you say anything to Eloise? She brought you there to see if there were ghosts you could talk to about the demon. I give him my best nurse’s glare, the one reserved for people who avoid tasks they find hard.

  He swallows, blows out a long breath and glances at the floor then back to me. Wanted to make sure I could handle it.

  Handle it?

  You know. Talk to the ghost. Without freaking out. Baby steps, Gin, baby steps.

  Seriously? You didn’t freak out when Blake popped in for a visit.

  He raises a brow.

  Okay, maybe you got a little sweaty and pale, but—

  Yeah, it doesn’t look cool, you know. He glances toward the other room. She might not think pale and sweaty looks good on me.

  I can’t avoid the eye roll. This isn’t speed dating. We are trying to kill a demon who’s taking over the Agency.

  Okay, okay. Don’t freak. He takes a long swallow of beer. I plan on having her take me back tomorrow. The ghost wasn’t bad. Was female. Looked like she wanted to say something. She was surprised I could see her. Guess mediums aren’t as common as mages in the building.

  That’s why Eloise wanted you to help.

  I am helping. Geez. We’ll go back tomorrow. I’ll go tell her now.

  Please. I gesture toward the healer in a “get on with it” motion. The sooner we destroy this demon, the better. Can you image what would happen if a demon ran the Agency? It could control us Justitians.

  He rolls his eyes, takes another long pull on the bottle. I’m going. Right now. We’ll go tomorrow. I’ll call in sick again.

  Once he walks out of the room with Will’s beer, I look at the bottle in my hands, condensation wetting my palms. Should I drink this? I relapsed recently. On the other hand, it’s beer, not whiskey. I’ve never given up beer. Beer isn’t relapsing.

  Besides, I’m no longer as upset as the night I pulled out the bottle of whiskey, swallowing it down to relieve the guilt consuming my thoughts. Guilt still needles me, but the reality is Donny was destined to become a minion.

  Yes, I should have noticed what was happening with him and Rahab before the last minute and convinced him to ignore the demon. Yes, I could have paid more attention to his exact location before I swung my sword, therefore avoiding his death.

  But, he would’ve accepted Rahab’s minion “gift” no matter what I did, which meant eventually his death would’ve been by my hands. Of course, then he would’ve been a minion, not a human, but still. The result would be the same.

  All that to say, I shouldn’t feel guilty. And if I don’t feel guilty, then there’s no reason to ban beer on the off chance I might relapse again. I’m no longer as upset. I only hit the hard stuff when upset.

  I take another look at the beer bottle. No problem. It’s not whiskey and I’m not drinking to ease guilt. Everything’s all good.

  Decision solved, I twist the top and take a long pull of the fizzy liquid. I love beer.

  The doorbell rings. Pizza time.

  Smythe tips the delivery guy, takes the pizza boxes, and walks into the kitchen, everyone trailing behind him, hungry wolves on the scent of a deer. I pass out plates, napkins, and glasses. It’s not until after everyone helps themselves, carrying plates and drinks to the table, that I notice Will stands in the hall to my bedroom, staring into space.

  A plate with pizza poking out from under it lies upside down beside him on the floor. The pizza might not be the best in the world but it wasn’t bad enough to dump on the floor.

  Then Will drops to his knees, hands clasped over his ears, his eyes squeezed shut as if in agony.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  What the hell? None of us were talking loud enough to warrant his reaction. Nor did we have heavy metal turned up full blast. What was wrong with him?

  I shove my plate full of pizza onto the counter. After catching Smythe’s eye and gesturing to Will, I take a cautious step toward my downed friend. A ruffle of air, followed by a hint of warmth, brushes my back as Smythe steps right behind me. The happy-chatty noise in the kitchen dies.

  I squat and place a hand on Will’s shoulder. “Will?”

  His eyes open, whites shining bright against his pale cheeks. Terror lances his gaze as a whimper escapes his lips. Definitely not a good sign. “Make it stop.” His high-pitched cry stabs my heart.

  I grab his wrist, skin on skin, using my empath ability to delve deep into his head. His emotions flood my senses: fear, anguish, guilt. Oh, the guilt. So many deaths. So much guilt. So much shame. So like me. Crimson and ebony waves batter my legs where I stand on a dark shore. A voice echoes, filling the air with a deep calming tone, lulling me with a false peace.

  “Come to me. End your suffering.”

  No wonder my friend cringes upon the floor. A red wave slams into my leg, driving anger inside me, fueling a simmering rage. The damn demon of despair hides out in Will’s mind, beckoning my friend to destruction, to death. Hate to tell Perdix, but he’s messed with the wrong person. He’s going down.

