Devil Without a Cause (4 page)

Faith cried out, shocked, but Dr. Wynecke’s concentration remained unbroken, and the nurses and the anesthesiologist ignored her as though she were invisible. The blond man squeezed her hand, and as much as she hated it—and him—the contact steadied her.

Pressing her other hand to her mouth, she struggled for composure, then froze at the sight of a shadowy figure lurking motionless in the corner. A seven-foot-tall, black-winged creature, watching Nathan’s surgery with eyes that glowed red.

“Don’t be afraid,” the blond man said soothingly, in her ear. “He’s not here for you.”

Faith tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her, tightening his grip. “Let me go!” she shrieked, panicky. She had to get between Nathan and that, that . . .
thing
. “Dr. Wynecke! Nurse!” she shouted, abandoning all pretense of quiet. They needed to stop the surgery, do it another day— “Behind you! Watch out!”

The surgical team might as well have been enclosed in a soundproof bubble for all the attention they paid her.

“Meet black-winged Nyx,” the Devil said calmly, “who waits in the shadows, eager to pierce the veil between life and death.”

Horrified, she shook her head, unable to believe what was happening could
possibly
be real.

“Nyx is my chief soul eater, and he’s hungry. He awaits my permission to unfurl his wings and settle himself on top of your child like a psychic vulture, a vulture no one will see or hear or even begin to detect”—Satan ignored her moan of terror—“and then he will rend and rip at the invisible threads that bind the boy’s soul to his body.” He shook his beautiful blond head ruefully, as though sorry to be the one to give her such bad news. “The veil has already been thinned by the use of anesthesia . . . The boy’s soul floats above him now, vulnerable, and ripe for the taking.”

Faith clawed and slapped at him with her free hand. “Let go of me,” she shrieked. She’d throw herself on top of Nathan in the middle of surgery if need be, anything to put herself between her child and that . . . that
monster
, but her efforts to escape were pointless. Satan spun her like a toy and held her against him, back to chest, forcing her to watch the scene in the operating room.

“I can stop Nyx anytime I like,” he murmured in her ear, “but you must give me a reason.”

She whimpered, helpless and frantic, but no one heard her. No one, that was, except the black-winged creature, who raised its head and looked directly at her. There was no expression on its face, because there
was
no face, really. Just a black hole with glowing embers for eyes, the vague outline of pointed ears, a nose, a pointed chin.

Her knees nearly gave out.

The Evil One gave her a shake. “Focus,” he said sharply. “Your son’s life in return for one small favor. You choose.”

“Yes!” she cried. She’d do anything to get that thing away from Nathan. “Send it away, please! Whatever it is you want me to do, I’ll do it!” she sobbed, boneless with terror.

He gave a dark chuckle. “Good.”

And then they were back in the chapel, just like that.

Faith wrenched away, unable to stand his hands on her another second, and grabbed the back of a nearby pew. Mind reeling, dizzy, she wondered if she’d gone insane, or was just about to. “Send it away,” she repeated frantically, shaken and sick. “You have to send it away!”

“It’s gone,” he confirmed. “For now.”

Bile rose in her throat, hot, burning, but she forced it back, nearly choking on it.

“Calm yourself,” the Devil said. “Nathan is no longer in danger of dying today. I’ll even let him go home from the hospital this time.”

The casual way he said “this time” made her heart stutter. The pew beneath her hands was the only thing grounding her, so she gripped it as hard as she could and took a deep breath, refusing to give in to madness.

“We’ll make a bargain, you and I.” She could hear the smile in his voice, and hated him for it. “I’ll cure Nathan in return for one small favor. Your little boy will start feeling better the moment he wakes up, and you’ll be able to take him home. He’ll have a miraculous recovery. Whether he stays there, happy and healthy and completely cured, will be up to you.”

She forced herself to look at him, steeling herself against the cold male beauty of his features—a mask, she now knew, to hide the horrors beneath. “What kind of favor?”

“A small one,” he said soothingly.

“What favor?” she repeated stonily, not buying it for one second.

“Nothing you can’t handle, I assure you.” His smirk made her skin crawl. “I’ll give you one month to enjoy the improvement in Nathan’s health, and then I’ll come back and ask for your help in return. It’s just that simple.”

