The Devil You Know (19 page)

“I’m
sorry,” she began. “I just…”

“I
know,” he said with a nod and a tight smile. He sat up and extended a hand to
help her off her back. “Too soon.”

Marie
decided it would be easier to agree with him than to try and explain the
complex feelings that raced through her. Her fears and doubts were as intense
as the desire and temptation she still felt. Trembling a bit, she took his hand
and squeezed it, searching his eyes. “You don’t mind if we go back?”

“No.
You’re right—it’s better if we wait.” His voice was tender, and she felt
herself melt for him even more than she had before. It was getting dark now,
and reflected light from the highway behind them twinkled in his eyes. Knowing
she would feel happy spending every day with him, she told herself there would
be plenty of time to talk through all of her feelings—and plenty of time
to do more than talk. For the last minute, if Tom had kissed her again, perhaps
her resolve would have faded, temptation and desire taking over, but now as
they stood up and he shook the sand off his jacket, reason began to return to
her, and she was content to hold his hand as they walked back toward her car.

Chapter Sixteen

Catalina
Cortez felt a flood of emotions when the postman drove away from the gate. She
had been hiding in her room for two hours, peeking out her window the whole
time, worried that Mr. Piedmont or another of her superiors would come looking
for her. All the while, she had been tempted to run to the mailbox, pull the
letter out, and tear it into a hundred pieces right there in the road. If she
had, she still might have gone through with her plans, but she wouldn’t have
been locked into them. Now, with the mail truck rumbling off toward the next
mansion along the snaky road, she had no choice. Her fate was sealed. Realizing
this, she was momentarily overcome with unspeakable sorrow, paralyzing fear,
and a strange, sweet relief.

She
stepped away from the window and got down on her knees to pray. Her first
impulse was to kneel beside her bed to say her prayers the way her mother had
taught her, but so many sinful things had been done on that bed in the last
week that praying before it seemed like one more blasphemous act that would
cancel out any good her prayers could do. Not that prayer could save her in the
first place. She knew she was lost, had been since the morning after the party
when she had found him naked in the kitchen. Feeling completely helpless and
out of control, she had gone to him then and had let him do things to her that
she could barely remember. Since then, his wickedness had inspired her to
depravity, and she had done things to him, too, things she had never even
thought about before.

She
wasn’t sorry for any of it. That was the problem. She knew it was wrong—knew
that every secret smile, every kiss and touch and moan were sins heaped upon
each other—but it had all been so delicious that she couldn’t truthfully
say she regretted any of it. And as sure as she knew her own name, she was also
sure that there was no redemption for unrepentant sinners. God wouldn’t hear
her prayers. No matter how much she begged Him for mercy, He would not be able
to forgive her until she was truly sorry. And that wasn’t going to happen. Even
now, she still got chills thinking about her lover’s touch and the heights of
ecstasy he drove her to. She had never known herself to be wicked, but
recognized the darkness in her soul now. There was something devilish about her
that must have always been there, just below the surface, waiting to be set
free by the right wicked man. And now that her inner wanton had been awakened,
there was no putting it to sleep. To regret it would be to deny it, and there
was no denying it; it was all too intense to be denied.

The
problem was that she knew something else had begun to happen to her. It had
started as a vague feeling that something was not right. The lost moments after
he left her and the dark, disturbing dreams that haunted her had increased in
duration and intensity over the week that she’d been playing this dangerous
game. She had begun to see something in her dreams—a hazy, dark shape at
the edge of her consciousness that waited for her. Over the last two days,
she’d begun to sense it during her waking hours as well, which told her it was
closer and stronger. It would devour her; she was certain of it. Though it
petrified her, she also wanted it, longing for the blackness to swallow her up.
Yet she knew at the same that if it took her, it would take her soul as well.
She would burn in hell.

There
was no saving herself, and no one to do it for her. She had come upon the only
solution this morning, and it was still not an acceptable one. Even so, if she
was going to offend God, it was probably better to do it this way, to finish
with one last mortal sin rather than pile up dozens more on her way to the
inevitable.

