Devil Without a Cause (11 page)

“Don’t be so pushy, Tammy,” her friend said with an embarrassed look.

“Why not?” Tammy answered, with a flirtatious little laugh. She was pretty, but could use a better dye job—her roots were showing, dark beneath the blond. “How often do you get to meet a rock star? Carpe diem, I say.” Ignoring her friend’s advice, she leaned in closer, handing Finn the ticket stub. “I think we could have a really great time together, if you know what I mean.” Her fingers covered his, deliberately, lingering during the handoff of the card.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the pen John offered and scribbling his name on the ticket stub, “but I don’t have a lot of time to myself when I’m on tour.” His standard excuse, one he’d used a million times.

A couple in their midthirties joined the two women, and so did an elderly woman who proclaimed her granddaughter his biggest fan. A few minutes later he’d signed a few autographs and posed for a few pictures, and when the black SUV John and Larry had rented the day before pulled up, they were able to escape without drawing any further attention.

“What’s all this about a pentagram and candles on the roof?” John asked as soon as the car doors were closed. He was in the driver’s seat, while Larry was in the back. “I thought you went up on there to look for the girl . . . What were those reporters talking about?”

Finn just shook his head, unsure how much to tell them. “Call my attorney,” he instructed Larry, who was in the backseat, “and tell him to contact the Ritz with a complaint about one of their employees talking to the media. Mention that creep at the concierge desk by name.”

“Herve Morales,” supplied John.

“That’s him.” He had no sympathy for opportunists who got off by sticking their noses into other people’s business. What happened on the roof was between him and Faith, and needed to stay that way.

“What about the girl?” Larry asked. “You going to report her to hotel management?”

“No,” he said sharply. “Not yet.”

John shook his head, and Larry made the phone call to Finn’s attorney as they drove. Finn watched the countryside speed past, thinking about what to say to Faith when he saw her next, and how he was going to get the ring back. He’d try calm persuasion first—despite her dirty trick on the roof—but if he had to get tough and threaten to have her arrested, then so be it.

Resolved, he still couldn’t help but wonder: How deep in darkness was she steeped, and why did he even begin to care?

Finally the GPS led them to a shady, narrow street in an older neighborhood, forty minutes north of Atlanta. Tiny homes, wedged tightly together, lots of trees.

John tried one more time to get him to keep a low profile. “Larry and I can handle this, Finn—you should stay in the car. If she stole your ring, we’ll get it back, one way or another. No need for any personal drama. Those news vultures could be anywhere, and you don’t need the bad publicity.”

“I’m going to talk to her alone.”

“But, Finn—”

A sharp look cut John’s argument short. “I know you two are paid to look out for me, but I told you, this is personal. She’s not going to admit to anything in front of you.”

“Is this about the ring, or the girl?” John dared ask, but Finn just shook his head.

“It’s okay either way,” Larry offered, speaking up from the backseat. “We ain’t just your bodyguards, man . . . you know that.”

“Yeah,” John agreed gruffly. “We’re your friends.”

Finn couldn’t help but smile a little at that. “I know.” John was about as subtle as a bulldozer, and Larry wasn’t the brightest bulb in the pack, but they always had his back. “I’m just going to go in there,” he said wryly, “and be my charming rock-star self. If she makes a run for it again, you guys will be out here to catch her.”

John sighed but subsided, leaning back into his seat, while Larry gave him a grunt he took as agreement.

A moment later, Larry said, “Dark blue Volvo, in the driveway on the right.”

Finn saw it, too, noting the faded paint job and the bumper sticker that read, “All who wander are not lost.” The house, like the car, had seen better days, and could use a new coat of paint, though there were flowers on the front porch, and cheerful curtains in the windows.

Larry pulled up behind the Volvo, blocking it in with the SUV. Before it was in Park, Finn was out of his seat and on the way up the walk. The door had a peephole, and he faced it directly as he rapped sharply with his knuckles.

A moment later the door opened, and disappointment made his heart plunge; it was a young black woman, plump, wearing a pink robe and pajamas.

“Can I help you?” she asked, giving him an arch look.

