Demon Possessed (23 page)

“We ain’t gonna see you again,” Maleficarum said. “Why can’t you stay? Don’t you want to be wif us?”

“This is so pitiful I may cry,” Tera muttered. Megan ignored her.

“Of course I want to be with you.” Now it was an after-school special on Coping With Divorce. Or it would be, if they were getting divorced, which they weren’t, because one had to be married to get a divorce, and they weren’t.

And obviously they never would be. She forced herself to ignore the stab of pain and focus. “But I— It’s not that simple. There are some things I want out of life and some things he wants out of life, and we just couldn’t find a way to make those things match up, is all.”

“Don’t make any sense.” Malleus grabbed Spud’s handkerchief—Spud didn’t want to give it up, and they tussled for a second before Malleus won out—and dabbed his eyes with a clean corner of it. “If you love ’im, why can’t you make them things match up?”

“I— We just can’t. Look, guys, it’s really— I really wish this wasn’t— This isn’t what I want, it’s just the way it is.” Her eyes stung. If she could just get through this, if she could just get them out of there, she could get into the shower and have her first solid cry of the day, the first of what she felt confident would be many.

“But ’e’s miserable!” Maleficarum wailed. “Up there now, ’e is, starin’ at nuffink! You go up there, m’lady, an’ you sit an’ you work this out. We need you, we do. Can’t you just try it? For us, you know.”

This was surely the most horrible morning of her life. Punishment for what she’d done to Nick; when she looked at it that way, she deserved this and more.

“I’m sorry, guys. I really am. But I can’t. He needs to come to me if he wants to work this out. It’s complicated. But trust me, I can’t go up there.”

Spud started sobbing anew. They stood there, the four of them with their interested audience—Tera had finally stopped giggling, but a quick glance showed Megan she was still smirking—for a long moment before Maleficarum finally nodded.

“Well. I guess if you say it can’t be fixed, it can’t be fixed. But m’lady, we’re gonna miss you. Don’t know what we’ll do wifout you there.”

“You can still see me.” She knew it was lame even as she said it. Her heart hurt too bad for her to care. It had finally hit her. She wasn’t just losing Greyson; she was losing them too. And she loved them, she really did. They drove her nuts sometimes, but they were family, and she wouldn’t see them again. They were too busy to visit her even if Greyson would allow it.

Before he’d come to her room, she would have been certain he would. Now . . . probably not.

But she said it anyway. “You can come visit me anytime. I’d love to see you.”

Then she did start to cry. The brothers crowded around her, patting her, stroking her. Spud offered her his handkerchief, which she declined. “I’ll miss you, too, guys,” she managed. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

They nodded. Malleus took her hand. “Got anyfing you want us ter tell ’im?”

Only about a million things but none she thought would matter or make a difference. “Tell him I’m sorry,” she said finally. She couldn’t fault herself for her reaction to the lies, to the work issue or anything else. But she could fault herself for trying to use Nick to get back at him. For hurting both of them. “Just tell him I’m really sorry.”

Chapter Twenty-four

The other Gretnegs were seated around the table when she walked into the dining room an hour and a half later. In deference to Justine the white candles had been replaced with black ones; the pale faces of the others rose solemn from dark collars.

Megan too wore black, not that she had much choice; a plain long-sleeved, knee-length dress she thought was subdued enough to look as if she cared. Which she did, at least for the most part. She cared that the angel—she had no doubt it was the angel—had attacked another demon and had succeeded this time. She cared that Justine was dead; despite her dislike of the woman, she was still capable of being sorry. Her gaze wandered to the empty chair where Justine had sat the night before, now draped in black fabric.

But she just didn’t have room for any more sorrow. She was full.

Winston cleared his throat when she sat down. “So. We all know what’s happened?”

There were a few general nods before Baylor spoke. “I’m not actually clear on the details.”

“It was that FBI agent,” Gunnar said. “She went crazy, it appears.”

“It was the angel.” Greyson shifted in his seat; Megan saw it out of the corner of her eye. She refused to look at him. Couldn’t look at him. Just hearing his voice made her cheeks hot.

What the hell had she been thinking? To get back at him by kissing Nick? Well, no. That wasn’t all of it. She’d wanted to be reassured that she was still . . . well, still desirable. And not only did she genuinely like Nick and care about Nick and not only, if she wanted to admit it, did she know Nick was “safe” somehow purely because of his friendship with Greyson—he wasn’t going to want anything from her—but . . . Yeah. It was wrong, but the simple fact was that if a man who took home a different woman every night, a man who could have his pick of any woman he wanted, wanted her, it was an ego boost.

Plus, who wouldn’t give a sex demon a try, if all she was looking for was a night of meaningless lust? It wasn’t as if she was a total lunatic for thinking that if she was going to hop into bed with someone, the incubus with the intense sex energy was the one to hop. So to speak.

It didn’t really matter, and it didn’t make it right. Didn’t make it less of the hideous mistake it had been. But her motive hadn’t really been revenge, not entirely. At least there was that. She genuinely hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, least of all Nick.

“Megan?” Winston’s voice cut through her unhappy little haze.

“What?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Do you agree with Greyson?”

“I—” She glanced around the table, glanced at Greyson, who scowled and said nothing.

But agreeing with him was still probably pretty safe. So she nodded. “Yes.”

