The Devil Inside

CHAPTER 4

I woke up to find myself seated at my desk in my study. I blinked a couple of times, groggy, disoriented.

The room was dark, save for the moonlight that streamed through the open curtains of one window. The digital clock perched on top of the bookcase across from me said it was one-thirty.

I groaned. Not again! This sleepwalking shit was really getting on my nerves. As I started to push back from the desk, I noticed the pen clutched in my hand. Then I saw a sheet of paper lying on the desk. I could tell there was some writing on it, but it was too dark to read.

I didn’t feel sleepy anymore. My pulse shot up and my mouth went dry. Maybe I should just tear off that sheet of paper and throw it away without reading it.

Yeah, that’s what I should do. I didn’t want to face any more of my subconscious fears. But instead of listening to my own advice, I reached for the desk lamp and turned it on, shutting my eyes against the glare.

I took a long, deep breath before I opened my eyes and read what I’d written in my sleep.

Morgan, this isn’t your subconscious. You really are possessed, but you’re so powerful in your own right that I can’t get a foothold except when you lower your guard — like when you sleep. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m as unwilling to possess you as you are to host me, but

That was it. All it wrote. No, all I wrote, because there was no way I was possessed. None!

I was so freaked I was shaking. I crossed my arms over my chest and hugged myself.

“Calm down, Morgan,” I told myself. “You know you’re not possessed. Val would have seen it in your aura in Topeka.”

I didn’t feel reassured.

Once again, I tore my note off the notepad and wadded it into a ball. This time, though, throwing it in the trash wouldn’t be enough. I didn’t want those words on that paper to exist.

I grabbed the wad of paper and carried it to the living room. Then I stuck it in the fireplace and burned it. And though I went back to bed and cuddled comfortably under the covers, I didn’t sleep a wink the rest of the night.

Brian came over at seven the next evening for dinner and sex, not necessarily in that order. I’d been miserable all day from the combo of sleep deprivation and worry. He judged correctly that it was a dinner-first sort of day. And he cooked. Like Val said, he’s a keeper.

That thought made my mood sink even lower. Brian might be a keeper, but I couldn’t see him keeping me indefinitely. Yeah, he talked about moving in together, but let’s get real. He’s your all-around, mom-and-apple-pie nice guy. What was he doing with me, anyway? He should be with some sweet, girl-next-door type. Not some surly exorcist chick with an attitude problem.

Yeah, that’s the kind of mood I was in. And I’ll freely admit I was feeling sorry for myself. Another of my not-so-appealing features. Sometimes I’m secretly jealous of Brian and his normal life. No fanatics in his family. Everyone gets along like family is supposed to. Doesn’t mean they don’t fight sometimes, but it’s healthy fighting, if you know what I mean. He has a nice, steady, safe job — he’s a lawyer, but the boring kind, not the sleazy kind — and he believes that people are good at heart as a general rule. What he sees in me is a total mystery.

I think even your usual unobservant guy would have noticed my mood, so I wasn’t surprised when as soon as the table was cleared, Brian pulled me into his arms for a hug and asked, “What’s wrong?”

I sighed and snuggled into the warmth of his body. “Nothing. I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

He pushed me away gently then raised my chin with his finger so I’d have to look at him. His whisky-brown eyes were full of concern. “Sleepwalking again?”

I swallowed hard, fighting down a hint of panic as I thought about waking up with that damning piece of paper in front of me. I nodded, not sure I could trust my voice.

Brian smoothed his hands over my hair. “You should see a doctor.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant a physician or a shrink, but I didn’t care either way. “No doctors,” I said, and my voice came out sharper than I meant it to.

I hate doctors. Almost as much as I hate dentists. I never like to be around people who make me feel powerless.

“Morgan,” Brian started, and I could hear him slipping into his persuasive lawyer voice.

“No, Brian. Don’t push this.”

He held up his hands in surrender, and I thought I was home free. He slipped an arm around my shoulders and guided me toward my bedroom. I went with him, but my mind really wasn’t on sex right that moment. Which says something about my state of mind, because I’m always thinking about sex when Brian’s around.

We kissed as soon as we stepped over the threshold. I melted against his body and opened my mouth for him, stroking his tongue with my own, but my heart wasn’t in it. I thought I was faking it pretty well, but when we lay down on the bed together, Brian pulled away a little bit.

He was leaning over me, one leg thrown over mine as his face hovered inches away. His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking idly.

“It’s more than just being sleepy,” he murmured. “Come on, Morgan. Tell me what’s wrong.”

I mentally cursed him for being such a sensitive modern male. A drunken Neanderthal would have suited me better at the moment. We could have some spirited sex, I’d fake an orgasm, then he’d go away happy and leave me to my gloomy thoughts.

I speared my hand through his hair and tried to pull his head down to mine for a kiss, but he wasn’t about to let me distract him. He pulled back a little farther.

“Talk to me,” he urged.

“There’s nothing wrong, Brian. I’m just tired is all, so I’m not quite myself.”

