by Terri Garey
“I don’t know anything about it,” Finn lied, then followed it with a truth. “And I don’t recommend anyone practicing devil worship or black magic rituals,” he added calmly, giving the reporter her quote.
She wasn’t quite ready to give up. “But your music . . . it’s known to be very dark, isn’t it? In fact, they call you the Prince of Darkness, don’t they?”
He nodded, knowing his years in the music scene were well documented. “I’m an artist,” he said, “who sometimes finds inspiration on the dark side.” He turned a wry smile on the camera. “That’s all.”
“Do you actually believe in this type of thing,” she persisted, “or is this some kind of publicity stunt to promote your new CD?” She gave him a cheerful, upbeat smile, urging him to tell her all his secrets.
Finn said nothing, this close to revealing on camera that Katie could use a breath mint after her morning coffee. But he knew better than to feed the sharks when they smelled blood in the water, and turned away. “Excuse me, but I’m running late.”
Larry held the door open for him as John brought up the rear, using his body to block the camera shot.
“Finn! Finn! Can we get your autograph?” Two other young women rushed up, ignoring both John and Larry until the guards stepped in their way, then the women just tried to dance around them. “I was at the show at the Athenian last night,” one of them gushed, “you were amazing! I still have the ticket stub in my purse; will you sign it for me?”
“No problem,” he said, refusing to give the news crew any shots of him looking nervous or concerned. As far as he was concerned, it was business as usual, and that included signing autographs.
“Are you staying here?” the woman asked eagerly, digging frantically into her purse. “I’m in room 428. Could I buy you a drink later?”
“Don’t be so pushy, Tammy,” her friend said with an embarrassed look.
“Why not?” Tammy answered, with a flirtatious little laugh. She was pretty, but could use a better dye job—her roots were showing, dark beneath the blond. “How often do you get to meet a rock star? Carpe diem, I say.” Ignoring her friend’s advice, she leaned in closer, handing Finn the ticket stub. “I think we could have a really great time together, if you know what I mean.” Her fingers covered his, deliberately, lingering during the handoff of the card.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the pen John offered and scribbling his name on the ticket stub, “but I don’t have a lot of time to myself when I’m on tour.” His standard excuse, one he’d used a million times.
A couple in their midthirties joined the two women, and so did an elderly woman who proclaimed her granddaughter his biggest fan. A few minutes later he’d signed a few autographs and posed for a few pictures, and when the black SUV John and Larry had rented the day before pulled up, they were able to escape without drawing any further attention.
“What’s all this about a pentagram and candles on the roof?” John asked as soon as the car doors were closed. He was in the driver’s seat, while Larry was in the back. “I thought you went up on there to look for the girl . . . What were those reporters talking about?”
Finn just shook his head, unsure how much to tell them. “Call my attorney,” he instructed Larry, who was in the backseat, “and tell him to contact the Ritz with a complaint about one of their employees talking to the media. Mention that creep at the concierge desk by name.”
“Herve Morales,” supplied John.
“That’s him.” He had no sympathy for opportunists who got off by sticking their noses into other people’s business. What happened on the roof was between him and Faith, and needed to stay that way.
“What about the girl?” Larry asked. “You going to report her to hotel management?”
“No,” he said sharply. “Not yet.”
John shook his head, and Larry made the phone call to Finn’s attorney as they drove. Finn watched the countryside speed past, thinking about what to say to Faith when he saw her next, and how he was going to get the ring back. He’d try calm persuasion first—despite her dirty trick on the roof—but if he had to get tough and threaten to have her arrested, then so be it.
Resolved, he still couldn’t help but wonder: How deep in darkness was she steeped, and why did he even begin to care?
Finally the GPS led them to a shady, narrow street in an older neighborhood, forty minutes north of Atlanta. Tiny homes, wedged tightly together, lots of trees.
