People around us had noticed the commotion—and the guns—but no one seemed to be panicking. I could see the people driving down the street glancing out the window at the action, but they kept driving, and the pedestrians—most of them, anyway—just changed directions and walked hurriedly the other way. And they call Philadelphia the “City of Brotherly Love.” Yeah, right.
A gum-cracking teenaged girl called 911 on her cell phone while she stared, wide-eyed, at the trail of blood Raphael had left on the steps. I was way too shaken up to walk, so I crawled over to where he lay on the sidewalk, his arms wrapped around his belly, his body curled around itself. He was making little moaning sounds as if he were in dire pain, but when I got close enough, he made eye contact and I could see he was fine.
You see, Tommy Brewster isn’t just any old demon host. He was a product of Raphael and Dougal’s genetic experiments, and he healed even more quickly than normal demons. In fact, I’d seen Dick—Saul’s current host, who was from the same “batch” as Tommy—get shot in the head twice and barely pause long enough to blink. Of course, the general population doesn’t know about the experiments, or the superhosts those experiments produced. And it’s probably better that way.
The teenaged girl was the only pedestrian to make any move to help us in the heat of the moment, but now that it seemed like the shooting was over, we were beginning to draw a crowd. No one seemed to want to get too close—like they were afraid getting shot was contagious—but it was far more attention than I was comfortable with. I don’t know if the bullet Raphael had taken would have killed a normal host, but it certainly would have hurt one very badly.
The teenager closed her phone, though not before surreptitiously snapping a photo. Camera phones have to be the devil’s own invention.
“An ambulance is coming,” she said, leaning over Raphael to get a better look. “Is he gonna die?”
I wanted to tell her to back off, but she had called an ambulance, which made her into something like a Good Samaritan. I try not to bite the heads off Good Samaritans even when my head hurts like a son of a bitch and I have problems up the wazoo.
“He’ll be all right,” I said. “He’s a demon.”
The girl’s eyes widened. She made the sign of the cross, then backed away hastily. I think she was regretting calling the ambulance. I guess when you’re in a heavily Italian neighborhood, you have to expect a lot of Catholics, and the Catholic church would never accept demons as the good guys.
Raphael started sitting up, and now it wasn’t only the girl taking a step back. I bit my lip, wondering where Adam was. I couldn’t figure out whether I hoped he’d caught Foreman or not. At least I hadn’t heard any more gunshots.
“Should you be sitting up yet?” I asked Raphael. It was just beginning to dawn on me that Raphael had maybe saved Adam’s life and had taken a bullet for his efforts. I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around the concept.
“I’m fine,” he said, one arm still pressed tightly to his abdomen. “It’s just a flesh wound.” He managed something that passed for a sickly grin, but I suspect the wound had healed completely already.
I looked at the blood that soaked his shirt and that trailed down the steps. The evidence pointed to far more than a flesh wound. And in broad daylight, with witnesses surrounding us and an ambulance and police on the way, there was no way we could hide anything.
Sirens wailed in the distance, and I would have loved to flee. The police had seen far too much of me since Lugh had come into my life, and my being at the site of yet another violent crime was not going to help my less-than-squeaky-clean image. Where the hell was Adam? I wasn’t doing his reputation much good, either, since he’d been forced to extricate me from a number of delicate situations, but I really hated the idea of talking to the police without him present.
My silent prayers went unanswered, and the emergency vehicles converged before Adam put in an appearance.
sixteen
I DIDN’T MAKE ANY NEW FRIENDS IN THE POLICE department that night.
Despite his showy wound, Raphael managed to avoid being shuffled off to the hospital. He wouldn’t even let the EMTs take a quick look—probably because the wound was already gone, and even a demon should still have some sign of injury left. I have no idea what they would have made of the nonexistent wound, and I was just as happy not to find out.
While Raphael was arguing with the EMTs, one of the officers who’d arrived on the scene took me aside to get my statement. That’s when I started making a nuisance of myself.
