Speak of the Devil (29 page)

There might have been someone else there who recognized you
, Lugh suggested.
Someone who’s taken a particular interest in your life
.

I cursed—not literally, of course, since my mouth
wasn’t my own at the moment. Despite the threats we’d considered, we hadn’t taken into account that my good buddy Abraham might be hanging out at The Seven Deadlies in his new body. I hoped like hell he made the mistake of confiding something to Shae while he was there so we could get a bead on whom he’d possessed now.

Lugh twisted my lips into an unpleasant smile. “I
do
hope my dear friend doesn’t get into any trouble over this little … misunderstanding.”

Adam shrugged. “He’ll be charged with harboring a fugitive, but it’s hard to prove he
knew
you were a fugitive.”

And either way, harboring a fugitive was not a violent crime, so there was no danger of Raphael being executed. Which I supposed was a good thing, though I wasn’t sure I’d shed a tear if he finally got his just deserts.

“Do you have anything you’d like to say in your own defense?” Adam asked.

Lugh made his laugh sound bitter. “Would it matter?”

The answer, of course, was no, but Adam dutifully spouted the party line about justice being served, yada, yada, yada. He left shortly afterward, but it didn’t take more than maybe four hours for the verdict and the sentence to be read. Lugh was declared both an illegal, for possessing me against my will, and a rogue, for the murders of Jack Hillerman and David Keller.

It was another four hours before the court-appointed exorcist arrived. Those were possibly the longest four hours of my life. Despite Lugh’s calm assertions that we were in absolutely no danger, and despite my confidence in both his judgment and his logic, it was impossible not to be scared. Not when
the consequences of failure included being incinerated alive in a cremation oven. Of course, if it somehow came to that, they’d anesthetize me first, and Lugh would block out the pain anyway, but that didn’t take away the primal terror.

Add to that the necessity to leave Lugh in control of my body, and I thought I might go quietly insane before this was all over. Lugh did his best to comfort me, and he tried to give me the illusion that I was under control after all. When I longed to stand up, he did it. When I felt the need to pace to work off my nerves, he did that, too. But it wasn’t the same, and we both knew it.

Frightened as I was, it was still a relief when the exorcist made an appearance. I didn’t get the baby exorcist who’d examined me last night, but Ed Rose, a competent but unspectacular exorcist. He was also experienced enough to have dispensed with some of the formalities, so the whole affair didn’t take more than about fifteen minutes.

But maybe it was those fifteen minutes that were the longest stretch of time in my life, rather than the previous four hours.

What if Ed wasn’t fooled? What if we got the timing off, and Lugh disappeared from his radar before he’d even made an effort to exorcize him? What if my need to be in control suddenly kicked in and I reflexively tossed Lugh out before the ritual even began? What if Lugh had been in control for too long and somehow I couldn’t get back?

If I’d had control of my stomach, I’d have been puking with anxiety, never mind the dreaded aftereffects I was about to endure. At least, I
hoped
I was about to endure, because the alternative was unthinkable.

But despite all the horrors my mind could conjure,
Lugh’s ruse worked almost perfectly. I say “almost,” because Ed looked slightly puzzled when it was all over, like something about that ritual hadn’t been quite right. But whatever it was, Ed shrugged it off. Which was the last thing I noticed before I started vomiting my guts out.

“
Someone please
kill me now,” I moaned as pain hammered at my skull and nausea roiled in my stomach.

I was lying on my very own bed, finally able to return home now that Lugh had been convicted and supposedly punished for my crimes. It wasn’t much of a comfort, not the way I felt. Saul, who was playing nursemaid, laid an ice pack on my forehead. It didn’t really help, but I couldn’t stand just lying there, suffering without trying to make it go away.

“You’ll feel better soon,” Saul assured me, but he was wrong. The last time I’d gotten this sick, it had lasted a solid three days, though admittedly the intensity had eased over time.

The doorbell rang, sending a spike of agony through my head. For a moment, I thought I’d black out, but no such luck.

“Sorry,” Saul murmured, then sprinted out of the room.

