Hollywood Demon (The Collegium Book 6) (13 page)

Not redemption as most people understood it. But redemption as an escape from failure. He’d shown her how to escape herself, to leave behind a life that hadn’t met her expectations. People fled things all the time, but Faust had guided Rivera’s panicked, despairing flight from herself. If she had failed as a demonologist, she could be someone else.

“You had failed,” Clancy said compassionately, as Mark straightened but still refused to look at Rivera. “Yesterday, Faust tore away your confidence in yourself as a demonologist. You could have chosen, instead, to focus on your yoga studio. You’re a success. Beautiful.” Clancy almost choked on the word, it was so wrong with Rivera having changed her face and form for Phoebe’s. The woman had been beautiful before. However, now, wearing a dead woman’s form, she was grotesque. “But your ordinary life wasn’t enough. You wanted what Phoebe had possessed. Celebrity, wealth.”

Rivera had wanted to be part of the charmed circle, a Hollywood insider. She’d wanted—

“Mark.” Rivera sat back on the chair in the corner. “I want the fairytale. I want to be part of a perfect couple. I deserve to be.”

“And what do I deserve? This?” Mark’s gesture rejected Rivera standing before him. “That fairytale you want was a nightmare. An endless nightmare that won’t let me go. You took on the form of a woman who sold her soul to a demon.”

Phoebe’s face, so wrong when the woman wearing it was Rivera, expressed exaggerated puzzlement. It was a mask, and Rivera hadn’t learned to wear it. Even her tiniest movements were clumsy. But the urgency of her emotions came through. “No. No, you loved Phoebe.”

“She betrayed me.”

It was as if Rivera didn’t hear him. “And now, you’ll love me.”

No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Her transformation was vile and wrong.

“You’re sick.” Mark turned to Gilda. “Has Faust twisted her brain?”

Alek answered, cool and composed, although Clancy jumped, having forgotten his presence behind her. “Not in the way you mean. Rivera made a bad decision. The consequences are drastic and, as far as we know, irreversible. I doubt she believed she could, or meant to, so radically change. Now, she doesn’t know herself. Her psyche is trying to build a new narrative to handle it. If you were to rescue her, love her—”

“Love her?” Absolute, utter revulsion from Mark.

“No, I know you can’t. I’m trying to explain,” Alek said.

Rivera put her altered face in her hands and began to cry

Gilda’s practical voice ignored the emotional quagmire. “What disturbs me is this demonstration that the demon you call Faust can alter human flesh.”

“Is this a new demonic talent?” Clancy had no idea. Her legs felt rubbery. Whatever she’d expected to encounter in the yoga studio, it hadn’t been this. She wanted to lean against something. She retreated a step toward the wall.

Mark’s arm shot out and pulled her against him. Apparently, he needed her.

Rivera wailed.

“Stay with her,” Gilda said.

Clancy glanced at the chief demonologist, and belatedly realized that the command was for Alek to guard Rivera.

Gilda gestured for Mark and Clancy to exit the room. They sat on the chairs outside the door. Gilda stood. “In all the boasting Faust did yesterday, did he as much as hint that he could alter human flesh?”

Mark rested his elbows on his knees, head hanging down. He felt sick and disoriented. “No.”

“You should have warned him what he’d see,” Clancy challenged Gilda.

“She couldn’t.” He didn’t look up. The bamboo flooring was pale and blonde, like Rivera’s new Phoebe-hair. He struggled with nausea. “Gilda wanted to observe my reaction in case I was in this with Faust.”

“
With
him?” Shock reverberated in Clancy’s voice, raising it an octave. She bounced up. “We’re victims.”

“Yes, I think you are.” A judicious tone from Gilda.

Mark was beyond caring what she thought. He wanted—needed—to leave.

The ground beneath him rumbled. “Clancy.” He said her name as warning and reassurance.

Whatever she heard in his voice, she reached back and gripped his hand, pulling him to his feet. “We’re leaving.”

“Good. It’s not as if you could help,” Gilda replied.

He felt Clancy’s magic gathering like a storm, and gave her hand a tiny shake. The important thing was that they leave. Gilda’s rudeness, her ruthlessness, didn’t matter. He had to put space between himself and Rivera.

“That woman!” Clancy exploded as the front door shut behind them. To their right, the café’s courtyard was filled with people talking and laughing, the scrape of chairs on the paving and the clink of cutlery. Jazz music played softly. The earlier rain had gone, but not before washing the dust off everything so that colors were brighter, the air fresher.

And behind them, inside Rivera’s studio, was the devastation a demon could create.

The shadow of it clung to Mark. He beeped the SUV open and climbed in. “Do you want to go home or—do you mind if we go to the beach?” He needed the wild openness of the ocean. “I can drive you home first.” The way he felt at the moment, he didn’t care if Faust did come after him, but Clancy needed to be safe.

