Devil Without a Cause (9 page)

“Rich, famous and unfulfilled” was still far better than “once rich, once famous and now dead.” He was no Kurt Cobain or Jim Morrison, and had never bought into the “better to burn out than fade away” bullshit.

“You really get a kick out of watching people suffer, don’t you?”

The Devil laughed, an unholy fire flickering in his ice blue eyes. “I like you, Finn, did you know that? You’ve never lacked courage, even as a pimply kid. You figured out how to get what you wanted back then, and maybe you will again. Tell you what . . .” He cocked his head, smiling. “I’ll give you two days to get the ring back, unless, of course, Faith succeeds in calling me up first.” He shrugged. “I’m helpless against certain rituals and incantations, as you well know.”

Finn didn’t respond, but neither did he look away.

Satan chuckled, shaking his head. “She certainly bungled it this time, so maybe you’ll have a shot at getting it from her before I do. You can’t take it from her, though—you’ve already stolen it once, and that would be far too easy. You have until Monday morning to
persuade
her to return the Ring of Chaos, or it’s all over—your career will come to a standstill.” He arched an eyebrow. “Do we have a deal?”

And Finn, as he’d done once before in his life, nodded his head and answered, “We have a deal.”

F
inally the door opened, and Finn stepped inside the stairwell, where he found John and Herve Morales, the asshole who’d refused to give him any information about Faith earlier. Morales’s sour expression quickly changed to one of shock, and it was only then that Finn realized he had flour in his hair and on his clothes.

“Don’t ask,” he growled, brushing past the men to head down the stairs. He needed a shower, and he needed to plan his next move, preferably both at the same time. Luckily he still had some time—despite what Satan had said, summoning ceremonies were not a task to be undertaken in the daylight. He’d thought carefully while on the roof, and his initial desire to see Faith burn in Hell for what she was doing had faded to something more introspective—something he didn’t like, but couldn’t ignore.

“What happened with the girl?” John was the only one with him as they emerged from the stairwell onto their own floor.

“She took off running,” Finn answered shortly. “Call my house manager in the islands, tell him to contact that private detective who did security work for us last summer. We need to track her down, quick.”

“We should call the police, or just let that prick behind the desk handle it,” John growled.

“Not yet.”

John gave him a look, but Finn said nothing, merely waiting while John used his key to open the door to his room, then heading directly for the shower. He didn’t want to explain why he didn’t want the authorities involved, wasn’t even sure he could. The Ring of Chaos now linked his fate to the girl’s. By stealing it, she’d put them both in danger, making the same mistake he’d made himself twenty years ago. He wasn’t sure why—or even
if
—he cared . . . the only thing he knew for sure was that he needed to find her.

Let her look him in the eye and tell him she knew what she was doing, and why.

Besides, he had to get the ring back, and the less the world knew about it, the better.

Chapter Eleven

T
he water in the pool was black, as black as the hearts of the water nymphs who lurked beneath its surface. They were quick, those nymphs, always eager to snatch anything or anyone who wandered too close, but they knew better than to disturb the mirrorlike surface with their ripples when the Prince of Darkness stopped by for a visit.

Sammy breathed in deeply, taking in the quiet. There was utter silence in the cavern, natural sunlight streaming from openings high above his head. Animals and birds shunned the area, knowing that the darkness that lurked underground sometimes welled up into the earth itself, turning twigs into claws, creating death traps from which they couldn’t escape. This was an ancient place, a place avoided by everyone, including the dead.

“It’s been a long time, Samael.” An old woman stepped from the mouth of a cave, well hidden by stones.

“So it has, Ariadne,” he returned, unsurprised by her appearance. “You’re looking well.”

She glared at him, obviously uninterested in pleasantries. “What have you done with Selene?” she demanded. “Where is she?”

“Selene is being punished,” he said simply, strolling around the edge of the pool to stand beside the old woman.

“For how long?”

“For as long as I see fit.”

Sammy turned, looking down on the pool from his new vantage point. In it, he could see himself as well as the old woman, who, in her reflection, was now a beautiful young woman, with long golden hair. “You didn’t think I’d let her get away with challenging me, did you?”

