The Devil You Know (30 page)

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 watched 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 horrible 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.”

And
he was gone.