Devil Without a Cause (8 page)

“Never mind,” Finn said to the weasel. “Sorry we bothered you. It wasn’t important.”

Larry and John followed him through the lobby and around a corner, where the second desk clerk had just disappeared. The man was waiting for them there, out of sight of the front desk.

“You want to know about the girl who showed you to your room last night?” he asked Finn, not mincing any words. “A hundred bucks.”

“A hundred bucks?” John’s jaw dropped, even though the man wasn’t talking to him.

“Done,” Finn said promptly. “Pay the man, John.” Finn rarely carried cash, but John would be reimbursed, and he knew it.

Sighing heavily, John did as he was told, digging out his wallet and handing over a wad of twenties.

“Her name is Faith McFarland,” the desk clerk said, pocketing the money in one swift motion. “She usually works the day shift, but a few days ago, she asked if we could swap shifts. I figured it had something to do with that kid of hers, so I said sure.”

Faith McFarland, not Amy Smith.

Lying bitch.

Just to be sure, he asked, “Auburn hair, late twenties, pretty?”

The guy confirmed his description with a nod, looking nervously over Finn’s shoulder, obviously aware his manager could appear at any second.

“How do I get in touch with her?” Finn tamped down his anger to focus on more practical concerns.

“You want her phone number? That’ll cost you another hundred.”

“For a chick’s phone number?” Larry was now officially outraged. “You’ve gotta be kidding!”

“Done,” said Finn, shooting Larry a warning glare.

Sourly but silently, John handed over another hundred bucks.

The desk clerk, whose name tag read “Farouk Jones,” pulled out his cell phone and started scrolling through numbers. “Here it is,” he finally said, and showed it to Finn.

Finn got out his own phone and added the number to his contact list.

“Her car is still in the parking lot,” Farouk offered, clearly eager to be of further service. “I saw it just now when I came in—she hasn’t checked out on the schedule yet, either. My guess is she’s still somewhere in the hotel.”

That bit of information definitely got Finn’s attention, giving him a flicker of hope. “Thank you,” he told the man. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Farouk said, beaming. “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you during your stay at the Ritz-Carlton.”

Finn turned and walked away, wanting only privacy. John and Larry trailed him at a distance, following him back into the lobby, which was deserted this early in the morning. Finn found a secluded corner and punched
SEND
.

She answered on the third ring, voice tense. “Hello?” There was some kind of rumbling noise in the background, low and steady, and he wondered where she was—a laundry room, maybe?

“Hello,” he said tightly. “It’s Finn Payne.”

For a long moment he heard nothing but the hum of machinery, and feared she was going to hang up. Then she asked, “How’d you get this number?”

“It wasn’t hard, particularly once I found out your real name. Faith McFarland suits you much better than Amy Smith, by the way.” He was surprised how much that particular lie bothered him. When he made love to someone, he at least wanted to know her name, dammit. “Getting your number wasn’t hard at all—I just wish I’d gotten it sooner.” She couldn’t fail to miss the sarcasm.

“What do you want?”

“Where are you? Are you still in the hotel?”

“That’s none of your business,” she answered coolly, “and I’m very busy at the moment.”

“I’m missing a ring,” he said, getting right to the point. “Did you take it?”

“No.” Her denial came a second too late. “I didn’t take your ring . . . you must’ve lost it or something.”

“I didn’t lose it,” he said flatly. “I was wearing it when I went to bed—when
we
went to bed—and when I woke up it was gone.”

“Are you accusing me of
stealing
something from you?”

You did steal something from me
, he thought.
A really nice memory.
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he said. “I’m just asking.”

“No,” she repeated emphatically. “I didn’t take your ring.”

He didn’t believe her. There was more to this story than met the eye—why the lie about her name and the sudden switch from hot to cold after the night they’d shared? It was as though she really was two different people: one, sweet and tender; the other, an ice queen. Which one was she, and why?

“I need it back,” he stated grimly, not bothering to call her a liar. “Give it back, and there will be no hard feelings, no questions asked, no problems.”

“I didn’t take your ring,” she insisted, but her voice shook, just a little. “Lose this number, and don’t call me again, ever.” Then she hung up on him.

Finn stared at the phone, thinking hard. He should probably call the police—right now, this instant. He
had
to get the ring back.

That noise in the background; where had she been? If she hadn’t left the hotel . . .