“The beach suits me. Clean air.”

They were on the same page. He felt dirty. “If Faust turns up…”

“It would only be to gloat,” she said.

Since he thought she was right, he said nothing else, but drove toward Palisades Park, stopping where they could walk down to the beach. There were people exercising, but not so many that they couldn’t be avoided. It was possible to talk privately.

A golden retriever raced past, romping with its owner.

“I love those dogs,” Clancy said randomly. “Goofy, friendly. Great with kids.” She watched it till it was out of sight, her expression wistful.

She was probably thinking of that ordinary life she’d come home to achieve. Demons weren’t part of that ambition. But this experience, horrible as it was, would have been even worse for him without her.

He watched the waves rolling in, with the wind buffeting him from the north. He stood to block it from her, and she gave him a small, sad smile of acknowledgement. It jerked a confession out of him.

He’d told her so much, more than he’d thought to share with anyone. But not this. “Yesterday, you said I had to forgive Phoebe so that I could let her go, and so, cut the tie Faust is using to torment me.”

“I guess I said something like that. I’m no expert, though, Mark.” She took a deep breath. “And what we saw today. Rivera. I don’t know if anything would make Faust forget his interest in you. Rivera’s transformation was aimed to hurt you.”

“It succeeded.”

She linked arms with him.

Her sympathy almost silenced him. The storminess of the ocean was easing some of the storm in his heart, and he wanted to let things go. But he couldn’t. He was in the middle of this. Drowning in it. “It’s not so simple as forgiving and forgetting Phoebe. Most of those first intense loves crash and burn. People move on.”

She looked up at him while the wind whipped her brown hair into a mess. She put up a hand to keep it out of her eyes.

“Kissing you, yesterday. You’re real, Clancy. Genuine. And you were right. You deserve a man who can be totally there for you.”

She dropped her hand and let her windswept hair hide her face.

He brushed her hair to one side, his fingers lingering against the softness of her skin. “When I look back, I have two equally painful realities to choose between. With Phoebe, either I fell in love with a woman who’d sold her soul for celebrity status. Or, loving me and being loved by me wasn’t enough, and she sold her soul for something I couldn’t give her.” His mouth twisted as he asked the question that had tortured him for seven years. “Did I fail her?”

“No.”

He released her and turned away. Too easy an absolution was worthless.

She moved in front of him, forcing him to look at her.

He shook his head, feeling worse to see her empathetic pain. “You accused me of not being over Phoebe, of not letting her go. I don’t love her, but how can I let her go? Not when…do you know what selling her soul means? Do you know where her soul is now, what she’s suffering?”

Clancy flinched. She hadn’t considered Phoebe at all, not as another victim. She’d dismissed the woman too readily as a villainess, but…the answer to his question was that her soul was in Hell.
In Hell!
No wonder Mark couldn’t let Phoebe go.

“I’ve been searching for an answer.” His expression was bleak, old anguish etching lines in his face. “Has a soul ever been redeemed from Hell?”

She’d been to church that morning, but religion had no answers. Her training in magic provided no answers. “I don’t know.”

“Nor do I,” he said in a low voice. He gazed out at the ocean. “Her body is dead. I saw her die. Phoebe’s mom arranged her cremation. I went to the funeral service on crutches.”

Clancy remembered. She’d seen his wounded image all over the media at the time.

“But what if she’s still aware? What if something that is Phoebe is trapped somewhere, being tortured by Faust?” The question was certainly torturing Mark.

“We’ll ask Gilda,” Clancy said.

“I’ve asked. I asked her predecessor. They say her soul is gone and to consider her dead.”

She had no words or comfort to offer. Mark strode along the hard-packed sand of the beach, and she hurried to keep up with him.

“And now, to see Rivera looking like Phoebe…” He ran.

Clancy watched him. He attracted attention. He wasn’t in exercise gear, but in a jersey shirt and jeans, his boots thudding on the sand. He ran to  escape his thoughts, but they’d go with him.

She felt the thunder of the geo-forces here and flowing beneath the ocean floor. Her magic wanted to reach out to Mark, to save him somehow.

But who they really needed to save was Phoebe’s soul, trapped in Hell. Was it even possible?

While Mark ran, the clouds returned, darkening the day and lowering the temperature. Clancy tucked her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and turned her back to the wind, but she was still cold when he came back to her.

“Sorry.” He was breathing fast, but otherwise his hard run didn’t show. He tugged her hands out of her pockets and warmed them between his. “I should have left you the key to the SUV.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

His mouth compressed, denting the skin at the corners. He didn’t argue, though. He simply walked fast with her back to the SUV and switched on its heater.

“Mark, I’m fine.”

He shook his head, unconvinced. Instead of putting the SUV in gear, he stared out the windscreen. “I keep seeing her. Rivera, Phoebe.”

