Marie let herself act star struck as he told the story, asking him questions to egg him on, all the while wondering which of Julian’s sycophants had coached the incubus on the details of his lies. She had decided for no particular reason to change her story yet again today, offering herself up as Jennifer Howard, a secretary with a day off work who liked nothing better than to look for movie stars on the streets.
“I hope you’re not too disappointed in finding only me today,” he said as she turned her Chevrolet off of Melrose and onto the quiet street where she lived, the small clapboard houses of yellow and light blue seeming positively Midwestern and out of place so near the mansions in the hills visible from the front yards.
“You kidding?” she said. “When a movie star sees you staring at him on the street, he most likely looks the other way. You, I don’t have to worry about.”
“No, you don’t.” To prove his point he turned in the seat and looked hungrily at her.
When she parked the car, he slid across the seat toward her, ready to slip his arm around her shoulders. “Hang on, now,” she said, opening her door quickly and getting out just ahead of his reach. “I’m afraid I’ve got the most God-awful nosy neighbors,” she said, bending down to look at him inside the car.
“Let ‘em look,” he said, pushing forward. He slowed down as he negotiated past the steering wheel and then climbed out beside her.
“Unh-uh,” she said. She had gotten the car door in between them now and kept her arms locked on it as he grinned at her. “You don’t have to put up with them like I do.” She stepped away from the car and indicated with a nod that he should shut the door for her. “Come on in and have a drink. We can get more comfortable then.” Her heart beating rapidly, she turned and walked toward the front door without looking back to see that he was following. When she heard the car door close, she moved a bit faster and got up the steps to her front porch with her house key already in hand.
In seconds, he was behind her, pulling the screen door aside so she could more easily get the wooden door unlocked. Then he followed her inside, keeping close behind her. She did not shut the door, expecting him to do it once they were both in. When he did not, she turned to reach for it herself, and he all but knocked her down, so close had he been. Before she could tell what was happening, his arms were under hers, reaching up to her shoulder blades. He pulled her to him, and she could not turn her head fast enough to avoid his kiss.
She did not kiss him back, not at first. She only let his lips push against hers as she tried to push him away. Her flesh yielded just a little under the force of his kiss, and she felt her teeth clink against his. Then she felt herself growing weak in the knees, and a sense of hunger and ache overcame her. In spite of herself, she opened her mouth and kissed him back, wanting his tongue as it entered her mouth and flicked against hers. In seconds, all thoughts of incubi and Elise left her mind; Tom was a vague memory, and the idea that there was something she was supposed to do came fleetingly in and out of her consciousness. Instead, she was consumed with desire. When the man who called himself Eric Charles pulled one hand from her back and ran it hungrily across her left breast, she pushed herself into him, wanting him to do it, wanting him to slip his hand inside her blouse or to rip it off completely. He pushed his hips against her, and she felt the bulge in his pants. With a little moan, she began pulling at his shirt, trying to get it out of his waistband so she could slip her hand inside.
Then there was a cracking sound, and the man who had been embracing her crumpled to the ground before her, his hands slipping away from her, and his shirtfront yanked out of her hand. Disoriented but still overcome with desire, she wanted to bend down and climb on top of him, the reason for his sudden descent mattering not at all. But then she saw that there was another man in the room. He stood over her prone companion, holding a baseball bat in the ready position and waiting to see if the man on the floor showed any sign of life.
In absolute shock, Marie just stood there, unable to move or speak or even understand what had happened. The man with the bat lowered it after a few seconds and dropped it on the floor. Then he stepped over the body between them and took Marie by the shoulders. He did not say anything for a moment, but just looked into her eyes.
“Marie!” he finally said, the voice seeming far away. “Marie, can you hear me?”
And then in an instant, she knew it was Tom, and understanding flooded her mind with an almost physical force that literally made her stagger. She would have fallen over if Tom had not held her. The incubus had kissed her, and her free will had dissolved. If just one kiss could make her forget everything she knew and everything she had planned in order to stop him, then she could only imagine how destructive it would be to actually have sex with it. For probably less than a minute, she had known a fraction of what had devastated Elise and all the other victims. To think of how close she had come to being completely overwhelmed made her tremble, and she felt nauseous.
“Tom,” she whispered. Then, “Oh, God, Tom. It almost had me.”
“I know. It’s okay now, though.”
She leaned into him then and they hugged each other tightly. “Thank God you were here. How did you know?”
She felt him shake his head against her. “I just knew something was wrong. The door opened, and then silence. I didn’t hear voices or footsteps. Nothing. So I came out.”
“Thank you. Thank you,” was all she could think to say. Then she thought of the image that must have met Tom as he had come from the hallway and into the front room, and she turned away from him. Tears spilled onto her cheeks as she said, “I’m sorry, Tom.”
He did not hesitate, but put a hand gently on her forearm as he said, “It’s okay. You couldn’t help it. You know that.”
She nodded and turned back toward him. He smiled gently at her and wiped the tears away. “I know,” she said. “I know what you’re saying. But I feel so ashamed.”
