when I was through with it.
“I wonder,” said Baldwin, “if you’d tell me a little about this demon—what it looks like, what its powers are.”
I regarded him through narrowed eyes. Was this the point of our interview? Or was Baldwin trying to trip me up into giving away some other information? I didn’t trust this norm. Even if he hadn’t been a politician, which automatically gave him a dubious relationship to little things like honesty, his arrogance would make me wary. Still, I didn’t see any harm in his question. I wouldn’t tell him anything he couldn’t look up in an Intro to Demonology textbook.
“It’s big and blue and covered with slimy warts. Hideous. Its mouth holds a couple hundred razor-sharp teeth, its claws are like daggers, and it can shoot flames from its eyes and mouth. Its purpose is to destroy.”
“But a human can actually control this monster?”
“It’s not a monster, it’s a demon.” I didn’t like the way Baldwin defined anything that wasn’t human as a monster. It reminded me of something Kane had said. “And yes,” I continued, “a human can bind a Hellion and force it to do the human’s bidding. But you’d have to be an extremely powerful sorcerer to try.”
He laughed. “I have no ambition to try such a thing, Miss Vaughn. But tell me, what happens if the sorcerer isn’t powerful enough?”
“The Hellion looks for every opportunity to break its master’s hold. Then it kills the master. This particular Hellion will also try to destroy the master’s soul.”
“How does a Hellion kill?”
“It depends on the Hellion. It might tear a person limb from limb, peel off the victim’s skin in half-inch strips, or rip out all the organs and leave them in a steaming pile on top of the victim’s dying body.” I glanced into Baldwin’s eyes, but I didn’t see any shock there. Only a kind of amused curiosity. Baldwin probably considered himself a cool head, but what I saw in those eyes was downright cold. “But since we’re talking about the Destroyer, that demon’s favorite method is to incinerate its victims—slowly, from the inside out. It’s incredibly painful.” The scar on my arm burned with the memory of the demon’s touch. I rubbed the spot. “And if the victim’s body isn’t cut open to release the demon’s essence, it also burns up the soul. Even after the body’s dead, the soul suffers excruciating pain for days—weeks even—until it’s completely destroyed.”
Across from me, Lucado shifted in his seat and whispered, “Jesus.”
Baldwin’s voice, however, was clear and steady. “And that’s how this Hellion killed your father?”
I looked up sharply. “Who told you that?”
Baldwin’s eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. “Why, Frank did.”
“I never told Frank.”
“You did, when you first warned him about the Hellion. Didn’t she, Frank?”
Something flicked across Lucado’s face, then he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, she did. And I told you.”
My mind raced. Only a few people knew what had happened to my father. Gwen knew, of course. Kane knew, and Juliet. I’d felt it necessary to tell Daniel and Detective Hagopian in Kane’s office. But I didn’t let most people close enough to hear that story. Had I told Frank? I couldn’t remember.
Baldwin’s voice poured like syrup. “You told him the next morning, after you’d seen the Hellion in his condo. Frank didn’t take you seriously, and you had to convince him that he needed protection.” He glanced over at Frank. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah,” Frank agreed.
I was almost positive that I hadn’t told Lucado. But seeing Difethwr had shaken me up, and the Creature Comforts fiasco had left my head spinning. And how else would Baldwin have found out? Daniel? I couldn’t believe he’d tell. But then, I couldn’t believe some woman would answer his phone, either.
Baldwin’s lips curved in a half-smile, like he was enjoying my reaction to his question. Damned arrogant bastard. I stared straight into his brown eyes, my own eyes shooting sparks. “I will not talk to you about my father.”
Baldwin’s smile grew, as though I’d answered his question in spite of myself. “It really is a pity,” he said, “that you won’t help out with my campaign. Once I’m elected, I could find a position on my staff for someone like you.”
I almost laughed in his face. “You’re forgetting something: I’m one of the monsters.”
“You’re a demi-human. Inactive demi-humans will be allowed to stay in the state.”
“Yeah, well, I’m an active demi-human. And that’s just the name you blood bags give me. I’m Cerddorion.”
He didn’t flinch at my name-calling. “Like your father before you, eh? Only he couldn’t change his shape, am I right?”
“I told you, my father is off-limits.” I leaned forward and knocked on the partition, then slid it open.
“Gordon, I think I’ll walk from here. Would you mind pulling over?”
“Sir?” he asked.
“We’re not quite finished,” said Baldwin. “One more time around the Common, please.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Gee, Gordon, I thought we were friends.” Silence. Not even a
Baldwin looked out the window at Boston Common. So did I. The park looked lifeless; skeletal trees reached bare branches toward an empty sky. Benches sat vacant. A few people hurried through, their collars pulled up, rushing toward some warmer, more hospitable place. Like spooked-out norms passing through a cemetery at midnight.
As we turned the corner onto Park Street, Baldwin spoke. “If I’m understanding you correctly, a Hellion has somehow entered Boston. It would seem important to locate the sorcerer who summoned it, yes?” He waited for me to answer, but I didn’t reply. “You said a Hellion will look for ways to escape its master’s control. How does it do that?”
I kept looking out the window. As far as I was concerned, the interview was over. Baldwin had crossed the line by asking about my father, and we could circle the Common the whole goddamn day before I’d say another word. So I’d miss another meeting with Daniel. Given the way I was feeling about him at the moment, I didn’t really care. Anyway, I knew that Baldwin had plenty of demands on his time. At some point, he’d have to be somewhere else: a Rotary Club lunch or a TV interview or his campaign headquarters.
Baldwin tried coaxing. He tried appealing to my expertise. He got Frank to threaten to fire me again. I didn’t respond, not even to remind them both that Frank couldn’t fire me. I just watched the damp gray Common go by. We circled three more times. Finally, with a curse, Baldwin told Gordon to pull over. We were on Beacon Street, so I’d have to jog across the Common and down Tremont to make my appointment, but at least I’d be out of that car. I got out, slamming the door. I’d rather be crossing the gloomy Common, adding a little life to the place, than cooped up in a limo with those two humans.
21
BY THE TIME I REACHED THE PRECINCT, I WAS BREATHLESS but only a couple of minutes late. I was signing in with the receptionist when a passing detective overheard us. “You’re meeting with Costello?” she said. “Come on, I’ll walk you back.”
We went through double doors, up some stairs, and down a hallway to a door labeled Homicide. She opened the door and walked in. I followed her into a room crowded with desks. The detectives, all men except for the one who’d brought me here, were already in their shirtsleeves, pecking at computers or talking on the phone.
“There he is.” She pointed. “Over there.”
He sat with his back to me, but I recognized his curly blond hair. Half sitting on his desk, facing my way, was a woman. Her raven black hair flowed past her shoulders, and she wore a tight black skirt with knee-high boots and a clingy red sweater that showed off her curves. She laughed, white teeth gleaming against red lips, then leaned over to say something to Daniel. Well, how nice and cozy. This had to be the woman who’d answered the phone this morning. Today must be Bring Your Bimbo to Work Day.
I strode over to Daniel’s desk. “Hello, Detective. Sorry I’m late.”
He looked up at me and beamed, his smile like the sun rising over a dark hill. He stood and said, “Perfect timing. Let me take your jacket.”
