Spell Bound - Kelley Armstrong [30]
“A week from Thursday works for me.”
I laughed and took another shot.
“Lucifer is not the prince of darkness, by the way,” Adam said.
“Yeah, yeah. I was being dramatic. Lucifer is only another lord demon. A particularly nasty lord demon, though, which is why we don’t want him getting involved.”
“Mmm. I wouldn’t say nasty. Dangerous. Not nasty. There’s a difference. You, for example, are dangerous, but not nasty.”
He launched into a mini-seminar on Lucifer, the angel who refused to serve humans and was, for his hubris, cast out of heaven. Personally, I’ve always kind of sided with Lucifer on that one. It would be like Paige bringing home a two-year-old and telling me I had to do his bidding. Um, no. Ask me nicely, and I’ll help take care of him, but I don’t bow to anyone who hasn’t proved himself worthy. I’m sure, in Lucifer’s case, there was more to it than that, but I can’t help thinking he got a raw deal.
“Lucifer retains the powers of an angel, including his sword of judgment, which can send souls to purgatory.” Adam was still talking as we finally staggered out of the cocktail lounge. “Whether that’s true or not, nobody knows, but it’s an interesting piece of lore.”
“You know, alcohol brings out different things in everyone,” I said. “For you, it releases your inner librarian.”
“Sexy, isn’t it?”
“Totally.”
He put his arm around my neck as we set out across the road. “Remember I was doing some research on Persian demonology last week? Did I ever tell you what I found?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re about to.”
We shared a motel room again. We could only get one bed this time, so we decided to flip for it. At some point while searching for a coin we both ended up on it and, well, just never got up again. Next thing I knew, I woke curled up at the foot of the bed with Adam’s feet in my face.
I pulled off his socks, left them by his face, and went in search of coffee. If I’d had to go far, I’d have abandoned the quest—I didn’t want him freaking out because I’d gone into the assassin-infested streets alone. But there was a café beside the cocktail lounge. Just as trendy, unfortunately. I overpaid for a plain cup of coffee, got him a drink, and grabbed a pastry assortment.
He was waiting at the door when I got back.
“It was directly across the road,” I said, handing him his drink as we backed into the room. “I even looked both ways before crossing.”
He lifted the cup and sniffed. “Cinnamon? With whipped cream?”
“Yes, it’s a girly drink and I know you love it, so having made your token protest, shut up and drink. You can go scale a mountain or something after. Reclaim your manhood.”
“Well, they do have mountains in Arizona.”
“Is that still the plan, then?” I sat on the edge of the bed and took a muffin from the bag. “Head to Arizona? Focus on my little witch-hunter?”
“On a grand scale, she’s the minor threat. But she’s the major threat to you, so that’s the one I’m chasing first.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“No, this is sweet.” He lifted his cup. “What did you do? Double the syrup?”
“Yes. It cost extra, but you’re worth it. Now drink it while we tackle today’s tidal wave of e-mail panic and see if there’s anything useful in it.”
Same song; second verse. More supernaturals had heard of the threat. More demanded answers. None offered to help.
“And none offering any useful information,” I said. When Adam didn’t answer, I glanced over to see his gaze fixed on his screen.
“Got one for you.” He turned his laptop to face me.
My name is Gary Schmidt. I’m a necromancer. We’ve never met, but I think you know who I am. At least, you know my work. Leah O’Donnell.
“Son of a bitch,” I said. “This is the guy who put Leah into Jesse’s body. He has the nerve to contact me? To do what?”
To apologize, it seemed. Leah had said she’d gone to an old necromancer contact and “convinced” him to do the ritual. Schmidt wrote that she’d used her Volo powers to play poltergeist. Deadly poltergeist, first killing their cat, then knocking Schmidt’s wife over a second-story banister.