A quick glance toward the lobby windows revealed the faintest hint of gray. Dawn was just beginning to break in the city of Atlanta, and suddenly he had a sinking suspicion of where she might be.

“No, no, no,” he mumbled beneath his breath, pocketing his phone and heading for the elevators as fast as he could.

“Where you goin’, man?” Larry and John fell in beside him.

Curiously reluctant to put his suspicions into words, Finn said merely, “The roof.”

“The roof?” John’s eyebrows shot up. “What the hell would she be doing up on the roof?”

Calling up an old friend
, he thought, praying he was wrong.

Chapter Ten

S
he shouldn’t have answered the phone.

She almost hadn’t, particularly since the number had been unfamiliar, except she had to be available in case anything ever happened with Nathan—that’s what you did when you were the mom of a sick child. Now, despite worries of Nate, she turned the phone off, turning her attention back to what she’d been doing.

The wind was picking up, making the candles flicker. Good thing she’d found this secluded spot in between three huge air-conditioning units, or they’d never stay lit. The hum from the AC units was soothing, its noise drowning out all other sounds, and helping her to concentrate as she stepped back inside the circle she’d drawn in flour on the concrete roof.

Everything was ready: the candles, the pentagram, the inner circle, the bread, the salt, the incense. Sammy Divine had oh-so-thoughtfully provided everything she needed in a leather bag he’d left at the desk. According to the instructions in the book, she was supposed to take the items to a high place, arrange them precisely, and use them in the hour between dark and dawn. She’d set everything up hours ago, before she’d met Finn in the parking garage. Thinking of Finn wasn’t helping, however, so she picked up the small metal dish that held burning cones of pine and cedar, and waved the fragrant smoke into all five corners of the pentagram, never leaving the inner circle.

She’d broken the circle to reach the phone, and the book had said to never break the circle.

There was no help for it, she’d just have to start again, and hope for the best.

“I sanctify this space,” she said aloud. “I purify it with the elements of air and earth.” Her hand was shaking, but she refused to acknowledge her fear, putting the incense down and kneeling to rip apart a loaf of round, unleavened bread.
What if she’d ruined everything?
She barely knew what she was doing as it was—never in her wildest dreams had she ever pictured herself on a rooftop at dawn, calling up the High Prince of Darkness.

Putting the bread on the ground, she picked up a bottle of sea salt and sprinkled it over both halves, then sprinkled it liberally over the surrounding area until the bottle was empty.

Then, with a shaking hand, she pulled out the little black book and began to read aloud, grateful the ceremony was short.

“This place is protected, prepared, and sanctified for the presence of the One Most High, the Lord of Night, Son of Perdition.” How she hated most of the titles she was forced to speak. “Samael the Serpent, Samael the Black, Belial the Accuser.” Closing her eyes against the first rays of sunlight, gleaming through the skyscrapers.
Had she waited too long?
“I invoke thee, O Wicked One, O Dragon of Darkness, Lucifer, Father of Lies.”

The wind freshened, blowing cool against her overheated cheeks, but she kept her eyes closed. She was going to Hell when she died; that was what she was assuring herself of with every second that passed. An eternity in agony, burning in a lake of fire, in exchange for the life of one small, brown-haired boy. Keeping her eyes closed, she searched the darkness beneath her lids for any hope of doing otherwise, for any chance—no matter how slim—to have everything she wanted without giving up her soul, and found nothing but darkness.

The hum of the air-conditioning units kept her grounded. “I invoke thee, Ruler of the Abyss, by this seal of sun and stars, by the power of moon and sky, to come forth.”

Nothing seemed to happen, and after a moment she risked a peek to see that the rooftop was much lighter now, morning having nearly arrived.

Had she done something wrong?
She’d done as the book instructed; where the hell was he? The ring was burning a hole in her pocket, and she wanted it gone.

Taking a deep breath, Faith struggled not to give in to despair. She’d merely forgotten something, that’s all, some step to the ritual. What else had the book said? Oh yes . . . the final step, the one she’d hoped to avoid.

She turned it to the last page, and winced as she read the instructions inscribed there.
Open yourself to the Darkness
, the book said,
embrace it within the very depths of your soul, and acknowledge Satan’s power. Only then will his glory surround you.

