The Devil You Know (4 page)

She
waited a few minutes more, but no doors opened, nor did she have any idea which
Elise might be behind. Downstairs, the band had started playing “Let’s Face the
Music and Dance,” and the steady rhythm of the bass carried up into the
hallway. It gave her the strangest sensation; below her, all those people were
dancing and laughing, and here she was feeling utterly alone. There were only
two things she could do now to get out of this situation: turn tail and leave
Elise to fend for herself, or start opening doors. Even as she considered her
options, she knew that only one of them was really open to her.

The
first knob she tried was locked. When she put her ear to the door, she heard a
man grunting rhythmically and quickly backed away. Unless Elise had found a
second man, Marie had no business with whoever was on the receiving end of
those grunts. She moved on.

The
next door was unlocked. She stood beside it for a moment, her ear pressed to it
before turning the knob. She heard nothing and knocked lightly. Getting no
response, she opened the door a foot and peered inside. The room was not empty.
It was dimly lit, and she caught a glimpse of people on the bed before pulling
her head back out and mumbling, “Sorry.”

“Wait,”
came a man’s voice from inside the room, and though she knew she should close
the door, she felt compelled to stand there for a moment, able now to see
shadows moving in the low light. “Why don’t you join us?” the man said from
inside the room, sounding much closer to the door than when he had first
spoken. A second later, Marie’s fingers released the doorknob as she felt it
pulled inward. In the dim light, she would have sworn she was looking at Errol
Flynn, or rather, a man who looked remarkably like the actor. He stood two feet
away from her, completely naked, his erect penis bobbing in front of him,
practically beckoning to Marie. Her eyes were drawn to it involuntarily, and
she forced herself to look up into the man’s face. There was sweat on his brow
and chest, and she could see now that there were three naked women on the bed
waiting for him to return. “Our little party’s just starting,” he said.
“There’s always room for one more.”

His
gaze held her for a second, and immediately the same feelings she had felt on
the stairs rushed back on her. She could feel her blood pounding in her lips
and against her eardrums and did not know for a moment if she would move
forward or back. No one would know, she told herself. It would be her dirty
little secret. Elise was fine, wherever she was. That she would have to share
this gorgeous man with these others did not matter. She could still find Elise
and leave. After.

A
woman’s cry of ecstasy from next door brought her back to her senses, Marie’s
eyes darting away from the man and back toward the stairs where she had started.
They seemed very far away, and she was overcome with the dreadful sense that
she would never make it back to them. Panicking again, she turned away from the
open door and the naked man beyond it. She did not bother to pull it shut or
say anything in response to his invitation, but instead practically ran from
the door, barely noticing when it closed behind her.

The
next door was unlocked as well, and Marie was relieved to find it unoccupied.
She stood just inside the doorway for several seconds and waited for her heart
to stop racing and her breathing to return to normal. “What the hell is going
on?” she whispered and turned away from the empty room.

She
found Elise in the second room from the end of the hallway after trying two
more locked doors and entering several other empty rooms. Marie had expected
this room to be empty as well, hearing nothing when she had put her ear to the
door. But when she pushed the button on the wall, the overhead lights came on,
and she recognized the naked woman on the bed as her friend. She lay on her
back, her long red hair in a tangle around her shoulders. One leg was off the
bed, Elise’s foot touching the floor, and her arms were spread out wide on
either side of her. Her eyes were open and staring at the ceiling.

 
“Elise!” Marie cried. “Elise!” She rushed
to the side of the bed and leaned over Elise to look into her eyes, hoping to
see some sign of life. After a few seconds, she dropped her head down to press
her ear to Elise’s chest. There was a heartbeat, strong and steady. Relieved,
she sat up and looked again into Elise’s eyes, and when her friend blinked, she
felt tears welling up in her own. “Elise,” she said again. “Elise, can you hear
me? What did he…what did he do to you?” There was no reply. “Honey, can you sit
up?” She reached for her friend’s hands, pulling them to her and then standing
up. Elise allowed herself to be sat up, and she stayed that way when Marie
gently let go. Marie bent over, her face close to Elise’s. “Can you hear me?”
she asked again and now saw the faintest nod in response. “Thank God,” Marie
whispered, choking back tears.

