Speak of the Devil (20 page)

“I’m telling the truth, though I know it’s my own fault you don’t believe me. But I promised you I’d take better care of Andrew this time, and I kept my word.”

“Then why does he look like he’s the walking wounded all the time?” Andy had originally volunteered to host a demon out of the misguided desire to
be a hero. He’d been a firefighter, and I know that he and Raphael together had saved many lives, even if that hadn’t been Raphael’s primary purpose, and even if they’d hated each other’s guts. Now my hero-wannabe brother barely seemed to acknowledge the existence of the rest of the human race.

I expected Raphael to make another one of his caustic remarks, but instead he looked thoughtful. Choosing which lie would entertain him most?

“Andrew’s not as strong as you are,” he finally said.

“Huh?” The words were so unexpected, I didn’t know what to make of them.

Raphael turned to face me on the sofa, his expression uncommonly grave. “You’ve had to make some really tough decisions in the last couple of months.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So you’re doing a lot better than your brother at dealing with the consequences.”

Maybe I was being dense, but I still didn’t know what he was talking about. Maybe his alternative to lying or telling the truth was just to spout nonsense.

“When you were trying to decide whether to let me take Tommy, you asked me if that’s what Andrew wanted.”

I remembered. Tommy was a violent, fanatical member of God’s Wrath and was probably one of the least willing hosts on the face of the planet. I’d had to choose between Tommy and my brother. I’d chosen my brother, though I still suffered from the guilt of that decision.

“I told you that Andrew did, indeed, want me to move into Tommy,” Raphael continued. “It was true. I was treating him better, but we still weren’t exactly best friends. He wanted me out of there desperately.”

“I can’t blame him.”

“No, but he’s pretty good at blaming himself. You’ve said it yourself—he wants to be a hero.” A little self-deprecating grin. “He wants to be as little like
me
as possible. But when it came right down to it, he was willing to let me move into someone he knew couldn’t cope with me in order to save his own hide.”

“Now wait just a minute!” I said indignantly.

“I’m not blaming him,” Raphael said before I could really work up a head of steam. “It was perfectly understandable and very human. But he’s blaming himself, and it’s eating him up inside. He didn’t live up to his own expectations, and he’s not dealing well with the reality.”

I regarded Raphael skeptically. He was, after all, Raphael, and even when what he said sounded logical, I felt compelled to examine it for lies and deceptions.

“Remember, Morgan, whether he likes it or not, I know Andrew better than anyone in the world. Beating himself to death with guilt is one of his favorite pastimes—and it’s one of the reasons he and I clashed so badly from the very beginning.”

My lip curled even though I didn’t mean for it to. “You mean because it’s never occurred to you that you should feel guilty for anything you’ve done?”

He didn’t rise to my bait. “I feel remorse for some of my bad decisions. But no, I don’t feel guilty. There’s nothing I can do now to change what I did in the past, and there’s no point in dwelling on my inadequacies. Andrew dwells.”

I still wasn’t sure I believed he was telling me the truth. It was just so hard to know with Raphael. But it did make a kind of sense, and I did know that Andy felt guilty about what had happened.

“Is there any way I can help him?” I asked, but I think I already knew the answer.

“Not really,” Raphael said, sounding mildly regretful. “Therapy and drugs might help—if he could actually tell the therapist what was wrong, which he can’t. It’s up to him to figure out life is still worth living even if he’s not as perfect as he wants to be.”

I had to bite my tongue to restrain the retort that wanted to leap out of my throat. Raphael made it sound like it was Andy’s own fault he was miserable, proving once again how unwilling Raphael was to take responsibility for his own actions.

“It’s almost time for the cab to get here,” I said instead. Raphael took the hint, and refrained from offering any further psychoanalysis as we headed out to capture our possessed intern.

It would have been a quiet ride out to David Keller’s apartment if it weren’t for the cabbie. He was one of those garrulous, overly friendly drivers who make me want to bash their teeth in. With no encouragement from either me or Raphael, he shared his entire life history and each of the shining moments in his kids’ childhoods over the course of a fifteen-block drive. With my nerves already stretched taut by stress, it was all I could do not to commit murder before we arrived at our destination.

