Body Surfing

girlfriend, he didn’t know what Jarhead West would do to her. What, at any rate, a Jarhead inhabited by Jasper’s spirit would do to her.
    He could feel the protest deep inside him: I wouldn’t hurt her Jasper .
    I know you wouldn’t , Jasper answered. But we might .
    He let his eyes roam the length of her broken body one last time. Reminded himself that it really was her, she really was alive, and that’s what mattered. He resisted the urge to do something sentimental, blow a kiss or mouth the words “I love you.” Just stepped back from the door and turned away. That’s when he realized he wasn’t the only person who’d come to check on Michaela. He didn’t recognize the man himself, but Jarhead did.
    “Hey, Jasper,” Lawrence Bishop said to him, a crooked smile on his face. “What’s up, buddy?”

20
    Q . ducked into the shadows of Dr. Thomas’s foyer just as a woman stepped into the living room. In the dim light from the streetlamps, he could make out dirty blond hair, a slim, strong-jawed face, a long, taut body practically pulsing with energy. He also saw a small but impressive-looking pistol in the woman’s right hand. Its rectangular silver barrel caught the streetlight and gleamed with singular intent.
    The woman wagged her gun at the doctor. “You’re Thomas?”
    The doctor paused. “My name is J.D. Thomas,” he said finally. His voice seemed calm, but his eyes blinked rapidly behind his glasses. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you into my home, but I can assure you the police are on their way to rectify that error even as we speak.”
    Suddenly Q. remembered he was holding something. The violin case. Duh . The gun.
    The blond woman laughed and the barrel of her weapon jiggled slightly. “I don’t think so. For a man whose house is filled with such valuable objects, you have a remarkably cheap alarm system. No motion detectors, no infrared sensors, just a few trip wires on doors and windows that any eighth grader could disarm.” She jerked the gun toward the painting over the fireplace. “Is that a real Lautrec?”
    Q. squinted at the painting, even as his fingertips felt for thebuckles on the violin case. A clown? Something in a Harlequin costume anyway.
    “It is .” The note of pride in the doctor’s voice seemed a bit misplaced, given the circumstances.
    “Raku pottery. Yoruba bronzes. A complete incunabula of the Psalms. The art is worth more than the house, and I’m guessing the house is worth quite a bit. You need to get yourself a new security service, Dr. Thomas.” She leaned in close. “You are vulnerable to invasion.”
    “I’m missing a page, actually. Psalm 23. ‘Though I walk through the valley of the shadow.’ Probably sold off in the sixteenth century to some aspiring burgher, hung over the dining table or the counting desk.” The doctor’s voice was hoarse but level. “You’ve been here a while. The incunabula are on the third floor.”
    Q. folded the buckles on the violin case as softly as he could. First one, then the other. He seamed the case open just enough to reach his hand inside.
    The woman brought the gun an inch from Dr. Thomas’s forehead.
    “I did not come here to appreciate your art collection. You have sixty seconds to prove to me you have not been invaded.”
    “I don’t understand—”
    “Prove to me,” the woman cut him off, “that you are not Mogran.”
    The doctor’s lips trembled as if he wanted to smile but was too afraid.
    “H-huntress? How did you get here so quickly?”
    Q. paused, his fingers touching the barrel, which was still warm. The doctor seemed to know this woman, at least enough to call her Huntress. The woman didn’t move her gun away from his forehead, however, so he continued to ease the shotgun out of the case.
    “If what you told me about the boy is true,” the woman said, “it is likely the demon will stick close to him. I doubt you have the sigil—the real sigil, that is, as opposed to that trinket on your chest—which means you are as likely a host as anyone. Prove to me the enemy isnot simply using you to lure me here, so he can strike back against the Legion.”
    Q. wondered what a “real” sigil was, as opposed to the doctor’s goofy necklace. Something that could actually protect you against demons? What was next, he wondered? Magic wands? Flying carpets?
    The gun was finally out of the case. All he had to do was snap the barrel closed. Oh, and aim it. And fire. An image of