Had
there been a telephone in the room, Marie would have used it to call for an
ambulance, as one possibility after another raced through her mind. The most
obvious was that the James Cagney look-alike had somehow drugged Elise,
slipping her a pill or giving her a shot to make her completely pliant. She
remembered stories she had heard about white slavery, sinister plots she’d read
in the pulps. It didn’t make sense, though. Why would someone so clearly
connected to Hollywood’s rich and powerful be using this party to traffic in
women? It was equally absurd to think that the man had needed drugs to make
Elise willing; her friend had made her interests very clear quite early on. The
thought also occurred to Marie that Elise had suffered a stroke or a seizure,
but Elise appeared more intoxicated than anything else.

Hopeful
that Elise would be all right if she got some fresh air, Marie began dressing
her. She ignored how awkward it made her feel to slip Elise’s panties on over
her ankles and scoot them up over her knees. Having her underwear only partly
on made Elise look somehow less dignified than when she had been completely
nude, and Marie hurried with Elise’s brassiere. It felt awkward to put one on
somebody else, and she had to stop to make sure she was getting it right. Soon
the slip and dress had gone over her head. Getting the arms into the sleeves
was a bit difficult, but manageable. She slipped Elise’s shoes onto her feet
and then stood her up to zip the dress. She would take Elise to the hospital,
she thought. They would know what to do for her there, and she would call the
police once the doctors could tell her just what Elise’s lover had done.

Marie
took a deep breath. “You ready to go?” she asked even though she knew Elise
would not respond. The words were barely out of her mouth, though, when she
heard the bedroom door open behind her. Startled, Marie turned her head to see
a man walking into the room. If she had been experiencing feelings of shock
since discovering Elise, those feelings multiplied by a thousand when she saw
that this was the same man she had startled this afternoon at St. Lucy’s, the
sandy-haired man who had been weeping in the pews. He wore a tuxedo now, the
sleeves of his jacket hiding the big bandage on his arm, but Marie had no doubt
that it was him.

“You!”
was all she could say.

Dumbfounded,
the man looked at her blankly for a moment before recognition dawned. Still, he
said nothing, but just stood in the doorway, his gaze shifting from Marie’s
face to Elise’s for just a second before he looked to the floor. Marie saw
shame on his face, and in that instant she knew that this was one of Piedmont’s
men and that he had known he would find Elise in this room. He had not counted
on finding Marie with her.

“What’s
wrong with her?” Marie hissed. “What did you do?”

The
man hesitated for just a moment and then quickly said, “It wasn’t me. I... I
don’t know.”

It
didn’t take a genius to see that he was lying. Marie shook her head, disgusted.
“I should get the cops in here. Arrest the whole lot of you…perverts!”

The
man said nothing but just stood still, looking stunned. Marie wasn’t sure she
would actually call the police, since their involvement would mean
embarrassment for Elise, whom Marie still hoped would be revived by fresh air.
But she had hoped to scare the man into telling her what he knew. Now she saw
that he was on the verge of crying again.
Guilt,
perhaps?
she wondered.

“You’ve
got nothing to say?” Marie challenged. “Nothing?” If she hadn’t needed to
steady Elise, she would have crossed the room and slapped his face.

“It’s
not my fault,” he mumbled, looking up at Marie with tears in his eyes.

“You
son of a bitch!” Marie barked at him, her upper lip curling in her rage.

She
would have continued berating the man, but then she heard Elise whisper,
“Marie?”

She
whipped her head around to see that Elise looked at her now, her gaze less
blank than it had been. She, too, looked on the verge of tears, almost
overwhelmed in her confusion and disorientation.

“Elise!”
Marie answered, both surprised and relieved.

“I
want to go home,” Elise whispered.

