The Devil's Playground (10 page)

“Pretty damn low,” Adam said with an unhappy sigh.

“Did she still have your card on her when she was found?”

“Yeah. That’s why the officer called me. I told him I met her at the club and gave her my card in case she witnessed anything hinky there. It’s not the first time I’ve done that, but she’s not the type I’d usually approach. I’m still going to have a bunch of explaining to do. The cops don’t know she was possessed, and it’s best if it stays that way.”

“Why? If the cops know she was an illegal, then the crime will fall under your jurisdiction. Surely that would be better for you.”

I could almost hear Adam squirming. “You know there have been … questions about my conduct lately.” Thanks to me, though he was kind enough not to say it. “I’m not sure how safe it is to call attention to myself by admitting I failed to follow standard procedure.”

I shrugged, though he couldn’t see it. “Whatever. I’ll trust your judgment on that. But where does that leave us?” I hadn’t felt like we’d gotten as much as I’d hoped out of last night’s interrogation, but without Mary to lead us to her contact, we had
nothing
.

“Back at square one,” Adam confirmed. “I think another council meeting is in order.”

Great. One problem with this concept of having a
council is that they expect to be kept in the loop, and even to take part in decision-making.

“Guess I’ll be spending the rest of the morning on the phone again,” I grumbled.

“Better than how
I’m
going to spend the morning,” Adam quipped back, and I had to agree, no matter what he decided to tell his comrades.

B
ECAUSE ADAM WAS TIED UP WITH POLICE BUSINESS
, our second council meeting in two days didn’t convene until after four. As I waited for the council to arrive, I watched a Phillies game on TV, hoping to keep myself from thinking too much. It even worked, for the first couple of innings. Then I saw another Spirit Society recruitment commercial, and I lost all interest in the game. I turned off the set and wondered if I’d ever enjoy watching TV again.

The council members straggled in by ones and twos, just like the day before. And just like the day before, Raphael was the last to arrive and was about ten minutes late. But no one said anything to him about it, so at least we didn’t immediately start the hostilities.

Adam filled us in on the details of Mary’s murder. Not surprisingly, Mary’s host, Helen Williams, had a
long rap sheet, even though she’d been only twenty-two years old. Arrests for drugs and prostitution riddled her record, and, as is unfortunately often the case with people like Helen who live high-risk lifestyles, the police weren’t going to spend lots of manpower and taxpayer money to hunt down her murderer. So far, there’d been no sign of any friends and family beating on their doors demanding justice. The prevailing theory was that she’d run afoul of a drug dealer and been “punished.”

If Helen Williams had been a different sort of person—the kind the police saw as valuable members of society—the authorities might have pressed Adam harder about why she’d had his card. His explanation, after all, was a bit thin. But there was only so much time and effort they were willing to put into the case, and Adam was a high-profile, upstanding citizen, so he was getting something of a free pass. Damn convenient for us, but I couldn’t help feeling a surge of disgust at the police department’s lack of interest in the death of a young woman. I understood all the reasons why it wouldn’t be a priority, but I didn’t have to like it. It gave me another reason to really hope we caught up with whoever had forced Helen Williams to summon a demon she didn’t want. A little vigilante justice might hit the spot.

How many more people like Helen Williams were out there right now? I shuddered to think.

“I guess we need to go on another hunting expedition,” Raphael said. His compassion for the dead woman was underwhelming, but then I hadn’t expected anything more from him.

“No,” Barbie said. She sat rigidly on her straight-backed chair. “We just got that poor woman killed. I’m not doing that again.”

“Fine,” Raphael said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “We’ll use someone else as bait.”

“No, you won’t,” Barbie retorted. Anger flushed her cheeks, but her voice remained level and reasonable. “The only reason to do it would be to try to get to the next rung in the ladder, which isn’t going to happen if whoever we question gets murdered within hours of us talking to them.”

It was a very reasonable-sounding argument, though I felt certain Barbie’s refusal to take part was out of something other than cold logic. She’d felt guilty last night, when Mary had only been roughed up a bit. I bet she felt really horrible right now, knowing that Mary … no, that Mary’s
host
had been killed.