The driver was still chattering when we got out of the cab. Raphael handed him a twenty and told him to keep the change. It was a ridiculously big tip, but it seemed Raphael was as anxious to get away from him as I was.

Raphael and I had agreed that I would remain in control and in the background unless he needed help in containing our rogue demon. No one outside of Lugh’s council knew I was possessed, and it was better
for everyone if it stayed that way. But Lugh would be available if I needed him.

Keller’s apartment was on the third floor of an old but well-maintained brownstone. There was no real lobby in this building, just a foyer with a row of mailboxes and intercom buttons on one side. We found Keller’s name, and Raphael rang the buzzer. There was no answer.

I’d been primed for action, and my heart sank as Raphael rang the buzzer a second time. I hadn’t allowed myself to consider the possibility that Keller might not be home.

Raphael tried the buzzer a third time, but the result was the same. Then he headed for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” I asked as I followed.

He gave me a look. “Up to Keller’s apartment. Where else?”

“But he’s not home.”

“So we’ll wait for him.”

Raphael didn’t bother with any further information. I had a feeling we were about to do something I was going to regret, but I followed him anyway.

This was a small building, and there were only three apartments on each floor. The bulb at one end of the third-floor hallway was burned out, which made it easy to see the light that shone under the door of David Keller’s apartment. Of course, this was the city, and it was generally a good idea to leave a light or two on when you were gone, to discourage certain segments of the population from paying a visit.

When we got closer, I could hear the faint sound of music coming from behind the door. It sounded like something classically romantic, and I suddenly wondered if Keller hadn’t answered the doorbell because he was otherwise occupied.

Raphael didn’t seem to care if he was interrupting.
He knocked on the door, but there was still no response. Then he put his hand on the doorknob and gave it a turn.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up when I realized the door wasn’t locked. Raphael gave me a stern look. “Don’t touch anything, just in case.”

I could have asked “Just in case what?” But I didn’t, because I had a pretty good idea what he meant.

Raphael went in first, beckoning me to follow and stay behind him. I didn’t like taking orders from him, but I did it anyway. He closed the door softly once I was in.

The apartment was tiny and cramped, and every flat surface was covered in books and papers. The room we were in was a combination living room and kitchenette, though it looked like Keller used the kitchenette for book storage rather than cooking. There was only one doorway visible other than the front door. I couldn’t imagine living in an apartment that didn’t even have a coat closet, but it looked like a straight-backed chair tucked into one corner was an unofficial coat rack.

The music was a little louder now, and it was clearly coming from behind the closed door. If Keller had a girl in there—or a boy, for that matter—this was going to be very embarrassing. But somehow, I didn’t think that was going to be the case. Raphael put a finger to his lips, and I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t about to make conversation while we were breaking into someone’s apartment.

I followed Raphael through the piles of books that were strewn carelessly on the floor. He paused in front of the door, which could only lead to the bedroom. We both listened intently, but there was no sound from inside other than the music.

His face grim, Raphael pushed open the door and peeked inside. I held my breath.

Raphael’s head and shoulders drooped, and he let out a sigh of resignation. I tried to peek around his shoulder, but he blocked me with one arm and pushed me back.

“You don’t want to see this,” he warned.

No, of course I didn’t. But I ducked under Raphael’s arm anyway.

David Keller lay naked on the bed. Duct tape sealed his mouth and circled his wrists and ankles. His eyes were wide and staring, and the bloody circular wound in the center of his forehead looked almost like a third eye. The pillow and mattress beneath him were soaked in blood, and I belatedly noticed the nasty, coppery odor.

Suddenly light-headed, I swayed and reached out to grab the door frame to keep from falling. Raphael snatched my hand away before I made contact.

“Don’t touch anything!” he snapped. “Do you really want your fingerprints here?”

That thought didn’t do much for my light-headedness. For a moment, I seriously thought I was about to faint. Raphael kept me on my feet, his arm wrapped around my shoulders. With his free hand, he used the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe off the doorknob, then dragged me through the cluttered room back to the front door.

