CHAPTER NINE
They grilled the priest for a good two hours, but he didn’t crack, even when the demon nun turned her flaming eyes on him as she pretended to clean her spectacles.
Despite his disheveled state and the liquor on his breath, the young man kept his story straight.
He and Catarine had been close, yes. She’d confided to him on many occasions, over innocent lunches and teas with her and her roommate or with other faculty members – nothing illicit.
Why would their relationship be so strange?
Father Kellan was friends with lots of people, popular and kind and devoted to his calling, to his celibacy and to his Goddess.
The death speaker had tossed him a loaded question at one point, attacking out of the blue: “What was your relationship with the dead girl, Kellan? Did she have some reason to fear you?”
“Fear me?” he’d echoed, aghast. “Goddess, no! Not at all. She was a little slow, I suppose,” he temporized, shifting uncomfortably. “I – I had to give her extra work to catch up with the others. Sometimes, she had to stay after class for help.”
“And I’m sure you were delighted to help her, weren’t you?” Hero purred, letting the implication lie heavy between them.
The priest turned a sickly shade of gray, but his jaw firmed. “I refuse to even entertain such a notion, Inspector. It’s outrageous.”
Oleander was inclined to believe him, and didn’t understand Hero’s suspicion and her vicious line of questioning.
Why, she’d already practically accused the man of having an affair with the dead sister, a scandal of monstrous proportion in a place like Clementine Prep.
Her sly inference of something indecent between them had made even Oleander blush, and he was no celibate priest or virgin nun.
And now this? It was beyond disgusting. Whatever her goal might have been, she’d succeeded only in making Kellan seem even more sympathetic.
Finally, Hero had let Father Kellan go, and by then the other witnesses had left, which had thrown the death speaker into a rage. Mortified, DH Keen had kept behind the inspector as she’d berated the revered mother, tossing the holy woman apologetic looks he hoped Hero wouldn’t catch.
“The children needed to go home, Inspector,” Francesca had explained, unruffled by Hero’s anger, standing firm against it, a powerhouse in her own right and hardly intimidated by the wrath of a half-demon, disgraced nun.
The secular world had no authority over her, after all, an apostate even less so.
“And my sisters and brothers are at their prayers – where I am going, as well. Be glad I paid you this last courtesy before you leave.”
“Then we’ll have to call everyone on that list into the station until we finish our interrogations,” Hero said finally, still angry but obviously defeated by the older woman’s obstinance.
“And if you continue to obstruct this investigation, I’ll have Chief Dewey put you in a cell.
Do you understand me? You might think your holy robes protect you from the likes of me, but I assure you, you are mistaken.
We have two murders on our hands, and possibly two murderers.
The public good outweighs your daily devotionals! ”
That got a rise out of the revered mother. She seemed to grow in stature at the insult and Keen groaned inwardly. She hadn’t been his headmistress then, merely the head of her department, but she’d carried herself the same, as if she was indestructible, infallible. Not to be questioned.
“Leave. Now,” she said stiffly. Her eyes flashed alarmingly, as if her irises might burst into flame to match Hero’s incendiary gaze.
“I will not be disrespected by you, a disgrace to the order. An arsonist. A criminal. They can clean you up and give you a badge, but I know what you are, demon child. I know what you’ve done, and I know what awaits you when you go to your eternal rest.”
This last she said in a hiss. Shockingly, Hero recoiled, her skin as white as paste.
She seemed to shrink, pulling in on herself, becoming child-sized.
Keen was astounded. He’d thought nothing could ruffle his inhuman partner.
A brutalized nun and a broken, dead girl hadn’t.
Hellhounds hadn’t. What had her so horrified now?
“You think I don’t know what awaits me?” The inspector spoke through clenched teeth, her lips drawn back like a rabid dog’s.
The revered mother looked down her nose at her – an impressive feat for such a petite woman, impossible but for Hero’s cowering demeanor.
“Pandemonium has been nipping at my heels my entire life, a punishment earned by nothing but the circumstances of my birth!”
