Jenna Black - Speak of the Devil

“On average, twenty-one percent of exorcisms result positively with the host in full possession of his or her faculties,” Cook said. “Fifty-eight percent result in permanent catatonia, twenty percent result in temporary catatonia, and one percent in brain-death.”

From the tone of his voice and the expression on his face, I knew my statistics weren’t going to compare favorably. I gritted my teeth.

“And my averages?” I asked, even though I didn’t want to.

Cook glanced down at a piece of paper. “According to the U.S. Exorcism Board, they are seventeen, sixty, twenty-one, and two.” He glanced back up at me. “I haven’t had a chance to have a statistician look at the numbers yet to tell me whether the variation is statistically significant, but even if it isn’t, it’s not going to sound very good in court.”

A depressing thought, to be sure, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it now. Maybe I should start leaning on Dom to open his own restaurant so I could get a job waiting tables for him when I lost everything.

“It’s not a cause for despair,” Cook assured me. “It just means that there could be hard times to come. I’ll contact Mr. Maguire’s attorney and see if there’s any hope of convincing them to drop the suit. Considering your financial situation, Mr. Maguire will no doubt spend far more money pursuing the case than he can ever hope to recoup by winning it.”

“Good luck with that,” I murmured. I’d have liked to believe there was an easy way out, but I thought it was about as likely as me winning the lottery without buying a ticket.

Cook was escorting me down the hall toward the front door when something struck me, and I came to a halt with a frown.

“You work fast,” I said as a suspicion took form in my head. “You found out all those statistics in the time since Brian made the appointment?”

Cook looked surprised. “Four days was more than enough time. I certainly don’t consider that to be working particularly fast.”

I bit down on my tongue to stop myself from saying something I would regret. I’d save that for when I next saw Brian. I’d been somewhat annoyed to discover he’d made the appointment for me this morning. Finding out he’d made it four days ago and only got around to telling me about it this morning did not sit well at all.

Preferring to think about being angry with Brian than about what the outcome of this lawsuit might be, I left Cook’s office and began plotting my verbal smack-down.

I didn’t get home until a little after six, having run some errands and stopped for groceries along the way. I’d calmed down a bit by then, realizing that everything Brian had done, he’d done for my own good. That didn’t mean I would let him get away with it without a tongue-lashing, but there wouldn’t be a great deal of heat behind it.

I was lost in my thoughts when I stepped through the door into the lobby of my apartment building, and I walked to the elevators without looking around me. In fact, it wasn’t until I’d actually stepped into the elevator and turned to push the button for my floor that I realized Brian was there.

I jumped like a startled cat as he joined me in the elevator.

“Jesus, you scared me!” I said, putting my hand to my chest and feeling the frantic beat of my heart. “Why didn’t you say something?”

The doors slid closed, and the elevator started to rise. Brian didn’t look at me, instead staring at the lighted numbers above the door. Tension radiated from him in almost palpable waves, and though I was pretty sure his face was supposed to be neutrally blank, he looked like he was majorly pissed off. I put a hand on his arm, and he actually jerked out of my grip.

“Brian, what’s wrong?” I asked. I’d never seen him anything like this before.

“Wait until we get into the apartment,” he said, and it sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth.

I was mystified. It wasn’t like Brian had never been angry with me before, but I couldn’t think of a time when he’d been angry and I hadn’t known the reason why. Swallowing a lump of fear, I joined him in staring at the lighted numbers. It was one of the longest elevator rides in the history of mankind.

Eventually, the doors opened, and I made my way to my apartment, not at all sure I wanted to know what was going on. Ignorance is supposed to be bliss, but I wasn’t feeling so blissful at the moment.

I unlocked the door and stepped into my apartment, gesturing for Brian to come in. It was then that I noticed the manila envelope he held in his right hand. I gathered it was something about that envelope that had made him so mad, but I hadn’t the foggiest idea what it could be. I put the bag of groceries in the kitchen, but didn’t bother to put them away. Brian hadn’t followed, so I went back to the entryway.

“Would you like me to make some coffee?” I asked, trying to sound normal.

“No.” Brian’s voice was brusque and curt. No pretense of normalcy here.

“Then should we sit down?”

“No,” he said in that same tone of voice.

I shook my head, starting to get pissed off myself.

“Enough with the caveman grunts already! Just tell me what’s the matter.”

He met my eyes, and for the first time ever, I saw genuine coldness in his gaze. It was almost enough to make me take a step backward, but then I decided it was ridiculous to be scared of Brian, no matter how upset he was.

Still giving me that marrow-freezing look, he reached into the manila envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper. Without another word, he shoved it in my face.

With a sigh, I took the paper from Brian’s hand. It was a short letter, printed out on plain white copy paper. I started to read.

Mr. Tyndale, I thought you might be interested to know that your girlfriend has spent the night with Adam White on more than one occasion .

I gasped, and the paper jerked in my hand. My jaw dropped open, and I looked at Brian in horror. But the note wasn’t finished yet, and I forced myself to read the rest.

Lest you think these overnight stays were somehow innocent, I must tell you that I have attained some concrete information about what took place while she was there. I presume Ms. Kingsley has mentioned to you Mr. White’s distasteful proclivity toward sadistic sexual practices. Would you be interested to know that in Mr. White’s house there is a bullwhip that bears traces of Ms. Kingsley’s blood?

The note was signed “An Interested Observer.”

My face lost all color, and for a moment, the room seemed to swim before my eyes. My hands shook hard enough that I dropped the sheet of paper. I couldn’t have looked more guilty if I’d tried. Why, oh why, hadn’t I told Brian the truth when I’d had the chance? I wished he didn’t have to know at all, but at least if he’d gotten it from me, this damn note wouldn’t be so devastating—or hard to explain.

“It’s not what you think,” I stuttered, then wanted to slap myself upside the head for uttering the most guilty-sounding phrase in the English language.

“The hell it isn’t,” Brian growled at me. He wasn’t giving me the icy stare anymore. In fact, he couldn’t even bear to look at me. “This is why you were so touchy about Lugh, isn’t it? Because you already had a guilty conscience!”

I tried to reach out to him, but he jerked away before I made contact. “Don’t touch me!”

I took a deep, quavering breath. I had vowed to myself never to tell him what Adam had done to me, what I had let Adam do to me in exchange for his help rescuing Brian. If I didn’t have Lugh around to keep my dreams under control, I’d have had recurring nightmares about the hell I’d gone through in Adam’s black room. I’d never wanted Brian to find out, and, most of all, never wanted him to feel guilty about the sacrifice I’d made to save him.