“If you don’t patch me through,” I ground out, “and someone is injured or dies, it’s onyou. And the Dark Queen will not look kindly on you if the victim is her godson and prince.”
“Affirmative,” a different voice said, faintly Italian, faintly Southern, instantly recognizable. Villetti, no spiteful tone in his words for once. “One moment.”
There were no clicks, but the ambient background noise changed. I said, “Walter, EJ. It’s a trap. Shoot to kill!”
Into the AE comms system, EJ grunted, “Understood.”
Instantly, the bloody vision released me. I managed a single breath before the images started again. In them, a small wooden disk landed in blood.Bloody-bloody-bloody-demon-smut. EJ wrapped in its power.
“There’s a small wooden disk! It’s possessed!”
Into his mic, only a mile away, EJ shouted, a guttural sound. Awyrdof power. It sounded like “Smachdachadh. A ribe,” which was Gaelic for “Control. To trap.”
The connection ended. “EJ?EJ?”
“Angie. This is Villetti. We’ve lost connection with our officers on scene. Backup is on the way. Can you advise—what kind of attack?”
“Magical. Demonic. They need to stay outside.”
“You should have called us in right away.”
“Yell at me later, Villetti. Your officer is about to die.”
“I’m on-site in one minute.”
“They don’t have that long.” The sounds of weapons being checked came over the connection. I nudged the shoulder of the Uber driver. He whirled around a corner and I slid across the seat with momentum. “Don’t cut me off, Villetti. I can help.”
“Sometimes you piss me off, Everhart.”
I laughed, the sound unhinged. “Youalwayspiss me off. I’m a few seconds behind you. EJ should have null sticks on him, but they weren’t enough.” When he didn’t answer, I said, “That last phrase was awyrdto trap a demon.”
Smachdachadh.Aribewas abindingworking, developed in the war to hold a demon until a containment vessel could be brought on scene. Thewyrdwas temporary, short lived, and if not handled properly, left the speaker possessed.
Detective Leandro Villetti didn’t reply. Instead, I heard the squeal of Villetti’s brakes and another change in ambient noise. His Italian-accented voice directed his officers. “Two-man teams. Full protective null gear. Multiple null sticks foremost. Douglas and Piedmont, take the front. Patel, you’re with me. We enter the back.”
Voices said “Roger,” or “Copy that,” and went silent.
“Damn it, Villetti,” I snarled, “you’re all gonna die.”
He ignored me.
I readied myself to leap from the Uber as it careened through a left turn. Tossed the hundred over the seat. The car squealed to a stop, and I reached for the door.
Heavy breathing came over my unicom. The sound of boots and shoes hitting the cold ground. The house itself, and any comms from within, were silent. My AE headgear wasn’t goingto help me inside a house, against magic. I pulled it off and crammed it into my yoga pants pocket.
EJ
The door was unlocked. The officer was only a couple of years younger than he was, but they were eons apart in life experience. Too young to have served. Unprepared. Stevens opened the door to the dark entryway and stepped inside, shouting, “Law enforcement. Lay down your weapons!” As he spoke, EJ stepped in behind him, his basic flute at his lips, ready to blow one-handed. In the other were three null sticks. Voices came from the kitchen in back, Walter speaking, urgency in his voice.
His ear-patch system crackled. Angie said, “Walter…EJ…trap. Shoot to kill!”
Into the AE comms system, he grunted, “Understood.”
“…den disk!…possessed!” she said.
Battlefield reflexes kicked in.
The world slowed around him. Time altered into fractions of seconds.