Obviously, I couldn’t explain to the police exactly what I was doing here, nor could I offer any theories on why Jonathan Foreman had shot at us. But I’m a lousy liar in the best of times, and with that blacksmith still hammering away at my skull, I just didn’t have the … creativity to come up with a plausible explanation. Just as well, because Raphael’s story and mine wouldn’t gel, seeing as we hadn’t had a chance to consult with each other. So I decided to tell the nice policeman the facts, and only the facts. Adam knocked on the door. Raphael pushed him out of the way, getting shot in the process. And someone, presumably Foreman, had taken off with Adam in hot pursuit.
I refused to say what the three of us were doing on Foreman’s doorstep. I can’t imagine how many red flags my refusal set to waving, but I figured if I couldn’t come up with a plausible story, I was better off saying nothing. I hoped Raphael was doing the same, even though he could probably come up with three plausible-sounding stories without breaking a sweat.
Things were getting pretty tense, and I was afraid they were about to arrest me—for what, I’m not sure—when Adam finally sauntered back onto the scene. Okay, he wasn’t really sauntering, but he couldn’t possibly move fast enough to satisfy me. I hadn’t exactly been watching the time, but it felt like approximately forever since he’d run off after Jonathan Foreman, and I couldn’t imagine what had taken so long. With their demon-enhanced endurance, the two of them could have run to New Jersey and back in the time Adam had been gone!
The cops turned their attention to Adam, who I suppose they felt was a more reliable witness than Raphael and me. We were told in no uncertain terms, however, that we were not to leave the scene. We sat together on the steps—careful to avoid the blood—and didn’t speak to each other. I think we both noticed the cop who was “nonchalantly” hanging out within hearing distance, no doubt hoping he’d get to overhear the real story. He clearly wasn’t cut out for undercover work, though he tried to keep up the illusion that he was busy.
I was overflowing with questions myself by now, but I knew I wasn’t getting answers anytime soon.
What had happened to Jonathan Foreman? Why had he shot at us? He couldn’t possibly know we were after him, could he? And what story was Adam telling his fellow officers that would explain this mess away?
Raphael and I sat in silence for the better part of an hour as twilight fell, then faded to full dark. He kept one arm pressed against his midsection, where the bullet wound should have been, the whole time. Me, I’d have forgotten about it and flashed the healed skin as soon as my concentration waned. Of course, if you’re going to be any good at lying—and Raphael was a master—you’ve got to learn to stick to your cover story.
Finally, the police were done with Adam. They had some stern words for me and Raphael, but said we could go home. Hallelujah!
We’d driven to Foreman’s place in Adam’s unmarked, which was parked around the block. By unspoken agreement, none of us spoke until we were in the car and on our way. I doubt anyone could possibly have overheard us, but you can never be too careful. Raphael even kept up the injured act until he was safely sprawled in the backseat.
“What happened to Foreman?” I asked, as soon as my paranoia thought it was safe to speak.
“If all went well, he’ll be at my place right about now,” Adam said.
I swallowed a laugh. All had most definitely not gone well! “How the hell did he get to your place? Assuming he did.”
br />
“I caught up with him a few blocks from here. I Tasered him, then called Dom and Saul to come pick him up. That’s why it took me so long to get back to the crime scene—I had to wait for them to show up.”
Raphael stirred in the backseat. “You left him with only Dominic and Saul as guards?” He didn’t sound happy.
Adam glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “I didn’t have a lot of options. But they’ve both got Tasers, and they’re not idiots. They’ll keep him contained.”
“If you get my son killed, I’ll eat your liver,” Raphael said, his voice as calm as if he’d said “I think it’s going to rain tomorrow.” Saul might despise Raphael, but Raphael didn’t seem to hold that against him.
I could see Adam’s hands tighten briefly on the steering wheel, and it occurred to me that with someone like Raphael, that threat might have been meant literally. I fought to suppress a shudder.
