“About that. Turn here, I think.”
She did. “How’s Julie?”
Brian’s girlfriend Julie was a police officer. Megan was fairly certain she was the one who’d traced the plates, but she didn’t want to say anything outright.
Since the week Brian had been assigned to write a profile of her for a gossipy local magazine, his reputation as a journalist had grown. Not from the profile, of course. That was a cheap puff piece, forgotten by the public as soon as it became birdcage liner. But because of his help in defeating the Accuser, who’d been posing as a mild-mannered local therapist named Arthur Bellingham. Megan and Brian had decided to cover the truth by concocting what Megan thought was a rather ridiculous tale about Bellingham’s secret Satanism and his using his therapy group to conduct mysterious rituals.
The fake story had, ironically, given Brian what he’d long desired: real journalistic integrity and a reputation for finding a good story. Now he was a full-time staff reporter for the city’s biggest daily newspaper.
Too bad, in a way. If Brian hadn’t been so—well, so nosy—Megan could have told him what was going on. If he hadn’t been so straight-laced she still might have considered it, but he made no secret of his disapproval of her involvement with demons. Like Tera, he understood she had no choice when it came to the Yezer Ha-Ra. The others, though…
“She’s fine, thanks,” Brian said. “Looks like she might be in line for a promotion. Working a big investigation at the moment, so if it pans out, she’ll be in.”
“How great, tell her I hope she gets it.”
“Tell her yourself. We’re spending Christmas Eve together, you could come over too.”
“Can’t. Thanks, though.”
They chatted about Julie and her work and Brian’s next story for a few minutes while Megan navigated the cold, silent streets. Christmas lights and decorations sparkled on most houses they drove past, giving their casual conversation a festive air. Christmas always felt like secrets and excitement to Megan, even though it had been years since she’d had a holiday filled with either.
Four-twenty-seven Old Barle loomed in front of them, a large apartment building in a rundown part of town. The area was just starting to be gentrified; here and there rainbow flags flew, but for the most part it was still shabby and dark, a street full of graffiti and car parts.
Their breath puffed clouds of white into the air as they slid silently out of the car, closing the doors with careful hands.
For a minute, Megan thought the sedan wasn’t there and silently cursed herself. She hadn’t wanted to try Vergadering first, assuming they’d have guards and eyes on the street at all hours. Maybe that was a mistake.
Then she saw it, parked about half a block down in front of a boarded-up house. She grabbed Brian’s arm and pointed. He nodded. Malleus glowered.
Keeping to the shadows, they sneaked along the sidewalk, avoiding bottles and debris as they went. Brian stripped off his glove and put his hand on the car.
A minute went by. Two. Brian shook his head. “I’m getting a lot of stuff about the people who fixed it recently,” he whispered. “Tires, bodywork, radiator and engine, paint job. But nothing about anyone who drove it. Sorry.”
“I didn’t think you would.” So Greyson had been right, not that she’d doubted him. They were witches.
But as far as she knew, all witches strictly obeyed Vergadering rules. So why would two witches have been trying to kill them?
Unless another demon/witch war was about to break out, which she simply didn’t believe. Tera would have mentioned it. Wouldn’t she?
“Can we go now? You promised me hot buttered rum if I got the address for you.”
“Megan.” A little tug at her sleeve.
She sighed. “Yeah, I guess. At least I—”
“Megan.” Another tug, harder this time. She glanced down.
Rocturnus stood next to her on the street, his eyes wide with terror, his finger outstretched to point to another Yezer stumbling toward them in the middle of the road.
Even at a distance she knew something was wrong. It—the little demon—wasn’t walking right. Its limbs jerked oddly, as if it was trying to take bigger steps than its body would allow. The movements of its hands reminded her of Gerald and the terrible scuttling movements he’d made in the storeroom. Its skin rippled, the movements in the moonlight horribly like roaches crawling.
“Megan?” Brian sounded very far away. “What’s going on, Megan?”
She had to force her mouth to work. “A demon.”
“A—oh, damn it! I should have known. What are you mixing me up in this time? I should be—”
“Shut up, Brian.” Malleus kept trying to move in front of her, to usher her back to her car, but she resisted. The little demon kept moving, getting closer, its eyes glowing red, like the traffic light blinking on and off at the end of the deserted street.
She took a step forward. She thought she knew what was happening, was certain she knew, and resisted the urge to cringe. Any minute the explosion would come. Any minute the street would be covered in blood and body parts, steaming in the icy air.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Brian said, in a different voice. “Megan, this feels really off.”
He was right. She felt it too, even with her shields up. The temperature around them seemed to have dropped a good ten degrees. She pulled her coat closer, but took another step.
The little demon’s grin stretched across its face. Too wide, like someone had carved a bastard smile into the flesh of its cheeks. “The human.” Its voice echoed in her ears. Not a Yezer voice, but deeper, louder, with a lilt her mind identified as feminine even though she didn’t know how or why. Deep in her chest something fluttered, moved, the frantic beating of a second heart trying to burst out.
A can blew down the street, clanking against the concrete. Megan jumped. She heard Brian gasp beside her. Bless him. He probably hated her right now for dragging him into this but he was standing with her just the same, his strong upper arm pressing against her shoulder.
“Who is it, Roc?” she whispered. “Do you know?”
“Smealtus,” he replied. “I think.”
“M’lady, we need to go,” Malleus said. Megan glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at the little demon. He was looking behind him and to the left, and when Megan followed his gaze she saw two men in black coats and ski masks emerging from the apartment building they’d passed.
The apartment building whose address was on the registration of the black sedan. She lowered her shields and reached out, hoping against hope she was wrong, but she received nothing at all from them.
“Megan.” Brian grabbed her arm. “I really think we should go now.” Panic laced his voice, transmitted itself to her with her shields down.
Malleus yelled and leaped behind her, shoving Brian sideways. Brian fell on the concrete between two parked cars, his outraged curse unnaturally loud in Megan’s ears as time seemed to slow down.
The witches reached into their coats, their movements identical, and produced guns, long and black and terrible.
Megan jumped back, like trying to run through syrup, and almost stumbled over Roc.
Smealtus opened his arms wide, then wider. His head fell back, his mouth stretching in a scream she couldn’t hear.
The report of a gunshot. Megan screamed and tried to duck, her arms instinctively rising to cover her head as her knees hit the street. Pain shot up her thighs. The sound of the shot echoed off the dead buildings crouching along the street.
Another sound, a soft, wet thud, as Smealtus exploded.
Chapter 8
Something hard slammed against Megan’s back at the same time Rocturnus gripped her hand and pulled. She ended up on her side in the middle of the road, her face turned toward the spot where Smealtus had spent the last seconds of his life.