All Your Wishes (16 page)

That was the God's honest truth. Frankly, I could use a little more dullness.

“Did Connor Finn kill the man in the hospital?” the DA asked.

“Yes. And Hasan killed the others. Well, all of them except the one Celia shot.”

“Why did he kill them?” Schulz asked.

“I don't know,” Abby responded. “Why do ifrits do anything they do?”

“Why is Celia Graves working with the ifrit?” Schulz again.

“She's not. But he intends to use her any way he can, whether she likes it or not.”

While the others had been shooting out spontaneous questions, Special Agent Morris had been making notes. He spoke now, in carefully measured tones. “Give us the names of the humans who arranged Hasan's escape and the name and nature of the creature they're working for.”

Abby had turned Johnson's body to face Morris and opened her mouth to answer him when, from nowhere, a howling wind tore through the room.

With an explosive
pop
, the power to the entire building failed. We were instantly thrust into total darkness that smelled strongly of brimstone. The air, which had been cold from the presence of the ghost, went hot, dry, and oppressive.

“Abby? Are you there?” I called. Nothing. No response. That couldn't be good.

“
Fuck.
” Allbright said what we all were thinking. There was the thud of a body hitting the floor. At the sound, Schulz called fire to her fingertips, giving us enough light to see Johnson sprawled out on the carpet.

Allbright leapt from his seat to kneel beside his partner, searching for a pulse, checking for breathing. Finding neither, he began doing CPR. Morris joined him, doing the compressions while Allbright did the breathing.

Roberto whipped his cell phone from his pocket. “No signal. Celia, can you use your powers to call for an ambulance?”

“Not from in here,” Schulz interrupted. “The room's spelled against outside communications, including telepathy. Even with the power out. Go into the hall. Your cell phone will work there.”

Roberto pushed away from the table and made his way out the door. I could hear him calling 911 as Johnson took his first unsteady breath. I heard his pulse stutter to life, unsteady at first, but gaining strength.

The men stopped CPR, but stayed at Johnson's side. Meanwhile I had risen to my feet and was using the sixth sense I have for magic to try to locate the source of the heat. It was no longer pitch black in the room, thanks to some light coming in through the open door. I was able to move around without tripping on anything or running into anyone.

When I reached the spot where Johnson had been sitting, I felt a difference in the air, about two feet above the table. It was hotter there, and the smell of brimstone was stronger.

“Somebody pass me a gun with holy water.” I ordered. “I need to patch the hole until we can get some warrior priests in here.”

Morris was the only one who moved, drawing a One-Shot squirt gun from a holster at the small of his back. Instead of passing it to me, he took up a position beside me.

Allbright shook his head. “We don't carry holy water except on the night shift. We don't deal with the demonic—if anything like that comes up, we call for religious backup.”

“Shit! Okay, my pair of One-Shots should be in the case. Get them.” Here's hoping they were still loaded. If they weren't, we were screwed because the brimstone smell was getting stronger and I would have sworn I could hear booming hoofbeats coming closer.

Bless him, he didn't argue.

“Tell the EMTs we'll meet them in the lobby,” Schulz called to Roberto as she went to the fallen man. Squatting down, she set about getting ready to put him into a fireman's carry. “We're getting out of here.”

I didn't bother watching her and the others any longer; I shifted into vampire mode, using my enhanced vision to focus on the weak spot in reality. A demon shouldn't be able to come onto our plane without an invitation. Something was weird and wrong about this whole situation. I'd definitely talk to the experts about it later. Assuming we lived that long.

“Allbright—” I called.

“Got 'em.” He came up on Morris's other side, passed me one of the little squirt guns, and raised the other. “You do realize that this isn't going to do anything but piss him off,” he snapped—then took a shooter's stance next to Morris, the little plastic water gun held steady with both hands.

“We're not shooting the demon. We're closing the hole. Which is…” I shifted, moving a little to my right until I found the perfect spot, “right
there.
” I pulled the trigger.

