"Who sent you here?" I asked the demon.
"One who is protected by my master."
Rats. Names have power, remember? Well, there were very particular rules governing the dark world, and one of them was that a demon couldn't be made to rat on anyone else who was under the protection of its lord. In other words, the demon could not be made to invoke the name of someone under his lord's power; however, the rules didn't stop me from naming names and asking the demon point-blank if that person had sent him.
"Did Guarda White send you?"
The demon snarled again and lunged at a ward that was glowing a bit weaker than the others. I threw more power into it.
"Did Phillippa the hermit send you?"
It spun around, fingernails lengthening into claws, and slashed at the air.
"Did Eduardo Tassalerro send you?"
Christian moved closer to me as I spoke the last name, a protective he-man gesture to be sure, but one that warmed me to my toes.
The demon spat out a few suggestions that were anatomically impossible. A ceiling fan spun to the floor behind him.
I leaned into Christian. "I was sure it was Eduardo."
Few of those people who dally with dark powers make free with their true names.
"Good point." I turned back to the demon. If it wanted to play it right down the line, I would be happy to oblige. "Did the one who calls himself Eduardo Tassalerro send you?"
"Yes," it hissed at me, its eyes showing its fury at being forced into revealing the truth.
"For what purpose were you sent here?" Christian asked. I glanced at him. His color was better, and he stood more easily, as if his wounds were continuing to heal. I couldn't spare any of my power to pour into him, but I squeezed his hand to let him know I was concerned. He tightened his fingers on mine in response.
The demon ignored him and continued to test the circle. To tell the truth, I was more than a bit surprised it had held a demon of Sarra's stature for as long as it did. I assumed what Christian had told me about the sum of our power combined being more than the parts added together was the reason, and attributed most of the strength of the circle to the blood we'd spilled to close it.
"Why were you sent here?" I repeated the question. Since I was the one who cast the spell, it had to answer me.
"To capture the woman."
Eek.
Christian tried to tug me behind him again. I refused to move, pinching his wrist to let him know there were only so many dominating moves I was willing to tolerate.
"Can you send it back?" he reluctantly asked me.
I looked at the demon. It sneered at me. The circle was still holding, but I could see signs that it wouldn't much longer.
"Not by myself."
Christian's eyes, glittering black onyx, held mine for a moment, his mind sharing his strength with me.
Then we will do it together.
I squashed down the niggle of doubt and clung to Christian's calm assuredness.
I let myself merge into him, holding tight to him as our power joined, swelling until it filled the room. I calmed my mind long enough to dig through my memory and uncover the long-forgotten spell that would send the demon back to its master. Merely breaking the circle would not be enough; we had to send it from its present location.
I started speaking the words, but before I could finish the air quivered expectantly. Three familiar shapes burst through the door.
"Mi amor, I am come to save you! I 'ave you now, you scaly-toothed, snaggle-skinned spawn of Satan!"
Antonio cried as he lunged forward, slashing his rapier about in an extremely dashing, if sadly ineffective, manner.
"I found a Bible," Esme yelled helpfully, then looked down at her empty hands. "Oh, dear, I must have dropped it somewhere. It's not easy keeping your attention focused long enough to move an item that is quite so heavy. I wonder if I left it on the stairs..." She wandered out of the room.
Jem, now wearing a tremendously baggy pair of torn jeans that hung extremely low on his hips, a ripped T-shirt, and a black leather jacket adorned with a skull painted on the back, and sporting one of those greased-back hairdos that the 1950s bad boys wore, all topped off with several heavy gold chains, slouched his way around Antonio. He slid a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open, sneering at the demon. "Oy! Yer wants a taste of me pricker, then?"
"You dare to sully mi amor with your filthy presence, you disgusting piece of codpiece lint! For that you will die!"
Christian shook his head and said something in what I assumed was Czech. I didn't need a translation. I was pretty much saying the same thing to myself, only I doubted if I was as polite as he was.
"Ye wanna rumble? I'm ready t'rumble! G'wan, gimme yer best shot, sucka!"
"Jem is definitely watching too much television," I murmured.