“Get a grip on yourself,” he said sharply, giving me a little shake for emphasis. “We need to get out of here before anyone sees us.”

I blinked, hoping that would make the dizziness go away. It didn’t, but I gritted my teeth and pushed away from Raphael. I was pleasantly surprised to find I could stand on my own power, and I took a deep breath to further steady myself.

Raphael peered out of the peephole, making sure the coast was clear. Then he opened the door and once again used his T-shirt to wipe down the knob, both inside and out.

“Keep your head down,” Raphael said, “and if we run into anyone, try to keep me between you and them. You’re more easily identifiable than I am.”

Unfortunately true. Just for tonight, I wished my hair were some sedate, nondescript color. Maybe I needed to rethink my flamboyant look now that I was constantly running from trouble.

We made it all the way to the first floor without being spotted, but we had the bad luck of opening the front door at the exact same time someone was coming in. I lowered my head and hunched my shoulders, trying to look smaller than I really was, and I slid my arm through Raphael’s, using his body for cover. My mouth was bone dry, and I had to remind myself to breathe or I might have passed out.

Because I was hiding behind Raphael, I didn’t get a good look at the young couple who came in, but from what I could tell, they seemed to be in too much of a hurry to find the nearest bedroom to pay much attention to Raphael and me.

My nerves still on red alert, I allowed Raphael to lead me out into the street and put a few blocks between us and Keller’s apartment before calling a cab to take us home.

We hadn’t
gotten more than two blocks before Raphael suddenly, and without consulting me, told the cabbie there was a change in plans and gave him his own address. The cabbie, much quieter than our previous one, barely gave a grunt of acknowledgment as he changed course. I gave Raphael a furious look— I didn’t want to spend more time in his company than was absolutely necessary—but of course I didn’t dare question him in front of a witness.

I fumed in silence as we drove past the university and into a residential area that was too rich for the average student’s blood. At a guess, I’d say it was a popular area for faculty.

Tommy Brewster had been living in student housing, sharing his apartment with a slimy roommate, but that situation hadn’t been to Raphael’s liking. As soon as he’d moved into Tommy’s body, he’d ditched the roommate and relocated to a town house. I didn’t know where he got the money to afford the nice town house, and I didn’t ask. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss.

As soon as we stepped out of the cab, Raphael whipped out his cell phone.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” I said, grabbing his wrist. “First, you tell me why the change of plans.”

He broke my grip easily. His face looked uncommonly grim as he held the phone between his cheek and his shoulder and unlocked his front door. “Just give me a minute,” he said.

I crossed my arms over my chest and narrowed my eyes. “Tell me what the hell you’re up to!” I demanded, but he ignored me.

The tension visibly eased from his shoulders when someone answered his call. I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation at all, but Raphael considerately clued me in as to whom he was calling.

“Saul,” he said, sounding relieved. “You need to get out of Morgan’s apartment ASAP. Come to my place, and I’ll explain.”

I didn’t need to hear the other end of the conversation to know Saul’s reaction. Raphael’s jaw tightened. He pushed open his front door, then shoved me over the threshold when I stubbornly refused to move.

The door slammed behind us, and Raphael threw the deadbolt while glaring at me. I was too used to being glared at to be terribly bothered by it.

“Please, just get out of there,” Raphael said. “The police may be paying a visit soon, and if they find you there, they might start asking questions. Unless Adam has made more progress than I think in creating an identity for you, you can’t hold up to much scrutiny.”

He listened intently for a moment; then the tension in his body language dwindled, and I knew Saul had agreed to get out of my apartment. I was beginning
to think through the ramifications of Keller’s death, and I wasn’t liking them one bit.

First off, it meant that we had no idea whose body my demon enemy was in now. Second, it meant there was another mysterious death that I could be a suspect in. And last, but certainly not least, it hinted that the demon had no more use for Keller, which meant that if he’d been planning to plant incriminating evidence, he’d likely done so already.