I glanced over at Andy, the guilt king. He might not have been present for the interrogation, but he’d raised no objections during the council meeting where we’d concocted the plan. Sure enough, he was staring at his feet, his lips pressed together in a thin, unhappy line.

“I don’t feel good about getting Helen Williams killed, either,” I said, still looking at Andy, “but it’s not like we could have guessed it would happen.”

Raphael followed my gaze to Andy, then rolled his eyes dramatically. I clenched my teeth and ordered myself not to tell Raphael what I thought of him. Never mind that Andy and his hangdog act were getting on my nerves, too.

“We’ll just have to pick a better mark this time,”
Raphael said, quickly losing interest in his former host. “Mary had only been on the Mortal Plain a couple of days. She hadn’t had a chance to meet with her contact yet. If we can question someone who’s been here at least a couple of weeks, he or she might be able to give us a name, or at least a description.”

Barbie sat forward in her chair. “So it doesn’t bother you at all that a woman was beaten to death because of us?”

Saul, sitting beside Barbie, laughed bitterly. “Do you have any idea how many people have died because of the things my sire has done? Expecting him to feel remorse is like expecting him to grow a halo and wings.”

I tensed, thinking this conflict was about to escalate, but Raphael surprised me with the mildness of his answer.

“Whether I feel remorse or not doesn’t matter,” he said. “I know what you all think of me, and, frankly, I don’t give a damn. I’m giving you my opinion of what I think we should do next, but it will ultimately be Lugh’s decision.” He looked at me. “The council is here for discussion and advice, but we all know who’s in charge.”

“Care to comment, Lugh?” I asked.

I’m afraid remorse is not a luxury we can afford
, he answered.
We need more information, and these newly arrived demons are the key to getting it
.

I didn’t like his answer—even though I knew he was probably right—so I didn’t share it. “Does anyone have a better idea?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound like I was pleading.

“Lugh agrees with me,” Raphael said, reading Lugh’s
answer in my face. “But perhaps there’s a way to make our course of action more palatable.”

“I’d love to hear it,” I muttered.

“When we’ve finished questioning our next subject, Morgan can perform an exorcism. Without the demon in residence, there would be no reason for our enemies to kill the host.”

Adam looked dubious. “Even if the demon was keeping the host shut out, the host might know something damaging enough that they’d kill him anyway.”

Raphael shook his head. “After we’ve already questioned him and wrung every possible drop of information out of him? What would be the point? It would be an unnecessary risk.”

“Of course, if the demon’s had a couple of weeks to do a hatchet job on the host’s psyche,” I said, “the host might not survive the exorcism.”

“But you believe that exorcism is the lesser of two evils when an unwilling host is involved,” he countered. “Even if by some miracle the demon and host get along famously, they’re going to be under the thumb of someone who regards humans as nothing more than cattle, to be used and discarded as necessary.”

“You mean like you?” Saul muttered, but Raphael ignored him.

“It’s a good plan,” Raphael said. “We get the information we need, and the host gets rid of an unwanted visitor. Surely even
you
can’t object to that, son.”

Usually, Raphael shows a remarkable amount of restraint around Saul, considering how heavily Saul goads him. But every once in a while, he got his subtle verbal
jabs in, almost like he couldn’t help himself. We all knew how Saul objected to any reminder that Raphael was his father. Hell, Saul wouldn’t even use the word “father,” but insisted on calling Raphael his “sire,” if he had to refer to him at all.

Saul bared his teeth. “Don’t call me that!”

Barbie reached over and put her hand on Saul’s leg. “Down, boy,” she said. “You know better than to let him get to you.”

Sometimes, when Saul works up a head of steam, as it looked like he was doing now, it was really hard to rein him back in. Apparently, Barbie was having a good influence on him, though, because as soon as she spoke, he relaxed back into his chair and shook his head.

“You’re right,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s not worth it.”

I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing at the sulky, sullen look on Saul’s face. Neither Saul nor his host was a kid, but he looked like your stereotypical rebellious teen.

Raphael was examining his fingernails with sudden fascination, his lowered head keeping his face in shadows. Sorry to say, I knew him too well to be fooled by his apparent apathy. It hurt him every time Saul denied him.

