Still…. Male, dark-haired, babbling while he strained against the restraints, leather creaking. “How did you get him tied down?”

“Cold-cocked him. He’ll have a headache for a while.” Avery didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. He rubbed at his jaw, gingerly. “Assuming he ever wakes up.”

I kept my arms folded. Ave had done a good job strapping the man down. He looked thin but wiry-strong, fighting against the restraints, his skin rippling. The candy-sick scent of corruption was missing.

That was what bothered me. “He doesn’t smell right.”

“Smells like BO and fish.” Ave’s nose wrinkled. “But it just seems off. That’s why I called you. Didn’t feel right, and you’re always bitching about trusting those instincts.”

“Because when you don’t, you end up getting your ass handed to you.” I paused. “And then you get all embarrassed when I do show up to bail you out.”

“Humility’s a virtue, Kismet.”

“So’s discretion. I suck at both. Didn’t you notice?”

The banter wasn’t easing our nerves, but he gave me a tight, game smile. The bruise was coloring up quite nicely. “I was too bowled over by your witty repartee. Not to mention your leather pants. What do you think?”

“I think he’s possessed, but I don’t know by what yet. Grab a mirror.”

He backed up two steps and bent to dig in his little black exorcist’s bag on the greasy linoleum floor, metal and glass clinking. I approached the end of the bed and considered the thin man, who was still ranting and raving in glottal stops and harsh sibilants. It didn’t sound Chaldean. It had a lilt to it unlike Helletöng, and it was vaguely familiar.

“Here.” Avery had a small round hand mirror, the type exorcists buy by the case. I took it and hopped over the end of the bed, which squeaked and shuddered as my feet landed on either side of the victim’s hips. I crouched easily and kept the mirror out of sight, tucked against my leg.