The Devil's Playground mk-5

by Jenna Black

  “You think you’re the best thing that ever happened to her, huh?” Brian asked, and there was no missing the fury in his voice. “Because of you, she was almost burned at the stake. Because of you, I was kidnapped and tortured. Because of you, her father is dead. And none of this is going to stop until you’re out of our lives once and for all. So don’t give me all this self-righteous bullshit when we both know all you really want is to get into her pants.”

  Internally, I winced. I’d seen Brian angry before, but not like this. Not almost-out-of-control angry.

  He’s angry because he knows I’m right, and he doesn’t like it, Lugh said, his mental voice sounding much calmer than he was making my own voice sound out loud.

  “Don’t forget, I’m just as happy to get into your pants as hers,” Lugh said, twisting my lips into a nasty smile.

  Brian’s face, already red with anger, turned almost crimson, and both fists clenched at his sides. Lugh folded his arms across his chest … that is, folded my arms across my chest. “Go ahead and hit me if it will make you feel better,” Lugh said. “I won’t let Morgan feel it.”

  And, for reasons I didn’t even begin to understand, Brian’s shoulders suddenly sagged, and the anger drained from his face.

  “Jesus Christ,” Brian said, scrubbing at his hair with both hands—trying to find an outlet for all that rage, I suppose.

  “I’ve told Morgan this many times,” Lugh said, his voice now much softer. “You and I are not in competition. She loves you, Brian. You have no idea how much power that gives you over her, or how terrified she is of that power. I’ve helped her manage that fear, you know I have. I’m not your competition, and I’m certainly not your enemy.”

  Brian looked defeated. “I know that, I guess. I just …” He shrugged.

  I felt one corner of my mouth lift in a wry smile. “You just want some evidence that if she had to choose between you and me, she’d choose you.”

  Brian laughed, but it was a nervous sound. “It sounds so childish when you put it that way.”

  It is! I wanted to yell at him. Probably just as well Lugh was in control at the moment.

  Lugh reached out with my hand and cupped Brian’s cheek tenderly. Brian jumped at the touch, clearly not sure what to do. It was, after all, my hand. I just didn’t happen to be the one controlling it.

  “It’s you that Morgan loves,” Lugh said, his fingers— my fingers—tracing a line down the side of Brian’s face. “Don’t back her into a corner to make her prove it. Some things are meant to be taken on faith.”

  Brian shied away from Lugh’s touch, but there didn’t seem to be any real rancor or distaste in the gesture. “You’ve made your point. Now will you put Morgan back in control?”

  Lugh sighed. “I will if you promise to drop the argument and nurse us back to health.”

  Brian almost smiled at that, but not quite.

  I tried to brace myself as Lugh faded into the background and put me back in the driver’s seat, but the headache still slammed into the back of my eyes like a semi truck. I groaned and let myself sag into Brian’s waiting arms.

  fifteen

  I WAS NOT A HAPPY CAMPER. WHEN LUGH AND I change control too often, I invariably get sick to my stomach and am gifted with a raging headache. The closer together the control changes are, the worse my symptoms. Twice in two days was very definitely too much, and I felt like an industrious blacksmith had taken up residence in my skull.

  I felt too lousy to continue my deep discussion with Brian, or even to complain about Lugh taking over like that. Brian didn’t seem much inclined to continue the conversation, either. He sent me off to my bedroom to hide in the comforting semidarkness as I waited for the aftereffects to go away. If previous experience was any guide, I’d feel better in a few hours as long as Lugh didn’t take control again. If he did, I was in for at least three days of misery.

  Brian brought me some aspirin and a glass of water. I took them even though I knew they wouldn’t help. My head throbbed steadily, and I hoped that, miraculously, this time the aspirin would work.

  True to his word, Brian spent the rest of the afternoon with me. We didn’t talk much—it was hard to be coherent when my head hurt so badly—but I did find his presence strangely comforting. I spent the entire time lying in my bed with my eyes closed, willing the pain to go away. Brian tried to distract me with a back rub that would have felt heavenly under other circumstances.