“Who is it?” said a little boy, scampering up behind the woman. Unlike her, he was white, with curly brown hair, and looked about four—

“Breakfast is ready,” sang out a voice, and there was Faith, with plates in her hands and a growing look of shock and horror on her face.

Her reaction speared him to the core, and he wasn’t sure why. All he knew was that he didn’t like that look—he much preferred the soft, smiling looks she’d given him last night.

Ruthlessly he reminded himself
why
she’d been giving him those looks—she’d wanted something, and she’d gotten it, which meant she was smart enough to continue lying about it today.

“Hello, Faith,” he said calmly.

Her panicked gaze fluttered between the woman who answered the door, the boy, and him. She blinked, and her face began to clear, smoothing itself to calm, but there was no mistaking how pale she’d gone.

“Finn,” she acknowledged stiffly. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.”

“I think we do,” he insisted quietly, “unless you want me to call . . .” He hesitated, glancing down at the boy, who stared at him, wide-eyed, from behind the black woman. “We need to talk, Faith,” he repeated. “Privately.”

“C’mon with Auntie Dina,” said her friend to the boy. She took him by the shoulder and steered him gently toward the other room, obviously knowing when to make herself scarce. “We’re gonna go eat breakfast together while Mommy talks to the nice man.”

“Dina, I—”

“If you want me to stay, I will,” Finn heard the black woman murmur. “But maybe you should talk to him, hear what he has to say.”

Faith looked like she’d rather poke her eyes out with a stick than listen to anything he had to say, but after a moment’s hesitation, she gave a jerky nod.

“We’ll be right here in the kitchen,” Dina said loudly, with a warning glance over her shoulder at Finn. Her glance lingered a moment, boldly, as she took him in from top to toe. One dark eyebrow quirked upward in frank appreciation, and then she was gone, taking the plates from Faith’s hands on her way out.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, not waiting to be invited in.

She glanced nervously toward the kitchen. “I don’t know how you found me, but you need to leave,” she whispered furiously. She reminded him of a cornered kitten, hissing to keep danger at a distance.

“I need the ring back,” he said flatly. “I know you took it.”

She shook her head, crossing her arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you I didn’t steal your ring.”

“Then what were you doing up on the roof?” he challenged.

Her chin went up. “What I do in my own time is my own business.”

He said nothing, staring her down.

“I’m sorry about throwing flour in your face, and locking the door, but you were scaring me.” Her lips firmed. “Just like you’re scaring me now.”

“It was mostly salt,” he answered flatly. “And it stung like hell.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” he asked. “Could it be because you’ve done nothing but lie to me since the moment we first met?”

Color rushed to her cheeks, staining them bright pink.

“You’re a pretty good actress, at least you were last night.” He stated it frankly, as though it didn’t matter. “You got what you wanted,” he went on, “and then you couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

“I told you—”

“I caught you up on the roof performing a conjuring spell.” He gave a disbelieving laugh. “You think I don’t know who you were conjuring?”

She stared at him stonily, refusing to answer.

“Look,” he said, striving for a reasonable tone. “I don’t care why you took it, and I’m not out to make trouble. I just want it back.” He raked a hand through his hair, his ring finger feeling very naked. “The ring is important to me. I need it.”

“So you’ve told me,” she said coldly, not giving an inch. “But
I’ve
told
you
I don’t have your ring. You need to leave my house.”

“Give me the ring, or I’ll call the police.”

Fear flickered in her eyes, but she took a deep breath and called his bluff. “Go ahead,” she said. “Call the police. I’ll tell them you’re a stalker. I’ll tell them you followed me here all the way from the Ritz and barged into my house.”

“Who do you think they’re going to believe?” His temper, already strained, was beginning to fray, but he kept his voice low, not wanting the kid to hear. “I’ll tell them all about how you lied your way into my hotel room using a false name, and lied to your boss to get the evening off.”

Her face was white, but her expression stayed defiant. “So? Since when is lying or having a good time illegal?”

Her flippancy made him angry. The sweet, sexy girl he’d been lulled into thinking she was last night was no more. He’d gone out of his way to be nice to her, but now it was time to rethink that strategy.

“You have no proof I stole your ring—none at all.” Her voice was shaking, just a bit. “I didn’t steal anything, and you can’t bully me into saying I did.”

