The Devil Inside (8 page)

My timing was spot-on, my bra hitting the floor just as the back of my knees hit the bed. Brian flashed me a predator’s smile, then bent to help me out of the rest of my clothes. He had to interrupt the flow a bit to grab a condom from the bedside table, but we were both way too far gone for that to spoil the mood.

When he slipped into me, it was pure heaven. I was wet enough to let him bury himself in one thrust, and the feeling was like coming home. I pulled his head down to mine, and he kissed me with all the pent-up passion of a man who’s been separated from his true love for months. I drowned in the reality of him, in the natural fit of our bodies, in the dizzying rush of his desire, in the terrifying intensity of his love. I lost all power of higher thought, my body one big nerve ending, my heart near to bursting with more emotions than I could name.

We came at almost the exact same moment, both of us loud enough to no doubt embarrass the neighbors. Like we cared. Brian cuddled me in the aftermath, my head cradled against his chest, our legs intertwined, both of us panting desperately for air. When the first rush of afterglow started to fade, I felt a flutter of panic in my chest. I loved Brian too damn much for my own good, especially when practicality told me it would never last. Yes, I knew he loved me, too. But I’ve never been a believer in the myth that love conquers all. Someday, he would run out of patience with me, and my heart would shatter into tiny, sharp pieces. He wanted me to stay the night, but I didn’t trust my mood. I didn’t want to ruin the memory of our spectacular lovemaking. And I didn’t want to risk the chance that my continuing fears might make me say something stupid to push him away. The really scary thing is, from the way he looked at me, I had a feeling he knew exactly why I was running away. I got home a little after nine and watched part of the Temple basketball game. They were beating the crap out of some team I’d never heard of, so I turned it off and went to bed early.

I woke up in bed the next morning with that familiar tired feeling in my system. The feeling like I hadn’t really been sleeping all night. I tried to tell myself I was just tired, that normal people get tired even if they’re not sleepwalking.

That comforting fantasy lasted about thirty seconds. Then I saw the sheet of paper laid out neatly on my bedside table. This note was almost 46 / 226

Jenna Black, The Devil Inside (2007)

Morgan Kingsley #1

long enough to be called a letter.

Reluctantly, I picked it up and read.

I am not a figment of your imagination. My name is Lugh. You invited me in two months ago. You were drugged. That’s why you don’t remember. It was the night Andrew hit you. I believe he hit you so that your memory of that night would be a little fuzzy.

They’re using you to keep me captive. I would not have taken you voluntarily. They cal ed me by name, and I had to come. Your mental shields are so strong I can hardly break through. You fight me even in your That was all he wrote. All I wrote. Whatever.

I guess if I really was possessed by a demon, I’d managed to fight him off in the middle of his letter.

I shivered. All well and good to tell myself it was impossible to be possessed and not know it, but this seemed a pretty elaborate fantasy for my subconscious to dream up.

I mean, where did I get the name Lugh from? It’s not a name I’d ever heard of before. It sounded masculine, and I was thinking of this demon as a “he.” Which was just a little extra evidence that this was all my imagination. If I really was possessed, the demon should have been female. Not that it was impossible for a demon to possess a human of the opposite sex—it was just that they usually didn’t want to. Of course, my imaginary demon claimed he was forced to possess me against his will, so perhaps his preferences meant nothing.

But no, I was being paranoid. This was a reaction to my last conversation with Andrew/Raphael. I was still pissed at him for hitting me, so I’d concocted a plot right out of some B-movie Hollywood horror script. Yeah, that was it.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t doing such a great job of convincing myself. I didn’t destroy this letter, instead taking it with me into the kitchen and rereading it umpteen million times while I drank my coffee. I’d honestly never heard of a human being whose personality was strong enough to make the demon, rather than the host, the helpless passenger. But just because I’d never heard of it didn’t mean it was impossible. Wondering about the name I’d made up for my imaginary demon, I 47 / 226

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Morgan Kingsley #1

looked it up on the Internet. I hoped I’d find it was some kind of nonsense word. Unfortunately, I discovered it was a real name from Celtic mythology that roughly translates to “shining one.”

