by J. D. Brown
Angie pulled both lips between her teeth and wrinkled her brow. Lyn knew her BFF was dying to remind her of how epically they had failed the last time they attempted an exorcism, but Lyn didn’t want to hear it. Just because they screwed up once didn’t mean they’d screw up again.
“Meet you at the storage unit,” said Lyn as she slid into Notre Dame and shut the door before Angie had a chance to respond.
Old clothes and outdated furniture lined the walls of the cement storage unit. Lyn scanned the rest of the space, which held what Lyn’s father had called an unhealthy number of demonology books. Gran had collected everything from Malleus Maleficarum to translations of The Dead Sea Scrolls and every imaginable grimoire in between. The books sat in dusty boxes. Angie and Lyn searched through them one by one.
The book was what Lyn referred to as Gran’s journal. Since not everything written or published about demons was true, Gran had spent a good portion of her youth separating the wheat from the chaff. Whatever Gran found to be factual went in the book—including an Islamic exorcism ritual. Gran once swore to Lyn that it worked, and that it could be performed by anyone with the sight—meaning a Daughter of Eve and her aura-detecting best friend. Lyn also kept an eye out for her copy of The Enochian Dictionary.
“Lyn?” Angie’s small voice caused Lyn to cringe. She could guess what her best friend wanted to ask. “Can we please talk about this?”
Yep, I was right. Angie had already asked the safe questions during the drive to the storage unit. They came in separate cars, but that didn’t stop Angie from calling on her cell phone and demanding things like, ‘When?’ and ‘Are you sure?’ But Lyn hadn’t really wanted to talk about it, so she pretended to lose signal on the freeway.
“What is there to talk about?” Lyn stood on her toes so she could lean into a stack of boxes and hide her face.
“It’s just that last time we tried to exorcise a demon …”
“That was different.” Lyn sifted through the contents of the box. “We were young and we waited too long. The Sephet demon had been in my mother for over a year at that point.” Lyn paused. Gran could’ve saved her mother if only Dad had let her; if only he believed.
Back then, Gran kept the book in her purse. Broken-hearted and desperate, Lyn had stolen it and convinced Angie to help perform the ritual. Lyn closed her eyes as the memory overtook her thoughts. They had used their allowance to buy the items they needed and then waited until her father was at work. Unfortunately, not only did they fail to remove the Sephet demon, but Mom’s heart had stopped in the process. When Dad saw what Lyn had done, he blamed Gran for putting ideas into his daughter’s head and had his grandmother committed.
Lyn cleared her throat and then set the box aside. “Gran’s only been possessed for a few days. It’ll work.”
It has to.
Angie quieted as she looked in the direction of an old wooden lute. Lyn suspected her bestie was really just staring off into space, probably counting all the ways things could go wrong.
What a pessimist.
Though Lyn wasn’t feeling very optimistic herself as she glanced around at the hundreds of boxes they had yet to open. She sighed. “This is going to take forever. I better call Master Chris and see if he can cover my classes.”
Angie picked up a leather-bound tome and thumbed through a few pages. “Oh!” Her eyes widened. “I think I found it.”
Lyn rushed to Angie’s side and peered at the pages. It was Gran’s journal all right. She would recognize the handwriting anywhere. But instead of the exorcism ritual, dozens of sketches that looked similar to Mr. Emerson’s sigil stared up at them from the frail yellow paper.
Angie turned the page.
“Wait,” said Lyn. “Go back.”
“No, look. There’s more.”
A chart of different sigils covered the two-page spread. There must’ve been at least a hundred sketches with descriptions written in Gran’s neat script.
“That one.” Angie pointed to a specific symbol. “That medallion matches the one Mr. Emerson drew exactly.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. According to this, each sigil has one keynote difference corresponding to the owner of each medallion. Which means the suicides’ sigil corresponds to ...” Angie flipped a couple pages. “… A Greater demon named Dantalion.”
“Isn’t that a Musketeer?” said Lyn.
