Except for the partially open driver’s side window. I’d rolled that down myself. Just because I’d had the hell scared out of me didn’t lessen my curiosity. The lab folks were having a field day with this one. It wasn’t often they got to play with squid demon blood, and I didn’t want to miss a word of it.
The rear passenger-side door opened. I had a visitor, an expected one.
SPI’s director of demonology, Martin DiMatteo.
I saluted him with my gargantuan paper cup. “Hi, Marty.”
We’d only met once before on my first day on the job, and he was many levels of agency bureaucracy above me, but after what’d just happened, I had no fracks left to give.
Not that he was intimidating or anything. I think the term “mild mannered” was coined with this guy in mind. Average height, average build, average looks. The only thing that wasn’t average was the complete lack of hair above the neck. Below the neck, he was covered by a navy blue suit with a non-descript tie. Even the tie’s pattern was muted.
Martin DiMatteo gave me a cool nod. “Agent Fraser.” He got in and closed the door.
I took a big gulp of my hot chocolate. Interrogation, here we come.
“You can call me Mac, if you want to,” I told him. “Or . . . Agent Fraser if you don’t.”
“I understand you’ve had quite the eventful day, Agent Fraser.”
So much for friendly small talk.
Though one element of my eventful day wasn’t going to be a topic of talk, small or otherwise. Ian had notified Vivienne Sagadraco about what had happened; and until after an official debriefing, she wanted us to keep the mage to ourselves. I had absolutely no problem with that. I didn’t want to think about what’d nearly happened to me, let alone have a chat about it. As the director of demonology, Martin DiMatteo would probably be hearing about it soon enough, but I was fine with him being told by the boss and not me.
“I think we can safely call it the day from Hell,” I said.
“Technically, no. A more accurate description would be a day from an anteroom of Hell, but then that doesn’t have nearly the dramatic flair.”
“I don’t want drama in my life.” I nearly added “Marty,” but decided against it. I could only claim shock-induced familiarity for so long. “What’s the difference between a portal to Hell and an anteroom?”
“One’s a direct flight; the other has a layover.” He didn’t crack a smile, or show any emotion whatsoever.
“So it’s true what we say back home: to get to Heaven or Hell, you’ve gotta go through Atlanta.”
Still no smile. I don’t think the guy understood humor.
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“But if I’d been dragged through, I could have been taken to Hell from there.”
“Yes.”
Gulp.
“There is no way directly into our dimension from Hell,” he continued.
“That’s good.”
“It’s the only reason any of us are still here.”
Gulp again.
“The vast majority of demons cannot cross over,” he said.
“Let me guess, squid demons can.”
“Actually, that’s what makes this incident so interesting. They shouldn’t be able to, and definitely not so far from open water. Then there was what happened this morning, both in our morgue and with that elf’s murder. Both highly unusual demonic behavior.”
I’m glad only one of us considered all that merely interesting. I’d broken out in a cold sweat at the thought of what I was about to ask. “So demons don’t like to torture humans—or elves—and eat their hearts?”
“They derive great enjoyment from that. However, they generally don’t do it here. Contrary to what most major religions believe, demons really don’t find us all that fascinating on an individual basis.”
I probably didn’t want to know, but couldn’t help asking. “And as a group?”
DiMatteo shrugged. “I’ve heard that we’re tasty and addictive, rather like buffalo wings. It’s our dimension that they covet. They consider our dimension—or any dimension other than their own, for that matter—to be much more hospitable than theirs.”
“Must be the beaches,” said an unexpected voice.
I danged near choked on my chocolate. “Bert?”
“Mac.” He nodded in greeting. “I escaped.”
“I see. Should you be here?”
“You saw another portal—and the bastard who attacked me standing on the other side. Where else should I be?” He nodded to my visitor. “Marty.”
“Bert.”
“Where you should be is still in bed with Dr. Stephens fussing over you.” I spotted a flash of white on the back of his big hand. My mouth fell open. “Is that tape from your IV needle?”
Bert looked down, grunted in acknowledgment, and ripped it off.
“You really did escape.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Bert said. “I’m fine, Stephens didn’t believe me. That’s his problem, not mine.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but the portal’s gone. You came here for nothing.”
“There’ve been two portals today, and you’ve been there for both of them. You’re batting a thousand, kid. If I stick with you, I’ll be there for the next one.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Did you hit your head on the table in the morgue? It’s more like I’ve got two strikes, and the next one means I’m out. I’d like nothing more than to take myself out of the game before that happens.”