She
made the sign of the cross and wished she could find her rosary. It might burn
her lips to kiss the crucifix, but she wanted to do it anyway. It was nowhere
among her things, though. She had no memory of what had happened to it, no way
of knowing that she had gotten out of bed two nights earlier and gone out onto
the grounds still in her sleep to bury the rosary in Mr. Piedmont’s lawn along
with her scapular and prayer book.

Trying
to pray, she could think of nothing but the times she’d been with the man who
looked so much like Errol Flynn. They had never exchanged more than whispers
and grunts; she hadn’t even learned his name. Instead, she had learned to
respond to his touch and to read the glances and smirks he gave her when others
were around so she would know where to wait for him—here in the servants’
quarters, in one of the main house’s vacant bedrooms, even in the back seat of
Old Mr. Piedmont’s limousine parked in the dark garage.

Everything
had changed when the old
jefe
had
died. Young Mr. Piedmont had brought along all his boyish followers, and all
the drinking and women—and the five strange men who looked so gorgeous
and so dangerous at the same time. Julian Piedmont was what Catalina’s father
would have called
hijo de la chingada
.
But now Catalina was
la chingada
herself—the whore.

Thinking
of her father brought her back to the letter that would end up in her parents’
mailbox by tomorrow. It was part apology and part farewell, and though she knew
it would be little consolation, it was all she had left to offer. The little
house on the other side of the Los Angeles River would be filled with mourners
soon enough, and Catalina’s letter would be passed around by all the relatives
and neighbors, who would just shake their heads and cross themselves while
wiping away their tears.

When
she had finished trying to pray, she did not bother to make the sign of the
cross again, but rather stood up and walked toward the simple wooden chair she
had placed in the middle of the room. Smoothing her black maid’s uniform, she
took a deep breath and climbed onto the chair. The rope had come from the
garage; it was old but thick, and it looked sturdy enough. There was no
question about the strength of the beam she had looped it around. She placed
the noose over her head and tightened the knot against her neck. Then, without
asking forgiveness or making any more entreaties, she lifted one foot to the
back of the chair, balanced there for a second, and kicked it out from under her.

Chapter Seventeen

Monday
at St. Lucy’s was essentially business as usual. Father Joe had letters for
Marie to go through, others for her to type, accounts to be balanced, and calls
to be made. She performed as always, but thoughts of Tom and Elise and Julian
Piedmont’s handsome monsters were never far away.

At
ten o’clock, Father Joe walked into the outer office after having been at his
desk for some time with his door closed. He passed by her desk on his way out.
It was his habit to get a cup of coffee around ten and take a walk around the
church grounds. He usually went with a quiet word or two, but today he stopped
at the door and gave Marie a searching look.

“That
friend of yours that was sick,” he said. “How is she?”

Startled
at the question, it took Marie a moment to answer. “Not well,” she said. “Not
at all.” His question and the look on his face had left her momentarily
flustered.

Father
Joe looked at her, nodding his head with some concern. Then he said, “And you? Getting
enough sleep and all? Not letting her problems tear you down, I hope.”

“No,”
she said, trying not to let her confusion show. Father Joe was always kindly to
her, and in the first few months that she had worked for him, he had taken
special care to offer counseling in getting through the ordeal of being a new,
young widow. But since then, he had kept out of her business, contenting
himself with pleasant conversation of very little substance. This concern for
her and the situation with Elise struck Marie as extremely odd, especially as
it came a week after the only other time she had mentioned Elise.
Where did this come from?
she asked
herself. “Just trying to be a good friend to her, but I don’t think there’s
much that can be done.”

“You
can pray, of course.”

“Oh,
I have been,” she said with a forced smile.

“Good
girl,” he said, returning her smile. The piercing gaze he had fixed her with
upon starting the conversation faded as he smiled. Unsettled, she felt as
though he had transformed for a few minutes and was now back to his normal
self. As if to confirm her feelings, he slipped back into the casual manner
that he always addressed her with, nodding at her as he said, “Be back in a
bit.”