I threw the useless ice pack aside, then pulled my pillow out from under me and hugged it to my face, hoping blocking out the light would make the pain go
away. The pillow muffled my hearing, but not so much that I couldn’t hear Saul greeting Barbie at the door. When he’d invited her to come over—against my wishes, though I was too sick to put up much of an argument—he’d considerately let the front desk know in advance and asked them not to call up to the apartment. I wished he’d told her not to ring the bell, though how he would have known she’d arrived, I don’t know.

My nose told me she’d brought dinner, which made my very empty stomach heave again. I couldn’t even keep down a couple sips of water, and if I didn’t get the vomiting under control, I was going to end up in the hospital so I could get IV fluids. And wouldn’t it just be great fun to have the doctors there trying to figure out what was wrong with me? I’d be poked, prodded, and probed for the duration of my stay, and it would all be for nothing.

“Saul!” I yelled, as loudly as I dared. I didn’t think my voice carried at all, but the sound still made my head pound.

“Did you call?” Saul asked a few moments later.

“Yeah. Can you please close the door? The smell of food is not doing good things for me.”

“Oh. Sorry. Sure.”

The door closed, and I was left by myself, fighting the pain, wishing I could fast forward my life. Through the closed door, I heard the soft murmur of Saul’s and Barbie’s voices, punctuated by the occasional laugh. They were getting along famously. I tried to be glad about that, although I thought it was risky for any of us to hang out with her for any extended period of time. She was just too perceptive, and I feared she would begin poking holes in our story in no time. Hell, considering how she had Saul thinking with his little head instead of his big one, he
was probably spewing all our secrets right now. I was in no shape to stop him if he was.

The voices eventually died down, but I knew Barbie was still here. I had a good guess why she and Saul were suddenly being so quiet, and soon, the occasional barely suppressed gasp from the bedroom next door confirmed my guess. At least they were considerate enough not to make a racket.

I think I drifted off for a while, though the pain still reverberated through my head while I was sleeping. The next time I was sure I was conscious, I heard Barbie’s voice tentatively calling my name.

“Morgan? Are you awake?”

Maybe I should have just pretended to be asleep, but I decided I’d prefer to have something else,
anything
else to think about than how lousy I felt.

“More or less,” I answered, though I’m sure it was hard to understand from beneath the pillow I still held to my face.

I heard her cross the room, then felt the side of my bed dip as she sat.

“I won’t bother asking you how you feel,” she said, “but is there anything I can get you?”

“A gun so I can put myself out of my misery?”

She laughed weakly. “I really should insist you go to the hospital.”

I pulled the pillow off my face and opened my eyes a crack. The light didn’t really make my head hurt any worse—it just seemed like it should, so I was cautious with it.

“Not a chance in hell.”

One corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “I didn’t think so. But it was worth trying.”

Although I was pretty sure she and Saul had been doing the horizontal bop next door, she looked as perfectly put together as always. She was disgustingly
pretty, and I reminded myself I didn’t like girly-girl cheerleader types.

“Is there something you want?” I asked in my surliest tone of voice.

She was still smiling that half-smile. “Just hoping I could divine the real truth by looking at you.”

I groaned. You’d think after we’d confirmed all her suspicions about me and my supposed possession by Jordan Maguire’s demon that she’d be satisfied and stop asking questions. Well, no, you wouldn’t really think that, not unless you’re an idiot.

“Don’t do this to me,” I pleaded, too sick to pretend. “Not now when I’m practically defenseless.”

She shook her head. “I doubt you’ve been defenseless a day in your life. I’m just telling you that all the pieces of your story don’t add up. Remember, we’d already determined that you weren’t stupid enough to shoot Hillerman when you were the prime suspect.”

“I’m
not. The demon was.”

She snorted. “Right. I just want you to know that I’ll help you if you let me. Whatever’s going on with you, it’s a lot weirder than the pat little explanation I came up with last night.”

Geez, had that only been last night? Amazing how time doesn’t fly when you’re not having fun.