One month. It bought her some time, but then what?

“You must understand, Faith,” he said gently, as though he actually cared, “if you do nothing, Nathan will die. If you agree to do as I ask, he’ll get a second chance at
life
. What does it matter what the favor is? If you’re the woman I think you are, you’ll easily accomplish what I ask.”

The soothing tone of his voice was merely a façade, like his handsome face and stylish clothes. He was evil incarnate, and never in her life had she felt so helpless.

Just in front of her, in the back of a pew, was a worn Bible. It had probably been a source of comfort to many others who’d come to this chapel over the years, but it was no comfort to her today. Where was God when she’d cried out for salvation, and gotten damnation instead?

Faith steeled her resolve, realizing that once again—as she had when she’d found herself pregnant and alone—the only person she had to rely on in this situation was herself. Nathan needed her, so she did her best to compose herself, wiping the tears from her face with both hands. “Please,” she whispered. “I’ll do whatever you ask. Just let my son live.”

Chapter Three

“G
reat show tonight, Finn. You
rocked
the place, man!”

Finn Payne took the bottle of water he was handed as he stepped offstage, offering no comment except a breathless nod. His body and brain were still buzzing, still riding the crest of the wave; chaos, sound and fury, strobe lights and screaming fans, the siren-sweet call of the dark music that was his life. It was like a drug, all-consuming, tireless in its demand to be heard.

As he strode down the backstage hallway, mind and body racing, his eyes barely registered the people around him; security guys mostly, roadies and technophiles, the human machinery that kept his career in high gear. The music was still in his head, lower now, a raging river instead of a flood.

“In here, Finn.” Someone touched his elbow. He’d reached the door to the green room, held open by a security guy who kept his eyes trained on the corridor as he ushered him inside.

Once in, Finn caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Dark hair spiked with sweat, soaked white T-shirt, designer jeans that fit like a second set of skin. He was breathing hard, riding high.

Finn Payne, once a member of the rock band Apocalypse, now in the middle of a thriving solo career. Top of the world, top of his game.

The door closed behind him, and he was alone. The silence would’ve been deafening, save for the music in his head, slowing to undertones no one ever heard but him.

Two decades of decadence were leaving their mark; there were creases at the corners of his green eyes, and shadows beneath them.

Turning away, Finn tipped his head to guzzle the last of his bottled water. The notes within him still pulsed, throbbing in rhythm with his heart.

“Let me know when you’re ready to release the hordes,” John, the security guy, stuck his head in the door. “Every chick in Atlanta is banging on the backstage door tonight.”

Finn shook his head. “I’m heading to the hotel for a shower and some sleep. Where’s the limo?”

“You’re leaving?” John was shocked. “But you’ve got some real babes out there!” There was never any shortage of women on the road—many of them all too happy to share a wild night of rock-star craziness, a lazy afternoon of room service in some nameless hotel. “These Southern girls are wild, man.”

Finn shook his head, grabbing his bag of personal stuff off the floor. “Tell the crew the party’s on me.” He waved a hand toward the fully stocked bar. The dark mistress who was his muse was the only one who mattered, and she was already leaving him—the buzz from the show was starting to wear off more quickly these days. All those nameless, faceless girls . . . He wasn’t up for another night of nameless, faceless sex. “I have a few days off before the end of the tour. I need to recharge.”

You’re getting old.
A whisper, inside his head, both seductive and insulting.

Finn’s muse was still there, and she never minced words.

Prove yourself worthy
, she whispered
. Go back for an encore.
Feel
the music . . . make them hear it. Drown yourself in their applause.

Finn shifted his bag onto his shoulder and left the room, repeating his request for the limo. Within minutes, he was being ushered down yet another hallway, then into an underground parking lot. More screaming from some girls who were lying in wait, flash bulbs and a hurried entrance to the limousine, and then the blessed slam of the door.

Falling back against the cushions, Finn closed his eyes and released a sigh. It was a stretch limo, designed to carry at least eight without crowding.

A man’s chuckle brought his eyes open and his head up.

On the other side of the backseat, sprawled at ease, was someone he’d met only once, but would never forget. Short blond hair, lean face. Too dim to see his eyes, but Finn knew they were an unnaturally light blue.