  And I am the agent of his destruction.

  Right after I figure out how to kill a demon who projects himself into another’s mind.

  I glance at my wrist, but the justitia remains a bracelet. Dammit. It makes sense; this is in Will’s head, not a real ocean of water and waves, but infuriating nonetheless. How the hell am I supposed to kill a projection of a demon? Not the flesh and black-blooded demon, but a projection, an image, an illusion.

  “Will!” My cry goes unanswered in the crashing of the ocean against the dark shore. “Will!”

  This time he explodes from the waves like a breaching whale, landing in a stance beside me, his dry clothes incongruent with ocean exposure. Only in his imagination could he remain dry after a dunk in the waves.

  “Get it away from me, Gin! Do something!” He slaps his hands over his ears, mimicking his physical self, his eyes pleading with me to end the torture.

  I grab his upper arms. “It’ll be okay. Don’t worry. I’m here.” Lying words, I have no idea if it’ll be okay. I will try. But how? What do I do? How do I stop this demon from killing Will?

  A switch flips inside my brain, illuminating an idea, a strange, dangerous idea, an instinct deep inside a primitive part of my brain. The concept is frightening, ripe with all sorts of ways to go wrong. Horribly wrong. But since it’s the only idea offering a possible solution, I grab onto it with a death grip. Nothing left except to try. I refuse to let this demon hurt Will.

  Acting on instinct, I move my hands to either side of his face, forcing my essence deeper into his mind, trying to trace the demon back to its lair.

  Colors flash, each one a thought, an emotion, but I ignore them, focusing on the one item out of place in a mind ripe with feelings. A circular path disappearing into the distance. Wind batters my body, swirls in tightening eddies of a repellant barrier as I step closer. With an effort leaving me sweating, I step onto the path. Finally.

  My relief is short-lived as a force grabs me, carrying me at lightspeed, as if I’m in a wormhole, spinning round and round. I land face down on a dirty, mold-stained carpet. Rolling to my side in self-defense of an impending allergy attack, I stare in growing horror at my hand.

  My translucent hand. Completely see-through. Like I’m a ghost. I twist my hand back and forth, continuing to see the gray carpet instead of my expected flesh. Okay. Don’t panic. No panicking allowed. I cannot run screaming from, well, where am I?

  A quick glance around the room and I gasp, but make no sound. A weirdness I store for later. I’m in the abandoned for-sale house in my neighborhood. The one Smythe and I checked out earli
er in the week. The one with the faded demonic trails.

  Panic gives way to determination as my attention zeroes in on the other person in the room. Not a person, make that a demon. Heat flushes through my system, the anger tensing my muscles, speeding my pulse. Perdix stands before me, flesh and blood, not an illusion. His eyes are closed, his lips forming low-toned words recognizable to one who suffered through his attack.

  Come to me and I will give you peace.

  Bullshit. I can stop him. Now. Before he hurts another person. Before he kills Will.

  I scramble to my feet, drawing my arm back, ready to charge. Except no sword juts from the justitia.

  Despite being in a three-foot proximity to a demon, the justitia remains a bracelet.

  What the hell? Without a sword, I’m next to useless in a demon fight. Why hasn’t it changed? What’s wrong with the thing?

  I close my eyes, trying to locate the purple energy of the entity lying along my nerves. It’s there, but faded. Seriously faded.

  Justitia? Since I can’t pronounce its actual name, justitia will have to do.

  Wrong, wrong, wrong. Its voice drifts through my mind, riding a breeze of confusion. Not me. Not you.

  My chest tightens. Change into a sword.

  Wrong, wrong, wrong. Not me. Can’t. Can’t.

  What do you mean, you can’t? There’s a demon three feet away!

  Not me. Not you. Not real. In house. Not here. There.

  Spit sticks in my throat. So we can’t kill Perdix?

  Not real. Can’t kill. No sword.

  Please, God, no. I’m right in front of the bastard. An easy kill. If I only had a sword. I have to stop him before he convinces Will to end his life. But how, when I’m as transparent as a spirit? A random thought brushes against my brain. Maybe all those people ended their lives to make the demon shut up. Maybe they didn’t want to die, they wanted Perdix to stop talking in their minds.

  A good thought, but one that fails to help me solve the problem at hand. Focus, Gin, focus. Clearly, I’m unable to kill Perdix in my current invisible, see-through form. Only in my physical body can the justitia activate into a demon-killing sword. I need to return to my body. Then I can tell Smythe where the demon is and we can come back and fry his ass.