Not that she really expected them to find any here. That would be too easy. The idea that Reverend Walther would open the door and announce, “There you are! I’ve been trying to kill you for days!” was a tad far-fetched.

But then the idea that he had anything at all to do with this was a tad far-fetched, even with the proof—circumstantial though it was—staring her right in the face.

“They were definitely human,” Greyson said as they started walking down the hall.

“So maybe they were possessed?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. They didn’t feel like demon at all. Did you see their Yezer?”

“No, I—no, I didn’t. But they’re supposed to keep hidden, so I wouldn’t.”

“Your Yezer are supposed to keep hidden. If they belong to someone else, they might not.”

True. She nodded. “I’ll ask Roc.”

They’d reached Walther’s room at that point, an unassuming door like all the others, dark wood, with light showing in the slight gap beneath. The brothers stepped back, out of the way, and Greyson knocked.

After a moment a voice came through the door. “How can I help you?”

Shit. Megan hadn’t even thought of what they might say, what sort of cover story they’d need.

Greyson apparently had. When he spoke, his voice had a hesitant twang. “Reverend, we’re looking for our friend?”

He glanced at Megan; she whispered, “Elizabeth.”

“We’re looking for our friend Elizabeth? She left a note saying she was coming to see you, but that was a while ago, and we’re getting—”

Shadows moved across the light on the floor. The door opened.

Megan wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Some John Knox-esque character with raving eyes and a flowing beard, perhaps, or a slick Benny Hinn type with shellacked hair and an oily smile.

Reverend Walther was neither. Pale blue pajamas, frayed at the hems, covered his medium frame and gapped slightly at the front where his belly widened. Silver hair topped his head; his eyes were small and brown and full of what appeared to be honest concern.

“You’re friends with that girl?”

Megan didn’t listen to Greyson’s reply. She was too busy lowering her shields, reaching out to see if she got anything from the man, unsure if she hoped she would.

She did. A church interior. Heads bowed over books. A wife and three daughters at home, dressed in exceedingly modest high-necked, ankle-length dresses. Roast beef and station wagons. Soup kitchens.

And beneath it all something that genuinely scared her, a force that sent cold chills all the way to her toes. Not because it was demonic or otherworldly but because it wasn’t. The reverend was a fanatic. He truly believed in what he was doing, honestly thought he had the power to expel demons and that God wanted him to do so, and he would do anything to obey that command.

Greyson had told her that the Christian God had very little to do with demons anymore, that there was no Hell, and that the concept of a good-versus-evil battle was outdated and silly. Or, rather, that the concept of a good-versus-evil battle being based on religion and the power of God was outdated and silly. Yes, demons did lead humans astray whenever they could, but that was for fun and profit. For power. Not because some devil told them to.

Walther believed the exact opposite, and just standing in the presence of someone with that much self-justified rage and self-exaltation made her twitch.

The other thing she got from him, the last thing, didn’t help either. He didn’t know who she was. Thought she looked familiar but didn’t know her. Didn’t know who or what Greyson and the brothers were.

“—but she left about fifteen minutes ago,” Walther was saying when she snapped back to reality. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you more than that.”

Megan took a deep breath and reached for him with her mind again, focusing on Elizabeth Reid this time.

Yes. Okay. There was Elizabeth, her dark hair a little mussed, her eyes wide and hopeless. And she . . . Wait. She looked fine. Well, not fine; she looked upset, a little spacey. But she didn’t look injured. Her bare arms and exposed throat were free of marks.

So where the hell had all that blood come from?

“I talked to her for a few minutes and told her to come back tomorrow.”

“When you do your exorcisms,” Greyson said.

“When God works through me to cast the demons out,” Walther corrected.

“Of course. Thanks for your time.”

“God bless you,” said Walther, and closed the door.

They walked in silence back to the elevator. Megan didn’t want to speak; too many thoughts circled in her head, too many unanswered questions. Plus, she was afraid Walther would hear. She pictured him with a cheap plastic hotel cup pressed to the door, spying on them. Probably a silly image but one she couldn’t shake, and she didn’t feel like trying to read him again to confirm or refute it.

But the others may have shared her discomfort or caution, because Greyson didn’t speak until the elevator had started to descend. “Well. That was anticlimactic.”

“She weren’t even there,” Malleus agreed. “’Ow’d she get out right past us?”

“Maybe she left out a different exit, or while we were in the ballroom.” Megan leaned against Greyson, who wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “It doesn’t really matter. She’s alive and well anyway. She didn’t even look injured.”

“You saw her? So you could read him, then.”

She nodded without opening her eyes. Exhaustion was starting to hit her hard; her head buzzed with it. Without thinking, she reached out along the psychic line connecting the Yezer to her and gave it a little tug. The energy helped, but she still needed sleep. “He’s kind of a kook. I mean, he’s a fanatic. He really believes what he’s doing. But he’s not evil. Not in an Accuser sort of way, at least.”

“But just as dangerous.” Greyson’s arm tightened around her. “Fanatics always are.”

“That’s so cheering.”

“Hmm. What’s even more cheering is that we have to come back here tomorrow and watch his little show.”

“Right. She wanted his help.” Megan stood up straight, her eyes opening. “She said she thought they could help each other. She didn’t identify herself as FBI; he had no idea who she was. I mean, he figured she was just another wanderer—that’s how he thinks of them, wanderers—looking for spiritual aid.”

“She didn’t say how she could help him?”

“No. But he told her to come back tomorrow morning, and she said she would.”

He sighed as the elevator doors slid open again to reveal the shabby lobby. “And you’re sure whatever attacked her is what came after you?”

“No.” The clerk was sleeping again. The lobby felt too big, too cold; that spot of emptiness still hung around the ballroom door. Megan held Greyson’s hand a little tighter and felt his answering squeeze. “But I feel like it was. What else could it have been? And—oh! I meant to tell you. When I sensed her and whatever attacked me, I thought it was a demon, because it didn’t feel like anything. It felt empty, like the maids did in there.”

Hot air blasted them when Malleus opened the lobby doors. The night waited outside, wrapped itself around them as they crossed the gritty sidewalk. “If she suspects she was attacked by something not human,” Greyson said, “we have a much bigger problem. Why don’t we head back to her room? We can erase the whole thing from her head. No, better yet, Tera can do it.”

Megan hesitated. “I didn’t see whoever it was who attacked me. Maybe she did.”

“You can read her first, then. See if you get anything.”

He was right. She knew he was. But she was so damn tired; her hands were cold despite the heat, her eyelids heavy, and the entire night had been reduced to nothing more than a confused jumble of images. Nothing more than a body falling off the roof, dark against the city lights, that moment of utter silence when she’d watched a man die.