“But I won’t bug you with it now,” she said. “I just wanted to say to you what I said to the demon: If you ever want to level with me, just give me a call.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, then pulled the pillow back over my face in a subtle bid to end the conversation.

Barbie sighed quietly before she left, but she refrained from asking any more questions.

For the next three days, I basically sat on the sidelines of my life. I rarely left my bed, getting up only to go to
the bathroom. By the end of the first day, the nausea had eased enough that I could drink small quantities of water without tossing it back up, but clear fluids were the only things I could even get past my lips. My head pounded mercilessly, and I was even grouchier than usual. In retrospect, I feel kind of sorry for Saul, who tried his best to be helpful but probably wished he hadn’t.

Dominic stopped by to see me once, letting me know he’d brought some homemade chicken soup for when I was up to eating. It was great incentive to get better soon. Barbie stopped by at least twice, but mostly to see Saul, not me. Adam came to check on me a couple of times, though his visits were brief. Raphael, perhaps being a smart-ass, or perhaps actually meaning to be nice, sent me flowers. There was no word from Brian, of course, though I had hoped he still cared about me enough to send flowers, or at least a card. Andy didn’t visit either, which hurt almost as much.

By the end of day three, I was beginning to feel a tiny bit better—meaning I no longer daydreamed about blowing my brains out. That was when Andy finally paid me a visit—with Raphael practically nipping at his heels.

I didn’t know what to make of Andy and his former demon showing up together, and I was even more confused when Raphael shoved Andy into the room and then stood blocking the doorway.

I propped myself into a sitting position as Andy approached, his head down, his hands jammed into his pockets. Because of the headache, I was still keeping the room pretty dark, so at first I didn’t see the bruises. When I did, I gasped.

“What happened?” I asked. One of his eyes was
blackened, and bruises bloomed all around his throat, like someone had choked him.

He opened his mouth a couple of times, but rejected whatever he’d been thinking of saying. Even in the darkness, I could see Raphael rolling his eyes.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Andrew!” he barked. “Grow a fucking backbone.”

Something sparked in Andy’s eyes, a glimmer of anger that made him look more alive than he had in a while. He withdrew his hands from his pockets and clenched them into fists. I couldn’t help noticing the knuckles of his right hand were bruised.

“You’ve been in a fight?” I prompted when he still didn’t say anything.

“Not exactly,” he answered, and I could tell he was struggling to find words.

“How about if I get the story started for you,” Raphael said, speaking slowly so he could get the maximum level of condescension into his voice. “I stopped by your apartment to encourage you to get off your ass and visit your sister …”

I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like Andy was grinding his teeth. By now, I was, too. I was on the verge of telling them both to get the hell out when Andy finally started talking.

“I’m sorry I didn’t visit earlier. I just thought being around me would do you more harm than good.”

“Bullshit,” Raphael interrupted. “You were just too busy moping to make the effort.”

Andy whirled on him. “Did you bring me here so
I
could talk, or so
you
could? Because if you’re doing the talking, I don’t need to be here.”

“Oh, by all means, talk away.” Raphael made an expansive hand gesture.

Andy turned back to me, though his eyes didn’t quite meet mine. “I’m sorry for … the way I’ve been
lately. Raphael tells me I’ve been feeling sorry for myself and need to pull myself up by the bootstraps. I promise I’ll try.”

My throat tightened, and I reached out to give Andy’s hand a squeeze. I was still pretty much mystified by what was going on, but that was the most words I’d heard him string together since Raphael had moved out of him, and that had to be a good sign.

He squeezed my hand back and forced something that vaguely resembled a smile. I wanted to tell him I loved him, but we’d never been real sentimental with each other, and I thought it would come out sounding artificial.

“I’ll leave you to get some rest now,” he continued. “But I promise I’ll come back, and not just for council meetings.”

The lump in my throat ached too much for me to talk, so I just nodded and gave him my most encouraging smile. By the time I thought I could speak without bawling, Andy had pushed his way past Raphael and was probably halfway to the front door. Raphael held up one finger in a gesture I took to mean “I’ll be right back,” and hurried after Andy. I realized I still had no clue what had happened.