Marie
nodded. She took Elise’s hands in hers and turned toward the door again. The
sandy-haired man still stood there, dumbfounded. He blocked their way, but
without offering any kind of threat. Marie felt no fear in leading Elise toward
the door and pushing past him. He smelled of liquor, and Marie supposed he had
needed to build his courage before ascending to the bedroom.

In
the doorway, she stopped, her face inches away from his. “I don’t know what he
did to her,” she said, her adrenaline rising again, “and I don’t know what you
were going to do once you got in here—”

“Nothing!”
he protested weakly.

Marie
ignored him. “If she doesn’t come out of this…If she’s sick…If she’s hooked on
something now…” She shook her head in determination and narrowed her eyes.
“Then I’m coming back here. I’ll bring the police, and we’ll make you pay.
Every lousy goddamned one of you!” She turned away and led Elise into the
hallway. Her friend did not speak, but followed passively with Marie pulling
her along by the hands. She did not glance back, but knew the man in the
bedroom watched them as they walked to the stairs. When she had reached the top
of the landing earlier, her heart had been pounding with a mixture of fear,
confusion and desire. Now it pounded even harder, but with rage, and it was all
she could do to keep angry tears from spilling onto her cheeks as she led Elise
down the stairs and out into the cool night air.

Chapter Three

Ezgeroth
awoke early after the party. The sun had only just come up, and the house was
quiet, all the other revelers still sleeping off the night’s debauch. He had
caroused as much as anyone else, more even, but his body did not crave sleep
the way others did. Instead, it had the strange, empty feeling the humans
called hunger.

Quickly,
he rolled over, the body’s legs tangled in the sheets. The woman in the bed
beside him did not stir. Lucky for her, he thought. Like a petulant child, he
was likely to snap at anyone who got in his way. He admired her body only for a
moment, not wanting to think about how much he had enjoyed it last night. Sex
now would only keep him from satisfying his body’s other appetites, and if she
woke up, he knew how cloyingly she would latch onto him, begging him not to go
if only for a few minutes. The thought alone made his anger rise, and he
imagined himself sprouting claws and raking them across her flesh.

Another
thought followed quickly—Julian would be mad. Unless it could absolutely
not be helped, he had insisted that they not kill anyone, especially not here
in the house. The image of Julian angry cowed Ezgeroth immediately, and he
forced himself from the bed before his urges could overtake him.

Naked,
he took a deep breath in the hallway outside the room and walked toward the
stairs, taking in the scents of liquor, sweat, tobacco smoke, and sex as he
went. His hearing was far more acute than any human’s, and he could hear
sleepers in the rooms around him as he passed by. He smiled to think of all the
debauchery that had happened the night before.
How many new souls in peril?
he wondered.
How many regrets? How many broken promises and hazy recollections?
It
was all too wonderful to consider, and he smiled widely as he went down the
stairs.

The
rest of the house seemed as quiet as the upstairs. A few lights had been left
burning, but Ezgeroth didn’t need them to see, his pupils wide and round like a
cat’s as he took in the spent liquor bottles and spilled food on the floor. A
few people slept on divans and overstuffed chairs, oblivious to him.

The
lights were off in the kitchen, and he left them that way. Opening the
refrigerator, he found stacks of food left over from the night before. Some
members of the wait staff must have made an attempt to preserve it before the
party had degenerated completely. Ezgeroth reached inside indiscriminately,
pulling out chicken legs and pieces of ham, small sandwiches and meatballs in
sauce. The more he ate, the more he wanted, his appetite fueled by the food he
was tasting; he suddenly wanted to gorge himself, wash it all down with
whatever wine he could find, and then race back upstairs to the woman in his
bed.

He
was so focused on his gluttonous orgy that he did not notice the approaching
footsteps until the lights in the kitchen suddenly switched on, and he jumped
and spun around. He saw the woman in the same instant that she let out a little
scream, doubtless shocked to find a naked man in the kitchen, a drumstick in
his hand and unidentifiable food smeared around his mouth. She was one of
Julian’s housekeepers, dressed in a black maid’s uniform with a white hat and
apron. He had probably seen her around the house before, but had not noticed
her; or rather, he had forced himself not to notice her, as Julian had
forbidden them from molesting the staff. But now she was here, alone, in a
house filled with such deep sleepers that none were likely to interrupt. He was
instantly hard.

