Simon eyed the stack along the wall. “Okay.” He crossed the room in a few strides, grabbed one off the pile, brought it back to the sofa and placed it on the coffee table. With little effort he ripped open the tape and opened the flaps. Then laughed again.

  “Did I tell you how much my family drives me crazy?” As if to offer proof to that claim, he held up a very ragged dark brown teddy bear. It was about ten inches tall, one ear was gone and the other looked like it’d been chewed on, repeatedly.

  “Yours?”

  He nodded. “This is my mom’s doing. She insisted that we each have our own bears. We shared clothes and toys because there were a bunch of us, but the bears were ours.” He sighed, bouncing the creature on a knee. “This is her way of suggesting grandkids would be a good idea.”

  “Already?”

  “Yes, Mom is an optimist. She loves kids. That’s why there were so many of us.” He dug further into the box and unearthed a series of books on topics ranging from geology to space exploration. Young Simon had been a very curious boy.

  He gazed around. “Gonna have to buy a bookshelf.”

  “A bookshelf?” Katia said, slapping a hand to her chest. “Oh, the horror! Then it’ll be a lamp and then some stereo equipment, maybe even a television. Who knows where it’ll stop?”

  He gave her a mock frown. “If I buy stuff, you have to help me assemble it. I can’t have my family help me or it won’t go well.”

  Her initial instinct was to refuse, but instead she said, “Sure.”

  With a pleased nod, Simon methodically emptied the box, tore it down and began putting the contents in various places in the apartment. The books went in a stack in a corner, but it was a start. As he reached for another box, Katia smiled to herself. Maybe this was a lesson for her, as well.

  NINE

  Simon was four boxes in, moving right along with his unpacking, when he winced, and then shook his head like he’d been hit by a brick.

  “Do you have a headache?” Katia asked.

  “No, a Hellish challenge.” He shook his head once more, then made a call to someone. Then within minutes he and Katia were in the car heading deeper into the city.

  “This one is an exorcism,” he explained. “The Archdiocese received the request about five minutes before I heard the demonic summons. It surprised them that I knew about it.”

  “Bet so.”

  The traffic was literally bumper-to-bumper as they made their way up Peachtree Street, a major north-south road through the heart of Atlanta.

  “Is it always this busy?”

  “Yeah, it’s a pain. The interstates are worse. Rush hour is insane.”

  She made a mental note to avoid the interstates, or at least once she could afford a car. Apartment first, then wheels.

  Simon gave her a quick glance. “According to the possessed’s wife, he’s been acting increasingly strange over the last few days. Some of this behavior is apparently normal for him, but the fact he’s leaving claw marks on the walls in his office was a clue something else was going on.”

  “Definitely a clue. Only one demon per possession?”

  “There’s usually only one inside the possessed, but there may be others around. Plan on more so you’re not surprised.”

  Katia decided to stop asking questions because so far nothing she’d heard made her feel any better about this.

  It took another twenty minutes before Simon pulled into a parking lot next to an apartment building. According to him they were in Midtown, whatever that meant.

  He collected the black suitcase from the backseat, as well as his trapping bag. “Grab that metal box. Careful, it might be hot.”

  The box he’d pointed at was square, emblazoned with crosses and Latin phrases, the lid clamped firmly in place.

  “And this is for?” she asked.

  “Once the demon is exorcised, it’ll go inside that container.”

  “Even a big demon?”

  “Even a big demon,” he replied.

  This she had to see.

  The apartment building in front of them was all glass and steel. Katia’s eyes rose, floor by floor, counting them as she did. “This guy is on the twenty-eighth floor?”

  Simon consulted his phone, then gave her a puzzled look. “How did you know?”

  “It feels wrong there. I’ve always been more sensitive to weird stuff. I don’t know why.”

  “Riley’s a bit like that,” he said diplomatically. At least he didn’t tell her she was nuts.

  Her sensitivity to the weird stuff had begun early when Katia had warned her kindergarten teacher that a woman waiting near the school was all wrapped up in gray and black, and she hadn’t meant the lady’s clothes. Of course, the teacher didn’t understand, and still hadn’t when that same woman had tried to kidnap one of Katia’s classmates.

  Rather than accepting that she was just wired differently, tales began to spread. Embarrassed, her parents told her to knock it off, convinced her imagination was the issue. If only that had been the case. To keep the peace, Katia stopped telling others what she saw. It was only when she’d become a trapper that she’d actively used her “sight” again. Her first master had been sorta okay with it, but the second one had complained she was into all the woo-woo crap. For her, it was as normal as breathing.

  The building’s lobby was impressive, the walls and floor wrapped in an abundance of pale gray marble. Gold Art Deco-style lamps were carefully positioned along those walls, each with a stained-glass shade. Whoever lived here had some bucks.

  Their footsteps echoed as they crossed to the security guard’s desk. The guard was a middle-aged Black woman with a “I’ve seen it all” expression and a name tag with Nia inscribed on it. This lady was the type who could easily hold off a band of armed robbers with a single frown.