  I guess I must have drifted off to sleep despite the pounding in my head, because time seemed to pass without all the hours of the day being accounted for. One moment, I was curled into a little ball of misery with my pillow over my head, as if that could somehow keep the pain from getting to me. The next, I was listening to a ringing phone and deciding to let my answering machine get it. I had no idea I’d fallen asleep until Brian came in and sat on the side of the bed.

  “Adam and Raphael are on their way up,” he said, keeping his voice low in respect for my headache.

  “They said you were expecting them.”

  I groaned and rolled over, lifting the pillow off my head and squinting at Brian as if there were a bright light shining in my eyes. “I’m not expecting them until six,” I said, then made to hide under the pillow again.

  “Morgan, it’s ten after six.”

  I let out a little squeak of alarm, sitting up so fast it made my head throb even worse. I glanced at the bedside clock, even though I knew Brian wouldn’t be playing games with me when I wasn’t feeling well. Sure enough, it was after six.

  “Shit,” I said, with feeling.

  Brian frowned at me. “Should I have told them to go away?”

  I started to shake my head, then thought better of it. “No. Besides, they’d have come up anyway.”

  Adam’s badge worked like an all-access pass to my apartment when he wanted it to. It was probably illegal to use the badge under false pretenses, but Adam wasn’t about to sweat legalities.

  “Can you go let them in while I get dressed?” I’d taken off my top and bra so Brian could get his hands on bare skin while he massaged me.

  “Sure,” he said, but I caught the quick little glance he gave my bare breasts. It almost made me smile.

  I took my time getting dressed. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of leaving Brian in Adam and Raphael’s company for very long, but whenever I tried to move too fast, the pain in my head spiked.

  Eventually, I made my way out into the living room. The guys had been arguing about something, but they all shut up the moment I stepped into the room. Brian was sitting on the couch, looking pissed off again. Adam was sitting on the arm of the couch, looking neutral. And Raphael was sprawled on the love seat, looking smugly amused.

  I remembered belatedly that I was planning to chew Raphael a new one, but it was hard to build up a head of steam when I felt so lousy. It also occurred to me that I might not be in the best shape to join this interrogation squad, but there was no way in hell I was letting Adam and Raphael do it without supervision. Never mind that they would ignore my “supervision” whenever they found it convenient.

  “You up to this?” Adam asked, right on cue. I didn’t want to know what Brian had told them about why I was sick.

  I held my head a little higher, squaring my shoulders. “No, but let’s do it anyway.” Adam and Raphael stood up, but I wasn’t ready to get going yet. “Before we leave, I want to know what the plan is, both for this demon and for his host.”

  Adam and Raphael shared a glance, then turned nearly identically bland faces toward me.

  “Our choices are somewhat limited,” Adam said. I guess he’d appointed himself the spokesperson.

  “Then let me make this abundantly clear to both of you,” I said, mustering every scrap of authority I could find. “We are not killing anyone tonight. And you,” I continued, pointing at Raphael, “are not going back later to kill anybody.”

  Raphael raised a single eyebrow. “I’m not?” I glared at him, but he met my gaz
e steadily and without flinching. “And how, exactly, are you planning to stop me?”

  He had me stumped there. If I could count on Lugh to back me up, I’d have had at least some hope of making Raphael toe the line. But if Lugh had condoned Bradley Cooper’s murder, there was no reason to assume he wouldn’t condone the murder of Jonathan Foreman, the illegal recruitment czar, too. I put my fingers to my temples and tried to massage away the damned headache. I had enough deaths on my conscience! I didn’t know if I could stand any more.

  “If we can find a way around killing anyone,” Adam said, “we will.” I wasn’t sure if he could legitimately speak for Raphael, but I was pretty sure he was telling the truth. I was also pretty sure he’d already determined there was no way around it.

  “Remember, Dougal’s the one with total disregard for human life,” Brian said, putting his arm around my shoulders in solidarity. “We’re supposed to be better than that.”