By the time I’d finished my third cup of coffee, I decided I needed a second opinion. Val had looked at my aura in Topeka and declared me clean, but it wouldn’t hurt to have her look again. And if she saw no sign of demon invasion, then maybe I could put this nagging fear to rest. If not, I might have to bite the bullet and see a shrink, like Brian had suggested. Not an option I wanted to contemplate. Val lives in a narrow, three-story town house on Delancy Street. The place always makes me feel outclassed. My house is nicely decorated and all, but Val’s is a freakin’ work of art. Everything’s color-coordinated, and I’d never seen a place where a person actually lived that was so meticulously neat and clean.

She led me into her living room, sat me down on her spotless creamcolored couch—you tell me, how do you keep a cream-colored couch spotless if you actually sit on it?—and I spilled my guts.

“I know this is crazy,” I told her before I started. I could see her momentarily struggle not to smile, then give up the effort. “When is it not crazy when you’re involved?”

I laughed at her quip, but even I could hear the nervousness. Val’s brows drew together, the humor instantly chased away, replaced by a look of concern.

“What’s the matter, Morgan?” she asked. “You look seriously spooked.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “That’s because I am.” I huffed out a deep breath. “You know how I told you I’ve been sleepwalking lately?” She nodded. “Well, I’ve been writing notes to myself in my sleep.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Wow. You mean, like, notes that actually make sense?”

“Depends on what you mean by sense,” I muttered under my breath.

“The first one was in Topeka. I wrote a note saying that the demon didn’t take me because I was already possessed.”

Val laughed at that. “That’s what’s got you spooked?” she asked. “I think you can relax. Aside from the fact that you don’t act like a demon, I checked your aura in Topeka and you were completely human.”

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I rubbed my sweaty palms up and down my pants legs. “I know. I’ve been telling myself over and over that it doesn’t make any sense, that it’s just my imagination. But I can’t help being freaked out.” I pulled my latest missive from my pocket and handed it to Val. “I mean, Jesus, look at this! I don’t have this good an imagination, so where is it all coming from?”

Val smiled indulgently as she took the note from my hand and donned her glasses for a closer look. I bit my lip as I watched her read, hoping she’d laugh at me some more and dismiss my foolish worries. She didn’t. In fact, I could have sworn she went a little pale, and her hand jerked as if she was startled.

“What is it?” I asked. “Does this mean something to you?”

She folded the note carefully, then shivered as if in a sudden chill. “I can see why it worried you,” she admitted. “It would freak me out, too.” Her face still looked pale, and whether she knew it or not, she was chewing her lower lip.

“But does it mean anything to you?” I asked again, wondering why she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

She shook her head, staring at the folded note. “No. It’s just creepy.” She sighed, finally raising her eyes to mine once more. “Still, it’s got to be your imagination. If you were possessed, I’d have seen it in Topeka.”

I had the distinct impression there was more to it than she was telling, but if there was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know about it. “Will you take another look at my aura anyway?”

She frowned, then shrugged. “Hell, I guess it’s no skin off my teeth. And if it’ll make you feel better…”

“Thanks,” I said, more relieved than I wanted to admit. She flashed me an encouraging smile. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, Morgan.”

I forced an answering smile. “Who me? Worry?”

Val laughed and gave me a quick hug. She knows I’m not the hugging type, so she let go before I had a chance to complain.

“I’ll go get my kit,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

For whatever reason, I felt unbearably antsy the moment she left the room. I stood up and paced, trying to work off my nervous energy. What did I have to be nervous about? I knew Val wasn’t going to find anything. But the nerves got worse and worse as the seconds ticked away. 49 / 226

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Morgan Kingsley #1

Butterflies flapped in my stomach. My head started pounding, and I wanted nothing more than to run frantically out her front door. What was the matter with me? I touched my fingers to the pulse in my neck to find it racing wildly. Sweat dewed my skin. Was I having some kind of panic attack? I’d never felt anything like this. As I tried to psychoanalyze myself, I noticed something odd. Val’s house is old and creaky. You can hear every step anyone takes. I’d heard her mount the steps to the second floor, and I’d heard her moving around upstairs. Now I heard nothing at all.