“Faith,” called Dina, from the kitchen. “I think you need to see this.” The TV volume went up. “Your friend here is on the TV.”

Distracted, she glanced toward the kitchen.

“Look, Mommy!” Her little boy ran into the living room, going straight to the television and turning it on.

Dina bustled in right behind him, snatching up the remote. “Channel 8 News,” she said, shooting Finn an awestruck glance.

Sure enough, there was the woman reporter who’d accosted him at the Ritz-Carlton that morning.
“While Mr. Payne denies any involvement in the strange incident on the roof, it is surely no coincidence that something like this occurs while the rock-and-roll Prince of Darkness is himself a guest of the hotel.”

Faith made a choked sound, raising a hand to cover her mouth. Her eyes were glued to the screen.

“Finn Payne is a rock-and-roll legend,”
the reporter went on,
“well-known for his penchant for the morbid and the macabre.”
There was a brief clip from his Highway to Hell tour, where he’d used videos of flames for a backdrop, and then there was his face on the screen, speaking into the microphone. “I’m an artist,” he heard himself say, “who sometimes finds inspiration on the dark side.” The camera cut away, back to what’s-her-face.
“An homage from a group of fans, perhaps, or a publicity stunt gone awry? Either way, the implications are chilling.”

“Chilling?” Dina turned her questioning gaze on Finn. “What’s she talking about? What’s going on?” She glanced toward her friend. “Faith, you okay?”

Faith was still pale, but composed. “I’m fine—why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, resting both hands on her son’s shoulders and giving Dina a significant look over his head.

Dina took the hint, but the glance she gave Finn wasn’t quite as friendly as before.

“Reporters,” Finn said to her, with a wry smile and a shrug. “Always looking for a story.”

“What’s rock and roll mean?” Nathan twisted his head to look up at his mom, and it was then Finn noticed that an area on the back of his head had been shaved. At the base of his skull was a thin red scar.

“Music,” said Finn, before Faith could answer. “Rock and roll is music. Lots of guitar and drums.”

“Oh.” The kid looked him in the eye. He was cute—brown-haired and brown-eyed, just like his mom. “Like Michael Jackson?”

He bit back a smile. “Yeah, like Michael Jackson, although I don’t get compared to him too often.”

“Do
you
play the guitar?”

“I do—” he answered, but Faith interrupted him.

“Go back into the kitchen, Nathan,” Faith said to him gently, “I’ll be right there.”

“You promised to take me to the park today, Mommy,” the boy said, with a shy glance toward Finn. “Don’t forget.”

“Don’t start pestering your mama about the park already,” Dina scolded. “Mommy worked all night last night. She’s tired. I’ll take you this afternoon.”

Faith shook her head. “No, Dina, you’ve done enough. Go home and take a shower.” To the boy she said, “We’ll talk about what we’re going to do today later. If you’re through with your breakfast, then go get dressed.”

Nathan shot Finn another glance. “Is he coming to the park with us?”

“No,” Faith answered shortly. “He’s leaving now.” She shot him a wary glare, the cornered kitten replaced by a lioness, protecting her cub.

Finn, however, was not afraid of lions.

“I’d love to come to the park,” he said to Nathan, with his best grin. Giving the boy a conspiratorial wink, he added, “Do you like to play softball? I have a bat and a couple of gloves in the car.”

Nathan’s face lit up, and though Finn felt a twinge of guilt at the lie, he didn’t let it bother him.

The boy was the key, he was certain of it.

Chapter Thirteen

“M
aster, you must come.” Nyx stepped from the shadows, bowing low.

“Must I?” Samael asked idly, swirling the water of his bath without opening his eyes. His head rested between the breasts of a voluptuous water sprite, cat-eyed and green-haired, who bared pointed teeth at Nyx’s intrusion. “Has Hell finally frozen over?”

Nyx lowered his eyes. “Apologies, my lord. The imps are causing trouble.”

“The imps are always causing trouble.” A frown of irritation appeared on Sammy’s brow. “They’re imps.”

“They’re inciting the ethereals, my lord. Storm clouds are gathering.”