Greyson’s scowl deepened.

“But I don’t understand what the agent was doing there,” Baylor said. “If the angel murdered Justine, he could have done that on his own. He certainly wouldn’t have needed to use some silly human to do it. And Justine was . . . I find it hard to believe the FBI agent would have been capable of that.”

“What exactly did she do?” Gunnar asked again, and Megan was glad. She wanted to know—well, she didn’t want to know, but she thought she ought to know—but didn’t want to be the ghoul who asked.

Baylor confirmed this by glaring at Gunnar. “What the hell is the matter with you, Gunnar? Why are you so damned curious?”

Gunnar looked offended. “I’m not being disgusting. I think it’s important that we know. What if it comes after us? I don’t want—”

“She ripped her apart. Slit her open from stem to stern.” Greyson looked at Megan. “Tore out her heart.”

She looked away.

“The point is,” Winston said, “that whatever this thing is—if it is indeed an angel, which I’m inclined to believe—it has now attacked Megan and murdered Justine. Our friend. Which of us is next, is what I want to know? How can we keep ourselves safe?”

“What do your Yezer say?” Baylor asked Megan. “Have they found any trace of it?”

Oh, shit, she hadn’t even asked. Roc would have told her if they’d found anything, but still, she should have asked. Should have checked. “They’re still looking.”

“That doesn’t do us any damned good,” he replied. “This is ridiculous. I feel like I’m sitting in front of the firing squad. Like a lamb being led to slaughter. A sitting duck.”

“A cliché waiting to be used,” Greyson suggested.

“Yes, I—this isn’t the time to make jokes, Grey.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem to be the time for much else. You all know how I feel about it, what I think we should do.”

Megan looked at him, started to open her mouth. She didn’t know what he wanted to do. Oh, she had some ideas—she imagined it had something to do with Reverend Walther, since he was the only connection other than Agent Reid they had—but if he’d talked about his plan, it had happened before she got there.

And of course, hearing his thoughts in this group situation was the only way she would hear them, wasn’t it? No more late-night conversations in the dark. No more phone calls. No more evenings on the couch or long dinners or breakfasts or . . . anything else.

She stomped on her treacherous thoughts. This was not the time to mope and mourn. Or, rather, it was supposed to be a time to mourn, but the pitiful shreds of her relationship were not what she was supposed to be mourning. A woman had died. More of them could die. She didn’t particularly want it to be her.

Or him.

“We can hardly leap into the middle of a crowd of humans and assault a public figure,” Win said. “Really, Grey, I agree he’s our next best shot if the Yezer aren’t finding the angel, but that fleabag hotel says he’s playing his little games all day.”

“The angel may be watching. He was yesterday.”

“Yesterday he had Agent Reid to piggyback on,” Baylor said. “At least according to you.”

“And today there’s a whole horde of believers over there. He can easily attach himself to one of them, if he hasn’t already grabbed hold of the reverend. He did send Agent Reid over there as his first act once he’d nabbed her, don’t forget. Clearly he’s checking things out.”

“Obviously that’s his target,” Gunnar said. “But he happened to find some demons in the area and has decided it would be fun to kill us off while he’s at it.”

Megan opened her mouth. Hadn’t Gunnar and Winston been having
rubendas
killed for several weeks? That was the angel, wasn’t it?

Something shut her mouth before the words could form, though. She didn’t want to argue, didn’t want to speak at all, really. But more than that, she simply felt as though it wasn’t the thing to say. Something held her tongue, and that something was instinct, and she trusted it.

She couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at Greyson, whose tilted head made her suspect he was thinking the same thing.

Winston said it, though. “He’s been killing our
rubendas,
Gunnar. Why would he have just realized we’re in town?”

“You don’t know that. That’s just Greyson and Meg-an’s theory. We can’t be sure.”

“It’s the only workable theory we have,” Baylor said. “If you have a better one, Gunnar, now’s the time to mention it.”

They waited. Finally Gunnar said, “He could have been after the exorcist for a while.”

“Oh, come on.”

The words triggered a memory in Megan. “No. He could have. The reverend suddenly got popular a couple of months ago, right?” She looked at Greyson, forgetting she wasn’t supposed to. Forgetting, for one blessed second, that the day and night before had happened. “Isn’t that what you told me? That he came out of nowhere in early June?”

He paused just long enough for memory to crash back in and her gaze to falter. “Yes. I did read that.”

“So he came for us and latched on to the exorcist after,” Winston said.

“So we should go over there,” Baylor said. “The exorcist could have the key to the whole thing.”

“The FBI agent could too,” Winston said. “We could try to talk to her.”

“Sure, Win.” Greyson leaned back in his chair. “I’m sure the police and the feds would be happy to let you go in and question her. Privately.”

“Justine could have done it,” Baylor said. His tone wasn’t sad so much as regretful. “She could get in anywhere. When will she be replaced? We need a sex demon for this.”

“What about your friend Nick?” Win asked Greyson. “Would he do it?”

Megan just managed not to cringe.

Greyson’s expression didn’t change at all. “He’s not full-blood.”

“Oh, right. His father . . . what a mess. Still, do you think he’s got enough incubus blood to do it? Has he ever—”

“No.”

“Have you asked him? Perhaps he knows—”