I stopped pacing as the inexplicable panic reached a crescendo. Not knowing why I was doing it, I turned and faced the stairwell. And suddenly, there she was.

I hadn’t heard a single creak out of the stairs. That’s because she’d been sneaking. If it hadn’t been for the creeping panic that made me look, I never would have gotten out of the way in time. There was a loud pop, and I threw myself to the floor. Taser probes rocketed through the space I’d just vacated, embedding themselves harmlessly into the back of a chair. Val cursed softly and ejected the spent cartridge.

I didn’t have time for shock, or outrage, or even pain. She reloaded, and I snatched a cushion off the sofa. I ducked behind it just as the Taser popped again. I felt the impact of the probes hitting the cushion, but—thank you, Jesus—it was thick enough to insulate me.

I peeked over the top of the cushion to see Val closing in on me, Taser still at the ready. She was going to try to take me down in hand-to-hand combat.

It was a tactical error on her part. One, I’m six inches taller than her and I work out. Two, if your family is Spirit Society, you either learn to fight at a young age, or you spend your entire childhood getting the shit beat out of you. I’d opted for fighting.

Val jabbed the Taser in my direction, trying to sneak it in around the edge of my shield—er, sofa cushion. I blocked her easily but didn’t notice her foot until it was too late.

Her heel made contact with my shin, and if she’d been wearing hardsoled shoes, I’d have been in trouble. As it was, she was wearing sneakers, and she didn’t do any serious 50 / 226

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damage.

“Ow!” I yelled. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Val?”

She didn’t answer. Her eyes were fierce and focused on her goal. I’d never seen her look like that before. She grabbed the sofa cushion and tried to rip it out of my hands. Since I had two hands on it, and she had only one, I had a heavy advantage in our game of tug-of-war. I gave a particularly hard tug to wrest the cushion from her grip, and she let go. I cursed as my own momentum felled me.

The impact with the floor knocked the cushion from my hands, and the breath whooshed out of my lungs. Val hurled herself on top of me, throwing an awkward punch with her left hand. The punch was just a diversion, though, as she tried to ram the Taser into my ribs. I ignored her left hook and latched onto her right wrist with both my hands. I didn’t let go when her fist contacted my face. The blow might have been awkward, but it sure hurt. I was seriously pissed now, and I let instinct take over. I rolled hard to my left. Val was too small and light to pin me, so I ended up on top, with her Taser trapped between our bodies so she couldn’t zap me without zapping herself as well.

My punch was not awkward, and Val’s body went limp. I almost hit her again, but stopped myself.

Panting, hurting, wondering what the hell was going on, I rolled off her inert body. I pried the Taser from her unresisting fingers and checked the battery indicator. Still plenty of juice left. I patted her down as she slowly came to, but didn’t find any more weapons.

I stood up and moved away from her. My cheek ached where she’d hit it, and there was another ache, too. A deeper one. My eyes burned, and for a moment I thought I was going to cry. Val had been my best friend since high school. The only person I trusted enough to talk to about my mysterious problem. And she’d attacked me!

Val moaned softly, then opened her eyes to see me pointing her own Taser at her.

“Sister, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” I growled. Anger and indignation helped quell the hurt.

Val looked up at me with wide, astonished-looking eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said.

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Morgan Kingsley #1

Not what I’d been expecting. About thirty seconds ago, she’d been at my throat like a rabid dog. Now she was apologizing?

She sat up slowly, eyeing the Taser. “I thought you really were possessed.”

“What?” I cried. This had to be some weird-ass dream, right? I mean, come on! “The whole point of this exercise was for you to check my aura.”

She didn’t try to get up. I guess I looked like I had an itchy trigger finger, and she couldn’t be sure I hadn’t reloaded the Taser while she was out.