His eyes narrowed. It wasn’t quite a glare, but it wasn’t a happy look, either. “That’s bullshit, and we both know it. Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

I wriggled out from under his leg and sat up. It was my turn to glare, and I’m better at it than he is. “Because there’s nothing to tell!” I snapped. Okay, so I was lying, but I had no desire to share my worries with him. He just wouldn’t understand.

He sat up, too, and now there was almost a yard separating us on the bed — a nice metaphor for the emotional chasm that was forming.

“I’m not an idiot,” he said. He was trying to keep his voice mild, but anger crept in anyway. Brian isn’t very comfortable with anger, which is why he’s no good at picking fights.

Anger and me are bestest buds, so I’m damn good at it. “You will be if you don’t drop this.”

“Damn it, Morgan!” Oh yeah, I was making him feel much more at home with his anger right now. “I love you.” He made it sound like a curse. “You can talk to me. Share things with me. It’s what people in love do.”

“I’m not the touchy-feely, crying-on-shoulders type of girl. I’ve never pretended to be.”

“It’s not ‘touchy-feely’ to answer me when I ask you what’s wrong! For God’s sake, it’s a simple question. All I’m asking is for you to share just a tiny bit of yourself with me. Is that too much to ask?”

I ran a hand through my hair and tried to tamp down my anger. He was right. But so was I. If I told him about the notes, about what was bothering me, it would lead to a long, heartfelt discussion. And it wouldn’t matter what I said, he wouldn’t understand.

He tries his best, he really does. But he’s never been the kind of control freak I am. He’s never understood why I’m so fanatically anti-demon. And he’d never understand how the thought that I might be possessed — even when I knew it was just a product of my overactive imagination — could turn me into such a quivering bundle of nerves.

“I’m sorry, Brian,” I said. “I know you think I’m being a coldhearted bitch, but I can’t help being who I am. And I’m not the kind of woman to open a vein and bleed all over her boyfriend. If it were something I thought you could help me with, I’d talk about it.” I wasn’t sure that was entirely true, but it might have been. I’d have to wait until I had a problem I thought he could help with to see.

He shook his head and slid off the bed. His anger had faded, and now he just looked hurt. “I’m not asking you to open a vein,” he said softly, not looking at me. “I’d be happy with even the tiniest crumb, but you just won’t give it to me.”

I held my breath, sure this was it, the moment I’d been dreading — the moment he decided I was more trouble than I was worth.

As usual, I’d underestimated him.

“I’m going to go home now, before we have a chance to do permanent damage to each other,” he said. “But I’m not giving up on you, Morgan. I love you, and eventually I’m going to figure out some way to make you trust me enough to talk to me. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

I stayed sitting on the bed as he walked out of the room. He didn’t even slam the door when he left. I took a couple of deep breaths and wiped my sweaty palms on my pants legs.

Much as the thought of losing him made my heart ache, I knew the best thing I could do for both of us was to break up with him now, before I had a chance to hurt him any more. Because if he was just staying with me because he believed he’d change me, then our relationship was doomed. If I were a good, nice person, I’d save him a lot of heartache and set him free.

I guess I’m not a good, nice person. That sucks.

The weekend passed uneventfully, which was a nice change. Brian called on Saturday, just like he said he would, but it wasn’t a very productive phone call. I suppose the fact that he didn’t break up with me over the phone could be considered a good thing.

I awoke Monday morning feeling much better, having slept well for three nights in a row. Maybe the sleepwalking had run its course.

I decided after all the unpleasantness that I had to make the first move to patch things up with Brian, so first thing Monday morning, I went online and ordered a big, honkin’ vase of white roses. I had them sent to his office. I wasn’t up to a mushy card, so all I said was I’m sorry I was such a bitch.

I spent a lot of time smiling as I rode the good ol’ Paoli Local into Philadelphia. I could just imagine what the rest of the stuffy lawyers in Brian’s firm thought about him receiving flowers from his girlfriend. He wouldn’t hear the end of it for weeks. But I knew the ribbing wouldn’t bother him, that he’d probably secretly enjoy it.

I got off the train at Suburban Station and walked to my office near Liberty Place. It was a beautiful March day, sunny and warm and full of promise. I was feeling damn good about myself for once.

My office building houses two mid-sized accounting firms, a private investigator, and me. We make for an interesting assortment. I don’t keep what you would call regular office hours because I travel so much. But whenever I’m in town, I try to spend a little time there, catching up with the paperwork. You wouldn’t believe the paperwork that goes with being an exorcist. I have to document every exorcism and file a report with the US Exorcism Board, our governing body.

I hadn’t even finished booting up my computer when someone knocked on my office door.

“Come in,” I called, not fully paying attention yet. I was trying to will my computer to hurry up and get booted. It was past time I upgrade to a new one, but it was such a hassle I kept procrastinating.

My computer was still chugging away when I finally gave up and turned to the doorway. I froze in surprise when I saw Adam White standing there.