He leaned toward her so that his eyes were inches from hers and said, “You have nothing to be ashamed of. You and I both know what they’re capable of. It wasn’t a man you were kissing. It was a monster that was kissing you. Okay? He took you over. If a lion or a bear had burst into the room and started dragging you off, would you have reason to be ashamed?”
“No.” The image was so absurd that it made her smile in spite of herself. “Not when you put it that way.”
“All right then.” He kissed her on the forehead and then again on the lips. “You okay?”
“Yes.” She turned toward the front window. Like all the others in the house, its shade had been pulled down, and she drew it aside to peek out.
“What is it?” Tom asked.
“Krebs,” she said. “He was in Schwab’s, and he might have followed us.”
Without hesitation, Tom opened the screen door and stepped onto the porch. Marie watched as he peered up and down the street for a moment before stepping onto the lawn to take a better look. When he came back inside, he said, “I don’t see anyone sitting in any of the cars on the street. He probably didn’t have the nerve to follow.”
“That’s what I figured. I just wanted to be sure.”
“Okay.” He prodded the unconscious figure on the floor. “Let’s get to work on this one. If he hasn’t turned to dust yet, that means he’s still in there, right?”
Still feeling shaky, she just nodded.
“Can you get his feet?”
“Sure.” She moved away from Tom to be able to grab the look-alike’s feet. Before bending down, she said, “If he comes to before we get him tied up, can I hit him this time?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
She called herself Tracy, and Zarafeth could not wait to get her out of her clothes. He had spotted her walking along Hollywood Boulevard, her red blouse clinging to her and making her easy to keep track of from across the street. She had held a cheap camera and had stopped in front of the Egyptian Theater and the Pig N’ Whistle restaurant next door. He had watche
d her snap pictures of the buildings and the bustling street before she crossed over to the north side of the boulevard where Zarafeth had stood watching. The man whom Julian insisted should be his shadow had waited a few feet away in the crowd, most likely oblivious to the pretty woman who approached on the crosswalk. His vigilance mattered not at all to Zarafeth, who thought it silly that he should be escorted this way. If Bezgerek and Ezgeroth had not made it back to the mansion in the last few days, so be it, he thought. They were all getting stronger now, and the homing instinct they felt for Piedmont’s mansion was growing dimmer. The time would soon come when they would be able to blend in among the humans without need of Julian Piedmont or his sycophants.
When the woman in the red blouse and black skirt had stopped to take a picture of the Hollywood Hotel, Zarafeth had walked up to her and said, “If you’d like, I’ll take one with you in it.”
A short conversation had followed, all the usual banter he was used to now and could have recited in his sleep. No, he wasn’t Clark Gable, but yes, he certainly did look like him. And yes, he did work at a studio, and yes, he could get her an insider’s tour if that was what she really wanted, but wouldn’t she rather go somewhere quiet first and have a drink so they could get to know one another better? She was a tourist, of course, visiting California with friends who had gone ahead to San Francisco expecting her to follow in a day; she had loved Los Angeles and Hollywood so much that she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of leaving so soon. Having already seen most of the sights once, she was re-visiting her favorites, hoping to preserve them in her memory forever.
Zarafeth had listened to all of this with enthusiasm, his eyes darting from hers to her chest, to her hips, and to her ankles as they spoke on their way toward the Chinese Theater. Even though he had been with more women than he could count, he still had not tired of them, still got excited at the prospect of each conquest, reveling in the nuances of each seduction and letting himself luxuriate in imagining every inch and curve of the woman while she still had on all her clothes.
It had not taken long to talk her into letting him see where she’d been staying. She looked a little leery, but he promised to get her into Paramount that very afternoon, and he could tell as she shifted her eyes coyly that she was weighing her options. Her friends were gone, she was most likely thinking. Who would ever know?
Not twenty minutes after meeting her, Zarafeth was walking back across Hollywood Boulevard with her and heading toward the Roosevelt Hotel.
“A charming place,” he said as they walked into the lobby. He knew that his shadow would install himself in one of the comfortable chairs across from the elevators and wait for him to come down again once he had finished with Tracy. He toyed with the idea of sneaking out a different way, indignant at the idea that this woman or any other could pose a threat to him and insulted that Julian felt the idiot he’d assigned to Zarafeth could do anything to protect him.
“You’ve stayed here, then?” she asked.
“No,” he said with a smile as they neared the elevators. “But I’ve had quite a few friends stay here. Out of towners.”
“You must find that a lot of people want to come out here for visits.”
“I do,” he said. “You’d be amazed.”
The elevator opened, and a tall, dark-haired man got in with them. Zarafeth cursed the man silently, as he had been hoping to kiss Tracy on the way up to her floor. It was always fun to back them up against the elevator walls and get a little feel in before the doors slid open again. The women always seemed to get a daring little thrill from it, which made it easier to skip the pleasantries and get right to business once they got to their rooms. The man who had gotten in pushed the button for the eighth floor, and Tracy said, “That’s me, too,” with a smile.
