There were different levels of evil. Maybe this particular demon simply liked to do his job. “How often have you practiced? Have you practiced on Summer and Erna?”
He frowned my way. “I’ve practiced on Summer a couple of times. She’s always sad but she never meant any harm. Erna would consider it very impolite. I would never do that to Erna. Never.”
The words were said with an edge of desperation I didn’t understand. I also didn’t understand how you could teach someone if you weren’t willing to work with them. When I was the one training Dean, I would spar with him. I would take hits from the kid and let him try to take me down. It was the only way I would be able to tell if he was getting better. It would be like a teacher never testing a student and just kind of hoping he was telling the truth about his progress. But I didn’t have time to get into it now. “We don’t have to do this, you know. If you’re scared…”
His eyes narrowed and I knew I’d hit the mark. “I’m not scared.”
He pushed open the barn door.
It probably wasn’t fair of me, but I had to get him moving or say screw the whole plan. I wanted time alone with Dean, and that meant not letting Erna in on this. I would certainly share anything we found, but I wanted to see Dean work without her influence.
I followed him into the barn which included a handy place for the farmer to sleep when the farmer’s wife was upset. There was a cot and stool, and a bucket I didn’t want to think about and that the demon thankfully didn’t need to use. Morning light filtered through the places where the wood had decayed over the years, shafts illuminating the cadaverous figure on the cot. His legs were almost entirely off what I would consider an extra-long cot. I’d been told the place had been used by Fae refugees long ago, and they tend to be tall. Though not nearly as tall as the Planeswalker.
“He looks dead.” Dean stood still as though he didn’t dare move closer. The words came quietly out of his mouth.
What must it be like to have come from where he did—comfort, wealth, a loving family—and to have a hard destiny thrust upon him? It wasn’t like I hadn’t faced the same things. One day I’d thought I was this normal, messed the fuck up girl who would probably drink herself to death at some point and the next I was hunting demons, but there was a difference. I always knew the world was screwed up. It had been almost a relief to find out I could do something about it. Dean had likely been coddled and loved and promised a life of ease.
The fact that he’d chosen this path made me determined to back him with everything I had. And to show some patience.
“You can do this. I think he would want you to do this. He was trying to communicate last night. He seemed desperate to. I don’t think he’ll fight you. When you went into my head, you went in looking for a fight and you got one. Relax and ease in. You don’t have to bombard him. Think about it as a tendril of your mind easing into his.”
Dean winced. “So I shouldn’t think about it as a knife is what you’re saying.”
“No, asshole.” Patience really wasn’t my strong point. “You can control this. It’s a whisper, a gentle wave.” I tried to use all the words Marcus would have used with me. Or Trent. Trent had always been good with the wolfy stuff, teaching me how to study the scents around me like they were pages in a book I could examine and turn at will. “You’re in control. I could feel you inside my head. I think if I’d felt you trying to be gentler, I wouldn’t have been as upset.”
I would have, but he didn’t have to know that.
Dean took a deep breath and approached the Planeswalker. “Hello, Mr. Demon. I’m Dean Malone and I’m going to take a quick trip inside your brain to see if I can find out what’s going on. You should know I’m trying to work on a spell that will give you energy, but that could take some time, time I don’t know we have.”