The young woman’s mouth twisted. “She cannot help who she is,” she said to Sammy’s reflection. She met his eyes in the water and said spitefully, “You made her that way.”

Sammy shook his head. “Oh no, my dear, don’t blame that on me. I brought her to you long ago, after her mortal death, for help and guidance. You were supposed to keep her occupied and out of harm’s way, and instead you taught her to weave her poison within the webs of fate.”

“Bah,” said the woman in the water, “you didn’t want her out of harm’s way, and you know it.”

Sammy laughed, untroubled by the accusation.

“What do you want from me this time, Samael?” she asked his reflection. “And whatever it is, why should I give it to you?”

“That’s what I like about you, Ariadne; you always get right to the point.”

“Pray do the same.”

Sammy’s expression hardened, and the woman took note, for she said nothing further, waiting in silence until he was ready to enlighten her as to the reason for his visit.

“I have someone I wish to bind to me,” he finally said, “forever.”

“There is no such thing as forever,” she returned, “you know that. There are only patterns, and circles, endlessly repeating themselves, over and over and over.”

“Spare me the semantics,” he replied. “Can you do it?”

“Of course I can do it,” Ariadne said, “but there is no need.” She waved her hand over the surface of the pool, and their reflections began to ripple, changing into something entirely different—a white house, with a wraparound porch, shaded by trees. On the front porch sat a young, dark-haired woman in a rocking chair, reading. “You are already engraved upon her heart,” the old woman said, “even though it belongs to another. The binding is unnecessary.”

“Damn you,” he said angrily, unable to take his eyes from the scene in the pool, “who are you to tell me what’s unnecessary?” He knew she was right, of course, but his loneliness had driven him to it, driven him to come here, to the one place where the dead did not follow. As he watched, the girl in the rocking chair moved a hand to her flat stomach, patting it absently as she read. The gesture betrayed what he already suspected, yet cut like a knife. “I can’t make her do anything she doesn’t already want to do, but you  . . .”

Ariadne waved her hand again, and the girl and the house faded. “I can bind her to you, but I cannot make her love you,” she said simply. “Even the Great Shaitan is not immune to the laws of the web of Fate.”

Samael stared bitterly into the pool, seeing now only his own reflection, and the blackness that surrounded him, as always.

Ariadne turned away, heading back into her cave, and he let her go, knowing himself a fool for wishing for things he could never have.

Nicki Styx was beyond his reach, and part of him, Darkness help him, was grateful for it.

He stayed by the pool a long time, soaking in the quiet. There were no further visions, and he didn’t expect them—the pool revealed what it wanted to reveal, when it wanted to reveal it, and he had long ago ceded control of its moods to Ariadne. She was the Weaver, farseeing and complex, and the black pool her familiar. He did not begrudge it, for he had plenty of his own.

After a time, in no hurry to return to the eyes that watched him constantly in Sheol, he climbed the narrow path that led from the cavern into the bright light of day, thinking he might wander down to the sea and watch the waves beat against the cliffs. Ariadne’s isle was isolated, a hard little rock in a chain of larger rocks, remote from the rest of the world. He’d brought his favorite pair of Ray-Bans just for the occasion, and slipped them on just as he reached the top.

“What do you think you’re doing, Samael?”

Sammy whirled, shocked to hear another voice. He’d been coming to this island for millennia, and never seen another soul save that of the Weaver’s.

His old friend Gabriel stood at the head of the path, emanating light, radiating disapproval.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Samael snapped, not at all pleased to see him.

“I’m here to speak with you,” Gabe said, taking a step forward. “Without your army of darkness behind you, hiding in the shadows.”

Sammy drew in a breath, reining his temper. “How did you find me?” he demanded.

“You’re not the only one who knows of this place—we found it together, remember?”

He remembered. They’d circled it, eons ago, he and Gabriel, on a beautiful day just like this one, sea winds holding them aloft, the sun warm on their wings. The skies surrounding them had been cloudless, but a gray fog had clung to the island, shrouding it, marking it as different. It had appeared so barren, yet so alive; its sinister aspect had drawn him like a lodestone. Gabriel hadn’t wanted to explore, but Samael had been unable to resist. He’d come back one day, alone, and it had been then that he’d met the old woman who lived in the cavern, and learned for the first time that he and his brothers were not the only immortal creatures in the universe.

