about the cinnamon and alcohol and how I know your names. But when I touch someone, I can get a flash of who they are. Sometimes if I concentrate enough while touch something, I can even see a little bit of the future. Mostly quick images and feelings, but with you it was more powerful than anything I’d ever felt. It wasn’t just the fear you’ve been feeling, all the uncertainty, but you have more raw power in you than… Than anything. More power than any human could possibly have.”
“What does that mean?” I tried. “Do you know what she is?”
Max shook his head at me. “No. Dad might if she was a demon, but you don’t feel quite like that, Dro. You feel like something else.”
Dro hung her head, running her hands through her snow-white hair. Hearing she was being chased by demons was one thing. Hearing that she wasn’t human and something even a psychic had never encountered, was almost too much.
“Does your father know how to kill demons?” I asked Max.
Max started to shake his head, then stopped. “No. Yes. Kind of. If you want them expelled, he’s your guy, but one-on-one combat?” He shook his head for real this time. “My dad’s crazy, but he’s not insane.”
Damn it. “So he doesn’t know.”
“He knows the theories, but not how to practice them.”
Never mind. “Then you should call him. Tell him he can have a student.”
Max blinked. “You?”
Dro looked up at me. “Con, no, it’s too dangerous.”
I held her eyes. “Demons, Dro. Fiends of Hell. It’s the best explanation I’ve heard so far. Granted, Max and his father will give us more evidence when they have it–”
“We will?” Max asked.
“–but if that’s what we’re dealing with, then I want to know more about them. I need to know how to keep you safe.”
I didn’t add that anything they had on demons might lead us to finding out exactly what my little sister was. That it was just as important as understanding the creatures on our tail. Maybe even more so.
She didn’t like it, but she agreed with me. She didn’t have any other choice. I looked at Max.
“Now you can call your dad,” I said. “I could use an expert opinion.”
***
Max described his father, Manny, as a tough, smart man. I suppose he had to be, given that he was a professional demonologist and exorcist that expelled actual, real demons as compared to dealing with people who were having some sort of epileptic fit. Despite Max’s praise, I wasn’t expecting the man who walked into the kitchen.
He was probably younger than I guessed, but you couldn’t tell from the dark shadows under his eyes, or the tired slump of his weathered face. His hair was gunmetal grey with bits of white around his temples. I could see the resemblance between Max and Manny in the shape of their eyes, lips and nose. Manny was a big guy, and only some of the bulk around his middle was fat. The rest was muscle. He looked like a man who’d endured a hard life, carried the scars of it, but came out as a survivor. I hoped I would be as lucky if I ever reached his age, but I was realistic.
He saw the puddles and boot prints on the floor, and the two strange young women in his kitchen, and had been prepared to chew Max out. Then he looked at Dro, and forgot all about his son.
As soon as Max explained the situation, Manny whipped out a Bible, the rosary under the collar of his shirt, and tried to exorcise Dro.
“Dad, come on,” Max said. “If she was a demon, I would have done that already. But she’s part human.” He looked at her. “I think.”
Manny looked at us. Max had let us eat a hearty dinner of leftovers from his fridge, but had stopped when his father entered. I was sitting behind the island next to Dro, watching Manny very carefully. He gave me a quick look, but found Dro much more interesting. Everybody did.
“Ladies, this is my father, Manny Garcia. Dad, that’s Constance,” he pointed to me, then moving his finger to Dro, “and her
“What does that mean?” I tried. “Do you know what she is?”
Max shook his head at me. “No. Dad might if she was a demon, but you don’t feel quite like that, Dro. You feel like something else.”
Dro hung her head, running her hands through her snow-white hair. Hearing she was being chased by demons was one thing. Hearing that she wasn’t human and something even a psychic had never encountered, was almost too much.
“Does your father know how to kill demons?” I asked Max.
Max started to shake his head, then stopped. “No. Yes. Kind of. If you want them expelled, he’s your guy, but one-on-one combat?” He shook his head for real this time. “My dad’s crazy, but he’s not insane.”
Damn it. “So he doesn’t know.”
“He knows the theories, but not how to practice them.”
Never mind. “Then you should call him. Tell him he can have a student.”
Max blinked. “You?”
Dro looked up at me. “Con, no, it’s too dangerous.”
I held her eyes. “Demons, Dro. Fiends of Hell. It’s the best explanation I’ve heard so far. Granted, Max and his father will give us more evidence when they have it–”
“We will?” Max asked.
“–but if that’s what we’re dealing with, then I want to know more about them. I need to know how to keep you safe.”
I didn’t add that anything they had on demons might lead us to finding out exactly what my little sister was. That it was just as important as understanding the creatures on our tail. Maybe even more so.
She didn’t like it, but she agreed with me. She didn’t have any other choice. I looked at Max.
“Now you can call your dad,” I said. “I could use an expert opinion.”
***
Max described his father, Manny, as a tough, smart man. I suppose he had to be, given that he was a professional demonologist and exorcist that expelled actual, real demons as compared to dealing with people who were having some sort of epileptic fit. Despite Max’s praise, I wasn’t expecting the man who walked into the kitchen.
He was probably younger than I guessed, but you couldn’t tell from the dark shadows under his eyes, or the tired slump of his weathered face. His hair was gunmetal grey with bits of white around his temples. I could see the resemblance between Max and Manny in the shape of their eyes, lips and nose. Manny was a big guy, and only some of the bulk around his middle was fat. The rest was muscle. He looked like a man who’d endured a hard life, carried the scars of it, but came out as a survivor. I hoped I would be as lucky if I ever reached his age, but I was realistic.
He saw the puddles and boot prints on the floor, and the two strange young women in his kitchen, and had been prepared to chew Max out. Then he looked at Dro, and forgot all about his son.
As soon as Max explained the situation, Manny whipped out a Bible, the rosary under the collar of his shirt, and tried to exorcise Dro.
“Dad, come on,” Max said. “If she was a demon, I would have done that already. But she’s part human.” He looked at her. “I think.”
Manny looked at us. Max had let us eat a hearty dinner of leftovers from his fridge, but had stopped when his father entered. I was sitting behind the island next to Dro, watching Manny very carefully. He gave me a quick look, but found Dro much more interesting. Everybody did.
“Ladies, this is my father, Manny Garcia. Dad, that’s Constance,” he pointed to me, then moving his finger to Dro, “and her
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