in a wedding-ring pattern, and there was another quilt in a star pattern hanging on the wall behind a pane of glass. A small plaque stated that Rebecca had won a contest sewing it. There was prescription medication on the bedside table, a cross on the wall, and books on the bookshelves. I went to examine the books and immediately recognized a few as “recipe” books likely written by Thom Berger’s own ancestors. His ancestors, like mine, had been deeply into magic and the occult. I was looking over what was likely his ancestor’s Book of Shadows when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
Rebecca Berger, dressed more conservatively in jeans and a warm pullover, stood in the doorway. Her hair was again in a ponytail. She stared at me shrewdly. “What are you doing in here?” she asked.
I looked her over. “You seem a bit more coherent than you were yesterday, Mrs. Berger.”
“You don’t need to be in here. Get out.”
“I’m here to help your daughter.”
“I don’t need your help, Profane and Wicked Prince.”
I stopped and stared at Mrs. Berger carefully. It was entirely possible that she had spoken to Zanita in the last few moments, but I seriously doubted that Zanita would have been able to convince her employer of anything as outlandish as I in so short a time. “Well, well, well,” I said. “The gloves come off.” I shrugged my shoulders and tried to “feel” her out, but Rebecca’s aura was blanked. That is, she felt human to me. Muffled. It’s possible for certain creatures to hide their natures from me, especially if they know who I am.
I’m the son of an archangel, but I’m hardly perfect.
I set the Book of Shadows down on the bed. “Who are you?” I asked in the Divine language, the language of the angels. It was the same language that Malach favored. The one that sounded like you were simultaneously clearing your throat and trying to summon Cthulhu up from R’lyeh. Seriously, I don’t know what’s divine or angelic about it; it always reminds me of someone speaking German with strep throat.
Rebecca Berger looked at me carefully. “Why should I tell the Prince of Air my name, that he may hold dominion over me?”
“You will tell me your name because it is my birthright to ask.”
Rebecca, or the thing inside of Rebecca, considered me. I was getting just a little sick of being called fancy Biblical names, but I watched her speak. Just like interviewing suspects, how a demonically controlled person speaks is just as important as what they say. I’ve seen a lot of demonic possession over the years. The thing that always gets me is how nearly perfect it is. Nearly being the important word here. Almost invariably, the person under the influence of possession speaks languages and utilizes syntaxes unknown to them. After all, they’re merely a demon’s poppet. Its voice-piece. To put it another way, they operate like a badly pirated movie where the visual and audio are working just a hair out of synch.
Rebecca’s synch was very good. Her voice was neutral, non-threatening. Absolutely non-demonic, except for the words she used. She’d either been possessed a very long time, or she was faking it. Either way, she would speak to me. She would answer my questions.
The demonic hosts are under my dominion.
“Tell me who you are,” I said. As I spoke, I made eye contact with her and held her even gaze. There were no pyrotechnics involved in the spell, nothing very exciting or dramatic. From the outside it just looked like a silly staring match between two grown people. But I did reach out and capture her. The creature, whatever it was, was mine for the moment. I could feel it wriggling inside of Rebecca Berger’s body like a fish caught out of water. It was a piece of her, but also a piece apart from her. If it was of demonic origin, it would be forced to obey me, regardless of its status or age. If it was something else, it would likely break my hold on it very quickly. “Who
Rebecca Berger, dressed more conservatively in jeans and a warm pullover, stood in the doorway. Her hair was again in a ponytail. She stared at me shrewdly. “What are you doing in here?” she asked.
I looked her over. “You seem a bit more coherent than you were yesterday, Mrs. Berger.”
“You don’t need to be in here. Get out.”
“I’m here to help your daughter.”
“I don’t need your help, Profane and Wicked Prince.”
I stopped and stared at Mrs. Berger carefully. It was entirely possible that she had spoken to Zanita in the last few moments, but I seriously doubted that Zanita would have been able to convince her employer of anything as outlandish as I in so short a time. “Well, well, well,” I said. “The gloves come off.” I shrugged my shoulders and tried to “feel” her out, but Rebecca’s aura was blanked. That is, she felt human to me. Muffled. It’s possible for certain creatures to hide their natures from me, especially if they know who I am.
I’m the son of an archangel, but I’m hardly perfect.
I set the Book of Shadows down on the bed. “Who are you?” I asked in the Divine language, the language of the angels. It was the same language that Malach favored. The one that sounded like you were simultaneously clearing your throat and trying to summon Cthulhu up from R’lyeh. Seriously, I don’t know what’s divine or angelic about it; it always reminds me of someone speaking German with strep throat.
Rebecca Berger looked at me carefully. “Why should I tell the Prince of Air my name, that he may hold dominion over me?”
“You will tell me your name because it is my birthright to ask.”
Rebecca, or the thing inside of Rebecca, considered me. I was getting just a little sick of being called fancy Biblical names, but I watched her speak. Just like interviewing suspects, how a demonically controlled person speaks is just as important as what they say. I’ve seen a lot of demonic possession over the years. The thing that always gets me is how nearly perfect it is. Nearly being the important word here. Almost invariably, the person under the influence of possession speaks languages and utilizes syntaxes unknown to them. After all, they’re merely a demon’s poppet. Its voice-piece. To put it another way, they operate like a badly pirated movie where the visual and audio are working just a hair out of synch.
Rebecca’s synch was very good. Her voice was neutral, non-threatening. Absolutely non-demonic, except for the words she used. She’d either been possessed a very long time, or she was faking it. Either way, she would speak to me. She would answer my questions.
The demonic hosts are under my dominion.
“Tell me who you are,” I said. As I spoke, I made eye contact with her and held her even gaze. There were no pyrotechnics involved in the spell, nothing very exciting or dramatic. From the outside it just looked like a silly staring match between two grown people. But I did reach out and capture her. The creature, whatever it was, was mine for the moment. I could feel it wriggling inside of Rebecca Berger’s body like a fish caught out of water. It was a piece of her, but also a piece apart from her. If it was of demonic origin, it would be forced to obey me, regardless of its status or age. If it was something else, it would likely break my hold on it very quickly. “Who
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