“Do you want to go back to the studio?” Clancy thought it would be a bad idea, not only for him, but because Gilda didn’t want them there. Now that Clancy was colder and calm, she couldn’t believe how nearly she’d challenged the Collegium’s chief demonologist.

“No. Let’s go home.”

Good.
She had questions, but not ones she wanted to ask Mark. She’d save some for Doris. Questions like whether Doris’s elderly priest friend could exorcise Rivera’s face and body back to its original state? However, given Gilda’s contained freak-out over it, Clancy suspected it was a new and unwelcome demonic achievement.

How would Rivera cope with no longer resembling herself? How could she explain the change? Had even her fingerprints changed? What about her DNA? How deep was the transformation?

Standing by the cold Pacific Ocean, Clancy had had too much time to think through the broader and panic-inducing consequences of the transformation Faust had achieved.

The demon had bragged yesterday of contracting humans to lend their bodies for demonic possession. But now it seemed demons might be able not only to enter random people’s bodies, but to alter them out of all recognition.

Demons could soon be walking among them, looking like the President of the USA or a trusted doctor, like anyone at all. They would wreak unbelievable havoc.

Perhaps, now, Gilda might take seriously Mark’s research and the counterspell he’d drafted. On the other hand, perhaps she’d totally ignore him to call in her preferred, Collegium experts. After all, this was a potential global catastrophe: demons wandering Earth freely.

“Oh rats.” The mild swearword couldn’t express the extent of Clancy’s irritation when she saw her brother’s car parked just inside the Yarren Estate’s gate. Then again, even the worst swearword in the world couldn’t express her annoyance. She jumped out of the SUV to confront Jeremy. “If this is about the earth tremor a couple of hours ago,” she began.

“Good afternoon, Mark,” Jeremy said.

That he ignored her, only stoked her temper. She folded her arms.

Mark muttered “hi” and glanced at Clancy. His look was a question.

She sighed, and unfolded her arms. No, she didn’t need Jeremy to be run off or for Mark to hear this conversation. “Jeremy—”

“Walk with me,” he said.

She checked the sky. The clouds were gray, but it wasn’t actually raining and on the estate, buildings and trees broke the force of the wind. “All right.” They needed to talk away from Doris—and Neville. “Why did you let Neville think you quieted the geo-forces yesterday?”

“Did you want Neville investigating the chamber?” Jeremy countered.

Mark strode off toward the house.

Clancy turned up the collar of her leather jacket, shoved her hands in her pockets, and walked with Jeremy on the trail that ran the perimeter of the fenced area of the estate. “No,” she conceded. “I remember Kennett’s encounter with the chamber.” Kennett had been Jeremy’s predecessor as the Collegium-approved geomage for California. The chamber beneath Doris’s cottage had clanged with violent energy after two minutes of his presence in it. Clancy had been only nine at the time, but it was the sort of event one remembered. “Neville would have tried to impose his will on the energies in it, and there’d have been chaos.”

“
More
chaos,” Jeremy stressed. “You started plenty.” And before she could defend herself. “I’ve been thinking of your lack of control—of your magic,” but the way he said it, he meant her lack of control in general.

Her lack of focus, lack of ambition, or as her parents said, “Clancy, you can’t just wander through life. Look at Jeremy. He’s found his vocation and he’s pursuing it one hundred percent.”

“Neville and I discussed your situation.”

She felt her shoulders edge up toward her ears in a defensive hunch. “I don’t work for Neville anymore.”

Jeremy shot her a quick look before focusing on a pine branch that straggled over the path. He lifted it out of his way, the raindrops that clung to it coalescing and falling in a swift cascade. Like tears. “You needn’t have any more contact with Neville. But talking with him did start me thinking. Your unstable magic is partly my fault.”

She forgot her annoyance at having her magic described as unstable—she could feel the solid flow of it connecting with the energy in the Earth—in sheer shock. “How can it be your fault?” She tripped on a tree root and pulled a hand out of a pocket to steady herself against the perimeter fence.

Jeremy stared at her broodingly. He looked very urban-sophisticate in a dark gray wool coat over even darker brown trousers and unscuffed boots. His scarf was an artful lift of color in cream and streaky green. “
Partly
my fault.” He sighed and resumed walking. “Mom and Dad, everyone, were so invested in helping me master my magic to defeat the leukemia that your developmental needs were overlooked. All the more so when it became obvious that I had so much ability. The effort went into accelerating and refining my magical capabilities. You were forgotten.”

A cold shiver ran down Clancy’s spine, and it wasn’t from the rain. Hadn’t Doris said much the same? Jeremy had gotten the family’s and the Collegium’s attention. He’d worked hard for his magic and that had been respected. Whereas she’d just drifted.

