Sekhmet, Devourer of Evil, give him strength.
“Should we wait out here?” Ryan asked. “I’m thinking Walsh will be more willing to talk if you go alone. He won’t want witnesses.”
Zahira glanced back at him, then at John. “Ryan has a point, but maybe one of us should go in with you.”
John took a deep breath, then let it out. It did nothing to calm his racing heart. “He’s an old man,” John said aloud. “He can’t hurt me now. I’ll go in alone.”
Zahira didn’t seem entirely happy with his decision, but she nodded. His legs feeling like lead, John got out of the car and walked through the warm evening toward the front door. He was hyper-aware of the sea wind rustling the palm trees clustered around the faux villa, the smell of salt in the air, the sterile white of the walls. Steeling himself as if for a blow, he rang the doorbell.
Time seemed to stretch infinitely; he’d been standing there for days. Maybe Walsh wasn’t home. Maybe he’d spied John on a security camera and decided not to open the door. Maybe—
The click of a deadbolt sliding back came from the door. Then it swung open.
The man on the other side was older than John remembered, but it was him. For a long moment, he studied John curiously with sharp eyes that had lost none of their sharpness.
John saw the moment recognition snapped into place. Walsh’s expression of puzzlement turned into one of pleased surprise. “You’re the exorcist, aren’t you?” he asked.
John nodded, his neck so tense the gesture hurt. “Yes.”
“Well, then.” Walsh stepped back, the door wide. “Why don’t you come inside?”
The entrance to Walsh’s home was tiled in warm reds and oranges, contrasting with cool white walls. A stair with an iron railing led upstairs. The faint smell of lemons clung to the air, as if a cleaner had left not long ago.
“I have an office upstairs,” Walsh said. “I think that will be the best place for our chat.”
John followed him numbly. This man had done terrible things to him, and yet here he was, trailing along after while Walsh acted as though John were an ordinary guest. A part of him wanted to scream, to shove Walsh into the wall and demand he acknowledge what he’d done.
But that wouldn’t get him the answers he needed.
Walsh’s office was carpeted in light beige, topped by accent rugs of turquoise and orange scattered here and there. The furniture itself was dark wood, the desk a hulking thing of shelves and files. Walsh’s degrees hung on the wall, along with expensive paintings.
Walsh went to a cabinet and opened it to reveal bottles of liquor and crystal tumblers. “Would you like something to drink?”
This was insane. The man who had tortured him and other children, asking if he wanted any booze. As though they were friends or colleagues. Bile rose in John’s throat, and he longed to smash every glittering bottle into shards. “I’d rather never drink again than take anything from your hands.”
“There’s no need to be so adversarial.” Walsh poured himself a drink. “Have a seat,” he said, settling into the plush leather desk chair.
John scanned the desk and was surprised to see the picture of a smiling young family prominently displayed.
Walsh noticed. “My daughter and grandchildren,” he said, taking a sip. “They’re coming in tomorrow so we can spend Christmas together. I’m glad you came before they arrived.”
Somehow, John had assumed a monster like Walsh wouldn’t have a family. “You shouldn’t be allowed around children,” he growled.
“That’s rather harsh,” Walsh said, his white brows drawing together as though John had actually offended him. “I love my family. Do you have children…what was your designation? 19-06-9. Do you have children, Nineteen?”
Anger began to take the place of nerves. “Don’t sit there and chat like we’re friends,” John spat. “You did something to me when I was a kid. Rewrote my memories, made me think I’m someone I’m not.”
Walsh shook his head. “You have it all wrong. I didn’t do anything to your memories. That was all Fifteen. Well, I suppose it was all of you working together, but Fifteen bears the most responsibility.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” John ground his teeth. “You brainwashed me, the real John Starkweather, and other paranormally abled children. You put NHEs in us!”
Infuriatingly, Walsh was starting to look annoyed. “I didn’t brainwash anyone.”
“Then why are my memories so fucked up?” John shot back.
Walsh regarded him for a long moment. Then he reached for a notepad and a pen. “I have a proposition to make. You ask me a question, and I will answer honestly. In return, I ask you a question, and you will answer honestly.”
It felt like a trap. John eyed the paper and pen suspiciously. “Why? What sort of things are you going to ask?”
“I may no longer be active in the field of research,” Walsh said with a thin smile, “but I’m still a scientist. Our results will never be published even as classified documents, but I would like to gather what data points I can, to see if any of my theories can be either supported or disproven. Purely for my own satisfaction, of course.”
John’s stomach churned. “You want me to play the lab rat again.”
“That is the price of my cooperation. You’re free to leave at any time.”
Maybe it was for the best Caleb and Gray hadn’t been able to join him. They’d have been dangling Walsh out the window by his ankles by now.
John had come here for answers. He could wait and see what was on the hard drive, hope that it could tell him everything. Or he could take advantage of Walsh’s offer.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
Five
They managed to get away from the outfitters without Night raising anymore eyebrows. A bright red canoe was strapped to the top of the SUV, paddles and waders loaded into the back. Caleb steered onto the interstate and headed west, toward the swamp.
“The new mortal believes you have corrupted Gray,” Night said without preamble. “Gray says she is wrong.”
Oh Christ, not this again. “You mean Tiffany?”
“I am curious as to why she believes this, when the other mortals do not.”
Gray stirred. “Because she is wrong.”
Not helping.
“She doesn’t. At least, not the way you do,” Caleb said to Night. “She talks a lot of shit, but when it came down to it, she could have exorcised Gray. She had the resources. But she gave us the choice of whether we wanted to stay together or not.” He paused, remembering the argument at the safehouse the next day, before everything had truly gone sideways. “Other people in her organization disagreed, but by then it was too late, and Tiffany isn’t one to waste time regretting what can’t be changed.”
Night seemed to mull it over. As the city slipped behind them, he said, “Why did you choose to remain together?”
A warm current of affection flowed out from Gray, bringing a smile to Caleb’s lips. “Because I love Gray, and he loves me. We’re like…two pieces of a whole. No, that’s not right, because we add up to more than one thing.” He waved it off. “I know that, no matter what happens, no matter how bad I screw up, no matter how dark things get, I’ll always have him in my corner. And he knows the same thing about me. Whatever happens, we’ll never be alone again.”