Stacia Kane - Demon Possessed

“She weren’t even there,” Malleus agreed. “’Ow’d she get out right past us?”

“Maybe she left out a different exit, or while we were in the ballroom.” Megan leaned against Greyson, who wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “It doesn’t really matter. She’s alive and well anyway. She didn’t even look injured.”

“You saw her? So you could read him, then.”

She nodded without opening her eyes. Exhaustion was starting to hit her hard; her head buzzed with it. Without thinking, she reached out along the psychic line connecting the Yezer to her and gave it a little tug. The energy helped, but she still needed sleep. “He’s kind of a kook. I mean, he’s a fanatic. He really believes what he’s doing. But he’s not evil. Not in an Accuser sort of way, at least.”

“But just as dangerous.” Greyson’s arm tightened around her. “Fanatics always are.”

“That’s so cheering.”

“Hmm. What’s even more cheering is that we have to come back here tomorrow and watch his little show.”

“Right. She wanted his help.” Megan stood up straight, her eyes opening. “She said she thought they could help each other. She didn’t identify herself as FBI; he had no idea who she was. I mean, he figured she was just another wanderer—that’s how he thinks of them, wanderers—looking for spiritual aid.”

“She didn’t say how she could help him?”

“No. But he told her to come back tomorrow morning, and she said she would.”

He sighed as the elevator doors slid open again to reveal the shabby lobby. “And you’re sure whatever attacked her is what came after you?”

“No.” The clerk was sleeping again. The lobby felt too big, too cold; that spot of emptiness still hung around the ballroom door. Megan held Greyson’s hand a little tighter and felt his answering squeeze. “But I feel like it was. What else could it have been? And—oh! I meant to tell you. When I sensed her and whatever attacked me, I thought it was a demon, because it didn’t feel like anything. It felt empty, like the maids did in there.”

Hot air blasted them when Malleus opened the lobby doors. The night waited outside, wrapped itself around them as they crossed the gritty sidewalk. “If she suspects she was attacked by something not human,” Greyson said, “we have a much bigger problem. Why don’t we head back to her room? We can erase the whole thing from her head. No, better yet, Tera can do it.”

Megan hesitated. “I didn’t see whoever it was who attacked me. Maybe she did.”

“You can read her first, then. See if you get anything.”

He was right. She knew he was. But she was so damn tired; her hands were cold despite the heat, her eyelids heavy, and the entire night had been reduced to nothing more than a confused jumble of images. Nothing more than a body falling off the roof, dark against the city lights, that moment of utter silence when she’d watched a man die.

At least when she’d thought she was watching a man die. And being fervently and purely grateful that it wasn’t her.

“Can’t we do it in the morning?”

He stopped walking, touched her cheek. “You’re that tired?”

She nodded.

“I guess it—Actually, that might be better. We’ll keep an eye on her. Maybe we can . . . hmm.”

“What?”

They’d reached the car; not Greyson’s Jaguar, which was back at the Bellreive, but the Mercedes SUV the brothers had driven to the hotel. Spud opened the door, then closed it behind them and climbed into the back. Malleus and Maleficarum sat up front. Megan had gotten used to it, the feeling of always being under observation, but she’d also gotten used to saving some discussions for later, when the brothers weren’t around. One of those popped into her head as she fastened her seat belt. She made a mental note not to forget again.

“I was just wondering,” he said as they left their parking spot. The air conditioning kicked on, reviving her a little. At least, instead of feeling like her limbs were overcooked pasta, she felt fairly al dente. “Why a demon, or a witch, would want to get what’s-her-name involved with some silly faith healer.”

Megan had been wondering it too, but in an abstract kind of way. Now she realized it was the biggest question, the one she should have been asking all along. The answer she came up with sent cold chills down her spine and woke her up far more than she’d thought possible. Without much hope, she asked, “Because they thought it would be funny?”

He smiled. It was too dark in the car to see his eyes, but she could picture them just the same, that combination of pride and amusement that flooded her with heat every time. “I do wish that were the case. But I somehow doubt it is.”

“So do you know why?”

His hand found hers on the seat, closed around it tightly, as if he was trying to keep it from escaping. “No. But I intend to find out.”

By mutual consent, they didn’t discuss the subject anymore, sticking to lighter topics such as which drive-through restaurant to go to, since Megan had effectively missed dinner and they didn’t want to wait for room service. The food revived her a bit, as did the call from Tera informing them that she was all checked in and asking if they needed her to come down now, but Megan still felt half dead. She told Tera they’d see her in the morning and slipped between the sheets on the big, soft bed.

Perhaps “half dead” wasn’t the best analogy. She shivered. Outside the wide picture window lights glowed yellow against the dark sky, like candles in a cave. Walling them in, watching them.

Greyson’s arms closed around her, pulled her tight against his warm chest. They’d turned the thermostat down earlier; she didn’t think it was necessary. It didn’t feel as though anything could truly warm her. The entire night since those frantic minutes on the roof seemed to have taken forever and yet less than the space of an eyeblink at the same time.

She was too tired to sleep; her entire body hummed with nervous tension. He wasn’t sleeping either. His breath stirring her hair was too shallow and fast for it.

For a second she considered slipping off the little nightie, letting him take her mind off what happened. Probably make it easier to fall asleep too. But . . . shit. She didn’t want to, she realized, because she was afraid of what might happen if they let their attention drift, if they weren’t alert and aware, ready to go after anything that tried to slip through the walls and into their room.

They weren’t safe there. They weren’t safe anywhere. A being that could fall off a roof and somehow disappear before landing, that could get from the first floor to the roof in a thick tangle of words and magic, could get her anywhere. Her body tensed, ready to jump off the bed and hide if the room’s energy changed, if the witch—if it was a witch—came after her.

“Spud is on the balcony.” Greyson brushed her hair back from her face. “Malleus is in the hall. He won’t get to us.”

She relaxed a little. Not just from reassurance but because she didn’t want him to feel her tension. She didn’t like to think she’d been so obvious. Even after almost a year, she hated looking weak in front of him, even knowing he didn’t see it that way. Didn’t see her that way. It was oddly difficult to get used to, the way she couldn’t quite adjust to calling a servant to bring her a snack instead of invading the Ieuranlier’s big kitchen herself.

“But a witch could still beat one of them, right? Didn’t you tell me once—”

“We’re not sure it’s a witch,” he reminded her. “Unless you’ve remembered something.”

“What else could it be? I mean, are there demons that can walk through walls?” She bit her lip, unsure what reply she was looking for. If it was a demon, she wouldn’t worry so much. The hotel was full of demons; surely some of them would help out—although now that she thought of it, she doubted Greyson would approve of her asking them for help, and he’d be right. If looking weak in front of him made her uncomfortable, after eleven months of . . . well, of having a fantastic time and spending more and more time together . . . if that made her uncomfortable, the thought of looking weak in front of the other Gretnegs made her skin crawl. Greyson would never take advantage of her weakness. They would, the way a cat would take advantage of a mouse with its tail caught in a trap.