Francesca uttered a disgusted huff. “You earned your place in Hell on your own. And whoever let you out of prison after you tried to murder a good man, a blessed man, deserves a place beside you, too.”
“A blessed man?” Hero’s scowl deepened and suddenly her demeanor shifted again.
Keen blinked, wondering if he was imagining it, but, no, where she’d been shrinking before, now she was growing.
Thin and pale and lithe, still, but decidedly bigger.
Taller, wider, muscles straining against her blood-spattered sleeves.
Small tears left by hellhound claws ripped wider.
“Father Carmichael was more demon than half the creatures resigned to Pandemonium! His crimes were vicious, depraved. So many victims. Too many to count. And your precious order did nothing. Your battle nuns protected him when they were supposed to be shields against evil!”
“Bishop,” Francesca snapped, unmoved by Hero’s raging, scandalous accusations. “You will address him as Bishop Carmichael.”
Hero jerked as if slapped. “Bishop? He was raised ?”
“He was ordained ten years ago and given blessed authority over all the dioceses in greater Havenside. Clementine Preparatory falls under his guidance. I cannot believe he allowed you on the premises, but that just proves what a decent, just man he is!”
A tremor shook the air. Shimmers of heat. The demon ex-nun practically vibrated with barely contained rage. Oleander could feel it, taste it. Alarm rippled through him. His partner was about to do violence.
He acted on pure instinct, reaching into his sash for a vial of Serenity.
It was a temporary potion, a quick-acting palliative to briefly subdue a powerful demon.
He hoped and prayed it had a similar effect on a half-demon.
Otherwise, he would have to fight her again – a perfectly disastrous option.
Luckily, Hero’s entire focus was on Mother Francesca, who stood her ground with remarkable courage.
Or perhaps she was too dense to recognize the danger swiftly looming higher and higher above her.
But even she had to feel the heat radiating from Hero’s alien frame, hear the low growl rising in her chest, see her hands twisting into claws, reaching for that plump throat–
Oleander crushed the vial in his hand and thrust his palm beneath the Inspector’s nose.
She started and reeled toward him, redirecting her rage at this sudden attack.
But the potion was strong, as strong as anything he carried, only to be used in emergencies and difficult to create without a proper apothecarist’s lab.
He might regret this later, but for now it was a great relief to see her demon eyes glazing behind her tinted glasses.
The whirling flames slowed, stilled. If he hadn’t known better, he’d think her eyes were normal.
The air grew still around them, cool and calm.
Hero staggered back a step, returning to normal proportions again – well, normal for her anyway: tall, angular, almost human.
Her mouth grew slack, her jaw sagging, and she allowed him to take her by the arm.
He cast the mother a dark glance, no longer feeling so apologetic for his partner.
The wretched nun had deliberately antagonized the half-demon inspector.
“We will leave as you insisted,” he said stiffly, “but we’ll expect your cooperation from here on out.
Have the witnesses notified, Revered Mother, or you’ll have to answer to the chief. ”
“What did you do to her?” Francesca demanded, voice colored with suspicion. There was a hint of inquisitiveness, too, as if she hoped to learn what he’d done so she could copy it. But a demonhunter never revealed the secrets of his order, any more than she would hers.
“I handled the situation, Mother. Now, I bid you good day.” He steered Hero away from her, eager to leave, but paused when they’d moved only a few steps down the gleaming, empty hall, tossing a final glance at the diminutive nun.
“I urge you to treat Inspector Hero with all due respect from now on, Headmistress. I cannot guarantee any intervention next time. Do you understand?”
Her back stiff, her hands clasped white-knuckled at her thick waist, Mother Francesca glared at him disdainfully but allowed him the smallest of nods.
He took it for agreement and fled, his bootheels resoundingly sharp against the wooden floor.
Hero let him lead her, stumbling along like a drunkard, docile and obedient – for now.
It wouldn’t do to worry about how she’d react once the potion wore off.
Hopefully, he’d be able to explain his reasoning and mollify her before it did, or he reckoned he’d have Hell to pay.