The husband grabbed his wife and forced her to the ground. I couldn't sec them thanks to the bench, but I could hear the smack of flesh against flesh and the resultant squeals of pain. I shoved my badge on top of the bench then ran around it, grabbing the husband by the scruff of the neck and tossing him backward. He hit the kitchen cabinets with a grunt, but almost immediately came back at us, his eyes glazed and bloodshot, his fists swinging.
I ducked both blows then grabbed him two-handed, lifting him up and tossing him back across the room. Then I grabbed the woman's arm and hauled her to her feet.
"Now do you believe me?"
She nodded, her split lip bleeding and one eye already beginning to close. Fear flicked through her remaining eye, and the smell of it overran the scent of lilies and sex wafting off her.
"Good," I said. "Now listen."
The husband had landed amidst the broken glass, and had sliced his hands in his efforts to scramble to his feet. Blood dripped onto the tiles, the thick red color becoming a match for his eyes. A result of the possession, or the first indication of a body getting ready to die? I shoved my car keys into Mary's hand.
"There's a black Ford with Directorate plates three doors down. Get in there, lock the doors, and don't come out until I tell you to. If you see your husband coming out of this house alone, start the car and get the hell out of here. Don't go anywhere he knows, just drive until we contact you." I looked at her. "Understood?"
She nodded, lips trembling. "But Frank?"
"Is not himself. He's possessed."
"Possessed?"
"Long story, lady, and we ain't got the time." Her husband was running at us again. "When I give the word, run."
The husband leapt the bench. Whatever—or whoever—the evil soul had been, one thing was clear. He was no fighter. I sidestepped, grabbed his body, and flung him at the wall.
"Run!" I said to the woman. "Now!"
She did, her heels clattering on the tiles before the sound disappeared into the thick padding of the carpet. The husband made a mewling sound and crawled off the bench on which he'd landed. He didn't even look at me, just started running after his wife. I leapt at him, grabbing his legs and bringing him down onto the cold hard tiles with a smack hard enough to send blood flying. His and mine.
I wrenched my hand from underneath him, sending a thick shard of bloody glass skittering across the tiles, and tried to grab his arm.
You wouldn't have thought it would be so damn hard to grab the arm of a human, but the man was suddenly an octopus—arms and legs everywhere, slippery as a snake. I finally caught his right hand, grabbing it firmly and yanking it behind his back. It didn't seem to make one bit of difference. He was fighting and twisting and mewling, the noise inhuman—a match for his suddenly inhuman strength. I wasn't exactly a lightweight, but I wasn't The Hulk, either. And keeping this man pinned was becoming harder and harder.
He bucked like a bronco. I gripped him tighter, holding on for dear life as I twisted his arm higher up his back. It had to be hurting, but he didn't seem to care.
He bucked again, and somehow twisted in midair, so that I was on the bottom, hitting the tiles back-first. Air exploded from my lungs, leaving me gasping.
He began hitting me, the blows raining down on face and arms and breasts. The wolf within rose snarling to the surface. I caught a blow, my hand wrapping around his and squeezing. Bones splintered, broke, and pain flicked through his ever-reddening eyes.
A reminder that a human rested behind whatever controlled his body. I backed off, merely gripping rather than crushing, then bucked, flipping him off me.
I scrambled to my feet as he slid across the tiles, then ran over and hit him, hard. The blow landed on his chin and he was out before he really knew what had happened.
Even so, I didn't relax.
The blow might have taken out the body, but the soul that rested within would be unaffected. And who knew how it was going to react?
"Riley?"
The voice was Jack's, and harsh with concern. Damn, we had to be short-staffed if Jack was coming out on rescue missions.
"Down here," I said, my gaze not leaving the husband's prone form. He began to twitch, the muscles in his legs and arms moving, even though he was still out. The dark soul inside was trying to get up.
The soft thud of boot heels approached. A second later Jack's suddenly dangerous presence filled the room.
"You called for help with a human?" he said, disbelief evident in his tones as he stopped beside me.
"Not just any human, but one possessed by the spirit who's tearing the women apart." I paused, and looked at him. "How the hell did you get past the threshold?"
"Got Mary to invite me." He studied the man for a minute. "You've beaten him up a bit, haven't you?"
"Had to. The spirit gives inhuman strength, and he almost got the better—" I stopped as the man lurched into a kneeling position.
"It's going to keep that man moving until it kills him." I looked at Jack. "Can you force it out of his mind?"
"I do that and the soul will escape. We have no way of containing it."
"We have no way of containing it in the body, either. At least this way well save one life."
"At the cost of others, perhaps." He held up a hand to forestall my protest. "I'll try. At the very least, it may give me some hint of what we're actually dealing with."
Power touched the air, a tingly, spidery flare of electricity that flowed like wildfire through the air. Its touch had the tiny hairs along my arms and the back of my neck standing upright, but its effect was more dramatic on our target.
He screamed, a high, furious sound, and began to fight, throwing himself left and right, as if trying to rid himself of a physical touch.
Black smoke began to pull free of the husband, curling back in on itself, becoming more solid but still resembling nothing human. I shivered.
"What?" Jack said.
"The soul is retreating."
"I can't see it."
"You can't see souls."
"Unfortunately."
I flicked him a glance. "There's nothing unfortunate about it, trust me."
He gave me a wry sort of smile, though his attention was still on the husband. "We've had this argument before."
"Yeah, and your reasons for thinking it's fantastic still suck."
The soul had pulled almost all the way out of the flesh. The feel of him, so thick with evil and the need to destroy, crawled across my senses.
This soul wasn't sane.
Not now, and probably not in life.
If it had ever actually lived, that was.
I rubbed my arms, smearing blood up my forearm from the cut on my palm.
"What is it doing?" Jack asked, as sweat began to bead his bald cranium and forehead.
"Nothing." There seemed to be a slight pulsating through its opaque form, as if a heart beat deep within the darkness. But I felt no sense of energy, no gathering of power that had been so event in the other souls who'd talked to me.
For that, I could only be grateful. There was nothing this hateful soul could say that I'd really want to hear.
"So it's just sitting there, above the man's body?"
"Yeah."
"Want to try talking to it?"
"I have a feeling opening my shields to this thing could be a very bad idea."
"Bad as in, oops, it's possessed me?"
"Yeah." I paused. "So you really have no idea how to contain a soul?"
"As I said, no fucking idea at all. I came here prepared to save my investment, not to play with spirits."
I grinned. "Your investment thanks you for caring."
The last tendril of smoke pulled itself free of the husband's flesh. The pulsing within the sould got stronger, and a sense of power caressed the air. It began to rotate—slowly at first, then faster, until the sheer weight of energy caressing the air had the hairs on my arms standing.