She
had been waiting for him to leave the office so she could use the phone, but
instead of reaching for the receiver she simply sat at her desk for a few
minutes trying to make sense of what had just passed between herself and the
priest. After a few minutes she could do no more than shake her head and tell
herself to forget it.

After
driving back to Hollywood the night before, she had talked with Tom and Jasper
about the next best step to take in dealing with the incubi. Jasper agreed with
her that something must be done and that they were on their own in doing it.
The police would be of no help, nor was it likely that anyone in the clergy
would take their claims seriously enough to attempt some sort of exorcism on
the demons. And even if they could get such assistance, Julian Piedmont would
never consent to such a thing. Furthermore, if the demons could be dispatched,
there was still the problem of the book of spells. In the face of such
difficulties, Jasper had suggested that Marie try to contact Colin Krebs to see
if he could provide any more information.

With
Father Joe safely out of the office for the next fifteen minutes, Marie slipped
Colin’s calling card from her wallet. Listening carefully for any sign that the
priest might be returning, she lifted the telephone’s receiver from its cradle
and dialed the phone number on the card. Her heart began to pound the moment
she picked up the phone, both out of fear that Father Joe would return and that
any information she might get from Colin would be bad. She had not spoken to
Colin since last Monday night when she had phoned him from the hospital. For
all she knew, Julian had coerced him into conjuring more demons since then.
Having five incubi to deal with was one thing, she told herself, but if
Hollywood was swarming with these things, there would be no way that she and Jasper
and Tom could do anything at all. It would be best to pack up and move to Iowa,
and wait for the army of incubi to prove that all of the preachers and
nay-sayers who had been damning Hollywood for the last twenty-five years had
been right all along.

Colin
answered on the fourth ring. “Hello?” he said, the word coming across as a
question whose answer he was not looking forward to.

“Colin,
it’s Marie Doyle,” she said.

“Marie…my
God,” he responded before she could say any more. She had been thinking it would
be necessary to remind him of whom she was, but that apparently was not the
case. “I didn’t think you’d call again.”

“Well,
I wasn’t going to, but I wanted to see if I could get more information from you
about what’s been going on.”

“I
talked to your priest,” he said, ignoring her request.

Immediately,
Marie thought of how strangely Father Joe had been acting. “What did you tell
him?” she asked sharply. “About me, I mean.”

“Nothing.”
He said it quickly, but Marie couldn’t tell if he was lying. “I just told him
what happened with Julian, with the book. And since.”

“And
nothing about me or Elise. Nothing about the party?”

“No,”
Colin confirmed. “Nothing.”

Marie
took a deep breath. In her conversations with Jasper over the last several
days, he had remained adamant that the church should not be involved in
whatever plan they came up with, and Marie had agreed that Father Joe should
not be let in as a conspirator. Now, he seemed to have found out about the
incubi regardless. “You told him everything else, though?” she asked. “About
the incubi and what they’re doing?”

“All
of it.”

“And
he believed you?”

Colin
hesitated before answering. “I can’t tell. He may just be trying to humor me.
It doesn’t matter, though. He gave me absolution.” He said the last with real
joy.

She
found this surprising. Absolution was not a thing to be taken lightly or given
frivolously. If Father Joe had even considered that Colin was fabricating his
story, he would never have absolved him of his sins. In a flash, she thought
first of how unlikely such credulity would be for Father Joe, especially given
his reaction to Marie’s questions about incubi. And then, once she remembered
asking him, she realized that Father Joe must have made a connection between
her inquiries and Colin’s confession; he must have figured out that Marie was
involved to at least some degree. His questions about Elise this morning had
been his way of indirectly determining just how involved she was, probably out
of a desire to keep her soul out of jeopardy, and nothing more. Listening to
Colin, she decided that if Father Joe asked directly about the incubi, she
would tell him what she knew; if he kept quiet, she would follow Jasper’s
wishes and not involve the priest at all.

She
tried to put the thought out of her mind and returned to the real reason she
had phoned Colin. “Listen, Colin. Are those things still as active as they were
last week?”

“I’m
afraid so.”

“Are
you still helping them? And Piedmont?”