“What did you tell the police?” I asked Adam, figuring now was a good time to change the subject.
“I kept it pretty vague and mostly stuck to the truth. I told them we’d stopped by to talk to Foreman on a personal matter, and that none of the three of us had ever met him in person. Then I told them what happened—though of course I told them Foreman got away after I fired my Taser at him and missed.”
“And they were satisfied with that?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
“No, of course not. I had no good explanation for why a complete stranger would shoot at us when we came to the door. And they didn’t much like me not telling them why we were coming to see Foreman. But there’s no law that says I have to tell them, so I didn’t. My lack of cooperation isn’t going to go down well with the brass, especially so soon after I ‘lost’ my Taser, but what else could I do, especially when I didn’t know what the two of you might have said?”
Raphael made a disdainful noise in the backseat. “We were smart enough to keep our mouths shut even without having you there to advise us.”
Adam gave him a dirty look in the rearview mirror, but didn’t otherwise comment. I had a feeling “the brass” was going to be giving Adam more than just a hard time about this. He hadn’t exactly been flying under the radar lately, and his involvement with me and all of my troubles had put him on the hot seat before. Still, that was his problem. I had enough problems of my own to worry about.
We were silent until we came to the next red light, at which point Adam looked at Raphael over his shoulder.
“Why did you push me out of the way?”
“I heard—”
“A gun being cocked. Yeah, I heard that, too, about half a second too late. I didn’t ask how you knew Foreman was going to take a shot at us. I asked why you took the bullet for me.”
The light turned green, and despite the weighty question, Adam turned to face front and kept driving. I kept an eye on Raphael, who was looking out the side window, his expression thoughtful.
“Because I could survive even a gunshot wound to the head,” he finally answered. “You couldn’t.” He turned his head, meeting Adam’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “If I’d known it would be a gut shot, I’d have been more than happy to let you take it.”
Adam made a soft snorting sound. Then, after a brief hesitation, he said, “Thank you.” I don’t think the words came easily.
Raphael’s only answer was a silent shrug.
We didn’t speak for the remainder of the ride back to Adam’s house. Adam’s posture eased somewhat when we pulled into the tiny private lot across the street. I guess he was happy to see Dom’s car, though just because the car was there didn’t mean Saul and Dom were safe.
Still giving each other the silent treatment, we trooped into Adam’s house, heading immediately for the stairs to the second floor. We all knew where Saul and Dominic would be keeping our prisoner. It would be far from the first time that room had been used for an interrogation.
The Dreaded Black Room loomed at the head of the stairs and, as always, I felt a flutter of fear in my stomach when we approached it. It was in that room that Adam had interrogated and then murdered the woman I’d once believed to be my best friend. It was also in that room that Adam had whipped me bloody for his own amusement. Nothing good ever came of setting foot inside its confines, but here I was yet again.
I call it the Black Room because everything in it is black. The floor is gleaming black tile. The walls and ceiling are painted a light-absorbing matte black. A massive black iron bed, draped with black silk covers, dominates one end of the room. And one wall is dotted with black pegs, each of which holds a coiled whip, illuminated by the track lighting above.
Jonathan Foreman sat in the far corner of the room, his back against the wall, his knees gathered up to his chest. Foreman was better-looking than Cooper, but he still wasn’t the pinnacle of perfection that used to be required for a Spirit Society member to host a demon. He was kind of pudgy and soft-looking, and his nose was too big for his face. I doubted he was more than twenty-five years old, but he had a severe case of male pattern baldness that made him look middle-aged at first glance.
He looked up when Adam and Raphael and I entered the room, but he made no aggressive moves. Possibly because both Saul and Dominic had Tasers trained on him and he knew it would be pointless. There was a little too much white showing around his eyes, and even at a distance, I could see his chest rising and falling too fast as he panted. He hugged his knees more tightly to his chest and pushed himself more firmly into the corner. Call me crazy, but he didn’t seem much like a shoot first, ask questions later kind of guy.