“What do you want, Gabriel?” he asked shortly.

“I want to know what you’re doing to Faith McFarland,” Gabe answered grimly. “You were supposed to help her, to look out for her—instead, you’ve turned her into a thief.”

Sammy felt his temper rising—he answered to no one. “And a whore,” he agreed, flatly. “I made her into a whore, too. Don’t forget that part.”

Gabriel’s eyes flashed, for even angels were capable of anger, particularly when it was on someone else’s behalf. He was dressed as he’d been in the temple, khaki pants and chambray shirt.

“You were supposed to stay out of it, mind your own business, remember?” Sammy ignored Gabriel’s anger, and brushed past him to the head of the path, following it downward to the sea. “She’s unharmed, and the boy is in remission. More importantly, we agreed to do things
my
way.”

“You could heal the boy in an instant,” Gabriel stated, stopping him in his tracks.

“True,” he agreed, eyeing Gabriel over his shoulder. “Is that what guardian angels are supposed to do? Remove every trial from life and grant every wish as though they were someone’s fairy godmother?”

Gabriel made an exasperated noise, and Sammy knew he’d made his point. He turned and started again down the path. A moment later he heard the clatter of stone as his former comrade followed.

They made their way in silence, single-file down a narrow track through the rocks. Soon the scent of the sea surrounded them, clean and sharp, and their ears became filled with the rumble of crashing waves, growing louder until they reached the end of the path, which opened onto an empty beach.

There Sammy stopped, feeling the wind whip through his hair, watching and listening to the thundering waves.

The wind and the waves did only as they pleased
.

Nature had no need of a conscience, and neither did he.

It was several minutes before Gabriel, who watched the waves in silence beside him, finally spoke.

“What are you up to, brother?”

His anger had passed, or Sammy might’ve struck him for using the word. As it was, he merely shrugged, still watching the waves, and stated, “I’m helping her. Her son is home from the hospital, isn’t he?”

“You’re using the child to get something you want. That was never part of the bargain.”

“Speak to me not of bargains,” Sammy said, not realizing how he’d fallen into a much older speech pattern, “for you know nothing of them. Everything you have has been given to you with an open hand.” He demonstrated, opening a hand to the cool touch of the wind, though his eyes stayed on the waves. “Beloved of the One, the universe your playground,” he added, without heat. “You know nothing of struggle, of pain, or of loss.”

“That’s not true,” Gabriel said firmly, but Sammy chose not to hear him, listening only to the crash and boom of the sea, pounding stubbornly against the rocks that surrounded the island.

“I told you I would do this thing my way,” Samael repeated, keeping his eyes on the ocean. “Go back where you belong, Gabriel, and don’t come here again.”

Gabriel’s laughter took him by surprise. “I’m not one of your servants, Samael.” He shook his head, apparently amazed by his old friend’s arrogance. “You do not command me. You reign within your hidden temple, and you play at evil among the shades of dead while you torment the living, but mostly you just hide—you hide from the One and you hide from yourself.” The angel took a step back, unfurling his wings. The sea winds caught them, buffeting the edge of his feathers, bearing him aloft, where he drifted. “We are brothers still, born of the same womb, that of the infinite universe. You hate me now for what I am, as I hate what you have become, but our fates will always be entwined.” The winds bore him higher, out of reach. “For that reason, and that reason alone, I give sway here today. Do what you will with Faith McFarland, at least for now, but do not disappoint me, my brother.”

Then he dissolved in a burst of light that made Sammy shield his eyes, despite the Ray-Bans.

“Showoff,” Sammy muttered beneath his breath, then turned back to the waves, letting them soothe the jealousy that had speared his veins at the sight of Gabe’s feathers, fluttering in the wind. The wind taunted him by bringing one of them to rest in the sand near his feet, where without hesitation, he crushed it beneath his heel.