Stupid book. Stupid life, stupid roof, stupid fucking ritual. Closing her eyes once more, Faith prepared to surrender herself to the evil that had seeped its way into her world.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” came a man’s voice, and her eyes snapped open in horror. There was Finn, glowering at her just outside the topmost tip of the pentacle.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he asked, fixing her with a grim stare. “This hour of the morning is completely wrong for a conjuring spell.”

S
he was pale as milk, the expression on her face a mixture of shock and fear. Clutching the book to her chest, she snapped, “What the hell are you doing here? Go away!”

“Like hell I will,” he replied, furious to have found her this way, doing something no one should ever be foolish enough to do. He kicked over the nearest candle and scrubbed his foot through the chalk outline of the pentagram. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“Stop that,” she cried, in a voice filled with panic.

He ignored her, striding to the next two candles and kicking them over, too. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing out here, you little idiot?” He felt free to call her that, since he’d practically written the book on idiocy when it came to calling forth demons. “You think this is some kind of game?”

The fourth candle went over, too, leaving a spill of wax on the dirty concrete.

“I’m a Wiccan,” she babbled frantically, daring to lie, “and you’re ruining my Solstice celebration.”

“Bullshit,” he said crudely. “Give me back my ring.”

He kicked over the fifth and final candle without a pause, barely hearing her cry of frustration over the hum of the air conditioners.

She’d picked a secluded spot, all right, and if she hadn’t made that offhand remark the night before about escaping to the roof, he’d never have found her. The sweet, sexy woman he’d met last night was just a front for evil incarnate, and he’d been sucked in like a fool.

“You’ve ruined everything!” she cried, eyes wild. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but they meant nothing to him.

“What did he offer you?” Finn shouted. “Tell me.” He pinned her with a furious gaze, kicking aside more flour to further break up the five-star pattern on the concrete. “Eternal life? Money? What was it?”

She stared at him, stricken.

“I know how it works; I know how he operates.”
Yes, he knew all too well.
“He promises you your heart’s desire in return for your soul, and you agree to it, secretly thinking you’ll have plenty of time to figure a way out of the bargain.” He stalked from point to point on the pentagram, scuffing the flour to the wind, circling Faith, who still stood in the middle. “But the bargain can’t be broken. Once you make a deal with the Devil, it stays made.”

She shook her head, tears staining her cheeks. “You don’t understand.”

“No!” he shouted, angrier than he’d been in years. “
You
don’t understand! The ring belongs to me and I’m not giving it up! And you”—he pointed at her—“you are a fool if you think stealing it for him is going to be to your benefit in any way.”

Saying nothing, she sank to her knees, as though her legs could no longer hold her up.

“Believe it or not,” he said with a mirthless smile, “I’m doing you a favor. I know what you’re up to, Faith, but whatever deal he’s offered you, it’s not worth it.”

Faith dropped her head, resting her palms on the ground. Her hair hung forward, hiding her face. “I’m so sorry,” she said, though he could barely hear her.

“Get up,” he answered sharply, stepping in to take her by an arm. The sooner they got off this rooftop the better.

She twisted away in a flash of movement, tossing two handfuls of flour and salt directly in his face. Blinded, eyes burning, he reeled back, and Faith took off. He got an eye open just in time to see her disappear around one of the air-conditioning units, moving low and fast. Blinking and swearing, he did his best to follow.

She was quick, ducking and weaving her way between the units. It didn’t take him long to realize that she definitely had the advantage . . . in the predawn darkness, she knew exactly where she was going, while he quickly became turned around inside a maze of noisy, humming boxes. He couldn’t hear her, he couldn’t see her, and his eyes burned like hell. “Faith!” he shouted. “Don’t run away; we can talk about this!”

Eight feet away, too far for him to reach it in time, Finn saw a door open and close. Rushing to get there as fast as he could, he found it locked from the other side. Pounding on the door in frustration, he shouted through it. “Faith!” More furious pounding. “Faith!”

But he heard nothing but silence and the hum of air conditioners, and far away, too faint for anyone to hear but him, a chuckle of laughter from the muse of Chaos.

F
inn immediately called John on his cell phone, but it was no good—the key to the inner dead bolt was missing and maintenance had to be called to unlock it. Larry was sent to the parking lot to look for Faith, but not knowing what she drove or on what level she was parked, Finn wasn’t hopeful he’d catch her.