John tried one more time to get him to keep a low profile. “Larry and I can handle this, Finn—you should stay in the car. If she stole your ring, we’ll get it back, one way or another. No need for any personal drama. Those news vultures could be anywhere, and you don’t need the bad publicity.”
“I’m going to talk to her alone.”
“But, Finn—”
A sharp look cut John’s argument short. “I know you two are paid to look out for me, but I told you, this is personal. She’s not going to admit to anything in front of you.”
“Is this about the ring, or the girl?” John dared ask, but Finn just shook his head.
“It’s okay either way,” Larry offered, speaking up from the backseat. “We ain’t just your bodyguards, man . . . you know that.”
“Yeah,” John agreed gruffly. “We’re your friends.”
Finn couldn’t help but smile a little at that. “I know.” John was about as subtle as a bulldozer, and Larry wasn’t the brightest bulb in the pack, but they always had his back. “I’m just going to go in there,” he said wryly, “and be my charming rock-star self. If she makes a run for it again, you guys will be out here to catch her.”
John sighed but subsided, leaning back into his seat, while Larry gave him a grunt he took as agreement.
A moment later, Larry said, “Dark blue Volvo, in the driveway on the right.”
Finn saw it, too, noting the faded paint job and the bumper sticker that read, “All who wander are not lost.” The house, like the car, had seen better days, and could use a new coat of paint, though there were flowers on the front porch, and cheerful curtains in the windows.
Larry pulled up behind the Volvo, blocking it in with the SUV. Before it was in Park, Finn was out of his seat and on the way up the walk. The door had a peephole, and he faced it directly as he rapped sharply with his knuckles.
A moment later the door opened, and disappointment made his heart plunge; it was a young black woman, plump, wearing a pink robe and pajamas.
“Can I help you?” she asked, giving him an arch look.
“Who is it?” said a little boy, scampering up behind the woman. Unlike her, he was white, with curly brown hair, and looked about four—
“Breakfast is ready,” sang out a voice, and there was Faith, with plates in her hands and a growing look of shock and horror on her face.
Her reaction speared him to the core, and he wasn’t sure why. All he knew was that he didn’t like that look—he much preferred the soft, smiling looks she’d given him last night.
Ruthlessly he reminded himself why she’d been giving him those looks—she’d wanted something, and she’d gotten it, which meant she was smart enough to continue lying about it today.
“Hello, Faith,” he said calmly.
Her panicked gaze fluttered between the woman who answered the door, the boy, and him. She blinked, and her face began to clear, smoothing itself to calm, but there was no mistaking how pale she’d gone.
“Finn,” she acknowledged stiffly. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.”
“I think we do,” he insisted quietly, “unless you want me to call . . .” He hesitated, glancing down at the boy, who stared at him, wide-eyed, from behind the black woman. “We need to talk, Faith,” he repeated. “Privately.”
“C’mon with Auntie Dina,” said her friend to the boy. She took him by the shoulder and steered him gently toward the other room, obviously knowing when to make herself scarc
e. “We’re gonna go eat breakfast together while Mommy talks to the nice man.”
“Dina, I—”
“If you want me to stay, I will,” Finn heard the black woman murmur. “But maybe you should talk to him, hear what he has to say.”
Faith looked like she’d rather poke her eyes out with a stick than listen to anything he had to say, but after a moment’s hesitation, she gave a jerky nod.
“We’ll be right here in the kitchen,” Dina said loudly, with a warning glance over her shoulder at Finn. Her glance lingered a moment, boldly, as she took him in from top to toe. One dark eyebrow quirked upward in frank appreciation, and then she was gone, taking the plates from Faith’s hands on her way out.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, not waiting to be invited in.
She glanced nervously toward the kitchen. “I don’t know how you found me, but you need to leave,” she whispered furiously. She reminded him of a cornered kitten, hissing to keep danger at a distance.
“I need the ring back,” he said flatly. “I know you took it.”
She shook her head, crossing her arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you I didn’t steal your ring.”
“Then what were you doing up on the roof?” he challenged.