“You’re thinking of d’Artagnan,” said Angie. “This says Dantalion is a Duke of Hell who governs thirty-six legions of demons and … uh-oh. It says he ‘knoweth the thoughts of all men and women and can change them at will.’ Could that be how he’s covering his tracks, convincing those girls to kill themselves?”
“Welcome to the grim world of demons,” said Lyn. “But I don’t understand. When I showed the sigil to Gran, she said it didn’t mean anything.”
“Maybe she forgot. This journal isn’t exactly light reading, and she’s ninety-two years old. You can’t expect her memory to be perfect.” Angie shivered. “Lyn, this sounds bad. Real bad. Maybe you should skip town.”
Lyn narrowed her gaze. “Have you spoken to Gran lately?”
Angie bit her lip. “No. I’ve been so busy with school. I feel terrible. Maybe if I’d visited I would’ve been able to sense something was off with her aura.”
Lyn snorted. “Relax, spaz. If anyone should feel guilty about this, it’s me.”
“Listen, I’m really serious this time. This demon thing is dangerous. How are you supposed to kill something that can control your thoughts and make you hurt yourself?”
“Easy. We save Gran and then she can tell me what to do.”
Plus, I have a demon of my own.
Sam had promised to keep Lyn alive, even if it was only to save his own skin, but could she really trust him with the Duke’s identity? Demons craved chaos and corruption, and they didn’t have to kill her to get it. Torture would do just fine.
That settled it. No way in Hell did she have room in her life for two demons. She would just have to find a way to get rid of them both.
“Come on.” Lyn took the book from Angie and closed it. “We have an exorcism to prepare for.”
“For the record, I still think this is a bad idea.”
“Oh, come on. Where are your balls, Garcia?”
Angie frowned. “At home painting each other’s toenails.”
“Your balls have toes? Cute! Do they wear flip-flops?”
“Pink fuzzy ones.” Angie rolled her eyes.
Lyn put one arm around her friend’s shoulders and led Angie outside with Gran’s journal under her other arm. “Okay, I got to ask; do your balls braid each other’s hair?”
“I’m done now.”
Lyn sniggered. “I want balls like yours.”
“Please stop saying balls.”
“Hey, want to stop by Al’s Subs? We could get a meatball sandwich.”
“If you say what I think you’re going to say next—”
“Is it ‘I love the taste of Al’s meaty balls?’”
Angie groaned.
11
Sometimes I Wrestle with My Demons.
Sometimes We Just Snuggle.
S am sat cross-legged on Lyn’s couch, cradling the laptop. He was trying to memorize the directions to a sword shop when a burst of nervous energy nettled beneath his skin. Sam closed the laptop, removed his earphones, and sighed.
Three … two … one …
The apartment door flew open and Lyn marched inside, a blur of long blue pants and puffy yellow hair. She sat a large, brown, rectangular item on the coffee table and then put one hand on her hip. “Where have you been? I went back to the police station looking for you. You need to get a cell phone.”
“Have a good lunch?”
“Sure. Frozen coffee is a great lunch.” The moment she said it, her stomach grumbled.
Sam rolled his eyes. “There’s still tuna salad in the fridge.”
Her face scrunched u
p. “We’ve been over this; I’m allergic to vegetables. All vegetables. And fish. Seriously, what kind of animal puts the two together?”
Sam ignored her nonsense, letting her goading fall by the wayside.
“Did you get the file?” She wandered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
“No,” said Sam. But I know where to look.
Lyn removed the Tupperware containing the tuna salad from the fridge and set it on the counter. She popped the lid open, took a whiff, and hesitated. “Do we have any mayo left?”
“In the pantry.” He joined her in the kitchen and crossed his arms while leaning against the frame of the small entrance.
Lyn found the mayonnaise then grabbed a plate. She scooped a tiny amount of tuna salad onto the center then proceeded to bury it under large globs of mayo.
Sam’s left eye twitched.
“Doesn’t matter,” said Lyn. “I know which Duke caused the suicides.”
That took Sam off guard. He frowned. “Who?”