"I found it! I must have dropped it just outside the door. Alis, dear, that isn't china; I'm sure it's just a common ceramic light fixture. Here I come; wait for me and Mr. Woogums. This Bible is terribly heavy…"
Now, here is a curious fact about ghosts. While they can interact with the world of the living only if they concentrate very hard and maintain good control over their psychic power, they can interact with one another. This is an important point in understanding just why it was that when Esme backed into the room rump-first, inexplicably dragging one of Christian's antique Bibles rather than carrying it, she wasn't able to see that she was doomed to be on a collision course with Antonio, who was dancing about the circle, hurling all sorts of insults and taunts at the demon.
I saw it, but too late.
"Esme," I yelled in warning as she gave the Bible a great jerk, sending her flying backward into Antonio. Just as Antonio was saying, "Now we will see the color of your guts, you distempered toad-spotted rabbit sucker!" he was knocked forward into the circle, thereby breaking it and releasing the demon. Just a nanosecond before the demon realized it was free, I spoke the last word needed to send it back to the depths from which it came. It turned into a column of oily black smoke that doubled up on itself, sinking into a crack in the tile floor as if it had been sucked down by some giant demonic vacuum cleaner.
Which, I guess, is as apt a description as I'll ever find.
"Well, that was certainly interesting," Esme said, rubbing her behind.
Antonio staggered out of the circle, his long curls standing on end as if he'd stuck his finger in a light socket. He blinked several times, and seemed to have some difficulty with the coordination of his legs. "I… I… I…"
Esme helped him over to a bench.
I clung to Christian's hand, breathing a bit heavily as we stared at the faint black mark staining the tile that was all that remained of the demon. Christian started forward toward the mark, but I grabbed him with my other hand and wouldn't let go.
"Beloved, it is over," he said, kissing each of my fingers before gently prying them off his wrist.
Antonio lumbered to his feet again, weaving wildly as he tugged down his doublet, a faint corona of smoke rising from his curls. "You will take your filthy 'ands from mi corazón this instant or I will be forced to teach you some manners, you pestilential malt-worm, you!"
Christian squatted down to examine the crack in the tile as I held up my hands to show Antonio they were Christian-free, then turned to glare at Esme. "Did I not tell you all to stay in the study? I distinctly remember telling you to stay there. If you had broken that circle before I completed the ritual, that demon would have wiped up the floor with all of you! Do you think I want phantoms living in Christian's house?"
Esme paled even beyond her naturally gray state. A phantom was a ghost trapped in limbo, neither in the spirit realm nor the human realm, with no hope of ever finding Release. Demons had the power to drag ghosts there if they were strong enough, and judging by the holes Sarra had punched through Christian, it was a fair bet to say he would have had little trouble with my gang of five.
"We came to save you," Antonio protested as his legs gave out and he plopped back down onto the bench. Only he wasn't paying attention, and he ended up sitting midway through the bench, the seat portion resting in his chest. He kicked his legs around and waved his arms until Esme and Jem took pity on him and hauled him up so he was sitting on the bench proper.
"And we appreciate that, but—"
"It was the least we could do for you, after everything you've done for us. Giving us a new home, and television, and taking us on little bobble outings and teas and such. Even Mr. Woogums is enjoying our new haunt."
I raised my hands, then let them fall helplessly. "Look, what you did was very noble, but—"
"Bloody, 'ell, on't no'un come 'round me 'ood and mess wit' me bloods," Jem added in an odd, eighteenth-century "lower-class servant meets twenty-first-century rapper" dialect.
I pointed a finger at him. "That's it, no more MTV for you. And pull your pants up; it looks ridiculous with the crotch down around your knees. Esme, please fetch Alis; heaven only knows what she's up to out there. I will speak to all of you later." I gave them all my best mean squinty eyes. Two heads nodded quickly. Antonio tipped over sideways and made faint mewing noises.
I turned and walked over to where Christian was examining the tile. My leg was too sore, and I was too exhausted after the tremendous outpouring of energy that was needed to defeat the demon, to squat next to him, so I just leaned against him and touched his head.