  Raphael gave Brian a contemptuous glance. “What would you have us do? Reveal ourselves as Lugh’s supporters to a high-ranking demon under Dougal’s control and then release him so he can destroy us?”

  “You’re going to exorcize the demon, aren’t you?”

  Raphael shrugged. “Probably.”

  “So he’ll be back in the Demon Realm, where he can’t hurt us. And his host is not our enemy.”

  Raphael looked even more contemptuous. “How the hell do we know that? There’s every chance he volunteered for the job, just like Cooper. A human bearing tales is just as dangerous to us as a demon. Maybe even more so, since he can accuse us of various crimes. You know the human courts would take his side if at all possible.”

  Brian looked uncomfortable and frustrated. I knew how he felt. It was hard to feel like the angels were on your side when you were contemplating murder. But it was hard to argue Raphael’s logic. As far as I could tell, there was no moral high ground to be found.

  My head pounded steadily, and I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Let it go, Brian,” I said. “You’re not going to win these guys over. They’ll do whatever they think is necessary, and they don’t give a rat’s ass what we think about it.” I looked back and forth between Adam and Raphael. “Does that about sum it up?”

  Raphael flashed a sardonic grin. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

  Adam didn’t look as happy about it, but he still nodded.

  “Enough talk,” Raphael decided. “Adam and I are going to go question Mr. Foreman. Morgan, you can come with us or not; it’s your choice. But don’t fool yourself into thinking you can stop us from doing whatever needs to be done.”

  “I’m coming,” I said with a resigned sigh. Brian opened his mouth—I think to say he was coming with us, even though we hadn’t invited him. I silenced him with a quick kiss.

  “Will you wait for me?” I asked, desperately wanting him to say he would. I had a feeling when this little field trip was over, I was going to need his loving arms around me.

  “Do you want me to?”

  I put my arms around him and hugged him fiercely. “Yes, I want you to.”

  His hug was more tentative than mine. “Then I suppose I’ll wait. But be careful, okay?”

  Head still pounding, stomach still giving the occasional lurch, I pulled away from Brian’s arms and nodded.

  Jonathan Foreman lived in South Philly in an overwhelmingly Italian neighborhood, which consisted of one cookie-cutter row house after another, differentiated only by the trim. Some had painted brick, some had plain brick; some had shutters, some didn’t; and a couple actually had window boxes with flowers in them, though those were only on second-or third-story windows. Growing up, I’ve learned from my parents’ experiences that if you planted anything within reach of the street, someone would eventually dig it up and take it as a souvenir. Ah, the joys of living in the big city!

  Even postage-stamp-sized backyards are almost nonexistent in the city proper, so the only approach to Foreman’s house was from his front door. Adam knocked on the door while Raphael and I stood on the stoop a couple of steps below him. It was a rare city dweller who would open the door for an unknown and unexpected visitor, but since Foreman was a legal, registered demon host, we figured he might not be as cautious as us mere humans tended to be. Of course, he might also recognize Adam’s face—

  being the Director of Special Forces meant that Adam occasionally made the local news—and that could make him cautious anyway.

  We waited breathlessly to see what Foreman would do—assuming he was even home. He could even now be out hunting the city streets for another “expendable” human being who could be coerced into hosting a demon.

  I didn’t hear any sound of movement from behind the door, but Adam must have heard something, because his posture stiffened ever so slightly. I expected someone to open the door, or tell us to go away, but nothing happened.

  Raphael climbed the last step, I guess in case Adam needed help breaking down the door. Whatever the reason, it was a damn good thing he did, because the next thing I heard was a loud bang, like the sound of a car backfiring. Raphael apparently heard something before that, because he shoved Adam out of the way just in time to avoid the bullet that punched a hole in the door.

  Raphael cried out in pain and doubled over, clutching his gut. Adam did an involuntary backflip over the railing that bordered the landing. He went down hard on the pavement below, but it was no doubt better than being shot.

