“I had to let the fire out,” she said, still looking outside, “or it would have continued to burn.” She spoke matter-of factly, as if telling me we were having lamb chops for dinner. It was that matter-of-fact tone that made me lose it.
“You cut me!” I shouted. “You stupid bitch!” I clutched my arm against my stomach, bloodying my shirt. “You act like you’re some mysterious, powerful force, but you couldn’t stop that thing from killing my father! You didn’t care about him. You have no feelings. You’re not human!”
“No,” she said softly. “I’m not human. And neither are you, Victory.”
“I told you—don’t call me that.”
She sat next to me again, took my chin in her fingers, and turned my face to hers. “Victory—Vicky. Listen to me. There’s something you must understand about what happened tonight. When those flames touched your arm, that demon marked you.”
“I wish it had killed me.”
A slap stung my face. “Your father died to save you. How dare you dishonor his sacrifice.”
She was right, of course. I hung my head.
When she spoke again, her voice had softened. “Evan saved your life. But you bear the mark of the Destroyer.”
Fear gripped my gut. “What does that mean?”
“What it means, young Vicky, is that you’ll have to be strong. You’ve been poisoned by the essence of that demon.”
The essence of the Destroyer—the flames, that fetid yellow steam. I felt sick to my stomach. “But you got it out, right? That’s why you cut my arm.”
She nodded. “If I hadn’t opened the skin, the essence would have spread. Let’s hope the mark remains small.” She wasn’t talking about the scar from the knife wound. “Bearing the Destroyer’s mark will change you. You might find feelings like anger harder to control. You may sometimes feel a powerful urge to smash things. Or this arm could strike out when you wish no harm.”
I was beginning to understand. “You mean that . . . that thing is inside me? For good?” My stomach clenched, then heaved. I managed to run across the hall to the bathroom before I threw up. Kneeling on the cold tile floor, I retched and retched until I was weak and shaking, until it felt like there was nothing left inside me.
Nothing except the essence of a Hellion.
Mab came in and knelt next to me. She stroked my hair, then lifted my arm and inspected it. “The essence of the Destroyer is inside all of us. Some more than others. The Hellion’s gaze has called forth the part of you that destroys. Brought it to the surface, at least in this spot.” She ran her finger along the cut, smearing the blood. “But you can learn to control it.”
7
“AND YOU THINK IT’S THE SAME DEMON?” DETECTIVE Costello asked.
I nodded. “I’m sure of it. Different Hellions kill in different ways, according to their nature. Some flay their victims alive, stripping off an inch of skin at a time. Others are big on strangling victims with their own entrails. What happened to George, that internal burning, that’s the Destroyer’s signature.”
“The Destroyer? That’s its name?” He grinned, like he was trying to lighten things up. “Doesn’t sound big enough or bad enough for a Hellion.”
“Exactly. That’s why it’s the safest name to use,” I said and watched the grin fade. Well, this was serious stuff. “The Destroyer has hundreds of names, Detective. This one”—I snatched Hagopian’s notebook and wrote Difethwr on the page—“is its name among the Cerddorion. Our conflict with the Destroyer goes back thousands of years.”
He looked at the page. “How do you pronounce that?”
“You don’t. Saying that name out loud is like issuing an invitation. Just call it the Destroyer.”
He nodded and passed the notebook back to Hagopian. She glanced at the name, then crossed it out. Superstitious, but smart. The woman had seen enough of personal demons to know not to mess with a big one.
“Are we done here?” Kane asked, checking his watch. “I’ve got to get back to the office. Any more questions, Detective?” He looked at Costello, who glanced at Hagopian, then shook his head. “Thank you for your time, both of you,” Costello said.
Kane gave me a peck on the cheek and asked me to drop by Creature Comforts after midnight. I replied with a firm maybe—I had a lead on a client, which could mean a job tonight. Story of our lives, I thought, watching him hurry out the door. All work and no romps in the hay.
After Kane had gone, I turned to Hagopian. “Has there been an autopsy yet?”
She shook her head. “Next week, maybe.”
“Uh-uh. Make it today. The sooner the better. And have someone there to perform an exorcism.”
“Exorcism? You mean, like, a priest?”
“Sure, a priest will do.” Like the priest Aunt Mab had called to banish Difethwr’s filth from my father’s corpse. She’d told me about it, later. “So would a sorcerer or a witch, even. Somebody who knows how to undo a demonic possession.”
“What’s the point?” Costello asked. “The victim’s dead.”
“His body’s dead. But his soul is burning.” Even dead, poor George was in agony while we sat around talking. “You need to have someone exorcise the Hellion when the medical examiner cuts open the body. I’m not joking about this. If you don’t, George’s soul will keep burning and burning until it’s completely destroyed.”
Hagopian nodded, doing her scared-owl blink again.
“Before sundown today,” I added. “You don’t have long. George doesn’t have long.”
Unexpectedly, Costello caught my hand, pressing it in both of his and regarding me with urgent sincerity. God, those eyes were gorgeous. “We’ll take care of it. I promise.”
“Make sure you do. The utter destruction of a human soul is an unspeakable thing.”
He nodded, his gaze holding mine.
“Also,” he said, “I just want to let you know that I’m sorry—personally sorry—for authorizing the Goons to bring you here. Next time . . .” He paused, and I wondered if he meant the pause to be meaningful. “Next time, I’ll call.”
“I’m in the book,” I said, wondering why my face suddenly felt hot.
IT WAS TWELVE THIRTY BY THE TIME I GOT BACK TO MY apartment. Juliet was awake. A vampire her age needs only a few hours of sleep each day. She reclined on the living room sofa with blackout shades down to block all sunlight, and was filing her nails. Sharpeningwould be a better word. Each finger looked like a lethal weapon.
“You had two phone calls.” She put down the file and held out a slip of paper.
“Thanks,” I said, taking it.
She waved dismissively, her scarlet nails streaking the air. “If I’m going to play secretary, I’m going to start demanding a living wage.” She laughed, tilting her head back and showing her fangs. “That’s funny, isn’t it? A vampire getting a living wage. I should’ve said an undead wage.”
I smacked my forehead. In all my life, I’d never met a vampire who could tell a joke. “If you don’t want to take my calls, let voice mail pick up.”
Juliet went back to filing her nails. “Where were you, anyway?”
I told her about the morning’s events. She was outraged. Not on my behalf, of course—vampires are the most self-centered creatures in the universe—but because the Goon Squad had busted down our door.
“They broke in while I was asleep!” she fumed. To be fair, it was a serious issue. When vampires sleep, they’re dead to the world, or, as Juliet puts it, they “resume the shroud.” So a sleeping vampire is helpless. “That’s intolerable! Absolutely intolerable. I’m taking this to Hadrian.”