Chapter Eight #2
I guessed at the thoughts in everyone’s mind.
That they could have used a weapon like my staff in the war.
That good people had died. Died because demons could be captured only in containment vessels, and there had never been enough of those.
And maybe I had been sitting on a weapon that could have saved friends, civilians.
PsyLED might take it now, if they could.
EJ and I needed to have a long talk about the war. For now, I decided to tell more of the truth. I gave my brother an eyebrow-shrug in apology. “I tested it the first time this evening in the stairwell. I didn’t know if it would work.”
EJ closed his eyes and his mouth tightened. My brother seemed to be holding in both words and frustration.
Fine. Maybe using an untested working wasn’t the smartest thing I had ever done but—
Voice cold as the undeath he carried in his veins, Walter interrupted my thoughts. “You…you used an untried weapon. Against a demon, two demons. And you didn’t tell your parents or your brother or me.”
“Well. Yeah,” I said, hearing the defensive note in my voice. “There wasn’t time for a conference call or the bureaucratic negotiations of a coven.”
“And if it hadn’t worked?” EJ asked. “You could have been possessed. And Walter would have had to kill you.”
“So, it’s a good thing it worked,” I said, stating the obvious, defiant, and hoping no one commented on how bad my left hand looked. Unintended consequences were part and parcel of using untested workings. There was always a price for power, and the bigger the magic, the bigger the cost.
“Where do the demons go?” Villetti asked.
“Into a portable pocket dimension,” I said.
“Like, hell?”
I shrugged. “Maybe?”
“And where did you get this portable pocket dimension?” Villetti asked.
“From the queen. When she was a child,” Walter said.
Whatever Walter saw on my face made him smile, a real smile, not the slightly vicious one he used on Villetti.
“Yes. She knew you took it, Angelina. She has always wondered what your magic could do with it. A demon banisher is the result. She will be pleased.”
I didn’t quite know how to respond to that, except a shrug and a frown. I hadn’t told my brother everything earlier.
EJ was still ticked. His eyes were staring into the distance, his jaw clenching and unclenching. That look, that PTSD look, said that all the bad things in the war would have been easier if I had told him I had a piece of the queen’s magic.
“I didn’t have the trigger figured out until after you were home,” I said softly. “Until after the war. I had no idea if I could even use Aunt Jane’s magic. Less of an idea if I could capture a demon. If it then would hold a demon. But I saw demon energies in the bomb. I had to try.”
“You had a portable pocket dimension,” Villetti said again. “If you had turned it over to the military, they could have done something with it.”
“Could they?” Walter asked softly. “Were you not aware that the Dark Queen gave Section Nine one of the pocket dimensions?”
EJ’s head came up. “They had one?”
“Yes. And Section Nine managed to accomplish nothing with it,” Walter said.
“No one was able to access or duplicate the queen’s magic.
Once the war ended, they should have returned it to the queen, but they did not.
They broke treaty with the queen. There will never be another agreement between the Dark Queen and the United States military.
“Angelina, however, created a trigger all by herself, without the millions the R and D of the military complex had at their disposal. It took her years, most of that while married to a vampire from whom she hid all she was and everything she did.”
EJ blew out a breath. “This sucks.”
“Indeed, dear child,” Walter said.
EJ scowled at the “child” comment and Walter chuckled softly.
“And the cloak?” Villetti asked.
“Surplus ballistic armor and Dyneema under the null velvet. But using magic has a cost. Wearing the cloak makes my bones ache. I also didn’t know the staff would hurt me when I pressed the trigger in the hallway of my apartment and used it to collect a demon,” I said, looking at my hands. “I was injured. I hadn’t expected that.
“Here, this was a different situation. It wasn’t just me and the staff and the demon.
Here I had to consider the palillos castanets, the power of EJ’s wyrd, and his personal magic.
All three were holding the demon while I worked.
The working and EJ’s magic knotted around the demon itself to hold it in place.
The palillos slowed the way the demon and all magical energies reacted to time and space.
If any of the three had failed, I was a goner anyway. ”
EJ stared me down. It was cute. I almost told him that but I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut.
“If I failed,” I said, “EJ or I was going to be possessed. Someone would have needed to kill one of us.” I looked at Villetti, our eyes meeting for the first time in a decade, open and honest, and…
something else I didn’t know how to interpret.