  Without needing anyone to tell me, I vaulted over the railing myself and pressed my back against the stoop, which gave me some semblance of cover. The door to the house burst open, and a fist smashed into Raphael’s face, sending him tumbling to the bottom of the steps. He left a brilliant trail of blood in his wake.

  Compared to demons, I move practically in slow motion. I was fumbling through my purse, trying to find my Taser, as someone—Foreman, I presumed—barreled down the steps, gun in hand, and took off running down the street. Adam, apparently not hurt by his fall, drew his gun and dashed off in pursuit. They were both out of range before my hand closed on the Taser.

  People around us had noticed the commotion—and the guns—but no one seemed to be panicking. I could see the people driving down the street glancing out the window at the action, but they kept driving, and the pedestrians—most of them, anyway—just changed directions and walked hurriedly the other way. And they call Philadelphia the “City of Brotherly Love.” Yeah, right.

  A gum-cracking teenaged girl called 911 on her cell phone while she stared, wide-eyed, at the trail of blood Raphael had left on the steps. I was way too shaken up to walk, so I crawled over to where he lay on the sidewalk, his arms wrapped around his belly, his body curled around itself. He was making little moaning sounds as if he were in dire pain, but when I got close enough, he made eye contact and I could see he was fine.

  You see, Tommy Brewster isn’t just any old demon host. He was a product of Raphael and Dougal’s genetic experiments, and he healed even more quickly than normal demons. In fact, I’d seen Dick—

  Saul’s current host, who was from the same “batch” as Tommy—get shot in the head twice and barely pause long enough to blink. Of course, the general population doesn’t know about the experiments, or the superhosts those experiments produced. And it’s probably better that way.

  The teenaged girl was the only pedestrian to make any move to help us in the heat of the moment, but now that it seemed like the shooting was over, we were beginning to draw a crowd. No one seemed to want to get too close—like they were afraid getting shot was contagious—but it was far more attention than I was comfortable with. I don’t know if the bullet Raphael had taken would have killed a normal host, but it certainly would have hurt one very badly.

  The teenager closed her phone, though not before surreptitiously snapping a photo. Camera phones have to be the devil’s own invention.

  “An ambulance is coming,” she said, leaning over Raphael to get a better look. “Is he gonna die?”
>
  I wanted to tell her to back off, but she had called an ambulance, which made her into something like a Good Samaritan. I try not to bite the heads off Good Samaritans even when my head hurts like a son of a bitch and I have problems up the wazoo.

  “He’ll be all right,” I said. “He’s a demon.”

  The girl’s eyes widened. She made the sign of the cross, then backed away hastily. I think she was regretting calling the ambulance. I guess when you’re in a heavily Italian neighborhood, you have to expect a lot of Catholics, and the Catholic church would never accept demons as the good guys.

  Raphael started sitting up, and now it wasn’t only the girl taking a step back. I bit my lip, wondering where Adam was. I couldn’t figure out whether I hoped he’d caught Foreman or not. At least I hadn’t heard any more gunshots.

  “Should you be sitting up yet?” I asked Raphael. It was just beginning to dawn on me that Raphael had maybe saved Adam’s life and had taken a bullet for his efforts. I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around the concept.

  “I’m fine,” he said, one arm still pressed tightly to his abdomen. “It’s just a flesh wound.” He managed something that passed for a sickly grin, but I suspect the wound had healed completely already.

  I looked at the blood that soaked his shirt and that trailed down the steps. The evidence pointed to far more than a flesh wound. And in broad daylight, with witnesses surrounding us and an ambulance and police on the way, there was no way we could hide anything.

  Sirens wailed in the distance, and I would have loved to flee. The police had seen far too much of me since Lugh had come into my life, and my being at the site of yet another violent crime was not going to help my less-than-squeaky-clean image. Where the hell was Adam? I wasn’t doing his reputation much good, either, since he’d been forced to extricate me from a number of delicate situations, but I really hated the idea of talking to the police without him present.