The Devil's Due

by Jenna Black

  She gave me a long, piercing, probing look before she answered. I suspect she was trying to determine if she could wring anything else out of me. She must have come to the correct conclusion.

  “You might say I’m serving as his matchmaker,” she said with a wry twist of her lips that might have been a smile.

  “Huh?” I responded intelligently.

  Shae stood up, and my hand tightened on the Taser. She held both her hands up, her eyebrows arching. “Now, now,” she said. “Don’t shoot me before I give you the information you want.”

  I kept the Taser pointed at her as I eased out of my chair. “You can talk just fine sitting down.”

  “If you want the answer to your question, you’ll follow me and I’ll show you. You can keep your Taser handy if I make you that nervous.”

  Her condescending tone suggested I was somehow being a coward for insisting on the weapon, but I didn’t feel any particular sense of shame. As far as I was concerned, it was an entirely practical safety measure.

  I kept a wide distance between us as Shae walked to the door, her hands still in plain sight. But when she stepped through the door out into the hallway, I followed.

  I wasn’t sure where we were going, but I suppose I wasn’t all that surprised when she headed toward the mysterious door at the end of the hall. The door that led to “more offices.” The door opened with a beep when Shae swiped her card. I had to get closer to her than I’d have liked to catch the door before it slammed shut behind her.

  There were indeed a couple of other office-like rooms behind that door. However, of far greater importance was the massive, space-age security center that Shae showed off with a flourish.

  There were at least a couple dozen screens, each displaying a different image of the club. And not all of them were of the main room. My stomach twisted as my eyes finally focused on one screen and I realized what the two men and the one naked woman were doing. I jerked my gaze away, only to find myself looking at an even more unsettling image—a woman wearing nothing but a black hood that covered her entire head except for her mouth down on her knees with her hands cuffed behind her as she fellated the disgusting no-neck man who’d tried to pick me up the other night. It was all I could do not to hurl.

  Shae reached up and tapped her finger on one of the other screens, drawing my eye once again. And there was good old Tommy Brewster, his naked ass pumping as he fucked a pretty young woman who was bound spread-eagled on the bed. The look on her face told me she wasn’t there against her will. If that wasn’t already more than I wanted to know, I could see two more young women, both blond, naked, and eager-looking, watching the proceedings, apparently waiting their turn.

  I’m nowhere near a good enough actress to hide my disgust and embarrassment, so I didn’t bother trying. Instead I focused on Shae’s face and tried to convince myself I had no peripheral vision.

  “Isn’t there some kind of law against videotaping people having sex without their knowledge?”

  Shae grinned. “How do you know it’s without their knowledge?”

  I knew that most people who frequented this club would find me prudish in the extreme. I also knew that there was no way they were all so uninhibited that they didn’t mind being taped in the act. But what was I going to do about it? I sighed as I came to the inevitable conclusion: nothing.

  I wanted to cross my arms over my chest, my favorite defensive gesture, but that would mean hindering my Taser hand, and I wasn’t about to do that.

  “What does this have to do with anything?” I asked. “I already knew Tommy was into the kinky stuff, and I really don’t give a shit.”

  “I told you I was his matchmaker,” Shae said. Once more she tapped a nail against the screen, three times, once for each girl. “I handpicked these for him.”

  I shook my head. “Why does he need you to pick his girls?”

  “Those girls are all regulars here. Real groupies. They’d do just about anything a demon wants them to do.”

  I hate to imagine what kind of face I must have been making. “I still don’t see why this is relevant.”

  “As you may have noticed, I’m in the information business. Among other things.”

  I gave her a keep talking motion.

  “So let’s just say I know a lot about my regulars. Things that they wouldn’t usually share with their one-night stands.”

  “Like what?” I asked, still making absolutely no sense out of what she was saying.

  “Like, for instance, their family medical history. Tommy’s particularly interested in girls who have a family history of cancer. And he also likes those who put a little too much faith in condoms.”

  “What the hell…?” I muttered. “Why?” I asked out loud.

  “Which of these screens turns you on the most?” Shae asked with a sweeping gesture to indicate the bank of monitors that showed the sickening “playrooms” from Hell. “And don’t tell me none of them, because I’ll know that’s a lie.”

  I was about to voice an indignant objection, until my brain caught up and realized this was her quid pro quo question. I also realized that I didn’t need her to tell me why Tommy was targeting these particular girls. I bet I could come up with a perfectly good guess myself.

  For reasons I yet had no clue about, Tommy was continuing the Houston breeding project. Only he was taking his genes out into the general human population.

  I shook my head yet again. I didn’t know exactly what he was up to. I didn’t know what would happen to these chicks if they happened to get pregnant. I didn’t know what would happen to their children. What I did know was that none of this could possibly be good for the human race.

  Tearing my eyes away from the monitors, I gave Shae my best sneer. “If I weren’t worried that too many people had seen me come in here, I swear I’d shoot you full of juice and exorcize you so fast…”

  “Sticks and stones, sugar. Now, I think we’ve concluded our business here, don’t you?”

  I couldn’t have agreed more.

