Read Online Mortal Danger by Eileen Wilks - Free Book Online

something, but Patrick couldn’t hear it over the pounding music. Patrick shook his head, still smiling, and gestured at his ears.
    Before Beer Belly could become a problem, the bartender slid Patrick’s drink to him. Patrick turned to him, his left hand grasping on the staff, his expression pleasant and friendly. “Thanks, asshole.”
    The man blinked. He hadn’t heard the words, of course, in all this din. Just the tone, the melodious crawl of Patrick’s voice… augmented by the staff he couldn’t see.
    None of these fools saw anything that mattered. Not the demon, not the staff, and only what Patrick allowed them to see of himself. Like right now. As the music crashed to a stop, the dazed bartender stammered, “On the house. Your drink’s on the house, man.”
    “You recognized me.” Patrick gave that just a touch of chagrin. “I hope you won’t tell anyone I’m here. Sometimes I need to get away, you know? Relax with real people.”
    “Hell, no, of course I won’t say anything. Wouldn’t blow your cover for the world, man.”
    “Thanks.” Patrick turned his back on the man, wondering idly who he thought Patrick was. Someone powerful, of course. Someone the man privately revered, but who would a turd like that look up to?
    Didn’t matter. It was easier to let them make up their own version of who he was. All he had to do was persuade them he was important, someone to admire and serve. He’d always been good at that. Now, with the staff backing him up, he was invincible.
    “Invincible,” he murmured into his glass before taking a sip. He liked the sound of the word, the sheer truth of it. The bitch wouldn’t win, and he would be the one to take her down. Personally. His hand slid lovingly along the staff.
    The band swung into another song—something about boot-stomping, with a heavy, driving rhythm. Patrick’s mouth tightened. He hated country music. Bunch of losers whining about their lousy lives, that’s all they were.
    “So are you gonna fuck the blonde or just do her?”
    This time Patrick was able to ignore the mouthy little twit. He continued to look over the crowd, searching for the right one. The staff wasn’t picky. It would take whatever he fed it—and it needed feeding often. She had done something to it, changed it, while he was in… that place. With Her.
    But that was part of the plan. All part of the plan, and it wasn’t so bad, after all, though he’d been upset when he realized how often… but a good workman takes care of his tools. That’s what his father always said, and what was the staff but a tool? His tool.
    There. The girl in the red T-shirt and short black skirt. She was looking for some action tonight, wasn’t she? Look how she smiled at that cowboy she was dancing with… he’d separate them easily enough. Patrick started for the edge of the dance floor so he could be in place when the current dance ended.
    Maybe he’d outlaw country music once he was in charge. Death to all who worship Kenny Chesney , he thought, and chuckled.
    The girl tossed her head and her hair flew out, a shimmering light brown halo alive with youth, motion, and light. And that, too, was temporary. Quite temporary.

FIVE
    FORTY-FIVE minutes after learning she might be possessed, Lily was wearing underwear, a hospital gown, and the toltoi on its gold chain. She sat in a hospital bed with the head cranked up, the TV turned off, and a roomful of people.
    For a while, it had looked like she’d be thrown out instead of admitted. She hadn’t been sure which outcome to root for.
    The hospital authorities were prepared to tolerate a certain degree of deviation from scientific methods. Native healers were in vogue—a number of Hollywood types had been singing the praises of shamanistic healing—and Nettie had a quietly powerful reputation among the medical community. But the prospect of a mini-exorcism held within their respectable walls had pushed them past their comfort level.
    And that’s