Jenna Black - The Devil You Know

“So you’re not at all interested in this fact yourself?” he asked. “You aren’t even mildly curious as to why I can’t see into that dark corner of your mind?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know that it’s any great mystery. If I don’t actually remember it myself, then why should you be able to see it?”

He gave me a knowing look. “Because the memory’s in there. Nothing that happened to you damaged your memory itself—you’ve just repressed it with frightening ferocity.”

I scowled at him. “I was drugged to the gills the whole time I was at the hospital! I don’t think it’s unusual that I wouldn’t have much memory of the time.”

I had just turned thirteen when I was diagnosed with encephalitis, a rare but potentially life-threatening inflammation of the brain. I’d been suffering from headaches and fever and a stiff neck, and my parents had rushed me to the hospital fearing that I had the much more common meningitis. By the time I was admitted, I was delirious, and I don’t remember a thing from that time until I got out of the hospital.

I’d spent more than a week at The Healing Circle, much of the time on a ventilator, fighting for my life. My parents told me I was unconscious throughout most of it, and that when I was conscious I suffered from delusions and hallucinations. The doctors determined that I’d gotten sick from a mosquito bite. Unbelievable how much trouble such a tiny insect can cause.

Yeah, there were times when the idea that I’d lost a whole week of my life as if it never existed was freaky and strange. But most of the time it seemed easy to explain away.

Lugh looked like he was deep in thought, but of course he didn’t let the conversation die a natural death.

“I don’t know if I can explain it to you in a way you’d understand,” he said. “Maybe you have to be able to see as intimately into another’s mind as I can for it to make sense. But believe me, whatever’s going on with your memory is not normal, and it’s not just because of drugs. You were drugged when Raphael tricked you into summoning me. I can feel a…blank spot, for lack of a better term, in your memory from where the drugs damaged it. The time you were at the hospital isn’t blank, it’s walled off. There’s a difference.” He licked his lips as if nervous. “Something happened to you in that hospital. Something your subconscious is desperate to forget.”

I shivered. “If my subconscious is that desperate to forget it, then there must be a damn good reason.”

“Indeed,” Lugh agreed. “And the fact that whatever it is happened at The Healing Circle, a demon-run hospital, makes me extremely curious.”

“That makes one of us,” I growled. “I have enough problems now without digging up shit from the past. Just let it go.”

He opened his mouth on a protest, then closed it before he actually said anything. “All right. I’ll let it go for now.” He smiled at me. “I should take my own advice about not causing you to dig your heels in deeper.”

I sighed in relief, though I knew I hadn’t heard the end of this topic. “Thanks.”

He acknowledged that with a nod. “I suppose I should let you get some more peaceful sleep.”

“Thanks,” I said again.

“Sweet dreams.” He gave me one last smoldering look before my eyes slid closed and the dream dissolved.

The next morning, I awoke in sleep-deprived grouch mode. I had an exorcism scheduled at ten-fifteen, but when I called the hospital to check on Andy, I found out he was being released at nine-thirty. He wasn’t in his room when I called, but the nurse I talked to confirmed my suspicion that he was planning to go home with my parents. I decided I had to show up at the hospital before they did and use my boundless charm to convince Andy to come with me instead. I had a feeling this whole mess would make me late for the exorcism, but protecting Andy was a higher priority. I doubted the state of Pennsylvania would agree, but I’d deal with that later.

I showed up at the hospital at eight thirty-five—way too early in the morning for my tastes—and found Andy alone in his room, sitting in the wheelchair and staring off into space. He didn’t notice when I stood in the doorway, so I rapped lightly on the door. He blinked as if just waking up, then turned to look at me. If he was surprised to see me, he didn’t show it.

Feeling awkward, I stuffed my hands into my pants pockets and resisted the urge to scuff my feet. “How are you doing this morning, bro?”

He shrugged. “I’m going to live with Mom and Dad until I get my strength back. How would you feel in my shoes?”

I grimaced. “Like a prisoner about to be executed.”

He didn’t seem to have the energy to muster a laugh, but he smiled at least. “All right, I’m not quite that bad. But I’m not exactly looking forward to it.”

I stepped all the way into the room and shut the door behind me. Andy raised his eyebrows at that.

I cleared my throat, leaning my back against the door to make sure there would be no interruptions. “Maybe you’d be better off staying with me until you’re ready to make it on your own,” I suggested.

When he started laughing, I felt a sudden, almost irresistible urge to throttle him. Heat flooded my face, a combination of anger and hurt coursing through my veins.

Andy stifled his laughter and shook his head at me. “Don’t look so murderous! Can you really blame me for laughing at the image of you as nursemaid?”

I glared at him. “Hey, this is me we’re talking about. I can blame you for the sky being blue if I want to.” But secretly I had to admit, he had a point. I’m not exactly what you’d call a motherly sort.

He laughed again, but it didn’t sting so much this time. “Good point. But I still think we’ll get along better if we aren’t living in the same house.”

“Apartment,” I corrected, and the hurt was back even though I knew he was right. “But we’ll also get along better if Raphael doesn’t kill you.”

I saw my shot hit home and wished I’d presented my argument more tactfully. Andy’s hands clenched into fists, and his face—already pale from too many weeks in the hospital—went white.

Mentally giving myself a swift kick in the ass, I moved farther into the room and sat on one of the visitors’ chairs, pulling it around so I could face my brother.

“Do you know anything he might want to kill you for?” I asked.

“No,” he answered, too quickly. “He kept me shut off from the outside world much of the time, when he was hiding something or we…disagreed.” He shivered. “It wasn’t anything like what I was expecting.”

My heart ached for him. Yeah, he’d been a volunteer, and technically it was his own fault that he’d been miserable, but he’d only been twenty-one when he’d invited Raphael into this world and into his body. That’s awfully young to make a decision that in theory would be irreversible for the rest of your life. He had known the risks, but knowing the risks and understanding them were two different things.

I’m not the touchy-feely sort, but I reached out and clasped Andy’s hand anyway. His fingers wrapped tightly around mine, as though he were hanging on for dear life.

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling completely inadequate. Surely there should be something I could say to lessen his pain, to chase that haunted expression from his eyes. But there was nothing.

A perfunctory knock on the door interrupted the silence. Neither one of us said anything, but the door swung open anyway, and a distinguished-looking man about fifty years old walked in.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, looking back and forth between me and Andy. He wore a traditional white lab coat, and I could see from the ID badge clipped to his lapel that this was Dr. Frederick Neely. I had never met him before, but I knew he was one of the doctors who had been treating Andy. Reluctantly, I let go of Andy’s hand.