Speak of the Devil

EPILOGUE

A week after I’d left the hospital, my lawyer finally convinced Jordan Maguire Sr. to drop the lawsuit. Without any outside forces to whip him into a frenzy, it seemed Maguire just didn’t have the will to persecute me. I suspect in his heart of hearts, he knew I wasn’t really at fault, but it’s not a theory I’ll ever be able to confirm.

Saul now had an official identity, having magically become Saul Davidson, a twenty-eight-year-old native of Southern California who had been a legal, registered demon host for five years. He even had all the paperwork to prove it. I wondered if somewhere in a courthouse in California there existed a falsified video of Saul’s registration process. I decided I didn’t want to know.

And then there was Barbie.

I’d avoided her as much as I could, not being anxious to fulfill Lugh’s promise. Truthfully, though, I knew it had to be done. Barbie had seen and heard far too much, and with her inquisitive mind, she’d be able to put together enough facts to come up with some uncomfortable conclusions, even if those conclusions were all wrong. Raphael contended we’d be better off killing her and hiding the body, but I think he was just saying that to goad Saul.

To make sure everyone was on board and fully aware of Lugh’s wishes, I called together the entire council before I invited Barbie to my apartment for the long-awaited explanation. She was, of course, on crutches, her leg broken in two places from Abraham’s brutal kick. Not coincidentally, she ended up sitting next to Saul when I called the meeting to order.

I told Barbie the whole, long, intricate story of Lugh’s banishment to the Mortal Plain and the danger Dougal represented to the human race. Others chimed in occasionally with extra details and clarifications. Barbie had to be surprised by what she was hearing, but she mostly hid the surprise well, only the occasional widening of her eyes betraying her shock.

I didn’t exactly invite her to join Lugh’s council— council membership was more of a command performance than a choice—but I couched it as delicately as I could.

“I know being part of the council will sometimes interfere with your paying job,” I said—it sure as hell interfered with mine, even when I wasn’t suspended. The U.S. Exorcism Board moves with all the speed of your average bureaucracy, which meant they still hadn’t lifted my suspension, even though the lawsuit had fizzled. “But we’ll do whatever we can to make sure Blair is taken care of.”

Barbie’s eyes widened hugely and she gasped. “Oh! So you’re the one who set up that trust.”

“Huh?” I said, looking around at the other members of the council and seeing similarly blank expressions.

Barbie frowned. “The anonymous trust? The one that came out of nowhere to fund Blair’s stay at The Healing Circle?”

Still no signs of recognition from anyone as we all looked at one another and shrugged or shook our heads.

“But it has to be you guys,” Barbie insisted. “I couldn’t even come up with a far-fetched guess who it could be before you told me everything. Why would anyone else give a damn about Blair’s care? No one ever has before now.”

We each took a turn saying something to the effect of “it wasn’t me,” leaving Barbie looking flummoxed and perhaps even a little frustrated.

Conversation flowed around me, full of theories and conjecture, but I stayed out of it. There were only two people sitting in this circle who had the means to set up Blair’s care: Adam and Raphael. The rest of us were pretty much broke. If Adam had set up the trust, there would be no reason for him not to admit it. But then, there wasn’t really any reason for Raphael not to admit it, either. Of course, it didn’t really seem like the kind of thing Raphael would do. A philanthropist he was not! But, like Barbie, I had a hard time believing the money could have come from anyone but a member of this council.

I met Raphael’s eyes from across the circle. His expression was studiously blank, but he broke off the stare quickly, and my conviction strengthened. When the rest of the council members filed out one by one— or two by two, in the case of Adam and Dom and Saul and Barbie—I grabbed Raphael’s arm and made him stay behind. Brian gave me a raised eyebrow, and I mouthed “later” at him. He accepted that without comment.

“So what’s the story?” I asked when Raphael and I were alone.

“What story?” he asked, sounding genuinely baffled. But then, Raphael was one hell of a good liar.

“The trust fund?”

He shook his head. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“Bullshit.”

He laughed. “Usually, you’re accusing me of the most heinous acts you can imagine. Why on earth would you suddenly start suspecting me of doing something … nice?” He grimaced when he said the word, as if it were distasteful.

“Instinct.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Why don’t you want anyone to know?”