So why the hell does he keep poking his pins in Saul, when he knows very well how Saul will react?
I asked Lugh silently.

Because when Saul strikes back, Raphael can think “Oh, poor me” and throw himself a pity party
, Lugh responded.
Sometimes, I think he’s really changed. Then he pulls something like this, and I realize he’s still the same old Raphael
.

I wasn’t sure I agreed with Lugh on this point. Yeah, Raphael was a pro at feeling sorry for himself, but it seemed to me he had … matured since I’d first met him. Specifically, I remembered a time when Lugh had taken over my body to confront Raphael. I’d thought he just meant to have a conversation, but it had quickly turned into a fight. But although Lugh and Raphael were about evenly matched in power, Raphael had refused to fight back, willing to let Lugh send him back to the Demon Realm and Dougal’s tender mercies rather than risk a fight that could get Lugh killed.

Do you really think the old Raphael would have made the same decision?
I asked Lugh, trying not to think about how ironic it was for me to be defending Raphael, whom I loathed.

Perhaps not
, Lugh conceded, then fell silent.

“Another trip to The Seven Deadlies, then,” Adam said, bringing us back on topic.

Barbie let out an unhappy sigh. “I guess so.”

“You don’t have to be the bait,” I told her. “I’m sure someone else can do it.” Not that anyone seemed in any rush to volunteer.

“No, it should be me,” she said. “This is the kind of stuff I do for a living.” She frowned. “Well, not really, but …” She huffed. “You know what I mean.”

And I did. Barbie had once described the biggest part of her job as “convincing people to tell me things they’re not supposed to tell me,” with an obvious corollary of “convincing people to do things they’re not supposed to do.” She was the right person for the job, even though she didn’t like it.

“I guess that means we’re all settled,” Adam said. “The club isn’t open on Sundays, so let’s head out there tomorrow night.”

“Whatever you say, coach,” I said, feeling tired now that we were winding down and I could let myself relax a bit. I don’t function well on less-than-optimal sleep.

There was a little more chitchat after that, but nothing of great importance, and no one came to blows over anything. As the council members trickled out my front door, I noticed that Brian was hanging back. I couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, he and I really needed to talk. On the other hand, this wasn’t the kind of talk we should have while I was tired and grumpy.

When Brian and I were finally alone in the apartment, he turned to me. I held up a hand to forestall whatever he’d been about to say.

“Can it wait until I’ve made a fresh pot of coffee?”

Dominic had brought me some fabulous, extra-strong Italian roast that I was dying to try. He’d probably meant me to make it for the meeting, but I wasn’t about to share my treasure with seven other people.

Brian gave me one of his boyish grins. “It can wait. I know better than to get between you and your coffee.”

“Smart-ass,” I replied, but I meant it affectionately.

Brian followed me into the kitchen and watched in silence as I scooped out fragrant coffee and filled the pot with water. I set the pot to brew, then turned and leaned my butt against the counter, examining the man I loved, trying to get a feel for what he was thinking. But, unlike me, Brian was a pro at hiding his thoughts.

“Okay,” I said as the coffeepot began to gurgle. “What’s up?”

His eyebrows arched. “I need an excuse to want to talk to my girlfriend?”

“Of course not,” I answered irritably. “But considering how we left things, I don’t think you’re here to make small talk.”

Brian reached into the cabinet beside my head and got out a coffee mug. Without another word, he pulled the carafe from the coffee maker. A couple drops of coffee hissed against the hot plate, but I’d never abide a coffee maker that made you wait until the pot was done before you could get a cup, so there wasn’t much of a mess. There was only enough coffee in the pot for about a third of a cup, but Brian poured it into a mug and handed the mug to me before putting the carafe back.

“For medicinal purposes,” he said.

I rolled my eyes at him, but that didn’t stop me from taking a cautious sip from my mug. I managed to burn my tongue despite my caution, but it was worth it for the rich, dark flavor. It was a shame to dilute that with cream and sugar, but I only drink coffee black if I have no choice. I closed my eyes and inhaled the scent, letting the comfortable familiarity of the coffee ritual calm me.