One Handsome Devil (34 page)

Katra's grin looked as cruel as anything she'd expect to see on a demon from Hell. “I was right all along. We've got to track Derrick down, string him up, and make him sing soprano."

"I don't suppose Mona told you where he hangs out?"

Katra winked. “Think about it, Sherlock. There's only one place he can be."

"Wasn't he staying in a hotel?"

"Jack would have found him there."

It all came down to Jack. How was she going to get him out of her system and get on with her life if she kept hearing his name? “All right, I'm stupid. Where is he?"

"You're not stupid, you just don't want to see."

"Tell me before I do something violent."

"He's in Bob's church. That's why Jack couldn't see him."

Sara's blood felt like it had turned to ice in her veins. “That's ridiculous."

"Remember he called Bob ‘boss.’”

"But—"

"Jack couldn't sense much about anyone from that church group, remember? That's the one thing that could cloak Jack's senses."

"But that would mean that Bob was involved."

"Give the lady a lollipop."

Jack's spirit twisted through the ethereal zone between the human plane and Hell.

Sara's spells should have sent him straight back. Reverend Bob's curses should have had angels after him like hounds after a fox. Yet instead, his spirit survived here in this halfway land between worlds.

A vast emptiness stretched out as far as his senses could probe, but it was a constructive emptiness. His will could shape it.

Acting on whim, he created a shelter, the four walls of a small cottage he'd once seen in England, complete with thatched roof.

The swirling nothingness responded, shaping itself at his command.

He stepped inside, building form from the protoplasmic substance left over from creation.

Effortlessly he constructed cool baths, filled libraries with the greatest thoughts of humans and angels.

He could work here. He could write, create thoughts so important that the walls of heaven themselves would open to accept them, if never him.

He gestured again and a perfect simulation of Sara approached. “How may I serve my master?"

He glared at the simulation for a moment, then waved a hand banishing it. Hell itself was better than a pale and empty reflection of heaven. A purely physical embodiment of Sara that lacked her essence was worse than nothing.

He pulled a book at random from the shelf, then stepped into a cool bath, his apparent clothing melting from him as he touched the real water.

Because he had built the tub, the water continually circulated, cooling itself against the cold emptiness outside, then returning to refresh him further.

For the first time in thousands of years, the fires burning inside Jack's body and soul met their match in an infinite supply of cold.

He opened the book he'd grasped. It was a collection of works by Nietzsche, writing on becoming more than man. An amusing irony that Nietzsche's philosophy had apparently
disproved
so much that Jack knew to be true.

He suppressed the pang of regret over his dreams from the human plane. He could never teach philosophy to young human students, but he could do something.

He thrust himself from the tub. His internal flames burst forth again, but he was willing to pay that price. Could he carve a hole, a path, between his new universe and the human plane? If he could, he could share his thoughts with humans. He could teach, much as Plato still taught humans, by his words on paper. He could still achieve all of his dreams. All except one.

Searching for weakness in the wall between universes wasn't difficult. Finding the right weakness, where his new home butted against the human plane, was nearly impossible. Flames burned within him as he worked, converting his physical mass to energy in order to pursue his goal.

Finally, he found the right flaw.

Burning the last of his matter, he forced a fist through the weakness.

It would do.

He could now see between the worlds, even pass objects, like the books he intended to write, between worlds. If, by doing so, he had destroyed his chances of ever physically returning to the human plane, what of that? Escape from the eternal fires of Hell and the ability to pursue his dreams were precious gifts no other demon had ever received. He was a fool to want more.

He returned to his new home, created a device to turn his thoughts to words on something close enough to paper to pass, and climbed back into the tub.

The water boiled away, but he brought in new water until the pain was under control.

He could write now.

And there was some truth, even in the misguided words that Nietzsche had scrawled. He could begin there.

The words formed themselves on the page as he organized his thoughts.

He reached into his memory, and across the planes to connect with what he'd learned from Sara. By incorporating his recent understanding of humanity with the eternal truths of Hell into his works, he could develop new truths. Like humanity's founders, Jack had certainly paid the price for knowledge—and would continue to pay it forever.