“I regret it, Clancy.” He paced along, turning the corner where a bay laurel tree marked the boundary. “When your magic never really blossomed at puberty, everyone left you to stumble on alone.”

It hadn’t felt like stumbling at the time, not during high school. She’d been content to know that the earth magic flowing beneath the cottage would respond to her. It had been a reassuring constant through teenage dramas. But her non-magical life had been far more interesting. She’d liked being ordinary with mundane, non-magical friends.

All that had changed when her parents decided she ought to do something with her magic. Jeremy was already at the Collegium, casually reporting back impressive magical and academic achievements. Clancy had known she’d never measure up to his standard, but she had appreciated that the Collegium would cover the costs of her college tuition, so she’d gone east to New York. To graduate from college without student debt was important. So she’d left behind the glorious, seething power of the San Andreas Fault, and then, lied to herself that she didn’t miss it all
that
much.

“I did go to the Collegium,” she reminded Jeremy. She had received training. She’d been an average student. It wasn’t as if she’d
failed
.

“Yes, you did, and again, you didn’t do so well. No, that’s not a criticism of you.” He held up a—was it manicured?—hand before she could verbalize a protest. “I should have tutored you. You’re my little sister. Instead, I was so busy getting my degree, then post-graduate studies, becoming caught up in the Middle Eastern dramas.”

His excuses only made her feel worse. He’d been busy, successful and respected. She’d been a disappointment. Morosely, she kicked at a stone. The pebble rattled away, colliding with a water feature tucked behind the gazebo. Water no longer ran in the marble fountain. Leaves and dirt had collected at its base.

It began to rain, again. A soft, thin rain. Mizzling.

Clancy felt like the weather: grumpy and dispirited. Jeremy was apologizing, yet his every word made her feel worse.

He glanced at the sky, held out a hand to the rain, and led the way to the gazebo. Evidently, he wasn’t finished talking, and so, wasn’t ready to hurry back to the shelter of the cottage.

She dragged her feet to the gazebo. Its wooden floor echoed hollowly under her boots. From here there was a stunning view not only of the house, but of Los Angeles. She ignored the view to stare at Jeremy, willing him to say whatever he had to say, and then let her go so she could crawl under a rock.

He brushed a hand over his neatly cut black hair and shook off the sprinkling of raindrops. “Clancy, I could have been a better brother. Should have been. I’ve just been so busy. Yvonne.” And at her questioning look. “My partner. She’s a lawyer at an environmental law firm and a botanical mage. She’s always telling me to take more time for me. What with teaching and research and my responsibilities to the Collegium, she and I barely have time for the odd weekend away.”

“That’s sad,” Clancy said unconvincingly. She leaned back against a post of the gazebo. Professionally and personally, her brother had everything. She was glad for him—truly—but it only underlined all that was missing from her life.

He slanted her a look, before shrugging his shoulders in a gesture of assurance. “Never mind my full schedule. I intend to make time to train you, to help you control your magic.”

Ugh.
“That’s not necessary.”

“Of course it is.” Jeremy was confident. He glanced at the sky. “I don’t think this rain intends to let up. We should hurry back to the house. I’ll call you when I’ve had a chance to re-arrange my schedule.”

“Really, it’s not necessary.”

But he was bounding down the two steps of the gazebo and cutting across the yard in the direction of the main house.

Frustrated and depressed, Clancy trailed after him, only for him to stop abruptly. She wondered what he was staring at, then saw Mark at his bedroom window.

Mark moved away, out of sight, and Jeremy turned to her. “Mark has his problems, Clancy, but don’t underestimate his power and connections. He mightn’t have much magic, but that doesn’t make him any less desirable to most women. Even Yvonne says he’s delish.” Jeremy laughed confidently, before sobering and staring at her with disconcerting, big brother concern. “Getting involved with Mark would be dangerous for you.”

Then the back door of the house opened and Mark walked out onto the veranda.

Jeremy waved to him. “I have to go.” He patted Clancy’s shoulder. “I’ll call you. Remember, I’m here to help. Bye, Mark!”

Mark raised a hand in farewell and Jeremy hurried through the rain, around the garage, obviously headed for his eco-conscious car.

The pool dimpled with the strike of thousands of raindrops.

Clancy crossed to where Mark waited.

The jersey still stretched across his wide, swimmer’s shoulders. Worn jeans were faded at the crotch and knees, and fraying at his ankles. His feet were bare.

“You’ll catch a cold,” she said inanely.

“You’re the one who’s wet.” He reached out and pulled her in, under the shelter of the roof.

She felt like crying. Jeremy had warned her against Mark, but her brother hadn’t asked about, hadn’t even mentioned, the demon’s attack. She felt lonely and defeated. Lost.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked quietly.

Rain drummed on the veranda roof. “I want to go down into the chamber. Come with me?”