I unlocked my door and went inside.
“Tom!” Rachel ran to the door. “Where the hell—what happened?” She raised her fist to punch me in the chest. Then she stopped.
Georgeanne was behind her. “Tom? Did you find Vivian? What happened?”
“I don’t—” I pushed the door closed with my heel and leaned against the wall. “I don’t remember. I was there, in the apartment, and then . . .” I shook my head. “I don’t remember.”
Rachel looked at Georgeanne. Georgeanne nodded and put a hand on my arm. “You look like you need some sleep. Let’s get you to bed.”
I pulled my arm away. “Just let me sit down. Get me some water.” I made my way slowly to the sofa. Rachel went into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of water.
Georgeanne sat next to me. “You okay?” She stroked my shoulder. “What happened?”
My head hurt. “I don’t know.” I gulped some water and leaned forward to set it down on the coffee table.
The book lay open in front of me.
I kicked the table, toppling it over, knocking it over, spilling the magazines and the remote and a bottle of wine—and the book—onto the rug.
Rachel came out of the bedroom, holding something behind her back. “What’s wrong?”
“That book!” I jumped up, jabbing my finger. “Get rid of it! Burn it!”
“Calm down.” Georgeanne grabbed my arm again. Tight.
“Stop touching me!” I tried to yank my arm free, but she was strong. “Let go of me, bitch!”
I tried to swing a fist at her, but she blocked it with her other arm and shoved at my chest, pushing me to the floor. Then she was on top of me, legs around my body, clutching my wrists as I twisted and squirmed, trying to kick free.
Rachel kneeled next to me. “Roll him over.”
Georgeanne grunted and clamped a hand on my shoulder. I fought, cursing them viciously, using words from a language I didn’t recognize, but they managed to force me onto my chest, my face pressing into the rug.
They pulled my arms back, and I felt metal close with a click around my wrists. Handcuffs. Another pair went around my ankles.
Georgeanne rolled me face up again. Rachel gazed down at me.
“Sorry, Tom.” She shook her head. “I guess Balmon didn’t figure out that I’m psychic. George?”
She stood next to Rachel, holding the book. The Tome of the Unholy. “I put a Post-it here, give me a second—okay, here we are. Get ready.”
Rachel planted a knee on one of my shoulders. “Go back to hell, Balmon.”
I roared. Or Balmon roared, using my throat. It tried to summon up the darkness inside me, spew it forth over Rachel and Georgeanne, bring them into the darkness with me—
Then Georgeanne started reading in Latin.
I understood the words. Balmon did, anyway, and it hated them. They burned, like hot pokers jabbing into its heart. Or whatever it had at the core of its being. I felt the pain shoot through my body, felt the demon struggle to stay inside me as Georgeanne kept speaking, my muscles pulling at the cuffs, trying to rock back and forth as Rachel held me, her hazelnut eyes fierce—except I felt a drop fall on my cheek, a tear as she watched me, gritting her teeth, determined to hold me down until the thing was gone—
Then suddenly it fled. I felt a release surge through me, body and brain as the demon burst out of me like that thing from Alien. I groaned, gasping for air, then squeaked, “Watch out! It’ll try—it’ll try—”
The black cloud rose above me, spinning wildly in the air, veering one way and then the other, searching for a new victim to possess, But Georgeanne kept reading, her voice steady and firm. The cloud quivered, closed in on itself, dropped and lifted again, reaching the ceiling, and then it suddenly exploded outward like a dark star in a silent supernova, scattering particles of dust that vanished as they fell.
Georgeanne closed the book with a snap. “I think it’s gone.”
Rachel leaned down close to my face. “You all right?”
I nodded. “Can you take the handcuffs off now?”
“Jerk.” But she kissed me.
Lauren DiBello called me two days later. “They dropped the charges. I don’t know if anybody believed their story about summoning demons, but Vivian was pretty convincing that it wasn’t her sister’s fault. So send me your invoice. Leave the bit about you getting possessed by a demon out of the formal report. I don’t want the senior partners to question your sanity. Or mine.”
“Hey, at least I didn’t have to hire an actual exorcist. I don’t know what their fees are like.”
She snorted. “Just take care of yourself.”
We hung up. I turned to Rachel. “Case closed.”
“Thanks to Georgeanne.” She crossed a leg over her knee from her desk. “She texted to see how you’re doing, by the way.”
Georgeanne had left for her assignment yesterday. We had no idea where she was, or when we’d see her again. It was kind of exciting.
“Good thing she speaks Latin,” I said.
“And that I had handcuffs. I had to explain more about our sex life that I usually do, but she took it well.”
I chuckled. I’d slept most of yesterday, waking up to kiss Georgeanne goodbye before collapsing into bed again. After a few nightmares, I was feeling better today.
As far as I could tell, all the demons had left once Georgeanne exorcised me. Vivian woke up the next morning with only vague memories of being possessed after the shooting, and no memory of me. The two guys were gone, and there were no reports on suspiciously demonic behavior in the news. Getting rid of Balmon apparently sent the rest of it back to Hell.
“So now we’re even.” Rachel pointed a finger at me. “We’ve both been possessed by demons.”
It had happened to Rachel several years ago. She’s never let me forget it. “Yeah, we’ve got that in common. It’s good to share things in a relationship.”
“Let’s stick to doing the dishes, okay? At least for a while.” She turned back to her computer.
“Thanks again for saving me, by the way.”
“As long as I don’t have to do it too often.”
“Deal.”
She snorted. “Hah! Next case I’ll be saving your ass again, like always.”
“Probably.” I smiled, then went back to work.
# # #
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