“A willing host,” I repeated stupidly. I’d pictured Tommy Brewster as a petulant teenager, but he had to be at least twenty-one to be a legal host. I nudged my estimation of Claudia’s age up a few years.
She nodded. “They’ve got the signed forms and everything. But there is no way in hell my son volunteered to host a demon.”
And to think I’d believed she had her shit together! I thought I was the queen of denial, but it looked like there was a new contender to the throne. “You do understand the process of registering to be a legal demon host, don’t you?” I asked.
She made an impatient tsking sound. “Of course I do, but—”
I counted off the points on my fingers. “He had to sign the documents before witnesses. In a courtroom. On videotape. And after he’d been interviewed by a shrink to establish competency. Are you seriously trying to tell me he did all that against his will? And that no one noticed?”
She pressed her lips tightly together. “I know how it looks. And I know you think I’m just the distraught mother who can’t accept that her baby has grown up.” She managed a rictus of a smile. “That last part’s even true.” The forced smile faded. “But volunteering to host is the last thing in the world Tommy would do. He hates demons. Hates them with a passion.”
I wasn’t so fond of them myself—hence my career choice—but I had to admit getting to know Lugh, the demon king, had lessened my hate by approximately one hair. “People change their minds.”
“Not like this they don’t. You see, when my husband and I left for the Bahamas, we’d finally given up hope that we could extricate Tommy—Tom—from God’s Wrath.”
I couldn’t suppress a gasp. God’s Wrath is the most militant of the anti-demon hate groups. They specialize in roasting people alive to destroy the Spawn of Satan, as they consider demons. They’re so radical, they even hate exorcists, because when we kick a demon out of its host, its host gets to live. Of course, about eighty percent of them live the rest of their lives as vegetables, but God’s Wrath didn’t think that was a severe enough punishment for those sinners who’d invited demons into our world. So I had to admit, the idea of a God’s Wrath member volunteering to host a demon was a bit. . out there.
“We were gone ten days,” Claudia continued. “Do you really believe someone could be a card-carrying member of God’s Wrath one day, and then ten days later be a willing demon host?”
There was no denying it sounded hinky. Hell, I didn’t even see how a former God’s Wrath member could get accepted into the Spirit Society in such a short time, much less get accepted, get an appointment with a judge, get all the paperwork approved, and have a summoning ceremony.
“I presume you voiced your concerns to the police?” I asked.
She nodded. “Naturally. Everyone agrees it sounds like an unusual case, but there’s no evidence of a crime having been committed.” Her voice turned bitter. “Everyone tells me with great sympathy that there’s nothing they can do to help me.”
“What do you think happened?”
Claudia blinked away what might have been the start of tears. “I think he had to have been possessed already when he signed the papers.”
I shook my head. “That con hasn’t worked for at least thirty or forty years.” There was a famous case back in the sixties of a young man who’d turned out to be possessed when he signed the consent forms. Ever since then, the applicant had to be examined by an exorcist first.
“I know the exorcist who was on duty claimed Tommy was’t possessed, but he could have been paid off.”
It sounded plausible, if hard to prove. “Who was the exorcist?”
“His name was Sammy Cho.”
I think I managed to avoid making a face. Sammy was a second-rate exorcist—which explained why he was doing shit work like examining host wannabes. However, even the worst exorcist in existence can read auras well enough to spot a demon, and Sammy had such a big stick up his ass I half-expected leaves to sprout from his ears in the spring.
“There’s no way Sammy would take a bribe,” I said.
“No one is incorruptible.”
“Sammy’s about as close as you can get. Believe me, I know him well.” Only in a professional capacity, mind you, and being an inveterate rule-breaker myself, I tried to spend as little time in his presence as possible. But I’d stake my reputation on the fact that he’d rather die than take a bribe.
Claudia dismissed my assertion with a wave of her hand. “It does’t really matter in the long run how it happened. The fact remains that my son has been possessed against his will.” She swallowed hard. “I know it may already be too late, that he may never recover, but I have to get that demon out of him.”
And I realized now exactly what she wanted me to do. “You want me to perform an illegal exorcism.”
She held her chin up defiantly. “We—my husband and I—have money. We’re willing to pay whatever it would take.”
I was’t sure whether to be offended that she thought I could be bought, or sympathetic to her terrible situation. What I did know was that there was no way I was performing an illegal exorcism.
“You could pay me a king’s ransom, and it would’t matter to me one bit as I rotted in prison. Illegal exorcism is considered murder.” Only because the authorities did’t know that the demons did’t die but were merely sent back to the Demon Realm, but no one was going to believe me if I declared that in my own defense. Besides, I’d been arrested for illegal exorcism once before, and I hand’t enjoyed the experience.
“I understand you’d be taking a great risk,” she said, her voice soothing despite the desperation in her eyes. “But once we get Timmy back, he can confirm that he was’t willing, and—”
“You said yourself it might be too late.” If Timmy Brewster really was hosting an illegal demon, then there was considerably more than an eighty percent chance of him being a vegetable if he and that demon parted ways. Just a little more of my hard-earned knowledge of the deep, dark secrets the demons keep from the human race—the brain damage is brought on by abuse, and sometimes even legal demons don’t treat their hosts all that well.
With a pang, I thought of my own brother, Andrew. He’d hosted Laugh’s brother, Raphael, for ten years, and spent weeks in a state of catatonia when Raphael was gone. The good news was that he’d recovered. The really shitty news was that Raphael had recently possessed him once again.
I forcibly dragged my mind back to the problem at hand. What had I been saying? Oh yeah. “If he’s a—” I stopped myself, thinking that using the word “vegetable” right now might not be very sensitive. “If he’s catatonic when the demon’s gone, he can’t corroborate a thing. It’s not just my own ass I’m protecting, it’s yours, too. You and your husband would be accessories. I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it. And if you find another exorcist who agrees, you can be ninety-nine percent certain you’re about to get scammed. No one’s going to risk a murder charge—not when the pool of suspects would be so small.”
There are only a couple hundred exorcists in the U.S., and many of them would have alibis. I imagine if someone were stupid enough to take the Brewsters’ money, they’d find themselves behind bars in no time.
“So what do you suggest I do?” Claudia asked bitterly. “Just write my son off as dead? Watch that. . that thing live out my son’s life?” She shuddered. “I can’t do that. I won’t.” A tear snaked down her cheek, and she swiped it angrily away. She did’t strike me as the kind of woman who cried easily, but it’s amazing how much pain family can cause.
She stood up, snatching her purse from the seat beside her. My heart ached with sympathy, the situation with my brother making me feel her pain all the more keenly. Now some might argue that the world was better off without one more God’s Wrath wacko tromping around burning people alive, and I might even agree with them. But I’d rather see that wacko in a brick-and-mortar prison than imprisoned helplessly within his own body.