  Chapter 20

  It was late when I got home, and my body and mind were both complaining that I hadn’t recovered from my sleep deprivation yet. Working almost on autopilot, I checked my answering machine, wondering why I hadn’t heard from Adam yet. Had he chickened out about approaching Dom? Or had he gotten an answer he didn’t like? Right now, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but there was no way I could go to sleep with three unplayed messages on my machine under the circumstances.

  The first call was an immediate hang-up. The second call was from a reporter, of all things. He wanted me to call back and talk with him about this afternoon’s exorcism. I couldn’t imagine why he’d be interested. It had been a long time since exorcism had been considered newsworthy. He left a number for me to call, but I just laughed. Like I needed the press in my life!

  I thought surely the third call would be from Adam. I really wish I’d been right.

  The caller ID told me it was from an unknown number, and at first I thought it was going to be another hang-up. My finger was halfway to the Delete button before a voice started talking. A chill ran down my spine from the first digitally-altered word.

  “You’d better pray Jordan Maguire lives,” the message said, the voice so garbled I couldn’t tell if it was male or female. “If he dies, you die, too. This is your only warning.”

  I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. Once upon a time, a threat like this would have had me… well, not exactly in a panic, but at the very least in a state of high alarm. Tonight… it scared me a little, but after all I’d been through since Lugh came into my life, it seemed almost more of an annoyance than a cause for serious concern. Oh, for the days when a death threat on my answering machine was the worst problem in my life!

  The “right” thing to do at the moment was call the police. Usually, when I’m reading a book or watching a movie where the heroine fails to call the police when she’s threatened, I berate her as an idiot. But my life
had been far too eventful lately, and I’d had too many brushes with the law. Adam had extricated me from my most awkward moments, but I had to be setting off police warning bells everywhere. If I called them now, it might remind certain people to dig out the files about my arrest for illegal exorcism, or about Brian’s kidnapping, or about my father’s death in the “car accident,” or about the break-in and subsequent attack at my parents’ home while I just happened to be there.

  Maybe if I thought the police could actually help me, I’d have made the call anyway. But I seriously doubted someone who was thinking ahead enough to digitally alter their voice would make a call the police could trace, so what would the police do? Except make me wait up for them a few hours and subject me to suspicious looks and leading questions.

  I gnawed on my lip. What was the deal with this Jordan Maguire guy, anyway? Who felt strongly enough about him to threaten me, and why had a reporter called? Since I’d been hired by the state, not his family, the only details I had about him were those directly pertaining to his conviction. Perhaps I should have inquired about his background before taking the case, but that wasn’t part of my routine.

  I really wanted to just fall into bed and forget all about it, but I supposed that wasn’t one of my options. So instead I did an Internet search on Maguire. I didn’t find out much about the guy I’d exorcized, but I did find out that Jordan Maguire Sr. was rich enough to endow his son’s high school with a new multimillion dollar athletic facility, start up a mega-grant program for underprivileged artists in his daughter’s name, and fund a new wing of Pennsylvania Hospital. That made Jordan Jr. somewhat of a local celebrity—hence, the call from the reporter—and Jordan Sr. a potentially powerful enemy.

  I cursed loud and long. I didn’t need any more enemies! I’d had no idea Jordan Maguire was anything out of the ordinary when I’d agreed to do the exorcism. I’d known when he’d come out the other side brain-dead that his family wouldn’t be happy, and it wouldn’t shock me to find out they were blaming the exorcist. There was a small, but vocal, minority who thought hosts who came out of an exorcism brain-dead—as opposed to “merely” brain damaged—were the victims of incompetent or malicious exorcists. I guess it’s always nice to have someone to blame.

  There’d been a few lawsuits that had made the news, but since there was no way to prove that the exorcist did anything wrong, so far none had been successful. Of course, in a country where McDonald’s can be successfully sued for serving hot coffee, I guess it’s not surprising that lawyers with dollar signs in their eyes still hoped to find a way to hold exorcists responsible.

  With a sigh of resignation, I turned off the computer and told myself that Maguire was no longer my problem. Whoever had left the death threat had probably gotten the vitriol out of their system and things would calm down in the days and weeks to come.

  But I did a lousy job of persuading myself. I made sure to take my Taser to bed with me that night. I’d already seen how porous my building’s security was.

  Despite the anxiety that rattled my brain like a set of maracas, I managed to fall asleep. I probably would have slept until noon if the phone hadn’t rung at eight in the morning. It was the reporter again, asking me if I had any comment about the Maguire family’s decision to pull the plug this afternoon. I had some comments for him all right, but they weren’t about the exorcism or Jordan Maguire.

  I tried to go back to sleep, but the phone rang again at eight-thirty. I was prepared to give the reporter the kind of comments that might get me arrested, but when I checked the caller ID I saw that it was Brian.

  I seriously considered letting my answering machine take the call. Not because I didn’t want to talk to Brian, but because I didn’t want to talk to him about the Maguire situation. I figured there must be something in the newspaper about it, and Brian would want to gallantly support me in my time of trouble. I wasn’t up to dealing with him in knight-in-shining-armor mode. Yes, I’m really bitchy in the morning before I’ve had my coffee.

