"I was curious, not objecting," Bradford said mildly. "I've never had any luck with it, but others have; I don't argue with what works."
"I hope this does," Cortin said, watching her subject closely. "If it's what the prewars called a bad trip, and he remembers, it should."
"It doesn't look like it's going to be a good one," Bradford said, chuckling.
"I think you're right," Cortin agreed. Her subject was showing signs of fear, small as yet but promising. "And it looks like I ought to get back to him. If you have any suggestions, I'll be glad to hear them."
"I don't expect to, but if I do, I'll let you know."
Cortin returned to her subject, pleased to see his fear become more open when she entered the room. She wondered what he was seeing; he hadn't been visibly afraid of her only minutes ago, so it had to be something more than a woman in gray coveralls. As she approached him, he started to sweat, trembling, his eyes bulging as he fought to escape whatever he saw. "No—go away, please—leave me alone—don't touch me!"
She must be something impressive, Cortin thought. A demon such as the one the drug was named for, perhaps, to get such a strong reaction. "Why not?" she asked. "What do you think I am?"
"Lord Azrael," the man sobbed. "Go away—send the Inquisitor back! I'll tell her everything—just leave me alone!"
So he'd taken her code name and clothed her in that persona, Cortin thought. Fitting, that he should think he was dying at the hands of the real Angel of Death. "Tell me, mortal. Thy life is forfeit, but if thou shouldst speak quickly and truthfully, I will make thy passing easy. She will not be so merciful."
"You're burning me … not so close …"