Chapter 10

At least the breeze was cool, even if feeling it across her brow reminded her a little too forcibly of her ordeal on the roof earlier. The wind he’d kicked up, how could he—oh, right. Dumb question. Witches could do just about anything. She was so used to thinking of powers as specific skill sets that didn’t translate; fire demons like Greyson could burn anything and had some basic mental powers but couldn’t read people the way she could or the way any psyche demon could, for example.

But witches weren’t bound by any of that. They dealt with energy, with the molecular structure of things, and could make almost anything bow to their will. It was one reason they kept such a rigid hierarchy.

Tera answered on the third ring. “Hey! I thought you were away.” She sounded awfully chipper for one in the morning, but then she’d probably still been awake; Tera never seemed to need sleep.

“Yeah, I am.” Megan bit her lip and, feeling a little guilty, turned her back on Spud, who had come out with her to keep watch. “I’ve, um, I’ve got a little bit of a problem here, and I was wondering . . . I was hoping you could come. Here. I’m at the Bellreive Hotel.”

Pause. “What kind of trouble? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay, but . . . it seems someone is trying to kill me. And I could really use your help.”

“One of the demons? Do you need me to bring soldiers? How many? What—”

“No, no, don’t do that.” Megan wanted to roll her eyes at the idea of Tera showing up with an army of witches ready to blast holes in the Bellreive’s stone walls, but she couldn’t. The truth was, it warmed her heart. The truth was, Tera would do it in a second too. “It’s . . . I hate to say this, Tera, but I think it’s a witch. Or at least it was a witch earlier. He tried to throw me off the roof.”

“No. Why would a witch try to kill you? Why throw you off the roof? One of us could kill you just like that, you know. There’s so many easier ways to do it. We certainly don’t need—”

Megan shuddered. “Yes, thank you for that reminder. But it wasn’t a demon, and he did magic. He did a spell to get us on the roof and another one to control the wind. He made the wind blow harder.”

“Shit.” Tera paused, for so long Megan wondered if she was still there. “Weather magic is very difficult. He must be incredibly skilled. How did you manage to escape?”

She explained and added, “But there’s no body. His body, it just isn’t there. So if you—please, Tera. We really need you here. Can you come? For a few days?”

“We?”

“Greyson and I. He told me to call you and ask you to come. I mean, I said I wanted to, and he said he thought it was a good idea and that you should.”

“Greyson wants me there?”

“Yes.”

“To stay there, at the hotel?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. I guess this really is serious.”

Megan was prepared for what Tera said next, even allowed herself a small smile. It was exactly what Greyson said she would ask, and Megan answered the questions the way he’d told her to. “Yes, he’ll pay for your room. Yes, a big room, at least a double, and he’s trying to get you a view. Yes, he’ll cover all your bills while you’re here. Yes, all of them. Even pay-per-view. And the bar and the boutiques, sure. No, I don’t need to double-check, he said all, and that means all.”

Finally Tera asked, “You do know I would come anyway, right?”

“Yes, I know.”

“But if he’s offering to pay, I just want to be sure I know what’s covered. I mean, demons are pretty well known for trying to get around their promises.”

“Sure.” Megan glanced back inside. The clerk was on the phone; Malleus saw her looking and gave her a thumbs-up. He was the only person she knew who still did that.

“Okay. I can be there in an hour or so. What room are you in?”

“Fourteen—Hold on.” The glass lobby doors parted with a faint whir; the men stepped out onto the dark green carpet that lay just past it.

“The FBI agent’s gone to the Windbreaker Hotel,” Greyson said. He didn’t look happy about it; she could sense his tension.

Not surprising that he would be tense, really. Of all the places for their wandering FBI agent to have wandered, that was the last place Megan would have expected. “Where the exorcism thing is happening?”

He nodded, his face grim. “She told the clerk she had to help Reverend What’s-his-name rid the world of demons.”

The contrast between the Bellreive and the Windbreaker couldn’t have been sharper had it been etched with a razor blade. Where the Bellreive’s lobby was a wide expanse of gleaming marble and shining wood, with suited bellhops and desk staff, the Windbreaker’s lobby was muggy and loud with ancient air conditioning. The desk, a cheap slab of veneered pressboard, was empty; yellowish lights shone from the ceiling.

“We’re going to need to roust a clerk,” Greyson said. “I seriously doubt the good reverend is playing with his snakes this late at night. He’ll be in his room.”

“We should have waited for Tera.” Megan hugged herself tighter; the buzzing at the base of her neck was growing. Something wasn’t right there, not right at all. There was an . . . an emptiness in the building, somehow.

“Roc will get her here,” he replied. His knuckles made a hollow sound on the desktop. “If our friendly G-girl is in mortal danger, it’s best not to waste any time. We have enough to do this week without getting involved in some silly police business.”

“Right.” The goosebumps on her arms refused to be soothed away, no matter how hard she rubbed. There was really no reason for her to be so nervous, none that she could see. Whatever the odd emptiness was, that blank sort of pressure she felt, it didn’t threaten. The brothers stood around her and Greyson, their poses confident and prepared; she didn’t think a moth would be able to get past them, much less anything else.

Malleus caught her looking around. “Don’t you fret none, m’lady. Nowt’ll ’appen wiv us around.”

“Yeh.”

Greyson knocked on the desk again. “What a rathole.”

She felt the clerk coming before she saw him, the stirring of thoughts and emotions in a back room.

Wait. How did she feel that? She wasn’t open. Wasn’t focusing. Usually in order to sense people in other rooms, she had to lower her shields a little. She’d had to earlier, when she felt Agent Reid and the wi—

No. That wasn’t what she’d felt; at least it hadn’t been what she thought she felt. She’d thought it was a demon. But why?

The clerk, a large man with dandruff dusting his cheap suit and the shiny look of someone who’d been sleeping rough, ambled out from behind a wall. “What do you need?”

“I believe you have a guest here by the name of Walther? Reverend Walther?”

“I can’t give out that information, man. Our guests are—”

Greyson leaned forward. Megan felt his power slide through the air. “I think you can,” he said softly. “Why not tell me his room number? That’s all I need. It’s not so much to ask, is it? No. Of course not. It’s the right thing to do, really. So why not?”

A moment of silence, Greyson’s power curling in the air. Megan shivered, and not just from the weight of it. That power was everything she felt in the hidden hours they spent together, alone, and her body responded. Couldn’t help but respond.

His free hand reached for her, stroked her arm. The touch whispered through her body; she felt it spread through his as well, but he didn’t look at her. He couldn’t, she knew. To break eye contact with the clerk would break the hold on him as well.

“Room three thirty-three,” the clerk said finally, in the slightly dreamy tone of someone asleep.

“Has he had any visitors this evening? Anyone ask for him?”

“A woman came, half an hour ago. The reverend came down and met her. They went back to his room.”