Her chin went up. “What I do in my own time is my own business.”
He said nothing, staring her down.
“I’m sorry about throwing flour in your face, and locking the door, but you were scaring me.” Her lips firmed. “Just like you’re scaring me now.”
“It was mostly salt,” he answered flatly. “And it stung like hell.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” he asked. “Could it be because you’ve done nothing but lie to me since the moment we first met?”
Color rushed to her cheeks, staining them bright pink.
“You’re a pretty good actress, at least you were last night.” He stated it frankly, as though it didn’t matter. “You got what you wanted,” he went on, “and then you couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”
“I told you—”
“I caught you up on the roof performing a conjuring spell.” He gave a disbelieving laugh. “You think I don’t know who you were conjuring?”
She stared at him stonily, refusing to answer.
“Look,” he said, striving for a reasonable tone. “I don’t care why you took it, and I’m not out to make trouble. I just want it back.” He raked a hand through his hair, his ring finger feeling very naked. “The ring is important to me. I need it.”
“So you’ve told me,” she said coldly, not giving an inch. “But I’ve told you I don’t have your ring. You need to leave my house.”
“Give me the ring, or I’ll call the police.”
Fear flickered in her eyes, but she took a deep breath and called his bluff. “Go ahead,” she said. “Call the police. I’ll tell them you’re a stalker. I’ll tell them you followed me here all the way from the Ritz and barged into my house.”
“Who do you think they’re going to believe?” His temper, already strained, was beginning to fray, but he kept his voice low, not wanting the kid to hear. “I’ll tell them all about how you lied your way into my hotel room using a false name, and lied to your boss to get the evening off.”
Her face was white, but her expression stayed defiant. “So? Since when is lying or having a good time illegal?”
Her flippancy made him angry. The sweet, sexy girl he’d been lulled into thinking she was last night was no more. He’d gone out of his way to be nice to her, but now it was time to rethink that strategy.
“You have no proof I stole your ring—none at all.” Her voice was shaking, just a bit. “I didn’t steal anything, and you can’t bully me into saying I did.”
“Faith,” called Dina, from the kitchen. “I think you need to see this.” The TV volume went up. “Your friend here is on the TV.”
Distracted, she glanced toward the kitchen.
“Look, Mommy!” Her little boy ran into the living room, going straight to the television and turning it on.
Dina bustled in right behind him, snatching up the remote. “Channel 8 News,” she said, shooting Finn an awestruck glance.
Sure enough, there was the woman reporter who’d accosted him at the Ritz-Carlton that morning. “While Mr. Payne denies any involvement in the strange incident on the roof, it is surely no coincidence that something like this occurs while the rock-and-roll Prince of Darkness is himself a guest of the hotel.”
Faith made a choked sound, raising a hand to cover her mouth. Her eyes were glued to the screen.
“Finn Payne is a rock-and-roll legend,” the reporter went on, “well-known for his penchant for the morbid and the macabre.” There was a brief clip from his Highway to Hell tour, where he’d used videos of flames for a backdrop, and then there was his face on the screen, speaking into the microphone. “I’m an artist,” he heard himself say, “who sometimes finds inspiration on the dark side.” The camera cut away, back to what’s-her-face. “An homage from a group of fans, perhaps, or a publicity stunt gone awry? Either way, the implications are chilling.”
“Chilling?” Dina turned her questioning gaze on Finn. “What’s she talking about? What’s going on?” She glanced toward her friend. “Faith, you okay?”
Faith was still pale, but composed. “I’m fine—why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, resting both hands on her son’s shoulders and giving Dina a significant look over his head.
Dina took the hint, but the glance she gave Finn wasn’t quite as friendly as before.
“Reporters,” Finn said to her, with a wry smile and a shrug. “Always looking for a story.”
“What’s rock and roll mean?” Nathan twisted his head to look up at his mom, and it was then Finn noticed that an area on the back of his head had been shaved. At the base of his skull was a thin red scar.
