Stacia Kane: Demon Possessed

A demon attack. A litobora demon, a poisonous psyche demon. Had Greyson and Malleus not shown up when they did—had they not been on their way to her place already—she would have died. As the pain in her body eased, that simple fact drilled itself into her head, crashing through every other thought and leaving her with nothing else.

“Somebody sent it, right?” she asked, dreading the answer. “I mean, that demon didn’t just show up here by chance.”

Damn him, and damn Maleficarum too, now sneaking out of the room. Her eyelids were getting heavy; whatever was in that shot was most certainly going to put her to sleep. But along with that came an easing of her nausea and the relaxation of her muscles, so she really couldn’t complain too much.

“I would think so, yes.” He snuggled her more closely to his chest. “A lion doesn’t just show up on your doorstep without help. Neither do litobora .”

“So somebody is specifically trying to kill me?”

Pause. Long pause, while his body tensed against hers. “I would think so, yes.”

“Shit.” Once again she knew she should care. Once again she couldn’t quite bring herself to; whatever was in that syringe was powerful. “Who do you think it is?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you’ll find out, right?”

His lips on her forehead felt like a kiss through cotton. “I’ll certainly try.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that ‘try.’ ”

He sighed. “I’m not either.”

“Why would someone want to kill me?”

“Do you really want to discuss this now?”

No, she didn’t. But there didn’t seem to be much choice. Despite the gentle tugging of sleep, despite the peace finally settled in her limbs and stomach, she still felt the faint sting on the back of her calf. Still couldn’t quite forget the terror of those few minutes standing outside, alone but not at all alone.

“I don’t. But I’m kind of thinking we should.”

He helped her shift around to face him; the world spun for a second when she rolled over but settled again when her gaze found his face. Those sharp features, that dark hair and deep brown eyes, so familiar now, calmed her, but the look in those eyes didn’t. He was worried, and seeing him worried shook her.

He waited for her to settle comfortably before he spoke. “I suppose there are lots of reasons someone might want to kill you. Anyone in a position of power is also in a position of vulnerability. As you know.”

Yes, she knew. This was an old, old discussion. Her job—seeing patients and, to a lesser extent, the radio show—put her at risk. But what was she supposed to do?

Three choices, none of them appealing. The first was to take a piece of the undoubtedly crime-filled action the other Gretnegs offered her. Lucrative, but she had to be able to face herself in the mirror every day. The second was to let Greyson support her. Keep her. She didn’t even want to think about how she would face herself if she did that, let alone how she would fill her days.

The last was doing more with the radio show. Taking speaking engagements. Appearing on television. She didn’t want to do it, and she was pretty sure Greyson would practically have a heart attack if she suggested it. The semipublic nature of the show already made him antsy, she knew, although thankfully the media blitz the station orchestrated when the show first aired had died down. Going on TV, well, things didn’t get much more public. And there was that whole pesky public-image-dating-criminal issue.

Three choices. None of which she wanted to make. But at some point she would have to make one, especially now. That the attack had occurred at her home didn’t matter much. Neither did the fact that it was demon-related. She was vulnerable, and she knew she was, and she’d been hoping to put off having to do something about it, but it looked as though her days of putting it off were coming to a close.

But first things first. The knock at the door gave her the opportunity to veer off subject, and she was glad for it. “Come in,” she said, and was not remotely surprised when Rocturnus slunk sheepishly through the door.

“Megan, I’m sorry.” If he’d possessed a hat, she had little doubt he would have been turning it in his anxious fists at that very moment. As it was, he twisted his long-fingered hands together and stared at the carpet. “I should have been here.”

“It’s okay, Roc. You didn’t know.”

“You didn’t call me.”

“I thought it might—oh, never mind. It’s not like you would have been able to do anything about it if you had been here anyway.”

He straightened up, insult written all over his face. At least so she assumed. Her vision was a little bleary, haloed around the edges. “I could have helped. I could have done something.”

She sighed. “Right. Of course you could have. I’m sorry, Roc.”

“Do you think it’s to do with the FBI?”

“No, they wouldn’t—” she started, but Greyson cut her off.

“FBI?”

Oh, right. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him yet. “They came to see me today.”

“What, the entire Bureau?”

She would have laughed, but her body didn’t seem to be capable of it. She settled for a sleepy smile. “No, just one agent. She came about the Bellreive. Offered me immunity.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Testimony. About what happens at the meeting, I guess.”

“What was her name?”

She told him. “Oh, and one of my patients quit because he’s going to have an exorcism instead.”

“What?”

She repeated it, or at least started to. Halfway through the story she had to stop; he was laughing too hard for her to continue, and Roc was practically falling on the floor.

“Stop, it’s not funny. Well, maybe it’s funny. But no, don’t laugh, you’re shaking the bed.”

That plea, at least, had an effect. With obvious difficulty Greyson got himself under control; she didn’t think she’d ever seen him laugh that hard. Roc continued to giggle, a subtle, bizarre backdrop as she shut her eyes again.

“Exorcism? Darling, your patients never cease to amaze me. Exorcism, of all things.”

“Ted could really get hurt.”

“And that’s the choice Ted made. He’s a grown man. If he wants to do something incredibly stupid, that’s his prerogative. I somehow think we have more important things to worry about right now, don’t you?”

She opened one eye—opening both seemed like too much effort—and glared at him. As much as she could with one eye anyway. “I’m trying not to think about it.”

“Right. Well. Enjoy one last night of not thinking about it, then, because tomorrow we need to get to work. In more ways than one.”

“The meeting.” She sighed.

“The meeting,” he said. “And the fact that whoever it is who’s trying to kill you will probably be there.”

The antivenom or antiallergen or whatever it was Maleficarum had given her was effective. Either that or the effects of the litobora venom were short-lived.

Either way, by the following afternoon she felt fine, at least physically. Mentally? That was another story.

Although she had to admit, feeling lousy in a luxury suite at the Bellreive beat the hell out of feeling lousy in her own home. It even almost beat feeling lousy at Greyson’s place, the massive white mansion that was his official residence as Gretneg of his Meegra. Ieuranlier Sorithell was beautiful, and more than that, it was familiar, and some of her stuff was there. Not a lot of stuff, but some things, a toothbrush and bottles of all her shampoos and such, a few spare items of clothing kept in a drawer.