  “We are here to see Mrs. Russell,” Simon said, offering his driver’s license. Katia did the same. The guard gave her Kansas license a longer inspection—and then they signed in. Simon never stated their true purpose here, but something told her that the guard already knew there was Hellspawn in the building. Once they’d been cleared, they were pointed toward a bank of elevators, and then rising steadily toward their destination.

  “This place has to be worth some serious cash,” Katia said, eying the interior of the elevator. Smoked mirrors reflected her image, reminding her that more sleep was still needed. She pushed a stray chunk of hair off her face. Now that she had some money, a real haircut was in her future, one done by a pro, not a dead broke demon trapper.

  “Definitely serious cash. That’s part of the reason I bought a house—the rent in Atlanta can be off the charts. Not that house prices are low, either.”

  Which meant Katia might be staying at Master Stewart’s longer than she’d expected, at least until she could scrape together a deposit and a few months’ rent.

  The hallway on the 28th floor felt unwelcoming even though its décor matched that of the lobby. The possessed’s wife met them at the door to the apartment. A trim woman in her forties, Mrs. Russell wore exercise clothes that looked nothing like the one’s Katia had once owned. They did have something in common: The dark bags under the lady’s eyes suggested nights of little sleep.

  “Come on in,” she said.

  Simon waited until the woman had closed the door, then handed her his official Vatican ID. “Journeyman Breman is assisting me today.” The woman nodded and the ID was returned. “When did these problems begin, Mrs. Russell?”

  “Three days ago. Henry’s on deadline and he usually stays up all night anyway, so I didn’t think anything of it.”

  “Deadline?” Katia asked.

  “Henry’s an author. He writes mysteries. He’s been on the New York Times Bestseller list five times.” Along with the deep worry was a touch of pride.

  “A very talented author, then,” Simon said politely. “What were the first signs that something was wrong?”

  “He began to hiss. At first, I thought it was the cat, but she won’t go near him, and has been hiding ever since. Then Henry started to howl at all hours. The neighbors have not been happy about that.”

  “That’s a common symptom of possession,” he said, his voice reassuring and calming. Something told Katia this was just him, not something he’d learned as an exorcist.

  Simon spent the next few minutes covering how an exorcism was performed, and the potential liabilities involved. Unlike for a demon trapping, there was no paperwork the woman needed to sign.

  “I’m going to . . . go out for a while, okay?” Mrs. Russell said, indicating a workout bag near the front door. “I don’t think I want to be here when . . . ”

  “I understand.” Simon traded phone numbers with her, along with a promise to notify her when the exorcism was completed. With a stifled sob, the woman fled the apartment.

  As the door shut behind her, Katia gave her companion a puzzled look. “Is that normal? I mean, bailing like that?”

  Simon nodded. “Usually by the time they call for an exorcist they’re scared out of their minds. Honestly, I prefer them out of the way so they won’t get hurt.”

  “Why no paperwork?” Trappers always had forms to be signed, at least in most situations.

  “We used to do it, but now we have an online agreement that the Archdiocese has the family sign before I arrive. Saves time, which sometimes I just don’t have if things go bad in a hurry.”

  Simon headed for the kitchen, which should have been on the cover of a magazine, it was that incredible. Six burner gas range, massive stainless-steel refrigerator, two long countertops sporting the latest small appliances. A cook’s dream come true.

  After an envious sigh, Katia watched as her companion carefully set the suitcase on one of the marble countertops, then prepped for the exorcism. He started with a prayer, then the application of the liquid from the small vial she’d seen at his house.

  Simon offered it to her now. “You’ve already been anointed with Holy Water once today so you should be good, though I usually do a prayer at the time of the anointing.”

  When she hesitated, he added, “Do you follow any particular faith?” It was a sensitive way of asking whether she was Christian, and she appreciated it.

  “I was raised as a Methodist, but I’m mostly confused. I haven’t been to church since I became a trapper. I’m still working it all out in my head.”

  “Then do what makes you most comfortable,” he replied.

  It seemed right, so she took the vial from him, carefully placed a small dot of the holy liquid on her forehead, while whispering a prayer that they be kept safe. That she not betray this man when he needed her most.

  She handed back the vial. “Thank you.”

  He nodded. “How much Latin do you know?”

  “Almost none. Carpe diem. Tempus fugit. Sit vis nobiscum.”

  “May the Force be with us?” he asked, zeroing in on the last phrase.

  She shrugged. “It’s all I got. Sorry.”

  “Well, that’s a start, I guess.”

  As they talked, the temperature in the apartment seemed to drop precipitously. By the time they reached the room in which Mrs. Russell said they’d find her husband, goose bumps had sprung to life underneath Katia’s long-sleeved shirt.

  Simon entered first, then gaped. “What the . . . ?”

  If this was the kind of office an author rated, Katia was about to change professions. Then it struck her. “It’s an illusion!”

  “A very impressive one.” Simon murmured, peering around at the vast space. “The fiend must be powerful.”

  What had been an office was now a massive library, and the faint aroma of vanilla, the subtle perfume of old books, scented the air. A scarlet carpet runner extended the length of this room, leading into the one beyond. On either side of them were dark cabinets filled with rare volumes. A second level of those cabinets soared above the first, supported by carved wood columns, each column accented with gold leaf. On that second tier, curtained windows allowed in a little light, but it seemed dwarfed by the sheer size of the room. Katia swore she heard rustling behind the walls. Surely a mouse wouldn’t dare to live in such a space.

