Page 121 of What Happens at Nightfall

“That’s what demons do,” said Ingrid, unable to resist the urge to be the smartest person in the room. “They discover your innermost desires and use them to bend you to their will.”

“He told me he could make the other boys like me,” said Ben abruptly. “And he did too. Suddenly, everyone wanted to eat lunch with me and have me on their team.”

“You had friends before,” said Adam.

“Not at St. Bonny’s.” Misery crackled in Ben’s voice. So much for his positive transition to a new school. That was why he’d broken into the mausoleum. Partly to try to win friends and partly because he was bone-deep lonely. Adam had been so busy trying to make the best of things that he hadn’t seen it. Ben wasn’t Melinda. His feelings were quiet but they ran deep.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” said Adam, and meant it.

“He did my Latin for me too. When we had tests, I could hear him whispering the answers in my ear. It was like having my own personal translator.” Ben looked wistfully at Cindy’s pendant. “Do you think I could—”

“No,” said Adam immediately. “I’ll get you Duolingo. At least that’s just a monthly subscription, not your soul. I’d rather you get B’s than live the eternal torment of the damned.”

“Hashtag priorities,” commented Melinda.

“Same goes for you.” Adam pointed at his daughter. “I don’t care what kind of robot he promises you. The answer is no.”

“I’m a woman of science,” responded Melinda witheringly.

“Yes, but what if he promised you new and better science?” Melinda might say she was impervious, but if Belfagor provided her with her own Death Star, Melinda would be wearing that Vader helmet in a minute, and Heaven help the galaxy.

“Your father has a point.” Jess unfolded her legs. “As long as that thing’s around—even encased in rock crystal—he’s a temptation.”

No one can resist me! came the tinny voice from the pendant.

Through the crystal, it sounded more like one of the Chipmunks than a Lord of Hell, but the very fact that Belfagor could make himself heard was disturbing enough. Even squeaky, his promises had power.

Adam looked at Jess. “What do we do with him?”

“Can I keep him?” asked Ingrid eagerly. “I don’t want to use him for evil! I just want to ask about Renaissance Italy. He knew Machiavelli.”

The pendant emitted a series of indignant squeaks. Adam caught what he assumed were rude references to Machiavelli’s parentage in archaic Italian.

“Ingrid’s right.” Cal shoved his glasses up. “That thing is an invaluable historical resource. Gilded Age New York . . . Belle Epoque Paris . . . Think about the questions it could answer!”

“Think about the lies it could tell you,” Jess retorted. “It’s a demon. Being truthful is not in its nature.”

“Oh,” said Cal, crestfallen.

“But he knew Machiavelli,” repeated Ingrid stubbornly.

Jess narrowed her eyes at Ingrid. “Is this why you’ve been trying to track him down this whole time? Because you wanted to grill him about Machiavelli?”

“Maybe.” Ingrid looked distinctly shifty. “Hey, all of the sources about Machiavelli have been picked over like crazy already. If I could come up with something new for my dissertation, something no one else knows . . .”

Jess and Adam exchanged a look.

“You’re a Renaissance person. You must have read Doctor Faustus,” said Adam. “He’ll promise you Machiavelli and charge you your immortal soul as the price of an illusion.”

Ingrid bristled. “I’m not stupid. I can handle it.”

“He made you puke frogs,” said Adam.

“She puked frogs?” Melinda paused with a piece of pizza halfway to her mouth.

“Or possibly toads,” amended Adam. “Either way, I think it’s a sign you can’t handle it. He’d tell you he needs to be let out to get you some crucial fifteenth-century document that no one else has ever seen, and the next thing you know, you’ll be levitating and spewing amphibians.”

“Um, maybe don’t give him ideas,” said Jess. “This is like disposing of nuclear waste. We need a containment facility.”