Most paranormal investigators died relatively young. It was part of the gig. A highly developed sense of paranoia accounted for Skulick’s long tour of duty in the war against the darkness. From his perspective, bringing the doomed girl here probably ranked among the dumbest things I’d ever done—and keep in mind that this man raised me during my teenage years. But I remained convinced that I’d made the right choice. Bringing Celeste to our loft would buy us enough time to plan an effective countermove before the next attack.
Celeste wiped tears from her face, struggling to keep it together. Skulick softened. My partner can be tough as nails, but underneath the steel there does beat a warm, deeply caring heart. He’s basically a big softie, when you get down to it. None of those gentler feelings were reserved for me at the moment. He shot me a final glare for good measure before his wheelchair buzzed toward our guest.
Wheeling up to Celeste, he cranked up the charm, his scowl miraculously stretching into a reassuring smile. “I apologize for keeping you waiting.” Skulick nodded at a sleek leather couch. “Please take a seat. Is there something we can offer you to drink?”
A shaken Celeste glanced longingly at our fully stocked bar.
“Anything with alcohol will do.”
Skulick’s smile deepened. He shot me a quick look and said, “Be a gentleman and get the lady a drink, would ya?”
I obliged while Skulick began to interview our client. I hated petty arguments, and I was glad to see my partner directing his considerable intellect toward the problem at hand.
“We’ll need to find out more about the particular demon we’re up against,” Skulick said to Celeste. “You can help us by telling me everything you know about this cult your father was involved in.”
“I wish I could be of more help,” Celeste said, “but up until a few weeks ago I didn’t even know who my father was.”
Skulick studied her with a thoughtful expression before turning toward his bank of monitors. He tapped a few keys and Desmond Horne’s image filled the large flat-screen TV facing the room.
“Reviewing your father’s meteoric success over the last twenty-one years might point us in the right direction. Selling your soul was clearly a business transaction, and one that gave him considerable rewards.”
I scratched my jaw thoughtfully. “Think we’re dealing with Mammon, the demon of wealth and greed?”
“It’s a possibility,“ Skulick said. ”But there are other, less powerful entities out there who might offer financial gains in exchange for an innocent soul.”
I finished pouring drinks—one for Celeste, and one for me. She took her whiskey with a grateful smile and downed it in one gulp. I liked a woman who could hold her liquor.
“You mentioned on the phone that you were suffering from nightmares,” Skulick continued. “Maybe you can tell us more about your dreams. They could provide further clues as to the identity of this entity.”
“I’ll tell you everything I know,” she said, holding up her empty glass to show me that a refill would not be unwelcome.
“Before we continue, there’s something we should do. The demon’s Hellhounds have caught your scent and won’t rest until they find you. They’ll be able to track you no matter where you hide. The wards will throw them off your trail for a little bit, but they’ll locate you soon enough. There might be a way to delay them, however.”
I frowned, curious. Skulick continued, “One of the most effective charms against evil is the Prayer to St. Michael. Even better, though—”
“Is the Medal of the Saints, also known as the armor of God,” I finished.
A year earlier, Skulick and I had traveled to Slovakia to investigate reports of mass possession. A local priest, Father Jozef Horvath, assisted us in our battle and offered up the Christian relic in thanks. It had played an essential role in the successful outcome of the case, and now we kept it under tight lock and key inside the vault upstairs. Not only did the vault safeguard evil relics, it also acted as a storage space for potent talismans we were saving for a rainy day.
A day like today.
If Celeste wore the Medal of the Saints around her neck, she would become invisible to the demonic bloodhounds looking for her. At least for a short while.
“I’ll get the medal right now,” I volunteered.
Skulick nodded and for the second time in the last twenty-four hours, I climbed the winding staircase leading up to the vault. There was a bounce in my step this time. For a change I wasn’t locking away a cursed object but retrieving a blessed item that would help us protect an innocent woman.
As I waited impatiently for the vault door to swing open, I mulled over the facts of this unusual case. Skulick had a point—there were a number of other entities Horne might have bargained with besides Mammon. Cromeck, with his power over goods and money, came to mind. Or perhaps Atlonioa, whose sphere of influence included finance and wealth.
The list went on. Skulick was the real expert when it came to demonology. I’d picked up a few things over the years, but if anyone could hope to identify the demonic entity hunting Celeste, it was my partner.