Three. And if when we find those, we get rid of them if we can. But, again…”
“The possessee has to believe and be willing,” Barb said with a sigh.
“Right,” Sharice said. “So, you ready for the next step?”
“Which is?” Barb asked suspiciously.
“To dispel one without using massive amounts of power, you have to have its True Name,” Sharice said, grinning. “As I said, you can get that with The Ear. But he’s going to have to be out of the box.”
Barb glanced at the pentacle, then looked at Sharice.
“You have got to be joking.”
“Ready?” Sharice asked, opening the box.
“I hope,” Barb said, getting into panther position again.
“Confidence is pretty important with any demon,” Sharice said, touching one of the symbols on the box and muttering. “There’s a reason I chose this one.”
“Which is?” Barb asked as the demon popped its head up over the top of the box. She heard it almost immediately, the whispering in her mind. It was more of a craving for…Cheetos? Okay, so she liked Cheetos. It wasn’t like she was…Man, she really wanted some…
“You’ve never shown much interest in food,” Sharice replied. “Now, me, I’ve got all my defenses up. But I’ve worked with him before. But I figured there wouldn’t be much of a hook with you, not with your figure.”
“Thank you,” Barb said.
“Don’t make me get out the vanity demon, skinny,” Sharice said.
“I can handle it,” Barb replied.
“Or the pride one.”
“Okay,” Barb admitted. “Point. But it doesn’t really matter. It found a hook.”
“Not much of one,” Sharice said, gazing at the demon. “It hasn’t leapt. What’s the hook?”
“So I like Cheetos…And fried chicken. Is that a sin?”
“Not if you don’t overindulge,” Sharice replied. “But ignore the Cheetos and cheesecake…”
“I hate cheesecake…”
“Never mind. Ignore it. But open up your Ear. Don’t focus. Just stay calm…”
“Zen…” Barb said. “Ignore the dressing with gravy…”
“It’s there,” Sharice said, hypnotically. “Can you hear it? It sings its name along with the food. Very faint, an undercurrent, almost unnoticeable…”
“Zagnatag,” Barb said. “Is that what you mean?”
At the sound of its name, the demon dove into the box.
“How long have you…?” Sharice asked, hands on her hips.
“Pretty much from the beginning,” Barb said, straightening out of her defensive crouch. “It was louder than the Cheetos. I just figured it was white noise or something.”
“There are times I really dislike you, Barbara Everette,” Sharice said, half bitterly. “I’ve got years of training, and having someone as Gifted as you come along is just…I had to sit with this thing for a week to catch its True Name!”
“Yeah?” Barb said. “Well, do you go around with whispers and shouts filling your head all the time? Huh?”
“Good point,” Sharice admitted. “One which we’re going to have to work on. But since you know its True Name, control it.”
“How?” Barb asked, crouching again.
“Oh, quit that,” Sharice said. “Fix the name in your mind and call it out. Tell it to move around. If your will is stronger, it will have to obey. You don’t even have to open your mouth.”
Barbara raised her hand to do just that, then paused.
“I’m not sure I should,” Barb said.
“It’s not hard,” Sharice pointed out.
“No, I mean I should not, not I can not,” Barb corrected. “My religion does not control demons or consort with them. We destroy them.”
“Jesus sent the Legion into a herd of pigs,” Sharice said. “Think of it that way.”
“And it wasn’t a popular thing to do,” Barb said. “Can I do it? Probably. Should I do it? That might take some soul searching. It feels wrong.”
“Well, you can find out a True Name faster than anyone I’ve ever seen,” Sharice said with a shrug. “And once you have that, and your level of power, he’s basically putty in your hands. If you really feel the need to dispel him, feel free. We’ll have to find another one eventually…”
“No,” Barb said, shaking her head. “The Foundation does God’s work. But each…”
“Must find their own God,” Sharice said, nodding. “Okay, you seem pretty solid on this stuff. Pulling out the rest of the boxes would be fairly pointless. Well, the ones I’d normally pull out for beginners; and I don’t have a couple more trained adepts to pull out the advanced. So…Time for field work.”
“Fun, fun, fun,” Barbara said. “Where?”
“Rubs.”
The bar and grill was part of a small chain in the Asheville area. Copying the success of a much more notable national chain, the waitresses were invariably chosen for their looks, and dressed appropriately.
“Oh, my God,” Barb said as they walked into the bar. It was just the beginning of the evening shift, and while there were still few customers, the full crop of waitresses was on the floor.
“Don’t stare, don’t Reveal,” Sharice said, walking over to a table with a view of most of the bar.
“They’re…everywhere,” Barb hissed, setting Lazarus’s carrier on the table. The cat slid open the bi-directional zipper she’d installed and poked his head out, hissed and ducked back in. Probably because every second woman in the grill, not just the waitresses, had a small demon on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” a man said, hurrying over to their table. “There are no pets allowed…”
“I have a doctor’s excuse,” Barb said, pulling out a sheet of paper. “Under the Americans with Disabilities Act, you have to allow companion animals. My cat is registered as a psychological companion animal. I’m aware that that makes me crazy, but I’m covered under Federal law.”
The response was automatic and rote. Living with a familiar was a pain, but Barb blessed the otherwise incredibly stupid court orders that had expanded the ADA far beyond its original intent. Designed to force companies to make their places wheelchair accessible, the Ninth Circuit, using its usual logic, had decreed that “companion animals” including yappy dogs that were “psychologically necessary” to crazy ladies, were covered by the statute.
Barb was willing to be considered crazy if it meant she didn’t have to put up with the headaches she got when Lazarus was more than a few dozen meters from her.
“Yes, ma’am,” the manager said through gritted teeth.
“I promise he won’t go peeing on the furniture,” Barb said. “Laz. Stay. See?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the manager repeated, walking away.
“Familiars,” Sharice said. “Can’t live with them…”
“We’ve been spotted,” Barb said, craning her neck around. She wasn’t staring at any of the small demons, but she definitely felt eyes on her. Of course, it might have been some of the patrons. Despite her age, she could easily have been one of the waitresses.
“I feel it, too,” Sharice said. “Not sure…”
“Now what is that?” Barb asked, blinking. Now she was staring, even though there wasn’t a demon on the girl’s shoulder.
The waitress was bending over, talking to a customer. Pretty. Very pretty. She looked much like Barb had when she was in her early twenties. Long legs, blond hair, tight derriere and solid double-D chest. On closer examination, though, Barb was fairly sure that was in part fake. But the sense of being watched, even though the girl wasn’t looking at them, was coming from her.
“Aura,” Sharice said, quietly. “Read her aura.”
The girl’s aura wasn’t black but it was darned close. It was a red so deep as to be almost