“I’ve
tried to stop, but he insists. He says he needs us all now. Father Joe says I
should just leave for San Francisco or something, but I don’t know.”

“Has
he had you make any more?”

“Julian?
No. Not yet. At least, not any new demons.”

Marie
looked at her wristwatch, wondering how much time remained before Father Joe returned.
She bit at a thumbnail and pressed on. “What do you mean?”

“I
shouldn’t be telling you any of this. Especially not on the phone.”

“Well,
I can’t come meet you, Colin,” she said sharply, her ire rising. “And I need to
know what’s going on. You owe me, Colin. You owe all those women whose lives
you’ve ruined. If anyone else is on the line, they won’t know what the hell
you’re talking about. All right?”

There
was a moment’s silence on the line. “Okay, okay. One of the…bodies got
destroyed. We had to make another one.”

“What
happened?”

She
heard Colin sigh, and then he went on. “One of them picked up a married woman.
The husband came in when they were…you know. He had a gun. The body was…well,
without the demon in them, there’s not much substance to them.”

“Wait,”
said Marie. She tried to recall what she had learned about incubi from Jasper’s
books and how this new information fit into the mythology. “Are you saying the
incubus left the body after it got shot? Or did it flee because it was going to
get shot?”

“I
don’t know. I didn’t want to know.” He paused, breathing hard now. When he
continued, he sounded close to panic. “All I know…is we had to make another
one. Oh God, Marie. It was awful.”

Marie
wished their meeting had been face to face. It would be too easy for him to
hang up and not take her call again if she tried back.

Trying
to calm him and show that she was on his side, she said, “I’m sorry you had to
go through that, Colin.” She could not tell for sure, but she thought he might
be weeping now, and she decided to try and sway his loyalty to Julian. “You
know it will probably happen again, though, don’t you?”

“Oh
God! I can’t!”

“Colin.
Colin,” she said firmly, hoping to keep him focused on her voice. “You don’t
have to. You know that. If you can’t leave Julian the way Father Joe said, then
you can stop him instead.”

“How?”

She
hesitated a moment. “Destroy the book.” Though she felt urgency, she struggled
to keep her voice steady and to speak directly, as though she were asking Colin
to do something extremely simple. “Just throw it in the fire.”

“No.
Julian keeps it now. It’s not out on the shelf anymore; he’s got it locked up.”

 
“Do you think there’s any chance he’d
destroy the book himself? And the demons? Just give it all up?”

“If
only,” Colin said. “He won’t—It’s done something to him. You should see
him. The power he has over them. The fact that they keep coming back to him, to
his house. It’s like he’s become their god or something. He loves it. It scares
me, Marie. I just know he’s going to want more soon. These aren’t enough for
him anymore.”

“Okay,
Colin. Okay.” Marie took a deep breath. “Maybe you should just do what Father
Joe said. Just pack a bag and go away. Leave in the middle of the night.”

“He’ll
know. He’ll send them after me.”

“He
won’t, Colin. They’re after women. They’re not detectives.”

“Then
he’ll hire detectives and he’ll send something else after me. Something that
doesn’t want women. Something that’ll…take me.”

“Where?
Back to Los Angeles?”

“To
hell.”

“Colin,
that’s just fear talking. You won’t—”

He
interrupted her, speaking calmly and quietly now. “I’m sorry I got you into
this, Marie. Please be careful. Don’t let yourself get any further in. Your
friend may as well be gone. You’d best forget about saving her. And all the
rest of them. You’d best forget all of it.”

The
line clicked, and he was gone. Marie put the phone back in its cradle, wishing
desperately for a cigarette. Father Joe did not approve of her smoking, though,
and she would have to put the thought out of her mind.

Taking
a deep breath, she looked at her watch and decided she should risk one more
call. She dialed the bookstore, and when Jasper answered, she said, “I talked
to Colin.”

“Yes?”

“He
can’t get the book.”

“Well
then,” Jasper said. She could imagine his sly smile as he sat behind the
counter at the store. “We’ll just have to go get it ourselves, won’t we?”