Lyn scoffed. “Come on, I wasn’t born yesterday.” She licked her fingers then put the mayo away. Opening the utensil drawer, she selected a piece of silverware and then stared at her plate. She lifted the dish, scraped everything into the sink, and ran the garbage disposal.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Lyn …”
“What’s your stance on Hawaiian Pizza?”
“Who is the Duke?”
“Because some people are strongly against the pineapple part, but I think it’s the perfect combination of sweet and savory.”
Sam clenched his fists. “I won’t ask you again.”
“Fine, we’ll get pepperoni.”
His core burned. How can she joke about this? “You’re not funny.”
Her mouth curved. “I’m a little bit funny.”
Can’t she take anything seriously? “This demon is hunting us. Us. Do you understand? It knows exactly who you are. It knows it can kill me by killing you. Those other girls were just a warning.”
“So we kill it first.” She sounded nonchalant, but her nervousness seeped into his skin.
Sam tore his gaze away as a throaty growl rumbled through him. “I can take care of it. I just need to know what I’m up against.”
Lyn shook her head. “Don’t worry, I got this. As soon as Angie and I get that thing out of Gran’s chest she’ll be good as new.”
Sam narrowed his gaze. “Speaking of Angie, what is she?”
Lyn wrinkled her nose. “What?”
“That woman you had coffee with, what is she?”
Lyn tilted her head to the side. “Don’t you mean who is she?”
So I was right; Lyn can’t see her true form either. “You don’t know what she is, do you?”
“Of course I know what she is.”
“Then enlighten me.”
Lyn’s mouth lowered into a scowl. She pointed her utensil at him. “She’s off limits to you, that’s what.”
Sam scoffed at her ignorance. How had she survived?
“I mean it, demon. If you so much as look at Angie the wrong way, I’ll stick this fork up your butt prong-side first.”
Sam let the Angie thing drop. Not because of Lyn’s petty threat, but because it seemed like she hadn’t told her so-called friend about him either. If that was the case, Sam wanted to keep the element of surprise, but he was done being lenient with Lyn. “Explain to me how an exorcism is going to solve our Duke problem.”
“Easy. Gran will be better.” Lyn shrugged.
“I see. Will she be younger as well? Is she going to stand up and fight the Duke for us? Because that would be one Hell of a miracle.”
“No, butthead. She can tell me how to defeat the Duke.”
He squeezed his fists, lowering them slowly to his sides. “She could do that now, but it wouldn’t matter. You’re not trained.”
“What are you talking about? I have a black belt in mixed martial arts.”
“That might’ve kept you safe from Lesser demons, but this is a Duke of Hell. I will not risk my life for your idiotic need to prove yourself.”
“Well, I’m not asking your permission.” Lyn flattened her hand against his chest and pushed, but he refused to budge.
“Where do you think you are going?”
She glared up at him. “The dojo.”
“Wrong. You’re not going anywhere.”
“You know, that fork idea is sounding really good right now.” She grabbed the aforementioned silverware and pointed it at him.
Sam yanked the fork out of her hand, melted it to a liquid, and let it ooze between his fingers. The whites of her eyes broadened as she watched the metal drip to the floor. Sam used the distraction to swiftly grab her wrist and twist her arm behind her back.
“Hey! Let go of me.” She struggled against him, but he hardly felt it.
Sam pulled her other arm behind her back and braced himself against the tsunami of anger she extruded. He was already plenty angry himself, and his demon core broiled in response. His human façade faded away as the fire in his veins set his demon flesh aglow.
Fear ebbed into her anger as the blue of her eyes watched from over her shoulder. Lyn swallowed her nerves and feigned an attitude with her tone. “What are you going to do?” she mocked. “Tie me down?” But he could feel the truth weighing in the pit of his stomach; he scared her.
Sam grinned. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Now walk.”
When she didn’t budge, he pushed against her spine, not letting go of her wrists, and she fumbled forward. He didn’t know if he could find rope in her apartment—he hadn’t come across any while cleaning—but her bedsheets would do the trick. Sam walked Lyn into her room, tore the blankets from the mattress, and then let go of her arms.
