I’ve been a paranormal investigator for four years, since I was twenty-four. I was a little over a week into a new job as a paralegal when everything turned to shit and…and it was the only thing I could do. That doesn’t need to be explained to some demon.
I’m still not convinced I’m awake.
This can’t bereal, can it? Demon possession is something that happens in TV shows and movies. Last I checked, I’m not living inSupernaturalorThe Exorcist. I don’t even like horror movies, and now I’m living one? If I end up vomiting pea soup, I’m finding a way to no longer be conscious in here.
I don’t believe in demons. Or, I didn’t. I believe in ghosts, and I know some religions believe that ghostsaredemons, butI am not of that belief. Ghosts can be good. Most are troubled souls that got stuck, but demons… Demons are evil. End of story. Even if this particular demon doesn’t take to killing humans, it doesn’t mean he’s not evil. Murder isn’t the only evil thing someone can do. Just because he doesn’t kill doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy maiming, torturing, or whatever else there is that can take someone steps from death.
He’s a demon, so he’s evil. That’s in the rule book, I’m sure.
Kit approaches a car…sigh.Mycar. I should stop being surprised by this. He unlocks the door to my silver sedan and climbs in.
“You have to pull this seat incredibly close to the steering wheel to reach the pedals,” he comments.
I don’t respond.
“How short are you?”
I’m not that short. I’m five feet three inches, thank you very much. I don’t tell him that, though. If he wants to know so badly, he can measure me. Or check my driver’s license, which I’m sure he is in possession of.
Kit doesn’t appear put off by my lack of response. He turns the car on with a crank of the key. I do really have to crank the key to turn her on. Something sticky got in there at some point, so I probably need to go to a mechanic to have them fix it, but that’s a relatively small thing, and I’d still leave hundreds of dollars poorer.
Also, I’m currently being possessed by a demon, so there are a few things landing higher on my priority list.
My marbles are lost. That’s what this is. Get me to a psychiatrist, pronto.
He yanks out the square car air freshener I have stuck in the vent over the middle console, bringing it to his nose for a sniff. “Uck,” he says. He rolls down the car window and chucks the air freshener out.
“Hey!” I protest.
“There she is,” he says patronizingly.
I’m too annoyed at his actions to be annoyed by the tone. “What did you do that for? I just bought that last week.”
“I hate citrus smells.”
I scoff. “Who hates citrus? That’s ridiculous. That air freshener is my favorite.”
“Angels smell like citrus. Some of them, at least. Older angels. Makes me physically nauseous, which means it makesyouphysically nauseous, so you’re welcome. No nausea for us.”
“I…” I falter.Angels?Like Angels of Heaven? Thosecan’tbe real. “Angels?” I utter.
“Yeah. Angels.” He cringes enough I can feel it. “Sorry, I thought those would be easier to sell than demons. A lot of people in the Western world believe in angels.”
“I was raised an atheist.” My voice comes out in a whisper. “So…that means God?—”
He cuts me off. “Don’t go there.”
“But if angels?—”
“Lacy. No. You don’t want a definitive answer on that one. I promise. I honestly can’t tell you for sure or not. Nobody really knows. Not even in Heaven and Hell.”
Probably for the best. “Okay.”
He shifts topics. “So, now that we’re speaking again, you want to tell me how you got into paranormal investigation?”
“That’s none of your business,” I state.
He exhales loudly and puts the car in reverse.
