Risen (Haunted Series Book 22)

call.”
Whit looked at the four men and what they had accomplished in such a short time.  Simpson and Boullé were his best agents, but the two crewmen from the cutter had proven themselves more than up to the task.  Whit spoke, “Gentlemen, each of us is capable of magnificent things.  Physical powers, mental calculation, and working together will get us out of this situation.”
The others looked at Whit with more than a measure of skepticism.
“What I’m saying is, let us combine our thoughts and ideas.  Don’t let rank or position cloud whether an idea is a good one.  We are dealing with the paranormal here.  These are the things that creep into your room at night.  They hid in the closet and under your bed when you were a child.  But they can be beaten.  We are no longer children.  We have been given the task of protecting this world today against some creatures that shouldn’t ever leave this island.”
The two Coast Guard crewmen looked at each other.  What had they gotten themselves into when they volunteered to escort the Feds to the island?
“I know for you two guys this is all nightmare and fairy stories, but the three of us have seen so much shit that we can’t explain.  I’ve seen the impossible happen and experienced the joy of new discoveries.  What we have here is a flesh-eating parasite.  Sure, we could take his advice and run, leaving our balls on the beach.  But then again, we could show it what we’re made of and possibly, just possibly, take those fucking demons with us.”
The sound of a boat maneuvering around in the water, just this side of the rocky end of the beach, caught the attention of the group.  Through the blowing sand, Whit made out the yacht.  “It’s the Azure.  Let’s let them know we’re here.”
Simpson fired the sixties-style flare gun he had found inside the partial cabin of an old fishing boat.
“Flare coming from the island,” the first mate reported.  “It could be a trap.”
“We have to err on the side of possible survivors.  I wish I had a clearer view.  The sand is blowing on what’s left of the beach,” Billard said.
“I’ll look,” Mia said, climbing up to the observation deck.
“Careful, the wind is gusting.  Things that precede storms are unpredictable,” Billard warned the creature he now had a hard time seeing as a woman.  Women didn’t have wings.
“Tell me about it,” Mia said and extended her wings.  She avoided lowering her armor because of its destructive nature.  She had already scarred the decks of the boat with her angel-steel claw boots.  Mia rose upwards and then released the armor.  She used it to help her buffet the wind.  As she neared the shore, she saw the familiar blonde head of her former lover, just before she saw two sets of military rifles trained on her.
“Whit, it’s Mia.  Lower your weapons,” she sent into his mind.
“It’s a friendly, lower your weapons,” he ordered.  He watched in amazement as Mia landed near them, drawing her wings in the moment she landed.
“I can take one at a time to the boat.  Although, I must warn you, the Azure is in as much jeopardy as you are here,” Mia told them.
“What took you so long?” Whit asked.
“I’ve been here for some time,” Mia said.  “Agents Simpson and Boullé can vouch for me.”
“I swear I thought you were Ms. Norwood,” Simpson said.
“That was the idea.  I need information, and I don’t have time to ask you questions,” Mia said, approaching Whit.  “Trust me and open your mind.”  Mia took off her gloves and pulled Whit’s head down to hers.
The four watched as a range of emotions flowed off the senior agent as the blonde pulled him towards her.
“Trust me,” she said again as their foreheads touched.
Simpson and Boullé had read about mind readers, but this was the first time they had seen one.  Boullé was kicking himself as the name Mia finally registered.  He put a hand on the crewman’s arm next to him and whispered, “She’s a very powerful sensitive.  She may look like something out of Goosebumps, but she’s human and on our side.”
Mia opened her eyes and pulled away.  She put on her gloves while she registered what she had learned from Whit’s encounter with the demon-with-no-name.
“Gentlemen, we have a problem.  The normal way of dealing with a demon is to call out their name, and this initiates the exorcism.  It has no name.  The beast he calls Lamia is a very old demon.  While you were held in the cavern, I injured it.  She has buried herself more for stealth than to retreat.  She is part of this island, and, Whit, you were right in your thoughts that the demon, we’ll call Anders, for simplicity’s sake, is afraid of her finding out that he intends to leave her here.  I think we can use this.  When and where, I have no idea.”
“If she is a demon, miss, how can she understand us?  And if she does, how can we be sure?”
“You could speak to her in demon,” Mia suggested.
“As if they offered that course at Langley,” Simpson said.
“I can speak a little demon.”
“I bet you can,” Simpson replied.  “But how do we know you’re not saying, ‘Eat me, I taste like chicken?’”
Mia laughed.  “I guess you don’t.”
“Tell me,” Seaman Douglas said.  “I’m good at languages.”
“What do you think would convince the creature that she is being betrayed?” Mia asked.  “Make it brief, you may be backed into a corner at the time.”
“How about? He’s going to leave you, sweetheart?” Douglas offered.
“That would do it for me,” Mia said.  “I’m going to present it to your mind as I say it.  Be prepared to let yourself drool and spit.”  Mia once again