Holy water sprayed in a steady stream from my water pistol. When the liquid hit the invisible wall of power, the opening in reality flashed into visibility for an instant: a ragged tear about a foot wide, its edges the burning red of embers. There was a loud hiss as the water steamed away; the smell of brimstone grew stronger. Through the opening I heard a furious bellow. The hoofbeats sped up, thundering toward us like a galloping horse that weighed several tons.

Allbright and Morris fired at the spot that had been revealed by my shot. When the breach flared to visibility this time, it was smaller and dimmer. The holy water was working. As the last drop from our guns hit, I felt the rip close.

“Is it shut?” Allbright asked me as he lowered the now-empty squirt gun.

“We've patched it. But the seal won't hold long. We need to get out of here right now, and evacuate the building.”

I wasn't kidding. There was no time to waste. The heat in the room hadn't abated at all. If anything, it was getting warmer, and there was a growing
presence
in the air, a sentience that made my heart thunder in my ears.

A mighty blow hit the patch with a boom like the clap of thunder at the point of a lightning strike. Then another.

“Oh shit.” Morris and Allbright both looked at me with wide eyes. Glancing at them, I realized we were the last ones in the room. Everyone else had left.

“Time to go.” I announced.

“Ya think?” Morris was out the door in an instant, with me right at his heels and Allbright close behind. As we dashed down the hall, we passed firemen and a pair of warrior religious running toward the conference room. The warriors were wearing orange robes that bore no resemblance to Matty DeLuca's Catholic raiment. Whatever religion they represented, as they passed us, the holy items they clutched started glowing like magnesium flares with the power of their faith. I wondered if I should go back and show them exactly where the problem had been, but then decided to take a different tack.

“There was a weak spot two feet above the table on the right side. We patched it with holy water, but it won't hold long,” I yelled to them.

The last priest in line gave me a curt nod of acknowledgment. The first fireman to reach the door shouted, “Right. Go!”

I hesitated, still uncertain.

“Come on, Graves. Let's go! They've got it.” Allbright was holding the door to the emergency stairs open for me. Behind him I could see a steady stream of federal workers evacuating the building. Morris was nowhere in sight; I assumed he was already on the way down.

He was right. It was the priests' job, not mine. And I can't tell you how glad I was about that.

I took a deep breath of air that didn't reek of brimstone and we stepped through the door together. It was only once we were in the stairwell, descending with the rest of the crowd, that I noticed the calm, female voice transmitting everywhere, like a magical public-address system.

“Evacuation protocol in effect. This is not a drill. Proceed to your assigned exit and report.”

“Everybody seems pretty calm,” I observed to Allbright.

“Ever since 9/11, every government office has been required to do monthly evacuation drills. People find them annoying, but they are effective,” he explained.

Of course, they don't know we're running away from pissed-off demons,
I thought to myself.

Demons
and
an ifrit.
Morris's grim voice sounded in my head.
What the fuck have you gotten yourself into, Graves?

His mental voice didn't feel snide or judgmental. Maybe standing side by side, sealing the breach, had changed his opinion of me. Still, the question wasn't one to be taken lightly. And I needed to answer it if I wanted to stay both alive and in possession of my soul.

 

14

Allbright and
I exited the staircase into the atrium. I'd had to pass through it coming in, but I'd been in such a hurry I hadn't really noticed it. Now that the space was full of federal employees who continued to stream down from the upper floors, I couldn't speed through it, and the place made an impact on me. Three stories tall, it had towering windows on all four sides, which let in brilliant sunlight that shone off the marble floors and made the water in the burbling fountain sparkle like diamonds.

There were big marble planters, their wide edges forming seating, scattered at convenient intervals throughout the atrium. Some were square, others circular. Each planter was filled with full-sized trees and tropical flowers. I even saw a few birds flying around. Presumably they'd gotten in through the revolving doors and had found life inside comfortable enough to want to stay.