For a dizzying moment, Sara felt Jack in her head. Even from the pit, he could still reach her.

Then his presence faded. She had imagined it, of course.

She straightened her car from its swerve and drove past the church again. They'd waited until evening hoping Mona would be okay but afraid to move earlier. “If your sister was here, your car would be here,” Sara whispered although they were still in her car.

"Maybe Derrick made her dump the car."

"Then where is
his
car?"

"He wouldn't be driving anything noticeable."

Katra had the answers to everything. Sara wanted to argue, but she couldn't help her conviction that Katra was right. What had Derrick been doing with the Reverend Bob at the airport?

"There he goes.” The two women ducked lower into Sara's Miata as the Reverend Bob walked past. He was deep in conversation with a cellular phone and probably wouldn't have noticed if they'd undressed and danced naked in front of him, but Sara still felt uncomfortable. She seemed doomed to trust men with deeply fatal flaws. Jack, of course, had been the most obvious mistake, but Reverend Bob had been another. She'd trusted him when, it appeared, he'd been hiding Derrick.

"Have you thought about why he had a gun?” Katra asked out of the blue.

"Bob? Lots of people have guns. This is Texas, after all."

"Yeah, but he's a minister. Remember ‘turn the other cheek?’”

"St. Peter had a sword. I guess there are just all kinds of preachers."

"Well, there's something wrong with the kind that carries guns and then lets them be taken away."

"You're not saying he wanted Derrick to kill us?"

Katra looked confused. “I don't know what I'm saying. I guess just that Reverend Bob isn't exactly what he pretends to be. Didn't I tell you how Derrick captured us? Bob lost him, stopped to ask for directions, and Derrick just got into the car. It was way too easy."

As they watched, the church secretary left the church, locking the door behind her.

"I guess that's it, then."

"Uh, do you know how to pick a lock?"

Sara shook her head. “I'll bet Jack could do it."

"We'll have to figure out something.” Katra picked up a large rock. “Be a shame to break the windows, though."

Sara glanced at the high narrow windows. Heavy iron bars made the storefront look more like a prison than a church. “I don't think that would help."

"I was just kidding.” She pulled a small packet from her purse.

"What's that?"

"Lock picks."

Sara had known Katra for twenty-five years and this was the first time she'd heard that Katra could pick locks. “Where did they come from?"

Katra grinned. “I confiscated them from one of my students a couple of years ago. If I'd turned them into administration, the police would have gotten involved. So I brought them home. Serendipity, I guess."

"Do you know how to use them?"

Katra stepped up to the church door. “Let me know if anyone is coming."

"Sure."

Sweat trickled down Sara's forehead and a droplet collected at the tip of her nose. How had she let Katra rope her into this?

"What if Derrick has a gun?” she asked.

"Got it.” Katra opened the door and stepped into the church office.

Sara followed, banging her shin on a chair in the dark. She flipped on her flashlight.

"Not yet,” Katra whispered.

Sara flipped it off. It was Katra's sister they were after so Katra could call the shots. Still, it seemed unlikely that someone who didn't notice them breaking in would notice the flashlight.

Katra fumbled for the windows, then finally found what she was looking for and yanked.

Sara's eyes had just adjusted to the limited light coming through the windows. As Katra pulled the shade, the two women were plunged into complete darkness.

"If we turn on the lights, anybody out there would still be able to see the glow on the shade,” Sara said.

"I know, but—” Katra was interrupted by a loud snap as the shade rolled itself up. “Uh, I thought those things were supposed to stay where you put them."

"Shh.” Sara crouched behind one of the office desks. “Get down in case someone comes to check."

Thirty seconds later, Sara took a deep breath. “False alarm.” She shifted her weight and put her head above the desk.

At that moment, the interior door swung open. “Who's there?"

Chapter 21

Katra wracked her brain trying to remember where she'd heard that male voice. It had to be one of the men who'd met them at the airport.

