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then turning to watch, many raising their phones to record the scene. Not the delivery van squealing to a halt on the road just inches from Clancy. And not Mark, who sunk his center of gravity, took one powerful step forward, and tackled Bryce.
    Flesh hitting flesh had a thwack sound, ugly and painful. Mark absorbed it and kept on going, driving Bryce back toward the shop.
    His friend clawed at Mark’s face. Mark flinched, and Bryce broke free.
    I can do this. I can protect myself. Clancy shifted into her fighting stance.
    The delivery driver and his co-worker got out of their van, big men both, and hurried to her side.
    Bryce howled, spun, and rammed himself at the glass front of the museum. The window shattered.
    Mark grabbed his friend and hauled him back.
    No blood. Clancy couldn’t see any blood. But Bryce was fighting Mark, struggling to get free.
    The two men from the delivery van hurried to help Mark. The three off them restrained Bryce, one of the men dashing back to the van to return with duct tape. They secured Bryce’s wrists.
    At that point, Bryce ceased fighting and sank to the ground. His eyes rolled back in his head and he was unconscious.
    Mark straightened slowly, leaving the two men on guard, and crossed to Clancy. “Are you okay?”
    “I’m shaking.”
    He wrapped her in a hug. “Me, too.”
    He lied. He was rock steady, strong, and reassuring. Capable. The police arrived, and he handled them. He thanked the delivery men who hadn’t driven on past. He got their names. And he kept an arm around Clancy.
    An ambulance loaded Bryce, the paramedics hesitating to shut the door as a female cop emerged from the external door to Bryce’s apartment.
    “Psych meds.” She handed over a plastic bag full of rattling pill containers.
    “Damn,” Mark said softly under his breath.
    It was incredibly sad.
    “We’ve contacted his family,” the cop said to Mark, her gaze including Clancy who stood beside him. “They’ll be here soon. They’ll close up.”
    They watched the ambulance drive away.
    “You can go home,” the cop said to them. “We have your details if we need to contact you.”
    Mark dragged his attention from the vanishing ambulance. “Thanks.”
    The cop nodded and strode away to confer with her partner.
    Clancy and Mark headed for his car. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Bryce was throwing things. Some must have hit you.” He’d shielded her.
    “I’m fine.” His pace quickened, then slowed. “Not fine. Not physically hurt.”
    She knew what was worrying him. It scared the heck out of her. Neither of them had quoted the actual words of Bryce’s ravings to the police. Eat her heart, eat her heart. Take her soul! And Bryce’s eyes had flashed red just before he attacked.
    Bryce hadn’t had a psychotic break. That had been demonic possession.
    She waited till they were inside the Rocinante and Mark was reversing it out of the parking bay. “I believe in your demon,” she said. “It was in Bryce.”
    “But how?” The question burst out of Mark. “Bryce is such a sceptic. He’d never have sought out a demon, never have invited one into his heart. The demon must have targeted him because he’s a friend of mine.”
    As the adrenaline rush of the confrontation faded, Clancy wanted a hot bath, warm clothes and hot chocolate. With extra marshmallows. But the guilt and self-blame in Mark’s voice roused her. “How would the demon even know you would visit Bryce today? Ours was an impulse thing. You said Bryce is a sceptic. A sceptic could treat a grimoire as a plaything and commit himself to a demon without believing that the words he said would be binding. Maybe that’s what Bryce did.”
    Mark shook his head. “The demon watched us. It wanted to see if you were important to me, then it attacked you —not me.”
    A tremor snaked along her spine as she relived being the focus of that diabolical rage. “But why wouldn’t it attack you since you’re the one assembling the