Crowds of suited men and women shuffled forward in a steady river toward all the available exits—except for a small one that the firefighters, police, and other emergency personnel were using.

Standing on tiptoe I saw our group, tucked in a corner away from the main flow of traffic. A couple of EMTs had a vigorously protesting Johnson strapped to a gurney and connected to some equipment.

Schulz waved to get our attention. I tapped Allbright on the shoulder and pointed. It took a little effort, but we managed to shove our way through the crowd and over to them. Roberto moved aside on the planter where he was sitting, clearing a seat for me. I was glad. All the adrenaline from what had happened upstairs was draining away, leaving me shaky and weak.

I sat down a little abruptly, resting my elbows on my knees, my head drooping a little.

“Well, that ended badly,” Schulz observed.

“Not nearly as badly as it could have,” Allbright answered. “Good thinking, Graves.”

The prosecutor glared at him.

“I'd suggest you bring in an exorcist to clean that room once the priests have cleared the building for occupancy,” Morris said.

“Yes, we will. Although how I'm supposed to pay for that with the budget cuts…” She shook her head.

“The church might do it as a freebie,” I offered. “If you need me to, I can make some calls. I know a couple of people.”

She gave me a look that told me she planned to hold me responsible for this mess. Totally unfair, but there you go. Some people need to assign blame.

“I'll manage,” she said, her tone arid. “Frankly, I'd rather you left. The sooner the better.”

I didn't say a word. I didn't trust myself to be diplomatic.

“Detective Allbright,” Schulz called, “do you have the paperwork for Ms. Graves to sign?”

Allbright was still standing by the gurney, one hand resting on his partner's arm. I heard him tell Johnson, “I'll meet you at the hospital,” before he trotted over to us. Behind him, the EMTs began wheeling the gurney through the rapidly thinning crowd, toward the main entrance.

Coming up to me, the detective reached into his pocket and drew out a stack of folded paper and a pen. Passing the pages to me, he bent down over the case, which was sitting on the floor at Roberto's feet. I had no idea who had carried the case out of the conference room, or when, but it made me happy to see it. Allbright didn't bother with a key, but I heard him chanting a spell to release magical protections.

I raised an eyebrow at him.

“It's bio-keyed. Johnson and I are the only ones who could touch anything in here until the spells were released,” he explained.

He flipped the lid open, letting me see the contents. My holsters, knives, and spell disks were all there. When I'd checked everything over and seen that all was in order, I used the bench beside me as a writing surface and signed off on the forms. I handed the pen and papers back to Allbright, waiting politely as he tore off the yellow copy and gave it to me.

I handed the receipts to Roberto and took off my jacket. Schulz turned to me. Her blue eyes burned bright with barely contained rage, but she kept her voice deceptively pleasant.

“I would remind you that there is no statute of limitations on murder.”

I knew that.

“And while your attorneys keep assuring me that you are working hard to protect your client and innocent bystanders, I must tell you I have some serious doubts about you. I have never before, in my entire life, been exposed to the demonic. Nor, I wager, have any of the others who attended this meeting.

“You have been involved in situations with the nefarious multiple times. Your file states that you have even been the subject of an exorcism. Either you are singularly unlucky,” she didn't bother to hide her skepticism, “or you are working in concert with the demonic. If that is the case—” she left the sentence unfinished, an unspoken threat.

Roberto opened his mouth to respond, but I signaled him to silence. “Ms. Schulz, you've left off a third possibility—and it's the one that's the most accurate.”

“Oh?” Her voice was frosty.

“I've been responsible for blocking major demon infestations not just once, but twice. In doing that, I've not only made them aware of my existence, I've made them my enemies.”

Allbright gave me a sick look. Morris winced.

Schulz glared at me, spots of bright color appearing on her cheeks. “If that is the case, how are you still alive?”