She plunged behind the desk. Unfortunately, her hand failed to relinquish its grip on the shade pull. The shade clattered to the ground behind her.

"We're dead.” Sara's whisper sounded like a shout. Katra didn't dare answer.

"What is it?” That had to be Derrick's voice.

"I heard something in Reverend Bob's office. I thought he was out."

"Yeah, he's going to visit that Whore of Babylon who called up the demon.” Derrick snickered nastily. “I'll bet she can teach him a few things. Know what I mean, Bert?"

Footsteps indicated that Bert had entered the office and was stepping toward the desk.

Katra crowded further into the kneehole under the desk and tried not to breath. Her nose started to itch instantly, giving her an overpowering urge to sneeze.

She pinched her nose and looked out. Heavy leather work boots blocked her view.

Bert barked a short laugh. “Looks like Reverend Bob's shade fell down again.” His feet moved toward the window. “Hey, you can see into the women's dorm from here."

"Probably why ol’ Bob uses his shade so much.” Derrick's voice was closer now.

"That's no way to talk about the boss. He saved your bacon when that demon was looking for you."

"That's what he says. You don't really believe in that sort of hocus pocus, do you?"

Bert's legs trembled and his shudder was clear in his voice. “If you were there when we did that exorcism, you'd believe all right."

Derrick's feet joined Bert's by the window. “That new woman Bob recruited is quite a looker. Wonder if I could get her to join me and Mona for a little three-way action."

At that moment, if Katra had had a gun, Derrick would have been a dead man. Fortunately for Derrick, she had come unprepared. She was realistic enough to know her chances would be against two strong men.

"You're a sick man,” Bert told him, echoing Katra's thoughts. “You know I've got to report that kind of talk to Reverend Bob."

"How about you report this too, then.” Derrick's words were followed immediately by the crunching sound of a fist against flesh.

Bert's head clipped the desk on his way down and he came to rest with his face only inches from Katra's crouching body.

"That woman.” Pain made Bert's words hard to understand but Katra knew exactly what he was saying. Would Derrick?

She covered Bert's mouth with her hand.

"I'll take any woman I want.” So Derrick had understood Bert's words but, evidently, not his meaning.

"Nughha.” Bert struggled against Katra's restraining grip, then bit her.

She fought back her response, then failed. “Ouch. Damn it.” Her long suppressed sneeze followed.

"Sounds like the Reverend Bob has one of his little angels down there.” Derrick was gloating now. “Sounds like I get my threesome even sooner than I'd thought."

Bert's body ripped from Katra's grip as Derrick dragged him away from the desk. “Let's have a look at what we have down here."

Katra glanced around looking for a weapon and came up empty. What had she been thinking?

Derrick's face peered at her, his pupils wide from the dim light.

"What a nice surprise. It's the demon woman.” He snicked out a switchblade knife. “Come on, darlin'. I've got a special treat for you."

Katra grasped the back of the drawer and shoved it into Derrick's face.

He reeled back, one hand unsuccessfully trying to prevent his nose from bleeding all over Rev. Bob's carpet. The other, unfortunately, still held the knife.

Katra took advantage of the distraction by crawling out from under the desk. She grasped a Lucite trophy from Rev. Bob's desk and managed to block Derrick's wide swing with his knife.

"You'd better come with me, Katra, before you get in serious trouble."

She jabbed at him again with the Lucite trophy. This time, forewarned, he easily avoided her wild swing.

"Derrick? Are you in there?” Mona stepped into Reverend Bob's office.

"Mona, call the police,” Katra shouted.

"What are you doing here?"

"I told you she would be jealous of you,” Derrick said.

"You're bleeding.” Mona turned toward Katra. “You hurt him."

"Not as bad as he was going to hurt me, or you,” Katra said. “Come on, Mona. I'm your sister. Trust me on this."

"Trust you on men? In your dreams."

Derrick took advantage of her momentary distraction to twist the trophy from Katra's hand and brought the knife to her throat. “Why don't we all step into my bed chamber?” he asked.