It looked like there was another denial on his lips, but he stopped himself and sighed. “Let’s pretend for a moment that it was me. What would be the first thing everyone on the council would think if I took credit for it?”

I nodded, getting it. “Gee, I wonder what’s in it for you?”

His lips thinned in displeasure, but he had to know he’d earned his reputation. “Right.” He sighed again, the muscles in his face relaxing slightly. “There’s nothing I can do to make the rest of you think better of me. But I’d like to believe that I’m not quite the embodiment of evil you all think I am. So if I were to make a gesture like setting up a trust for Blair’s care and then not take credit for it, it would be to prove to myself that I have redeeming qualities. But if I took credit for it, it would be just one more way I’m trying to make myself look better to the rest of you, and I’m back to being an irredeemably selfish bastard. So, it wasn’t me. End of story.”

It was still almost impossible not to doubt Raphael’s motive. He probably could have deduced that I’d figure out it had to be him and that I’d call him on it. That would allow him to take credit for his charitable act while still pretending not to. The way his mind twisted and turned, it was hard to know what to make of his gesture.

I think he actually meant well this time, Lugh said. I was pretty sure my subconscious barriers were gone for good, because I wasn’t particularly stressed right this moment, but I could still hear him.

I thought Raphael was finally going to leave, but I wasn’t that lucky.

“I was going to bring this up during the meeting,” he said, “but I figured I should give Lugh the heads-up before I shot my mouth off. We’re in a stronger position now than we have been since Lugh first was summoned to the Mortal Plain. Dougal and his supporters haven’t been able to find him. He’s set up his court with people he trusts. And no one’s trying to kill, frame, or otherwise persecute you at the moment.”

“That we know of,” I mumbled.

Raphael ignored me. “We’ve had no choice but to continually play defense so far. But eventually, we’re going to have to go on the offensive. Dougal can afford to wait us out, so we can’t just sit back and twiddle our thumbs forever.”

He could have put that more tactfully, but I knew he was right. Problem was, I hadn’t a clue how to go about going on the offensive.

“What do you suggest?” I asked. “It’s not like we can go to the Demon Realm after him—even if you or Lugh could kill him there, which I gather you can’t. And we’ve already established that he’s not going to conveniently show up on the Mortal Plain where we can kill him.”

“Not at the moment. It would be a highly unnecessary risk, and Dougal doesn’t take unnecessary risks. So we have to find a way to make it a necessary risk.”

“And have you got an idea how we can manage that?”

Raphael frowned. “Not yet. But I’m working on it, and you and Lugh should, too.”

He’s lying, Lugh whispered in my mind. He has an idea. He just doesn’t like it and is hoping we’ll come up with something he likes better.

When you accuse Raphael of lying, you’re right at least fifty percent of the time, so I believed Lugh. Trouble was, Raphael would stick to his lies like superglue until confronted with irrefutable evidence.

“You sure you don’t have any ideas?” I prompted, but it was a halfhearted attempt at best. I’d have dropped dead on the spot if Raphael had suddenly admitted he really did have an idea.

“Of course I don’t,” he responded with his trademark sincerity. Anyone who didn’t know him well enough would be convinced he was the soul of honesty. “What possible reason could I have for not telling you if I did?”

“Good question.”

Raphael gave me a look of pure disgust. “I swear, you’d think I was lying if I said water was wet! I don’t know why I bother talking to you at all.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

Was this a real fit of pique? Or was this an attempt to deflect the question?

“Raphael!” I called, on the off chance he was really upset and didn’t deserve the suspicion.

“What?” he asked, turning to me with a snarl.

“You did a really good thing, arranging for Blair’s care. Thank you.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and for the life of me I couldn’t recognize the expression on his face. He turned away without another word, slamming the door behind him.

“Think he’ll tell us what he has in mind?” I asked Lugh.

He might not need to. I’m afraid prolonged contact with him and his Machiavellian ways has had an unsavory effect on me.

I couldn’t feel Lugh’s emotions like he could feel mine, but there was a world of tension in his phantom voice. “What exactly does that mean?”

Lugh didn’t answer, which was probably just as well. If whatever conclusion the Brothers Grimm had come to made them both so uneasy, I didn’t want to know about it. Maybe if I was a good little exorcist-cum-demon-host, I’d never have to. Ignorance is bliss and all that.

Somehow, I didn’t think there was a whole lot of bliss in my future.