The cheap metal table in the lower room was smoking and a growing circle of glowing red had appeared on the surface. Black letters seemed to rise from within the molten tabletop.
Tell them or you will learn pain.
The prisoner huddled in a corner, holding a burned hand to his chest. He was clutching an object on a chain and muttering furiously with wide eyes. His gaze was locked on the words that had risen from the table altogether and now hovered in the air for all to see. The man was obviously terrified. I mean, I certainly was. I could see his pulse increasing in his neck and knew that if I was in the same room as him, he would smell of fear. I couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t exploded yet.
I found myself whispering in totally serious tones. “I’m not doing this. If you’re not doing this, are we going to be held responsible? Does the Geneva Convention even cover sentient non-corporeal beings?”
Rizzoli’s voice was likewise serious. “I don’t think Hell was a signatory.”
A low chuckle caught me unaware because it both came through the speaker from the other room and seemed to echo from behind me. The agent in the room did what he was supposed to do. He turned toward the entity overhead and raised his gun, backing around the superheated table to protect the prisoner. The agent tossed down several charm disks and barriers rose in a semicircle that separated their corner from the rest of the room. His sidearm was probably loaded with a similar combination of bullets to mine. The FBI is where I’d gotten the idea. I was certain he could fire through the barrier. But I had no idea if the entity couldn’t fire right through in return.
“Who are you?” I asked with bravado, like it would answer. It had already refused once. “What do you want?”
The voice that came was low and male and had a strength that a ghost simply shouldn’t have. There are other … beings that can appear without form, but they tend to be either really good or really evil. “You want answers but are hampered by … morals. I’m not.”
Well, okay then. The burning table sort of gave it away, but that certainly removed the last question. If it had a name, I didn’t want to know it now. “I don’t want the help of the demonic. I banished your kind because I want nothing to do with you and yours.” I knew not every single demonic entity had been banished when the rift collapsed. A number of people had already been possessed by then and not all of them had been found. But if one was actually following me … well, that was a worry. A big one. “Please leave now.”
Another laugh made the small hairs rise on the back of my neck. “I’m nowhere close to the demonic, Celia. But since you asked nicely … I’ll leave. For now.”
The demonic are well known to lie, so I just rolled my eyes and promised myself I’d be speaking with more than one expert in exorcism if I made it out of here today. I’ve already been exorcised twice, once to rid me of the taint from the vampire and the second to clear me of a link to a greater demon. But the death curse keeps the lines annoyingly open.
The sparkling ball of energy near the ceiling flickered and began to slide down the wall. When it reached about chest height, it floated toward the corner where the FBI agent stood behind the barrier, keeping his gun trained on the entity. The energy stopped outside the barrier, right where the prisoner was huddled. The captive held the object on the chain toward the sparkling ball as the barrier flared in response.
The agent fired once. His bullet went right through the entity and splattered against the wall. Clear liquid rolled down the cream-colored paint. If it was holy water it had no effect. That was confusing. More disturbing still was that the flickering and flaring of the magic barrier had finally ceased and words appeared—just like on the window and the table.
Only the truth can set you free.
Then the entity disappeared, leaving behind a smoking table, a ruined mirror, and two men huddled under a completely worthless magic barrier—because really, if a ghost … even a demonic one, could carve a message right onto the magic, it’s useless.
Of course, that phrase wasn’t something generally associated with imps and demons. Just the opposite, in fact. And add in the holy water pooling on the floor. Except there were the smoking table and flaming threats of pain to consider.
“Can we pretend you didn’t come to my house and start this day over?”
Rizzoli seemed a little stunned by what had just happened and let out a slow breath. “I will if you will.”
I nodded. “While we’re pretending, can I just be an ordinary human again?”
He chuckled and started walking toward the door and the promise of light and fresh air, both of which sounded really good to me at this point. “Sorry, Graves. My imagination’s not that good. I’m pretty sure you were never ordinary.”
I gave a snort of laughter and followed him through a maze of corridors that led to the outer doors. We got as far as the front sidewalk when his phone rang. The prisoner had started to talk again and they needed him upstairs.
I followed, even though I was fully expecting he was going to tell me to find a cab and go home. But he didn’t.
Apparently, the call had told him where to go, because he turned left when I turned right and I had to stop short to turn back. The new room was even smaller … just big enough for the two of us and the Asian agent who was now sitting at a recording studio control board.
“What do we have so far, Yao?” Okay, then. He was Chinese. I admit I’m not good at recognizing the facial differences in that area of the world. I need to work on that.
Yao didn’t turn his head to look at Rizzoli. He kept watching the scene unfolding behind the two-way mirror while he spoke. “The sketch artist is still with him.”
I looked through the window and it seemed like nothing was happening. The man in black was just staring at the petite white-haired woman. But both of her hands were moving fast across a pad on the table. I realized she was holding a pen in one hand and a pencil in the other. As I watched, an image began to appear on the page.
I must have looked confused, because Rizzoli leaned closer. “She’s a telepath. We don’t want to risk any more chances of blowing the guy up. All he has to do is think about his boss and Kristi will draw.”
My smile was automatic. “But she’s not just drawing, is she?” Unless the guy was unusually adept at shielding, I was betting the FBI telepath was gathering as much information about the man, his boss, and the plan as possible.
Rizzoli’s grin was answer enough. “We’ll know for sure soon.”
Kristi’s hands stopped moving and I expected that she was just going to stand up and walk out. I’d seen it before with telepaths. They’re not as social as you’d imagine. They often think they’re social, but none of it is verbal and they confuse the two inputs. But the Feds must train them better, because she tipped her head and stared at him with sympathy. “Do you want to tell me about it? You think she’s playing with fire, don’t you, Gavrail?”
My brow furrowed and it matched the other two men in the room. But the man in the room with Kristi simply sighed and shook his head. “She is … how you say in this country? Foolish prideful—she believes she is more than she is.”
“Egotistical?”
That made Gavrail put his hands on the table and tap fingers against the metal surface. “Yes. And no. She has power, but it is false power. And she makes poor choices of the use of the magic. Hurting children is bad, against the Maker’s will. They are innocents, but she considers them less than fleas. It is not womanly, not right.”