  Virtue won out over expedience, and I actually picked up the phone.

  “If you mention Jordan Maguire, you’re not getting laid again for at least three months,” I said.

  Brian chuckled. “Guess you haven’t had your coffee yet.”

  Why does everyone have to find me so goddamn amusing? “I was sound asleep, so no.” So I hadn’t been sound asleep for at least a half hour. What was a little exaggeration among friends?

  “Sorry to wake you,” Brian said. “But I don’t think this can wait. I’m coming over. I’ll be there in about half an hour.”

  “Huh?” I glanced at the clock again. “What’s going on? Don’t you have to be at work?” Actually, if he’d been following his usual routine, he’d have been at work a half hour ago. Suddenly, I was feeling much more awake, and that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

  “It’s not something I can explain on the phone,” he said. “Get some coffee in your system, and I’ll see you soon.”

  To my surprise, he hung up. It wasn’t like Brian to be cryptic.

  Giving up my illusion that I might be able to get some more sleep, I rubbed the grit from my eyes and got out of bed. I started a pot of coffee, and by the time I emerged from a quick shower, the heavenly brew was ready for me. I burned my tongue on the first swallow, but it was worth it.

  I was still in my bathrobe when Brian arrived. A girl has to have priorities, and coffee came before clothes for me any day of the week.

  I hadn’t expected this to be a social call, of course, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t unnerved by the grim look on Brian’s face. And that was before he got a look at my bruised and battered face.

  “What happened?” he asked, sounding appalled.

  “It’s not that big a deal,” I answered, hoping I could somehow miraculously avoid a big, dramatic scene. “A couple of Tommy Brewster’s pals thought I should lay off him, and I didn’t agree. But really, I’m fine. And yes, I reported it.”

  He stared at me in silence for a moment before he spoke again. As I’m sure he intended, the silence made me squirm, but I refrained from blurting out anything I shouldn’t have.

  “This is the case you insisted wasn’t dangerous, right?” he asked. “The one you told me you’d handed off to Adam.”

  “If you’re going to scold me, then you might as well turn around and get your ass out of here before things get ugly. I’m just not in the mood for it.”

  His shoulders lowered, and he looked slightly less like he was about to explode. “Old habits die hard. But I really can’t leave right now.”

  I remembered how grim he’d looked even before he got a good look at me and knew this couldn’t be good. I served him a cup of coffee just to put off hearing what had put that look on his face. But I couldn’t put it off for long.

  “Okay,” I said with a resigned sigh. “Tell me what’s going wrong now.” I cupped my hands around my second cup of coffee and tried to brace myself for whatever bad thing was about to rear its ugly head.

  Brian put his coffee down and leaned his butt against the kitchen counter. I think he was trying to look calm and normal, but he wasn’t pulling it off very effectively.

  “When I came down to the front desk to get my paper this morning,” he said, “there was a message in my mailbox. The night man said it was delivered by a young woman, but he had no idea who she was or where she’d gone.”

  This didn’t sound good at all. “What was the message?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer, instead reaching into his jacket and pulling a plain white envelope from the inner pocket. He handed the envelope to me, and I saw my name typewritten on the front. The envelope was still sealed.

  I closed my eyes for a moment as I fought a wave of self-pity. Wasn’t there enough shit going on in my life already? Did I really need mysterious letters delivered through Brian?

  “If someone wanted to give this to me,” I mused, “then why did they leave it at your building?”

&
nbsp; “Beats me,” Brian answered, looking worried.

  I stared at the envelope, trying to guess what might be inside. I guess I stared a little too long, because Brian prompted me.

  “Well? Are you going to open it?”

  “Back off,” I snapped, then wanted to slap myself silly for killing the messenger. “Sorry. I just can’t imagine there’s anything good in here, and I’m not in a big hurry to add to my problems.”

  Brian smiled faintly. “Lawyers get to be the bearers of bad tidings on a regular basis. I’m used to being underappreciated.”

  “Ha, ha,” I said, though I’m not sure that was supposed to be a joke. “Can you give me a minute?” I didn’t want him looking over my shoulder while I read, just in case… Well, just in case.

  He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve done my messenger duty, and now I’m dismissed?”

  I fought the urge to snap at him again. “I’m not dismissing you. I just want a quiet moment to open this and read it. Is that too much to ask?”

  He gave me a reproachful look, but he pushed away from the counter and stomped out of the kitchen. Even after he’d gone, I still had trouble forcing myself to open the envelope, but there was only so long even I could procrastinate.

  Trying to steel myself for all possibilities, I slid a finger under the flap and ripped the envelope open.

  Inside, there was a photograph, along with a neatly handwritten letter. The photo was the one Claudia had showed me at the restaurant, the one of her adopted daughters.

  The letter was from Claudia.

  Ms. Kingsley,

  They have my daughters. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you the truth about why I wanted you to drop the case, but I was told in unequivocal terms that I am to act as though nothing were wrong. Still, while I don’t know you very well, I imagine you’re the kind of person who would be unwilling to drop the case just on my say-so, so I felt I had to take the risk of contacting you.