by Terri Garey
“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.
Finn 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 li
ve 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 tsking 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.
“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.”
Finally 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
The 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.