When they reached the eighth floor, the other passenger went to the left, and Tracy led Zarafeth to the right. The demon gave the man no more thought as he followed his prey down the hall, his eyes watching her hips appreciatively. Behind them, the elevator doors closed.
The woman stopped at 814 and got her key out of her purse. “Home sweet home,” she said a bit nervously as she opened the door.
It was a nice enough room inside with a full-sized bed and a window that looked down on Hollywood Boulevard. A sofa and table were set up before the window. The bathroom was off to the right, a closet to the left, and another door beside the closet that appeared to adjoin to the neighboring hotel room. Zarafeth barely noticed any of it. He wanted to get her on the bed right away, but she walked quickly away from the door and toward the sofa and table. The location didn’t matter, he told himself. A sofa would do just as well as the bed.
“Won’t you have a seat?” she asked, her hand sweeping out and indicating the sofa. “I just adore the view, don’t you?”
“I do,” he said, his eyes still on her hips. There was a coffee table between the sofa and the window; on it, Zarafeth saw a tray with glasses and a decanter. He sat down, expecting her to sit beside him.
Instead, she stayed by the window and said, “Can I fix you a drink?”
“I suppose.”
“I like a little Scotch sometimes. Funny that room service sent up two glasses when they knew I was alone in the room.”
“Maybe they figured a pretty girl would like some company.”
She laughed. “Mr. Jones, really!”
Then she went to pour, and he watched hungrily as her breasts seemed to grow fuller with gravity when she bent over the tray. She handed him a glass, and he drank, never taking his eyes off her as she turned her back to him and lifted a glass to her lips. Her long hair hung down her back in little waves and ringlets at the ends, and he wanted to reach out and touch it, but as he began to stand up, her hair seemed to wave before him, as though it was somehow underwater, and though he put a hand out toward her, she seemed far too distant to ever be reached. In the instant that he realized something was terribly wrong, he lost his equilibrium completely and felt himself spinning around, the floor getting closer and closer. He had a vague sense of the communicating door opening on the other side of the room, and then Tracy was looking down at him. Her features were hazy, but he could tell she had a satisfied grin. He told himself that he must be hallucinating somehow because next to her appeared the man who had ridden on the elevator with them. Then he lost consciousness.
* * * * * * * *
He woke up slowly, hazily, but once he realized that he had been tied to the bed with heavy rope, a surge of panic took him, and he was fully alert in seconds. The woman who had called herself Tracy stood beside the bed, a little wooden cross in her hand. The man from the elevator stood at her side. He held a baseball bat. Immediately, Zarafeth understood. This was how Bezgerek and Ezgeroth had met their fate, and he was determined not to follow them.
“You fools!” he shouted. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.” He spat at the woman, but she dodged and leaned forward to hold the cross above his face.
He had been about to slip free of the ropes when the cross stopped him. There was no little naked Jesus nailed to it as there should have been, but for some reason he felt a power coming off of it like nothing he had felt before. Though the repulsive thing was almost a foot away from his face, he felt its weight bearing down on him. He could feel the miserable little piece of wood robbing him of power, rendering him impotent; it filled him with dread instantly.
“Bitch!” he hissed, hoping to frighten the woman. “You’ll pay for this! Your little Christ won’t help you!”
But even as he spoke, he heard her begin to say in a steady voice, “Creature of Satan, in the Name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I command you to leave this body.”
Her words pummeled him, and he felt himself shrinking away from the sound of her voice. In his mind, he saw himself among flames and bubbling pits, the screams of the damned echoing through eternity. His foray among the humans had been too short, and though he could not die, he had the horrib
le feeling that his life was somehow being taken from him. Desperately, he wanted off the bed, and given the chance he would have thrown himself through the eighth story window rather than be cast back into the pit of his previous existence. With one burst of energy, he tried to show her his true self, and his skin glowed red, his eyes turned yellow, and wiry black hair sprouted from his head, curling about his twisting horns.
It slowed her for only a moment as she jumped slightly at the change in him. But while her voice trembled now, she continued regardless. “We drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirits, all satanic powers, all infernal invaders—”
“No!” he wanted to shout, but his voice sounded feeble and old now. Even as he felt his power slipping away, his rage was not curbed, and he screamed internally for revenge. If only things had been the other way, if only he could have had her instead of becoming the victim himself—how he would have made her suffer, how he would have shown her the despair and pain that awaited her in his realm, how glorious it would have been to hear her cries and taste her tears.
“—all wicked legions, assemblies and sects; in the Name and by the power of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
He could not breathe. Every fiber in the body he had been building and strengthening for weeks trembled. The room grew dim, and he knew his eyes were failing him. One more shriek, intended to frighten the bitch to death, came out as an impotent croak. He could barely hear her as she went on, a loud buzzing filling his head, as of a billion tiny flies.
“Do may you be snatched away and driven from the Church of God and from the souls made to the image and likeness of God and redeemed by the Precious Blood of the Divine Lamb.”
The Devil You Know Page 26