Adam is the head of Special Forces, the branch of the police department that deals with rogue demons. Coincidentally, he’s also a demon himself. There are lots of people — including me — who think this is a case of the fox guarding the henhouse. But in some ways, it’s very practical. Adam can take on another demon in hand-to-hand combat and win. That’s not something you can say about us mere mortals.

When he saw he had my attention, he smiled and took a seat in front of my desk, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He’s quite a treat to the eyes, and he knows it. About six-two and a little over two hundred pounds, all of it sculpted muscle. Short, dark hair that’s almost black, and bedroom eyes that remind me of hot caramel.

Of course, I don’t know why he’s so proud of his appearance. It’s not him that looks so good, it’s his host.

The Spirit Society favors the good-looking to host the Higher Powers, as they call demons. Higher Powers my ass! Demons call themselves demons. They say they predate the Bible by a long way, and that their name for themselves has been corrupted by humans. But the Society has decided “demon” is some kind of ethnic slur. I can’t tell you how many times my mom washed my mouth out with soap for calling them “demons.”

Naturally, since Adam is a demon, I dislike him on principle. He knows that, so I was surprised to see him in my office.

“What can I do for you, Adam?” I asked, sounding wary even to my own ears.

One corner of his mouth lifted into a hint of a grin at my tone, but it dropped quickly. I realized belatedly that he wasn’t a happy camper at the moment. There was a hint of a frown line between his brows, and I might almost have called the look in his eyes “haunted.”

He took a deep breath, as though bracing himself, then held his head up and met my eyes. “I need you to perform an exorcism.”

My jaw dropped, and I was at a loss for words. A rarity for me, let me tell you.

He didn’t seem to need me to say anything just yet. “Did you hear about the attack by God’s Wrath this weekend?”

God’s Wrath is one of the many anti-demon hate groups. Some of them try to battle the Minions of Satan — as they call demons — in the courts, trying to have the Spirit Society outlawed once more. God’s Wrath is more on the militant side. One of their specialties is arson, burning demons and their hosts alive in the Cleansing Fire of God. Yes, when they talk, everything sounds like it has capital letters.

I’d been too self-involved this weekend to read the paper or watch the news, so I didn’t know what God’s little helpers had been up to.

“Do you remember about three weeks ago that fire they set in South Philly?”

I remembered. The fire had killed an upstanding legal demon and his pregnant lover. They’d had another child, a little girl, who was trapped in the house. One of the demon firefighters rescued her, grabbing the child and then jumping from the top of the three-story building to the sidewalk below, taking all the impact with his legs to protect the child he held. That had to hurt. The child had lived, and the demon’s legs had no doubt healed within a few hours.

“I remember,” I said, because Adam was waiting for my answer.

Adam’s face was grim and tight. “The firefighter was Dominic Castello. This weekend, God’s Wrath decided to punish him for rescuing the Spawn of Satan.”

I groaned. I hate demons with the best of them, but even I don’t think it’s a bad thing to rescue a three-year-old girl from a burning building just because her daddy happens to be hosting a demon.

“They wanted to teach him a lesson, not kill him,” Adam continued. “So nine of them ambushed him in front of his house, armed with baseball bats and crowbars.”

I winced in sympathy even as I began to realize where this story was going.

Adam looked miserable. “He was only trying to defend himself.” He met my eyes, a look of earnest entreaty in his own. “We feel pain, you know. We can tolerate it better than humans, but we have our limits.”

“What happened?” I asked softly. But I already knew.

Adam hung his head. “They beat him until he lost control. He went berserk and fought back. Only until he was able to break free and run, but the damage was already done. He killed one, and another is in the hospital on life support.”

I’m not used to sympathizing with the demons, but I was making an exception this time.

Demons don’t have the same rights as humans. According to the law, it doesn’t matter what the extenuating circumstances are. If a demon goes rogue — in other words, is involved in a violent crime — it’s going to be exorcized. Period. And there would be no long, drawn-out trial. Hell, they didn’t even have the right to a lawyer, though some judges let them have one anyway. Certainly there was no jury of their peers.

“So he’s the one you want me to exorcize.”

Adam nodded. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn there was a hint of tears in his eyes.

I’m usually hired by family members, and only when the court-appointed exorcist has already failed. I couldn’t think of another time when a demon had hired me, but it sure looked like that was what was happening here.

“Why are you coming to me?” I asked, then winced at my less-than-tactful tone.

Adam didn’t take offense. “He and I have what you might call a history together. We’ve been friends ever since we came to the Mortal Plain, and our hosts were friends even before that. This is going to be difficult for all of us. We need the exorcism to work smoothly and quickly. And you’re the best there is.”

That made me squirm. “So your host is…aware of what’s going on?”

Adam’s eyes skewered me. “You know he is.”

I looked away. Yeah, I knew. And this was one exorcism I wasn’t too eager to perform.

“Will you do it?” Adam asked.

I sighed. How could I refuse? Dominic Castello was getting one hell of a raw deal. Better to get it over with quickly than to make him suffer. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

He couldn’t quite bring himself to thank me, but he managed a little nod of acknowledgment.