“Damnation,” Sammy roared, thrashing himself upright. His anger frightened the sprite, who shrank away, hissing. In an instant, she’d slipped beneath the bathwater and was gone. “Do you not lead my army of demons?” Satan demanded angrily. “Are you not my second-in-command?”

Nyx drew himself up, wings poised for extension. “I am,” he stated proudly. “Tell me what you would have me do, Great Shaitan, and I will do it.”

Samael stared angrily at him for a moment, and then his anger seemed to subside. “Oh Nyx,” he said ruefully, “would that everyone I dealt with were so obedient.”

The demon preened beneath his praise, eyes glowing red with pleasure.

“Fetch Thamuz,” Samael said shortly, and within moments it was so, Nyx disappearing like smoke, then reappearing with a struggling imp clutched tightly in the talons of one hand.

“Let go of me, you filthy soul-eater!” the imp squealed, ashy gray arms and legs flailing. Its voice matched its size, which was that of a child. A thin, wizened child, leathery with soot.

Nyx released him disdainfully, with a shove toward the man in the bath.

The imp froze at the sight of Samael, who regarded him coldly.

“I understand your people have been causing trouble, Thamuz,” he said, in a voice tinged with ice. “Care to enlighten me as to the problem?”

The imp’s knobby knees quite literally began to shake. “I . . . I know of no problem, Your Eminence,” it squeaked, voice shaking as well.

“Do you remember what I did to you the last time you lied to me, Thamuz?”

Bulbous eyes blinked rapidly in fear. “It’s Selene, O Great One,” it blurted. “My people enjoyed working with her, and many find themselves with nothing to do now that she’s gone.” The imp swallowed, its face gone a nastier shade of gray. “She provided a great many opportunities for us,” it babbled sickly, lifting long-fingered hands in a shrug.

“Can you not find your own ‘opportunities’?” The water in the tub began to bubble and steam, reacting to the force of Samael’s anger. “I created you to breed your own amusements, not wait for them to be handed to you like sweets to children.”

Thamuz bowed his head.

“Tell him everything, carrion eater,” growled Nyx. “Now.”

Sammy cocked an eyebrow, waiting.

“There are rumors,” blurted Thamuz in a rush. “But I would not trouble the Dark Lord’s ears with such nonsense.”

“Go ahead,” the Dark Lord said mildly. “Trouble me.”

The imp seemed to shrink, wrapping its knobby arms around itself. “I myself give it no credence, of course, but there are whispers that you are no longer”—Thamuz closed his bulging eyes and cringed, as though expecting a blow—“quite as committed to the welfare of your people as you once were.”

Sammy looked at Nyx, who shook his head, mutely denying anything to do with such rumors.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Samael snapped at the imp. “Who would dare claim such a thing?”

“Not I, my lord. We heard it through the ethereals—those who roam the skies with Ashtaroth, Demon of Darkness.”

“Did you now?” The water in the tub steamed and bubbled, the only sound in the otherwise deathly quiet chamber. “I’m told that
you
are the ones inciting the ethereals, and yet you claim it to be their fault. Who shall I believe, I wonder?”

“We didn’t start it, Great Master, I swear!” Thamuz’s voice had risen to a squeak. He kept his eyes on the marbled floor, small body shaking.

A low growl came from Nyx. “There is more, Satanic Majesty. This piece of beetle dung has not told you the half of it.”

In a flash, Thamuz turned and bared sharp teeth toward the tall shadow at his back, hissing like an angry cat. ”Speak,” Samael said sharply. “Or I will let Nyx do as he wills. He likes nothing more than to eat imps like you for breakfast.”

Nyx bared teeth of his own, black and pointed.

Thamuz turned back toward the tub, his flash of anger quickly defused by his craven nature. “It was not our fault, O Great One,” he whined. “The boy is slippery, and hard to control, but we will get him back.”

“Boy?” Sammy cocked an eyebrow, puzzled. “What boy?”

“The boy Selene gave into our keeping,” the imp said, bulbous eyes blinking earnestly. “Your son.”

For a moment there was silence, broken by a harsh laugh. “My son? I have no son, and never will.”
All these eons, and no woman he’d ever slept with had ever quickened with new life. A by-product of his once angelic—and therefore sterile—state, he supposed.
“And if I did, I would certainly not need you or your kind to keep him safe,” he sneered, angry at the imp’s presumption.