“That would be you, Leandro. I figure after our past history that would give you some closure.”
“Killing you?” Villetti barked a harsh laugh, his eyes still on me, his voice suddenly liquid Italian, intent, possessive. Caressing. “Killing you would have ended me. And not because the queen would have sent her assassin. But because I could not have lived with myself had I done so, amore.”
Amore, I thought. My love…Holy shit. Leandro Villetti still has a thing for me.
EJ
EJ shoved down the memory that threatened to surface.
He focused on Villetti and Angie. They had dated in college, before the war started and Villetti vanished.
And before Karson Asshat Marrazzo entered the picture and swept her off her feet.
After the war, Villetti joined GBI-Psy, Georgia Bureau of Investigations, Psychometry Division, before being promoted higher in law enforcement.
EJ hadn’t kept up with the man’s career until he moved to Chattanooga, Tennessee. Maybe he should have.
EJ had assumed Villetti had transferred from GBI to Chattanooga because he had gone to college here, and because it was an opportunity to take over a department in dire need of restructuring.
But that amore had sounded possessive. It made EJ rethink a lot of things, like the cop’s cozying up to Asshat and his animosity toward Angie, which had never made much sense.
If Villetti’s lack of interest in Angie was defensive, then it was likely that his acquaintance with Asshat was to get close to a potential enemy.
Love did weird things to people, or so he’d heard, and maybe being gruff was the only way he’d been able to keep his feelings to himself.
But why did he wait so long to say anything?
Angie’s divorce from Asshat was firmly in the past.
From the kitchen, a thin white woman dressed in a sky-blue uni stuck her head around the doorway. “Villetti. I’m Jenkins with Chat-CSI. Pending your approval, PsyCSI and I have figured out who gets which DBs and have agreed to share prelims, finals, COD, and trace evidence.”
PsyCSI handled postmortems on paranormal bodies. Chat-town CSI and the forensic pathologist handled human ones. DBs were dead bodies. COD was cause of death. EJ had never been a cop, but he knew the lingo.
“We’ve offered them some space to work at our labs until they can transfer out,” she said.
“The null walls made it easy to figure out what was what and the entire house has been read for active psysitopes. It’s clean except for them”—she pointed at Walter, Angie, and EJ—“the staked vamp in the hallway, and the pissed-off vamp in the front closet. PsyLED is here too, and ready to start work. I figure you’ll want PsyLED to take said vamps? ”
“Who’s the lead for PsyLED?” EJ asked.
“Guy named LaFleur is their OIC.” She fanned a hand at her face. “And oh my, that man is fine.”
The room went dead silent. EJ kept his elation inside. Walter laughed out loud. Angie relaxed into the sofa cushions.
OIC was officer in charge, but Rick LaFleur was more than just an OIC.
He was the assistant director for PsyLED, operating out of Knoxville, Richmond, and Seattle, traveling all over the country when needed.
He was a were–black leopard and had been part of the first paranormal PsyLED unit ever put together.
He was also their “Uncle” Ricky-Bo. There was no blood or marital relationship, but he had been a onetime boyfriend of the queen’s, back when EJ and Angie were kids.
Uncle Ricky-Bo and his were-cheetah mate, Aunt Leann, were also the PsyLED liaisons with the queen.
Uncle Rick’s presence meant that Aunt Jane had called in the big guns and that no one in DC had argued with her.
She had surrounded her godchildren with a layer of security so thick they were sheltered from anything law or government might throw at them.
They also might never crawl free from the protective cocoon she had wrapped around them, but that was a problem for later.
Politics were always problematic, but sometimes the Everharts drew the long straw. Uncle Rick in charge meant they had gotten extra lucky this time. Rick coddled no one and he’d use any tool he had to protect and serve, but he would shield them.
Villetti must have figured out all this at about the same time, because he sighed through his nose, a short, irritated, Italian breathy-snort.
Rick LaFleur walked into the room. He was of French lineage, from Louisiana, with black eyes and prematurely white hair that hung below his shoulder blades.
Were-creatures usually aged slowly, but Rick’s face was lined, and his hair should still be a shimmering black instead of pure white.
He’d had a hard history. He had also been part of Section Ten in the war—black ops.
He’d know magical murder when he saw it.