Mojo Queen by Sonya Clark

dealing with ghosts, with spirits. It must be incredible to know for a fact that there is life after death, that our souls have true resonance, and the power to outlive the fragile shells that serve as their containers during this life.”
    Yeah, it really resonates when they start throwing knives at you, I thought but didn’t say. Somewhere in all his talking he’d managed to clear his plate, including the bacon I’d had my eye on. Now he looked at me as if expecting some response, but I wasn’t sure to what. The eating habits of big families, his condescending attitude toward Wicca, or how super cool it was to encounter a pissed-off ghost resonating all over somebody’s house. I pushed my plate away and folded my forearms on the table. “When I was a little kid I used to call a peanut butter and jelly a pibbage.”
    I’d caught him in the middle of a drink of coffee. He slammed the cup down, hard enough for some of the liquid to slop out. “At some point you and I will have a conversation about you breaking into my home.” He jabbed a finger at me. “And you will give me my journals back.”
    From dippy to menacing in a matter of seconds. I should have been impressed but I was starting to suspect Blake Harvill of hiding behind a front that would impress a world-class con artist.
    “What we need to talk about is your demon lover Delia. Or Delipitore, whatever she’s calling herself now.”
    He ran his hands through his thick black hair. “Delia. She prefers Delia.” He sounded somewhat deflated. He stared out the window into the dark of night. I reached for his left wrist, turning it to me so I could read his watch. Almost one in the morning. Startled, he turned his gaze to me and brought his right hand to cover my fingers. He ran his fingers over mine, his face unreadable. My skin burned with a sudden flush. Even with my glasses on, I could see color flaring out from him, a shimmer of purple and silver I didn’t know how to interpret. I pulled my hand away.
    Blake sat back against the booth, as far away from the table and me as he could get without leaving. Folding his arms across his chest, he looked at me with a hint of smirk. “Have you ever performed a demonic exorcism before?”
    I swallowed a desire to run or pick up the metal napkin dispenser on the table and use it to knock the smirk off his face. “No, I haven’t.”
    “Do you have confidence that you’d be able to do it?”
    I sidestepped. “You know, since you’re the one who brought her here, if you want her gone why don’t you send her back to Hell? And by the way, since you brought her here, why do you want her sent back? What up with that, Kalidas?”
    A muscle in his cheek twitched. His eyes grew darker. “It’s not appropriate for you to call me that in a public setting.”
    We stared at each other for a long moment. The anger slowly melted from his features, making him handsome again. Somewhere in the back of my brain it occurred to me it might be better if I kept him angry.
    “I’ve tried,” he said. “Every time she’s fought back.”
    “Why do you want to send her back?”
    A snort of laughter. “Because she’s killing people. Maybe you noticed?”
    “Oh--kay,” I said. “So, in your journals it didn’t sound like you planned for those kids to die.”
    “Of course I didn’t plan that. I needed them for the ritual, yes, but I never had any intention of killing anyone.”
    “But you had no qualms about sacrificing this girl Delia? What did you tell her was going to happen?” Those must have been some pretty lies, dressed up with flowers and poetry and his peculiar intensity. Did she have any family looking for her, or did he find himself a girl no one would look for?
    “I told her the truth.” He uncrossed his arms, rested his hands on the table. Well, not rested. The fingers of his right hand tapped the Formica while his left fiddled with the handle of his coffee spoon. “I never lied to her. I didn’t tell