Adam turned to Raphael. “You’re going to let me handle this, right? Because if you’re planning to Taser me the moment my back is turned, I’d just as soon leave.”
Raphael grinned, apparently enjoying the memory of one of his more badass moments. We’d been interrogating a demon, and we all knew Adam was planning to torture him if he didn’t talk of his own free will. But Raphael came up with his own plan, which was to Taser Adam so he wouldn’t interfere, then douse the demon with gasoline and threaten to light him. The demon had started talking real, real fast.
“This one’s all yours,” Raphael said. “Unless it turns out you need help.”
Adam gave him a long stare, then turned his attention to Foreman. Foreman cringed slightly, reminding me of the pathetic Mary. This was the ringleader for the illegal recruitment campaign? I’d have said Cooper was lying to us, but since Adam had plucked the information straight from his mind, that wasn’t possible.
Adam stalked closer to Foreman, his eyes glowing slightly with demonic light, his body lithe and predatory. Foreman swallowed hard and looked like he might pass out. Adam stopped just out of reach, looming over what looked like one very frightened demon.
“Care to tell me why you tried to shoot me?” he asked. His voice wasn’t particularly sharp or loud, but he still managed to make the question drip with menace.
Foreman swallowed hard again. “I thought you were coming to arrest me,” he said. His voice was thin and whispery, but at least it didn’t shake.
Adam cocked his head. “Why would you think that?”
“You’re Adam White,” Foreman said. “I recognize you from TV. They said they’d report me as a rogue if I didn’t cooperate. When I saw you at the door, I figured I hadn’t cooperated enough.”
Adam had only asked two questions, and already Foreman had raised about a million more with his answers. I had to bite my tongue to keep from butting in. Patience has never been my strong suit. But Adam did this kind of thing for a living, so I figured he’d do a better job than I would at picking the right questions to ask.
“Who are ‘they’?” Adam asked.
Foreman hugged his knees tighter. “If I tell you, will you protect me from them?”
“You say ‘if’ as though you think you have a choice.”
“They’ll kill me,” Foreman said, shaking his head. “I don’t mean they’ll just kill my host, they’ll kill me.?
??
“Would it be more to your liking if we killed you instead?” Raphael asked. We all should have known better than to expect him to keep quiet.
Dominic and Saul were still standing guard, though Dom had lowered his Taser to his side. I could hardly blame him—I couldn’t imagine Foreman making a break for it.
Adam glanced at Saul. Some kind of silent communication must have passed between them, because Saul suddenly grinned and turned his Taser toward Raphael.
“You said you’d let Adam handle this,” Saul said. “I suggest you keep your word. You have no idea how much I want to shoot you.”
Raphael crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall as if it didn’t bother him in the least that his own son was threatening to Taser him. I knew it did bother him—I’d been around him too long not to know that—but he sure didn’t let it show on his face. He feigned a bored look and kept his mouth shut.
Adam turned his attention back to Foreman. “I’m going to be brutally honest with you,” he said. “I can’t promise you protection. Not when I don’t know who I’d be promising to protect you from. What I can promise you is that this will be a very long night for you if you don’t start talking before I lose patience. So, tell me who you think is going to kill you.”
There was a sheen of tears in Foreman’s eyes, and if he’d been any more scared, he’d probably have wet his pants, but he started talking.
“The recruitment team I’m supposed to be running,” Foreman said, looking at the floor instead of at Adam. “We’ve been picking up street people and, er, persuading them to summon demons.”
This time I was the one who had trouble keeping my mouth shut, but I bit my tongue and resisted the urge to say something indignant.
“Now why would you be doing that?” Adam asked.
Foreman looked around as if hoping to find an ally in the room. He was out of luck. He seemed to shrink in on himself as flop sweat made dark circles under his arms.
“Answer the question!” Adam demanded.