  Simon peered upward, eyes wide. “It’s like St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome.” Following his gaze, she looked up and gasped.

  The ceiling’s artwork was a vividly colored and detailed painting of an elegant lady surrounded by multi-hued flowers and numerous cherubs. It was majestic, and unlike anything Katia had ever seen. She could spend hours here, and maybe that was the point. For all its beauty, this was a breathtaking illusion designed to distract their attention from the real threat.

  “Simon,” she said, nudging him.

  He blinked, looked down at her, then frowned, apparently coming to the same conclusion. “Thank you.”

  “Not a problem. It is seriously unreal.”

  “Which means it has to exist somewhere in this world for it to be so detailed. Hellspawn are not that imaginative.”

  They walked on, their footsteps muted by the carpet. The desire to step off the crimson highway, to open one of the cabinets and immerse herself in the knowledge was almost overwhelming. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Simon touch the wooden cross on his chest.

  Illusion. Illusion. Illusion.

  The pull toward the cabinets lessened now.

  “This reminds me of the library at Trinity College in Dublin. It’s the same century, I think, probably located somewhere in Europe,” Simon said. “What I don’t understand is why it’s important to the demon.”

  “Maybe it has something to do with Mr. Russell.”

  “That makes more sense. We’ll find out soon enough.”

  One final room awaited them just beyond an arched doorway that had a golden crown at its peak. At the far end of that chamber was a large portrait, the subject definitely a royal. Above that painting, at the peak, was another golden crown. This library had Built by the King stamped all over it.

  Beneath the portrait were two figures, one unnaturally tall and clad in an all-white robe, the other on its knees, head bowed. Simon continued down the main aisle, then halted some distance away from the pair. Once he was sure she had joined him, he touched the spot on his forehead, then the bare floor at his feet. A shiny white protective circle rose around them, shimmering in the dimly lit room.

  Katia blinked in wonder. She hadn’t seen him create the circle at the daycare center, too busy trying not to be sliced apart by the Three, so she made a mental note to ask how he’d pulled off this bit of holy magic.

  “Stay inside this and you’re safe,” he said. “Otherwise, it can get ugly.”

  She nodded her understanding, then pulled her steel pipe from her trapping bag, pushing the latter out of her way with a foot. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the circle’s brighter light which illuminated the two figures in front of them.

  “Simon Michael David Adler,” the one in the robe called out in a deep voice. Its face was pale, and it had deep blue eyes and faint blond hair that reached its shoulders. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Should I?” Simon said, his tone anything but respectful.

  “I am the Messenger,” the form replied, its deep voice resonating throughout the chamber.

  “The Archangel Gabriel? So, then what’s your message?”

  “You will die this day.”

  Simon didn’t seem disturbed by that prediction. “I see. Some reason you’re announcing this rather than leaving it a surprise?”

  “You will lose your soul this day, as well.”

  “God decided you just had to tell me this in person?”

  “You mock the Messenger?” the voice demanded.

  “Well, you could be an Archangel. You could also be a very clever Fallen, or a powerful Hypno-Fiend.”

  Fallen? That wasn’t something she’d considered.

  “Why would you doubt my word?” the figure asked.

  “Because I’m not a fool. At least not anymore,” he said, giving Katia a quick wink.

  What was going on here? She concentrated on the kneeling figure and realized it was an illusion. Nothing there at all. Then she studied the alleged Archangel, pushing to get a sense of what it was, and cringed. Her stomach roiled as the inky darkness pushed back.

  “It’s not one of Heaven’s Divines,” she said.

  “Didn’t figure it was. I’m one of the good guys, but I don’t rate an Archangel delivering a personal message from the boss, especially not Gabriel.”

  Katia Allyson Breman. Your soul shall be mine. Surrender it now!

  The voice echoed in her skull, like someone shouting in an empty warehouse. It wasn’t the same voice as the fiend in front of them, so it was probably the Four who’d forced Simon into this “bargain” in the first place. She’d wondered when she’d hear from it.

  Before she could respond, Simon hefted the large wooden cross.

  “Spawn of Hell! Yes, I am Simon Michael David Adler, child of God, believer in the Risen Lord, wielder of the Light. You are an Abomination and are not worthy of this realm! Reveal yourself for all to see!”

  The figure wavered but did not drop the glamour that hid its true form.

  “Reveal yourself!” Simon commanded.

  This time a man appeared, one she guessed to be Mr. Russell. He was clad in a wrinkled blue shirt, jeans and seemed utterly confused. Before he could speak, his eyes blazed red and he straightened up, seemingly taller than before as the demon made its presence known.

  “Simon the Betrayer!” the fiend called out. “Your sins are many. Your sins will never be forgiven. You are nothing compared to us.”

  Simon shook his head. “You are nothing, Fiend. The Power of God is Eternal. You are the Spawn of Lucifer, vermin of the Pit, the lowest of the low. You will depart this man’s body and leave his soul untouched. You shall be cast out!”