Lyn pivoted and punched. Her knuckles connected with stone, and she jumped around, shaking her hand. “Sonofabitch! God, that hurt.”
Sam grimaced. He scarcely felt the hit to his face, but his fist … He hid his hands behind his back and massaged his knuckles while nodding at the bed. “Nice try. Get on.”
Lyn stilled, and a small coil of wounded pride and trepidation echoed in his chest. She went to the mattress and sat down.
Sam gathered the cotton sheets and used them to tie her wrists to the bedposts. She avoided his gaze, and a twinge of regret melted his heart, but it was her own fault. She didn’t give him a choice.
“Seriously?” said Lyn as Sam finished. “Can you be any more of a cliché?”
“Tell me who the Duke is and I’ll untie you.”
“Go to Hell.”
“Gladly. Just as soon as we settle this matter.”
Lyn lifted her chin and her gaze went to the ceiling. “It’s me he’s hunting. It should be my kill.”
Sam clenched his jaw. He should’ve seen her thirst for vengeance, but not everything about her was immediately obvious to him. Her sins were complicated, jumbled, and deep. She carried so much guilt, it was impossible to trace the threads to their origins. He wasn’t even sure it was vengeance she wanted, but he did know one thing—Lyn hadn’t been thinking clearly since she learned of her great-grandmother’s possession.
“You’re grieving, and grief clouds judgment. I cannot risk you making a deadly mistake. Either you tell me who the Duke is, or I’ll figure it out on my own. Either way, I am dealing with this, but the longer it takes me to figure out, the more your muscles will atrophy.”
Lyn snorted. “You can’t keep me here that long.”
“Want to bet on it?”
She didn’t answer, but her frustration vibrated beneath his ribs.
Sam heaved a sigh. She’d cool off with time, and he had other things to do tonight. She’d beg him to untie her by the time he got back, and if not … Well, no one was that stupid.
He went to the bedroom door and opened it—
“Dantalion.”
Sam froze. No.
His human guise had slid back into place sometime after he finished tying her to t
he bed, and he struggled to keep it from slipping again. Not that it mattered with a Daughter of Eve, but he didn’t want her to see his shock. Sam waited a beat so his expression wouldn’t give him away. Then he faced her.
“Dantalion?”
Lyn sniffed. “You know him?”
“No,” said Sam. A lie.
“Apparently he controls thoughts and commands legions. Sounds like he has a lot going for himself. No idea why he’d bother with me.”
He’d do it just for sport. “What makes you think Dantalion is behind the suicides?”
Lyn’s mouth curved. “Mr. Emerson’s sigil. I found it in Gran’s journal with the Duke’s name and description. It’s Dantalion’s medallion on the victims’ chests.”
Sam swallowed and then nodded. “Thank you.”
“At least promise me you’ll kill him slowly.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“You won’t even consider it?”
Sam turned away and walked out of her bedroom.
“Wait. You promised to untie me.”
“I never said when.”
“Sam!”
Sam opened a portal in the hallway and stepped through it.
“Come back, you effing demon!”
Her voice snuffed out as the veil sewed shut behind him. The warmth of summer swathed his bare arms and his senses filled with the sounds of traffic and hasty pedestrians. He stood in a shadowed alley off the corner of what he hoped was Second and Seventy-fifth avenue. Sam drew a deep breath—minted with the scent of exhaust—and pictured the directions in his mind. Assuming he had portalled to the correct location, the North Paradise Sword Shop should be the building on his left. He followed the length of the alley to the sidewalk lining the busy road and then rounded the first storefront. Finding the handle on the glass shop door, Sam let himself inside the blessed air-conditioned space.
He tried to focus on his task, but thoughts of the Duke’s identity toyed with him. It didn’t help that he could still feel Lyn’s frustrations. Even at this distance, her damned emotions sat thickly in his chest, pressing against his lungs as if she were pinching him from the inside.