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Misha
She looks around between the two of them, until she finally settles on me. She shakes her head, her mouth opening and closing a couple of times. She might not agree with my plan yet, but she doesn’t have to.
I can talk her into this.
At least I hope I can, since she might be our only chance at helping the kid.
She tucks a strand of curly blonde hair behind her ear. "Okay," she says. "Let’s say I could, which I, you know, can’t. What makes you think he would listen to me? What makes you think I could make him believe he’s possessed in the first place?"
"Well, he obviously looks up to you," Rei says. "And I think it might be easier for him to hear if it’s someone he admires."
"But that could be anyone from the band. Why don’t you get Bryony to do it? She’s the face of the whole thing," she says, her voice slightly shaky. "No one notices the bass player."
"That’s definitely a lie," Woods says, standing up and pacing around. He only does this when he’s exceptionally nervous, but it’s hard to tell that it’s a tic. I’ve only recently realized that it’s self-soothing behavior. He’s good at making things seem natural. "You’re not hard to notice."
"And, in any case," Salinas says, "even if you were the one member of the band he didn’t notice, you’re the only one who’s been possessed."
"As far as you know," Trine says.
Salinas smiles. "Yeah. As far as I know."
Trine crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts together. My gaze slides down to her cleavage, but I remind myself that I don’t know her that well, and I try to focus on her face instead. She’s exceptionally pretty, especially with her hair in curls framing her heart-shaped face, her brows knitted in concentration and her dark brown eyes darkening as she thinks.
I think I could just stare at her all day. If she let me. If she wanted me. She probably doesn’t. "Let’s say I did, for whatever reason, want to help you," she says after a little while, her words clearly measured. "I don’t know if he’s possessed, and I don’t know if I can talk him into a lie."
"So meet him," Salinas says softly.
Woods stops pacing to look at him for a second, but he says nothing. Luke turns away from him so he can look into Trine’s eyes, and even though I can only see the back of his head, I can tell that he’s staring intently at her.
"What?" she asks.
He reaches forward, and her eyes widen. I can only see a sliver of her, but I can tell the mood has gotten more tense from where I’m sitting, and it’s taking everything in me not to walk over there and see what’s happening.
It’s not like he would do anything untoward and, in any case, it’s not like we’re together. So there’s nothing for me to do except stay where I am, my hands folded over my legs while I remind myself to look away from her, as if Salinas’ hotel room was interesting at all.
"Just meet him," Salinas says, his voice so quiet I can barely hear him. "Talk to him, get to know him. See how he’s doing. If anything about it feels off to you, then you can talk about it."
"Right," Woods says, leaning against the wall next to TV. "That’s not a bad idea. Maybe if you see what he’s going through, it’ll be easier for you to connect on this."
She sighs. I can tell when someone’s been worn down enough to change their mind, but I wish we didn’t have to do this. I’ve never been possessed, but I’ve been around enough clients to know that the process is never easy.
I’m weirdly protective of her, and I don’t want her to have to go through it again. Her exorcism was brutal. If she can’t remember, it’s probably for good reason.
It’s too late to second guess this, because Trine jumps to her feet, her gaze boring into me. "You’re being awfully quiet over there, demonhunter."
"You know my position," I say between gritted teeth.
"Not really," she replies, crossing her arms over her chest. "For someone who pitched the idea, you don’t seem that enthusiastic about it."
I resist the urge to rub my temple. I’ve had a headache for days, and it seems like it’s only getting worse. "I did pitch the idea because I want to help the client. He’s clearly in dire straits."
"But…"
"Not at your expense," I say before she can say anything else. I stand up, close the space between us and put my hands on her shoulders. I don’t think about it, and I’m only vaguely aware that the other two men in the room are watching us intently. I wonder if they think this is a ploy. I wonder if she does.
It’s not.
The more we talk about it, the more I realize that I was being rash, stupid. This is a part of her past she doesn’t—shouldn’t—have to deal with.
