The Brimstone Deception by Lisa Shearin Page B

launched from the other side of the portal, but from the knowledge of who had done the launching.
    Sar Gedeon’s murderer. The thing that had held the elf still while a class-five demon had cut out and eaten his heart—then his soul.
    A horned figure suddenly loomed behind the mage.
    Oh God . . .
    Tires screeched behind me.
    In that instant, it wasn’t my life that flashed before my eyes. It was gratitude. I was grateful that I was about to become the city’s newest speed bump rather than a demon meal.
    Just as the stink of burned rubber overrode my senses, the portal snapped shut, leaving no sign that it’d ever been there.
    My body went limp in a fit of shaking.
    I could move again.
    Doors opened and arms were lifting me off the concrete. Ian’s arms. Oh God, that hurt. The parts of me that weren’t still numb had concrete burn.
    I couldn’t make sense of Ian’s words over the sound of my ragged breathing. Since the ones I did hear were creative variations on the four-letter variety, my partner appeared to be going for emotional expression over sentence structure.
    â€œSq . . . squid.” Great, my teeth were chattering, too.
    I tried to point toward the portal.
    It was gone. The Suburban’s headlights lit the garage like high noon. The corner walls were just concrete. There was nothing left of the portal but the stink.
    And the black blood on the floor—and on me.
    Ian had one arm around me; the other hand held his gun. Yasha wasn’t encumbered.
    When in human form, Yasha’s favorite weapons were his Suburban and his Desert Eagle. The Eagle was the only handgun large enough for his hands. He had it in his hand now. The other held a flashlight that could fry your retinas.
    The Russian swept the entire garage with its beam.
    â€œIs gone.”
    â€œIt was a shapeshifter,” I told them “I didn’t do this . . . to myself.”
    Ian’s expression was grim as his eyes scanned the cars. “I know you didn’t. Yasha, get a—”
    â€œSample for lab,” the Russian finished for him.
    â€œThanks, buddy.” He looked down at me with an expression that said, unlike Yasha, I wasn’t his buddy right now, or at the very least he was pissed at my show of initiative.
    I pulled at my shirt. “I’ve got lab samples, too. He bled all over me when I cut off his tentacles.”
    Ian’s expression changed from definitely pissed to possibly impressed.
    â€œJust the two,” I clarified. “He had six. It was kind of like cutting bait.”
    Really big bait.
    For now, I left out the panicking and whimpering part. I wanted to keep my badass illusion going for as long as possible. Impressed while looking at me was a new expression for Ian, and I was enjoying it. Besides, he didn’t look like he wanted to yell at me—at least not as much.
    I thought I had enough breath now for the really bad news. My partner was going to have a lot of questions, and I needed the wind to answer.
    â€œIan, there was a portal . . . and a mage.”
    *   *   *
    Within fifteen minutes, SPI had investigative and cleanup teams on site, complete with agency demonologist, Martin DiMatteo. The teams were disguised as elevator repairmen. Their job was to get in, get readings, get rid of the evidence, and get out. And they actually did do what the name on the van blocking the garage entrance indicated. They repaired the elevator—which was needed after they disabled it to keep anyone from descending into the garage.
    Both teams had plenty of practice in being thorough and fast. The NYPD could have closed the garage as a crime scene for hours. Since SPI didn’t officially exist, we couldn’t officially do anything, and didn’t have time on our side. The disguise was to keep the curious from asking too many questions; the speed was to prevent anyone from seeing squid demon blood