She
had averted her eyes the moment she saw him, and now turned quickly to go.
“Wait,” Ezgeroth said quietly. “Don’t go. Not yet.” She was young and pretty,
slight of build and short with brown skin, curly black hair, and big brown
eyes. As commanded, she stopped herself from turning away and looked back at
him—a bit shyly at first, looking only at his face, but then letting her
eyes drift lower again to the rest of his body.

“That’s
it,” Ezgeroth said, dropping the chicken leg and wiping his mouth with his
forearm. He smiled at her, letting the little mustache he wore do some of the
work. He held out a hand. “Come here,” he said gently. When she hesitated, he
added, “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

He
watched as she glanced behind her to make sure no one else was around, then she
closed the kitchen door and walked to him, a hungry look in her eyes. “And you
thought it was going to be an awful morning, didn’t you?” he said as she
reached for the hand he still offered. “Cleaning up after Mr. Piedmont’s
friends, eh? Why not start the day right?”

She
had not said a word to him but only let a little gasp escape as he pulled her
to him and kissed her, pressing his hips tightly against her. He ran his hands
down to squeeze her buttocks and then dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Oh,”
she whimpered, a bit fearfully as he started to lift the hem of her dress.

The last bit of
resistance
,
he thought. “Shhhh,” he whispered and began to kiss his way up her thighs. Then
he pulled her underwear down around her knees and kept kissing his way upward,
lifting the skirt as he went. When he breathed her in and used his tongue on
her, he felt her shudder. “That’s it,” he said again. He had her now, he knew;
she was his. Julian could yell, the maid could go home to her family or her
boyfriend, and none of it would matter. She was his.

He
stood up quickly, fighting back the strong urge to slap her. Then he spun her
around, bent her over the countertop, and entered her. He was rough with her,
but she seemed not to care, turning her head to look back at him and biting her
lip in delirium. She ran her nails along the countertop, and he knew she would
be scratching his back if he were on top of her. Soon, she was making little
involuntary moans and cries, arching her back and pushing herself against him
as he thrust.

Whenever
she turned her head to look at him, he tried to watch her face, waiting for the
look of puzzlement the women always got when they began to sense that it was
more than his sex organ inside them, that he was joining with them on a spiritual
level, his true, ethereal self coupling with her spirit. He bent forward and
bit her shoulder as he continued, feeling himself moving deeper into her
consciousness; the fear he sensed there only spurred him on. Building up to a
crescendo, he felt her beginning to go slack, her cries growing softer and
softer. Finally, he ejaculated, and withdrew slowly, aware of part of her
coming with him, as though her very being had joined his inseparably.

The
woman was breathing heavily, and once he took his hands off her hips she began
to slide to the floor. Normally, he would have let her go, but Julian’s
admonishment still rang in his head. It would not do to leave her slumped here
for someone else to find, so he caught her under the armpits and lifted her,
amazed at how light and insubstantial she felt. The kitchen had a little
breakfast nook; Ezgeroth turned toward it and set her down on one of the seats.
He arranged her legs and arms so that she would stay sitting up. Her eyes were
vacant and blinked slowly every few seconds. She would be herself again before
long, but inexplicably changed, he knew.

“You’re
mine now,” he whispered to her. “All mine. No one else needs to know.”

He
found her panties on the floor and wiped his groin with them. He stuffed them
into the pocket of her apron, almost giggling at the thought of her finding
them later. She might think it was a dream, he knew, but a part of her would
tell her it was not. He looked forward to finding her again when Julian was not
around. It would make a nice little game for him.

Without
another glance at her, he left the kitchen and went to find one of Julian’s
lackeys. He needed someone to go up to the room he had slept in and remove the
woman from his bed. After his encounter with the maid, the thought of going
back to the other woman was repulsive. Part of him knew the feeling was
fleeting, though. She would serve his needs another day.