Free The Brimstone Deception by Lisa Shearin

In a row? That was foul play of the premeditated kind. For whatever reason, someone out there didn’t want SPI New York to have a seer.
    Now I could see portals.
    Portals weren’t exactly common. It took specialized and expensive talent to create them. Well-connected criminals used portals as escape routes. Powerful and highly placed elves and goblins used them to travel between the dimensions—most notably ours—undetected. For someone in law enforcement to be able to see them? Well, that’d make me the most popular girl on any number of hit lists.
    My mouth went dry at the thought, and I downed the last of my sweet tea. “I already have a target on my back by being a seer; now I’ve got the magic equivalent of a red laser dot between my eyes.”
    Silence.
    â€œIsn’t anyone going to tell me I’m wrong?”
    â€œI make it a point never to lie to my agents,” Ms. Sagadraco said.
    â€œMa’am, I wouldn’t mind the occasional happy, fluffy, white one.”
    She turned toward Moreau. “I want to bring Martin DiMatteo in on this.”
    Oh boy.
    That confirmed that demons were going to be a big part of my immediate future; though as long as I didn’t end up like Sar Gedeon, I could deal with it.
    Martin DiMatteo was SPI’s expert on all things demonic. We’d been introduced during my first week when, as a new employee, I felt like I’d been introduced to every person who worked at SPI and their intern. No one really expected newbies to remember all the names and faces thrown at them, but I’d had no trouble remembering Mr. DiMatteo. If SPI had business cards, Martin DiMatteo’s would’ve said“Director of Demonology.” When we’d been introduced, he’d had pink scorch marks where his eyebrows should have been. That earned him a special place in my memory.
    The eyebrows hadn’t grown back.
    A couple of weeks later, what hair he had on his head had disappeared as well—though I think the hair was a personal style choice rather than another work-related mishap.
    Martin DiMatteo was probably a nice enough guy once you got to know him, but let’s just say I’d always hoped our caseloads would never intersect on the agency meeting calendar.
    Sounded like my luck was about to run out; but like I said, if I didn’t end up on a slab in the morgue, it was all good.
    â€œWhen we leave here, I’ll be going to see Bertram,” Ms. Sagadraco said. “I would like to be there when he regains consciousness. I don’t want to tax his strength having him tell me what happened.”
    â€œWhereas we were there and
didn’t
get walloped by a demon,” I said.
    â€œExactly.”
    I let Ian do the honors. He’d had much more experience giving detailed reports.
    â€œDetective Ash and I couldn’t get Dr. Ferguson to let go of the corpse, though I think it was more like the corpse wouldn’t let go of Dr. Ferguson. It was Agent Fraser who was able to help break whatever had hold of Bert’s mind.”
    â€œMay I ask how?” Ms. Sagadraco asked.
    â€œYou can ask, ma’am,” I said, “but I honestly don’t know. I just blocked Bert’s visual contact with Sar Gedeon. I think Bert did all the work. I just let him know we were there and he wasn’t alone.”
    â€œSometimes the reassuring touch of another being is more effective than any magic.”
    â€œWhat attacked him?” Moreau asked.
    â€œThat we won’t know for sure until Bert wakes up and tells us,” Ian said, “but I think it was a trap, deliberately setfor a necromancer attempting a postmortem contact. In this case, the soul had been taken and the trap left in its place.”
    Moreau leaned forward. “Taken?”
    â€œThe heart had been removed in addition to the soul.”
    â€œI’m unfamiliar with any demonic significance of those acts,” Moreau said.