Thamuz’s face, ashen with fear, suffused slightly with color at the insult. “Of course not, Dread Lord,” he said quickly, accepting Sammy’s disdain as his due.

“Where is this boy?” Despite the impossibility of his paternity, Sammy was curious. What manner of child was this, to be used as a pawn in yet another of Selene’s twisted games?

“Alas, my lord.” Thamuz hung his head, voice cracking. “The child escaped his guard . . . we’ve sent trackers to find him, but they’ve yet to return.” Swallowing hard, he hastened to add, “There’s no need to worry . . . the boy is mischievous, and easily bored; it’s just a game to him, a challenge . . . He’s run off before, but we’ve always been able to find him and bring him back.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Thamuz.” Samael leaned back, resting against the cushions the water sprite had dampened. “Your people seem to have grown not only weak, but delusional under your guidance. How could you possibly believe that this troublesome child has anything to do with
me
? Selene has played you for a fool, as she has so many others. Perhaps it’s time to appoint another lieutenant, one who’s not so gullible, and one who can control the spread of ridiculous rumors.”

The gray head snapped up, bulbous eyes wide. “No, Master, please!” He fell to his knobby knees on the tiled floor, wringing sooty, long-fingered hands. “The lying bitch . . . no wonder you’ve banished her! I’ll call back the trackers and leave the child to his fate, Most Evil Lord.”

“Damn you,” Samael snarled, eyeing the imp balefully. “I care nothing about the child—let me hear no more of him! I care only that storm clouds gather within my realm, fueled by false rumors, spread by your people! I won’t have it, do you hear?”

Thamuz lowered his knobby head to the tiled floor, abasing himself before the tub. “I hear and obey, Satanic Majesty! I will punish those who spread these lies! I will spear them on the tines of my own pitchfork and roast them on a spit! I can control my people, I swear it!”

“There are many of you,” Samael said thoughtfully, his tone all the more dangerous for its softness. “Perhaps too many, each of you willing to gut the other like a fish for the sheer joy of it. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that since I’ve granted you some limited measure of authority, Thamuz, that you’re indispensable.”

The imp lifted his head to look at him fearfully, his pallor intensifying. The dark circles beneath his eyes stood out like bruises.

“You are my creature!” Sammy’s sudden shout echoed loudly throughout the tiled chamber, now thick with steam. “Do not, for an instant, ever think yourself beyond my reach. The fires of Hell are kept stoked those such as you, but I can just as easily cast you into them. Imps burn quite well, I’ve learned, particularly when they’ve been skinned first, inch by inch, with a very blunt blade.”

“I am your creature, my lord,” Thamuz whispered, lowering his eyes in surrender. “These rumors shall become anathema, and my people will find other ways to apply themselves to mischief. Forgive us.”

There was a silence, which Thamuz wisely kept. He quivered with the effort of remaining still, an unnatural state for an imp.

“You must earn my forgiveness,” Sammy said crisply. “Go to Ashtaroth, and bid him come to me. Immediately.”

“Ashtaroth?” The imp’s childish voice broke on the name. “But I have no power over Ashtaroth! The ethereals do as they please.”

“True,” Sammy agreed mildly, “but their quicksilver nature leaves them open to influence, as well you know. Someone’s been whispering lies in Ash’s ears, or the ethereals would not be so restless, nor so foolish as to repeat baseless rumors.” He lifted his head to stare sternly at the imp. “The only darkness allowed to roil within Sheol is the darkness I command. The ethereals are under my domain, and you will remind Ashtaroth of that. Go as my emissary, and bid him come to me and state where his true allegiance lies.”

Thamuz swallowed, his Adam’s apple as knobby as the rest of him. “He is unpredictable, Master,” he whined, “and he is hungry. He will kill me for my insolence, smother me in Darkness . . .”

The Lord High Prince of the Underworld shrugged. “Then so be it. If he kills you for your insolence it will be only what you deserve, and I will send another in your place. And another, and another . . .” He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wet cushions with a sigh. “There are many of you,” he repeated, “but there is only one of me—do not forget that.”

I
t was two full hours before the Dread Demon of Darkness, called Ashtaroth, answered his summons.

