He drew his Laptop closer and brought up the audio file Fontein had sent him earlier, listening to it with only half an ear as he tried to decide how to go forward.

A succubus within his reach, helpless and crippled! The mere thought of it made him drool. If he succeeded in finding and disposing of her, he would finally be able to go back to the Pit himself. He might even be able to enact some of the reforms he had been proposing for the last several decades. The Dark One couldn't ignore him forever.

Careful, Old Boy. The attention of the Dark One is a two-edged blade.

Most of your kind go out of their way to avoid it.

He snorted at his timorousness. Wasn't he the son of Merihem herself?

One of the eight Dukes and Duchesses of the Pit? A demon who had escaped and eluded all of God's agents for decades here on Earth? He would respect the Dark One. But he would not fear him. When he came before him, with Althea's blood red and dripping from his hands, the

Lord of the Pit would raise him above all others. He would...

The pleasant fantasy was interrupted, his ear snagging on a stray thread of sound. Frowning, he replayed the file.

"...some sort of seizure outside her home. Witnesses called the EMTs and they brought her here. She's in our ICU. Dr. Marafi has been running tests on her, but she doesn't seem to have found a cause for her illness."

“Dr. Marafi..." he breathed. "What an...unusual...name." He smiled, an expression which would make most humans quail. He sat up and pulled the laptop closer to him.

It took some time, not being familiar with the spelling of the name.

But in less than ten minutes he knew where Althea Carpenter's body was hiding.

“The University of Chicago Medical Center," he said. "Not the north side, Fontein, you stupid, ignorant fuck. The south side." He leaned forward and pushed a button on his desk.

"Yes, Mr. Kincaid?" a voice immediately answered.

“Bring the car around," he said. "I am going out.”

"Yes, sir." The brisk efficiency in his lackey's voice would have warmed Kincaid's heart, if he had one.

Althea Carpenter, you bitch.

You are mine.

They all gathered together, in the hallway in front of the door, as the last light bled from a late May sky. Alex and Maria, Jeremy and Sarah,

Joshua and Rachel. Except for Jeremy, who was still in the clothes he had worn at the cookout, they were dressed in their best. In expensive skirts and dark suits and sober ties.

Althea looked at them from Rachel's eyes, spoke with Rachel's voice.

And yet there was not a one of them who did not pause in awe, to hear that voice, deep and dark and rich and impossibly clear, emerging like a trumpet-call from Rachel's lips.

“Aside from Rachel, none of you know me. You are risking not only your lives, but your very souls, to rescue a woman whom you have never truly met. For all you know, I could be merely a figment of Rachel's imagination, a personality made up out of clouds and moonbeams.

“Your faith in us humbles me.

“Thank you."