She was smart, and she’d be positioned for an easy getaway.

“What happened, man?” John shouted through the door to Finn while they waited for the key. “How’d you get locked out?”

Finn was in no mood to shout explanations. What was he supposed to say, that he’d interrupted the girl in the middle of a Satanic ritual that—if she’d succeeded—might possibly have sent his soul screaming straight to Hell? “It’s a long story. Just get the door unlocked, will you?” He hadn’t seen her with the ring, but he was more convinced than ever that she had it. The dodgy scenario—lies, theft, the summoning ceremony—it was all too familiar.

John and Larry knew nothing of his past visits to the dark side, and with a familiar stab of frustration and shame, he realized he had no desire to enlighten them.

They’d never believe him anyway.

While he waited, the sun came up. Soon he could see all of Atlanta laid out before him, bright lights fading into big city. The Ritz wasn’t very tall compared to some of the other skyscrapers; it seemed small and insignificant, surrounded by gleaming spires of glass pointing their way to a Heaven he’d never see. With a sigh, unable to help himself, he made his way back to the spot where he’d found Faith. The evidence of what she’d been up to was clearly revealed by the weak light of dawn; the crudely drawn pentagram—scuffed and broken, the candles, the bread.

“She needs more practice,” came a man’s voice from behind him. “Perhaps you should give her lessons.”

Finn turned to see Satan step out casually from between two air-conditioning units.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said mildly. “Surely you were expecting me?”

“Doesn’t sunlight turn you to ash or something?” Finn snapped, meeting sarcasm with sarcasm. “What happened to your legendary preference for the dead of night?”

Those ice blue eyes sent a chill down his spine.

“Daylight works just as well for me,” the Devil said. “Light, darkness . . . it’s all the same.” He wandered away from the AC unit to stroll easily about the roof, going to one of the overturned candles, toeing it with his boot. “I believe our bargain has come to an end.”

“No, it hasn’t,” Finn disagreed calmly, though his heart was pounding. “I haven’t given up the ring—it was taken from me.”

Satan waved a hand. “A technicality.”

“Not a technicality,” he answered firmly. “Part of the deal.”

The blond man sighed, turning his head to look out over the city. “You humans are so literal,” he said idly. “But I suppose you’re right.”

Hardly daring to breathe, Finn waited, sensing there was more to be said.

“I suppose I could let you live out what’s left of your soon-to-be-miserable life. It will be suicide eventually, you know,” he added casually, as an aside, “though the official statement will be that it was an accident; another burnt-out rocker who accidentally killed himself in an excess of drugs and alcohol.”

“I don’t do drugs,” Finn answered tersely.

“You will,” the Devil answered, with grim satisfaction.

Finn said nothing, waiting to hear more of what fate had in store for him.

Satan smiled, meeting his eyes. “Face it, my friend . . . the muse of Chaos has chosen another. The girl would never have gotten the ring off your hand otherwise, and you know it. The ring chooses its wearer, as it chose you, twenty years ago.”

Twenty years ago he’d been a stupid, lonely kid who would’ve given anything to live the fantasy life he’d created in his head—that of a rich, successful guy doing what he loved to do, which was making music. Music had been all that mattered, and he’d sold his soul for it. When offered the Ring of Chaos, he hadn’t hesitated, even though his gain was someone else’s loss.

Someone named Mike Gilliam, who’d blown his brains out in the back of a dirty little club in Indianapolis after his career hit the skids, after a skinny little roadie named Finn had stolen the ring for himself.

“She doesn’t know the ring’s power.” The idea of a girl like Faith—so beautiful, so full of promise—in league with Satan left a bad taste in his mouth. “You must’ve tricked her somehow, the way you tricked me.”

“More technicalities.” Satan sighed. “How tiresome. Bottom line, take it she did, and you, dear Finn, are about to become a washed-up has-been. Your career in music is over, because the ring
is
the music—the inspiration it gives your mind, the talent it gives your fingers. It’s all that’s carried you this far.” He made a
tsk
ing noise. “How far do you think you’ll get without it?”

“You are one sick bastard.” Finn had nothing to lose by getting angry; as much as he wished differently, there was no walking away from this. If he’d known, back when he was sixteen, that all the money and all the fame in the world couldn’t buy happiness, things might’ve turned out differently for him. As it was, money and fame were all he had, and the only life he knew.