Sammy was waiting, confident he would not be ignored. He’d chosen his most formal of throne rooms for this audience, the one in the center of his temple, the chamber he fondly liked to call his Unholy of Holies. It was grandiose, overwrought even, with plush red velvet on the walls, and huge Swarovski-crystal chandeliers. Thirty-eight columns of pure gold lined the chamber, all of which reflected the light from the glittering crystals above. His throne, solid gold and pillowed in red, sat on a raised dais, and he lounged at his ease in it, calmly watching as dark billows of fog began to roll in from the far side of the room, like smoke preceding a fire. The fog became a coiling, shifting mass, thickening and writhing until its blackness was near absolute. As it thickened, it oozed its way steadily toward the center of the room, where it stopped, as though an invisible wall blocked its progress.

“Mossst High,” came a rasping voice from the center of the Darkness. “We are sssssummoned.”

“Yes, you are,” said Samael, Lord of the Abyss. “And you took your fucking time about it, too.”

The blackness before him roiled and boiled, but came no closer. He stared into it steadily, and soon, like flickers within a flame, twisted faces became visible within it, leering from the darkness to gaze at him curiously before they disappeared, to be replaced by others.

“I understand your people have been spreading rumors about me, Ashtaroth. What have you to say for yourself?”

“There are whissspersss that SSSamael the SSSeducer has himssself been ssseduced,” rasped the Darkness, “by the humansss he once ssswore to dessstroy.”

Sammy’s eyes narrowed, sparks of anger threatening to kindle into flame. “You’ve been listening to Selene, who even now, I assure you, is regretting her weaving of that particular web of lies, and to the imps, who—like the cockroaches they resemble—have the intelligence of insects.”

“We have ssseen thisss for ourssselvesss, when you allowed the human female, Nicki Ssstyxxx, to meddle in our affairsss. Losst sssoulsss belong to the Darknesss, but you have let her guide more than one lossst sssoul into the Light.”

“You dare question me?” Samael asked, in a deceptively quiet tone. He rose, slowly, to stand before his throne. “You think to mount a challenge, demon? Who released you from the chains that bound you beneath the Valley of Gehenna?”

The Darkness didn’t answer.

“Who has kept you alive all these eons, providing you with an endless supply of the broken, the lost, and the damned?”

The faces within the roiling mass of black smoke moved faster now, agitated, as they pressed against and blended with one another, mouths outstretched, eyes wide.

“All those negative feelings of guilt, remorse, and depression, all those hopeless, despairing souls that you need to survive—do you think you have a snowball’s chance in Hell of continuing to get them without me? Who will supply them? There is no one more qualified to sow the seeds of discord among humans than I, he who sowed them first. If I choose to let one or two human souls go free in order to serve my own ends, what is that to you?”

“We are legion,” rasped the Darkness, “and we are hungry. You do not feed usss asss often asss you onccce did.”

“Boo hoo,” Samael mocked, completely unconcerned. “You will eat what I give you to eat, whenever I choose to give it.”

A hissing, moaning sound came from the blackened, swirling mass called Ashtaroth.

“You would still be bound beneath the earth, ravenous and alone, if it were not for me. Do not forget it.”

“True,” rasped Ashtaroth. “But we hunger, both for lossst soulsss, and for proof you have not abandoned usss. If what you sssay is true, then ssset the ssseal on your word through blood sssacrifice, and give usss the child.”

“The child?” Sammy’s eyes narrowed to slits. If Ashtaroth knew of his bargain with Faith McFarland, then he was being watched, which he would never tolerate. “What child?”

“The child who essscaped the impsss, and now hidesss within the Canyonsss of Dessspair. It isss sssaid he isss your ssson, protected and sssheltered amid the ssshadows.”

The Lord of the Abyss laughed, but it was a bitter laugh. “A lie, begun by your dear friend Selene, and spread by the clacking tongues of the imps. The very idea that a child of mine exists is ridiculous, as is the idea that anything could possibly be alive and sheltered within the Canyons of Despair, for it is the abode of the Basilisk.” His smile was thin, and very cold. “If such a child existed, he’s long dead by now. If his soul still wanders within the canyons, you are welcome to it.”