Jacob sidled over to them. "You'd better say something before he gets himself clubbed by one of Blunt's paws. Use your charm," he added when I gave him a questioning look.
We were in trouble if we were relying on my charm. "Er, Mr. Blunt," I began, "we've just come from Leviticus Price's house and he claimed you were asking some rather specific questions about demonology."
"Did he?" He turned eyes the color of a stagnant pond on me and I recoiled at the viciousness in them. He wasn't trying to hide it now. "And what makes you think you can believe him, Miss Chambers? Did a ghost just happen to whisper it into your ear?"
"Yes. Just like he's now telling me you are the one who summoned the demon." Blunt clearly believed in spirits, demons and the Otherworld so why not use that belief to frighten him?
"What?" he bellowed, his bravado rapidly fading behind his facial hair.
"Spirits know everything, Mr. Blunt. They know what you had for breakfast today, what you do in your office when the door's closed and what you do at night in the girl's dormitory."
The big man rocked back on his heels and his face turned the same sickly color as his eyes.
"So tell us, where is the demon now?"
He stared at me, shaking his head over and over, all the while backing away but not towards the door. Jacob stalked him, taking a step forward for every one Blunt took back. His presence felt strong to me, real, and I wondered if either Blunt or George could feel it too.
"Tell us," I said.
Blunt, still shaking his head, said, "No. No, I...I won't. You can't hurt me. Your ghost can't hurt me."
It was my turn to shake my head. "What makes you think that?"
"Spirits travel right through solid things." He was blustering, his eyes wide, his hand gestures wild. It was almost as if he was trying to convince himself. "They don't have any form. They can't grasp objects." He spun round and lunged for the fire tools. He grabbed the iron poker and brandished it like a sword.
George whipped the coat off his arm to reveal the pistol. He pointed it at Blunt. His hand shook. "Put it down."
"You wouldn't," Blunt said, more self-assured than he had been when discussing ghosts.
"He's right," Jacob said to me. "George won't use it." There was no accusation in his tone. Neither he nor I would blame George if he couldn't fire the weapon.
But George, surprising us both, stretched his arm out. "I will use it. To save her." He nodded at me.