Kelley Armstrong - Haunted

"No, Eve," Trsiel said. "Not with him. We'll find another way."

"I don't believe she was asking your opinion, half-blood ."

Trsiel stiffened. A long raucous laugh swirled around us.

"Don't like that, do you?"

"I am a full-blood," Trsiel said.

"So you've been told, and so you wish to believe, but you know better, don't you? You are no more akin to the full-bloods than this pretty half-demon whelp is to me."

"Come on, Eve," Trsiel said, wheeling. "He'll tell you nothing but lies."

"I'm not the one who's lied to you, Trsiel. Oh, but your Creator hasn't lied, has He? He never said you were a full-blooded angel. He just doesn't care to correct that misconception. No sense sowing more dissension in the ranks. Quite enough of that already-"

"Eve," Trsiel said, voice sharpening.

"Why don't you ask Him, Trsiel?" the demon continued. "Ask Him what you are. Or does this great warrior of truth prefer the comfort of lies?"

I turned to Trsiel. "Don't listen to him. He wants you to leave-wants us both to leave."

"Oh, but I don't want you both to leave. Just him. Get out, mongrel. Thy presence doth offend me."

Trsiel strode back to the center of the room and planted himself there.

"See?" the demon said, chortling. "Your defiance gives you away, half-blood. No true angel would have so much pride."

When Trsiel said nothing, a current of hot air snaked from the couch and encircled me, wending its way up my legs, over my torso, and to my ear.

"You wish to bargain with me, whelp?" the demon whispered.

"Perhaps," I said. "Do you wish to bargain, demon?"

"Your Nix annoyed me. You seem, if not properly respectful, at least courteous."

"Or perhaps you just wish to cause trouble," Trsiel said. "By giving her false information."

"And what, sweet mongrel, would be the fun in that? There is no 'trouble' to be found in watching a half-breed demon and a half-breed angel pursue an arrogant Nix. The trouble comes when they catch her."

"You can't trust him, Eve," Trsiel said. "You know you can't."

When I hesitated, the demon only chuckled, hot breath tickling my ear.

"When you're ready to bargain, you'll know where to find me."

A blast of tropical heat, and he was gone.

We finished searching the castle, but we'd already found what had enticed the Nix here. As for the demon's offer, the cardinal rule of bargaining is to never let your opponent know how badly you want what he has. And the encounter with the demon had left Trsiel unsettled. Better to let him cool off before I raised the subject again.

Outside the walls, Trsiel turned to me. "The Fates will want us to sit with Lizzie and Sullivan again. If you have a better idea…" He gave a distracted half-shrug. "I'm sure you do, so go ahead and do that. I'll cover the babysitting. If you need me…"

I grinned. "I'll whistle."

He nodded, unsmiling.

I looked over at him. "I have no idea what that demon was needling you about, but it obviously got to you, and if you want to talk about it, I'm a pretty good listener."

His eyes met mine, and I saw a loneliness and a sadness there that jolted through me.

"I appreciate the offer," he said softly. "But I won't take you up on it-not yet."

I did indeed have a fresh plan. Thinking of Lizzie made me realize that I had to speak to another partner, one who'd enjoyed the relationship with the Nix. Getting her to talk would be a challenge, but I had an idea.

Given Jaime's response when I asked her to summon Robin MacKenzie, I knew she'd be less than thrilled at the prospect of traveling across the ocean to summon another serial killer. And she did grumble, but it seemed more a token complaint. She didn't have any shows scheduled for the rest of the week, so a trip to Edinburgh wasn't a complete inconvenience. She decided to make a tax-deductible "research" vacation out of it, called her travel agent, and managed to get a last-minute ticket for a flight leaving from O'Hare in two hours.

When I met Jaime at the cemetery gates, it was almost noon.

"I don't suppose this can wait until tonight," she said as we wove through a posse of dog walkers.

"Hey, you're getting better at that."

"At what?"

"Talking without moving your lips."

A tiny smile. "I'm a woman of many talents."

"And if the showbiz spiritualist thing doesn't work out for you, there's always ventriloquism."

She shook her head and ducked around an elderly couple bearing wreaths of plastic flowers. "Is there something going on today? Or is it always this busy?"

"I think it doubles as the neighborhood park." I looked around at the treed landscape, dotted with people out enjoying a rare day of early-spring sun. "The way it should be, really. Otherwise, it's just a waste of good land. It's not like the spooks care whether you Rollerblade over their graves." I glanced at a dog squatting next to a cenotaph. "Although that might cross the line. Hey, you! Don't pretend you didn't see him do that. Get back here and scoop!"

Jaime laughed. "Sic 'em, Eve."

"I could spook the dog, but that's not fair. Well, not unless I could spook him so he drags his owner right through that steamy pile o' shit."

"Speaking of alternate careers, there's one for you ."

"Yeah, and if I don't catch the Nix, that's probably what I'll get: celestial poop-and-scoop enforcer. Probably wouldn't even get a sword. Just a big shiny shovel."

"Sword?"

"Don't ask." I instinctively moved aside for a pram parade. "So are we going to be able to do this during the day?"

"That was my question. Remember? Possibilities of postponement?"

"Next to none, I'm afraid."

"Damn."

CONDUCTING A MIDDAY SÉANCE IN A CROWDED cemetery… I'm sure it appeared near the top of the list of "don'ts" in the necromancer handbook.

After we tossed around a few suggestions, we decided she'd pretend to be meditating, which let her sit cross-legged on the ground, close her eyes, and mumble without attracting attention. Well, without attracting too much attention, although more than once she had to stop mid-incantation when some curious passerby stopped to ask whether she was trying to communicate with the dead.

Jaime sat about ten feet away from Suzanne Simmons's grave, with her back to it. Meditating in a cemetery was strange enough-doing it right at the foot of the grave of a notorious serial killer would be asking for trouble. Because Jaime's back was to Simmons's headstone, I had to stand watch, to let her know when Simmons popped up. It took nearly two hours. More than once Jaime snuck a look my way, as if maybe she'd raised Simmons and I'd somehow failed to notice.

Unlike Robin MacKenzie, Suzanne Simmons didn't just drop into our plane. It took at least ten minutes for her to fully materialize. When she did, there was no question of asking for ID. I'd seen her full-on in the vision the Fates gave me, and I'd never forget that face. She was still wearing prison hospital garb. The beehive hairdo from the vision was gone, and her dirty-blond hair hung about her shoulders, lanky and unwashed, as if no one bothered with that nicety while she'd lingered on her deathbed. Her feet were bare. That was the first thing she noticed-her feet. She stared down at them, lifting one, then the other, toes scrunching as if gripping the grass. Then she smiled. Eyes closed, she lifted her head and took a long, deep breath.

Jaime turned, mouth opening to speak, but I cut her short and motioned for her to wait. Wait and watch.

Simmons opened her eyes and looked around. Her gaze crossed the tombstone. A blink. She tilted her head to read the text. A tiny nod, as if the confirmation of her death was neither unexpected nor terribly alarming.