Gary Schmidt? How would he—?

I answered my question before I could ask it. Schmidt was a necromancer. If he’d been here, he’d be able to communicate with his wife’s soul—Jaime had done it with comatose patients. But what if he was on the other side? Could he speak through his wife’s body?

“Savannah . . .”

“I’m here,” I said, hurrying back to my spot. “Is this Gary Schmidt?”

“Yes . . .”

Question answered. More than one. Still, I asked, “Are you . . . Did you pass over?”

“Dead.” The word came harsh. “Yes.”

“How—?” I began.

“Don’t know. Not important.”

He didn’t know how he died. Not unusual for ghosts, especially the newly dead. Communicating this way was obviously a struggle and he wasn’t going to waste it on that.

“Leah,” he whispered.

“She’s dead,” I said. “Again. We sent her back to hell and she won’t get out this time.”

Silence. While it felt good giving him that message, I’m not sure how much it mattered to him. He was still dead. His wife was still in a coma.

“Do you know how she got out?” I asked. “Did she tell you anything? Was she working with any—?”

“Stop.” An intake of breath, as if he was struggling to stay on the line. “Will talk. Wait.”

A moment’s rest, then he said, “Leah freed because connection.” His words came in spurts. “With you. Knows you. Might persuade you.”

The voice stopped, and I waited as long as I could before asking, “Persuade me to do what?”

“Help. Wanted your help. Leah’s, too. Package deal. She reneged.”

So someone decided Leah had sway over me because we’d known each other. This someone also decided she might be useful, meaning it would be doubly worthwhile to free her from her hell dimension. She’d played along, cozying up to me in Jesse’s body, with the ultimate goal of ignoring her mission and instead using me to stay out of hell for good.

“Who freed her?” I asked.

“Don’t know. Powerful forces. Not human. Demonic. Celestial.”

“Celestial?”

“Angel.”

“Demonic and celestial,” I said. “An angel and a demon working together?”

He didn’t know. I got the feeling he was as confused as we were. Leah obviously hadn’t told him the grand scheme.

“Tell me everything she said,” I pressed. “Give me all the pieces and we’ll put them together.”

“That’s all. She was freed. Powerful forces. You’re a target. Powerful ally. Tool.”

What would happen when those powerful forces discovered that their powerful tool had lost her powerful juice?

A thought flitted through my brain, half-formed, and I tried to grab it, but it disappeared before I could.

“There must be more,” Adam said. “Leah tormented you for weeks.”

“And she loves to talk,” I said.

He said, “That’s all,” but it took him a moment, and that pause suggested he was holding out.

“Did she tell you anything more about who released her?” Adam asked.

“No.”

“Did she name any specific demons?”

“No.”

“Did she tell you why they wanted Savannah?”

“No.”

“Did she tell you what her rescuer’s overall plan is?”

A pause. Then, “No.”

“She hinted at it, though. What they were up to.”

Silence.

“What did she say?”

“Not important. What matters is Savannah. She’s in danger.”

“I’m always in danger,” I said. “These people want me to help them carry out some grand scheme. What is it?”

“Don’t know. Just . . .”

We waited, but he didn’t go on.

“You don’t know the whole plan,” Adam said. “That’s fine. We’ll take whatever we can get. Just tell us—”

“Immortality.”

Adam paused. “They want immortality?”

“Semi-immortality. Long life. Eternal youth. Invulnerability.”

“Seriously?” I said. “Immortality questers freed Leah and want me? Besides being really unoriginal, that doesn’t make any sense. I have demon and spellcaster blood. No immortality connection there.”

“Bigger. Think bigger.”

“Than immortality? It doesn’t get bigger than that.”

A hiss of frustration. “Immortality only part. Bigger plan. Need—”

The door swung open. An older nurse walked in, trilling, “We aren’t supposed to shut that door, people. We would hate to have Mrs. Schmidt’s alarms go off and we don’t hear them.”

Adam started to apologize, but she swept past him, syringe in hand.

“Out, out, out. Our lady needs tending.”

“No,” Schmidt whispered. “Please, no.”

I tensed. Adam glanced at me. The nurse had to have heard him, but she just kept humming under her breath.

“Please,” Schmidt said. “I’m sorry. Please—”

She hummed louder, drowning him out. When she reached for the intravenous cord and lifted the syringe, Adam lunged and grabbed her arm. The nurse wheeled and grabbed Adam around the neck before he could blink. He tried to throw her off, but she yanked him back against her, forearm jammed under his throat, holding him as if he was a struggling toddler, and no more dangerous. He grabbed her arm with both hands. Skin sizzled and popped. But she didn’t let go.

I raced forward.

“Uh-uh,” she said, pointing the needle at Adam’s throat. “Touch me, and he dies. Cast a spell and he dies.” She smiled at me and her eyes flashed orange. “Give me any excuse, child, and he dies.”

“Demon,” I said.

“You think?” Adam said, wheezing.

“Do you know who he is?” I asked the demon. “Who his father is?”

“I have no love for Asmondai,” the demon said. “Nor does my master. In fact, should my hand slip . . .” She moved the needle against Adam’s neck. “My master would reward me most handsomely. When mortals interfere with demons, accidents do happen.”