“Music,” said Finn, before Faith could answer. “Rock and roll is music. Lots of guitar and drums.”
“Oh.” The kid looked him in the eye. He was cute—brown-haired and brown-eyed, just like his mom. “Like Michael Jackson?”
He bit back a smile. “Yeah, like Michael Jackson, although I don’t get compared to him too often.”
“Do you play the guitar?”
“I do—” he answered, but Faith interrupted him.
“Go back into the kitchen, Nathan,” Faith said to him gently, “I’ll be right there.”
“You promised to take me to the park today, Mommy,” the boy said, with a shy glance toward Finn. “Don’t forget.”
“Don’t start pestering your mama about the park already,” Dina scolded. “Mommy worked all night last night. She’s tired. I’ll take you this afternoon.”
Faith shook her head. “No, Dina, you’ve done enough. Go home and take a shower.” To the boy she said, “We’ll talk about what we’re going to do today later. If you’re through with your breakfast, then go get dressed.”
Nathan shot Finn another glance. “Is he coming to the park with us?”
“No,” Faith answered shortly. “He’s leaving now.” She shot him a wary glare, the cornered kitten replaced by a lioness, protecting her cub.
Finn, however, was not afraid of lions.
“I’d love to come to the park,” he said to Nathan, with his best grin. Giving the boy a conspiratorial wink, he added, “Do you like to play softball? I have a bat and a couple of gloves in the car.”
Nathan’s face lit up, and though Finn felt a twinge of guilt at the lie, he didn’t let it bother him.
The boy was the key, he was certain of it.
Chapter Thirteen
“Master, you must come.” Nyx stepped from the shadows, bowing low.
“Must I?” Samael asked idly, swirling the water of his bath without opening his eyes. His head rested between the breasts of a voluptuous water sprite, cat-eyed and green-haired, who bared pointed teeth at Nyx’s intrusio
n. “Has Hell finally frozen over?”
Nyx lowered his eyes. “Apologies, my lord. The imps are causing trouble.”
“The imps are always causing trouble.” A frown of irritation appeared on Sammy’s brow. “They’re imps.”
“They’re inciting the ethereals, my lord. Storm clouds are gathering.”
“Damnation,” Sammy roared, thrashing himself upright. His anger frightened the sprite, who shrank away, hissing. In an instant, she’d slipped beneath the bathwater and was gone. “Do you not lead my army of demons?” Satan demanded angrily. “Are you not my second-in-command?”
Nyx drew himself up, wings poised for extension. “I am,” he stated proudly. “Tell me what you would have me do, Great Shaitan, and I will do it.”
Samael stared angrily at him for a moment, and then his anger seemed to subside. “Oh Nyx,” he said ruefully, “would that everyone I dealt with were so obedient.”
The demon preened beneath his praise, eyes glowing red with pleasure.
“Fetch Thamuz,” Samael said shortly, and within moments it was so, Nyx disappearing like smoke, then reappearing with a struggling imp clutched tightly in the talons of one hand.
“Let go of me, you filthy soul-eater!” the imp squealed, ashy gray arms and legs flailing. Its voice matched its size, which was that of a child. A thin, wizened child, leathery with soot.
Nyx released him disdainfully, with a shove toward the man in the bath.
The imp froze at the sight of Samael, who regarded him coldly.
“I understand your people have been causing trouble, Thamuz,” he said, in a voice tinged with ice. “Care to enlighten me as to the problem?”
The imp’s knobby knees quite literally began to shake. “I . . . I know of no problem, Your Eminence,” it squeaked, voice shaking as well.
“Do you remember what I did to you the last time you lied to me, Thamuz?”
Bulbous eyes blinked rapidly in fear. “It’s Selene, O Great One,” it blurted. “My people enjoyed working with her, and many find themselves with nothing to do now that she’s gone.” The imp swallowed, its face gone a nastier shade of gray. “She provided a great many opportunities for us,” it babbled sickly, lifting long-fingered hands in a shrug.