His hand flashed toward the door, but it was too late; a distinct
click
reached his ears.

“Going somewhere?” The Devil smiled, looking more like a rock star than he did, black boots, polished to a high shine, with black jeans and a gray T-shirt. “No need to rush off. We have things to catch up on, you and I.”

Finn glanced quickly toward the driver’s window; heavily tinted, and tightly closed. Somehow he knew there would be no help from that area.

“We have nothing to talk about,” he said flatly to his unwanted visitor, determined to brazen it out.

The blond man shook his head, chuckling again. “Oh, but we do.” The limo began moving, and Finn knew he was in for the ride of his life.

“There was a time when you couldn’t wait to see me,” Satan said idly, watching him. “Remember how hard you worked to figure out how to call me forth from the depths of Hell? It was touching, really, how you pored over those dusty old books—you used to wear glasses as a teenager, didn’t you?”

“My time isn’t up yet,” Finn said, knowing the terms of the bargain as well as he knew his own name.
He was barely thirty-six.
“The bargain isn’t over until I’m dead.” He held up a fist, displaying a silver ring etched with a starburst of arrows.

“Ah, yes, the Ring of Chaos.” Satan’s pale blue eyes danced with amusement. “The source of both madness and genius, coveted through the ages for the creative talent it inspires in its owner. Vincent van Gogh only got to wear it a few years before it drove him insane. How many times have you wished you could take it off, I wonder?”

Finn said nothing, lowering his fist to his knee.

“Tell the truth, Finn . . . wearing the ring is a bit more challenging than you expected, isn’t it? Everything you wanted—fame, fortune, the world at your feet—in return for knowing that you can only have it for so long. In the end, you’ll go raving into darkness, a moldering pile of bones, a lost soul, forever writhing in torment.” The Great Deceiver flashed a smile, teeth gleaming white against his tan. “Will you make it to forty, I wonder?”

“Add a few black roses, and it sounds like a great design for a T-shirt,” Finn replied shortly, refusing to be intimidated. “I’ll get my merchandising people right on it.”

The Devil laughed. “You could always give up the ring, you know, if it becomes too much for you.”

Finn eyed him warily.

“Of course, if you do that then you’ll have reneged on our bargain, and your soul becomes mine to claim as I will.” A tilt of his blond head. “It’s been twenty years, Finn. How long will you wear it?”

“As long as I want,” he growled. “A deal is a deal.”

“Is it?”

Finn leaned forward, elbows on his knees, going eye-to-eye with the Devil for the second time in his life. “As long as I wear this ring, my soul is my own,” he stated boldly. “So get the hell out of my face.”

“You’re wrong,” Satan whispered, blue eyes lit from within. “As long as you wear that ring, your soul belongs to Chaos, that dark, beguiling creature you call your muse. She will bring you the music and the words that bring you the fame and fortune you crave, and in the end, she will bring you to me.”

Finn’s blood ran cold.

“A fickle mistress, that one.”

Before his eyes, the blond man faded, leaving only the echo of his words to disturb the quiet. “Written any new songs lately?”

Chapter Four

F
riday nights at the Ritz-Carlton meant private parties, and plenty of people who didn’t necessarily want to go home when their parties were over. Not being one of them, Faith hid a yawn behind her hand, and tried to look alert behind the front desk. It was just past midnight, and the lobby was full of people, most of them spillovers from the bar. She wanted to be home with Nathan, feeling him curled up in the bed next to her, smelling his little-boy smell and getting poked by his little-boy elbows and knees. She’d taken more late shifts than usual this past month so she could make all his doctor appointments, and juggling shifts was wearing her out.

Wishing she could take off her shoes, Faith glanced around the busy lobby, hoping to remain invisible. Today she’d taken Nathan to see his pediatrician, who’d been very pleased at the results of Nate’s last blood test. She’d been pleased, too, but she knew the real reason she’d gotten Nathan back, and her joy was tempered by constant worry, because her month was almost up.

What would the Devil ask for in return?

“Look alive, Miss McFarland,” said Herve, the night manager. The creep liked to sneak up on her, and spent too much time eyeing her ass when he thought she wasn’t looking. “You seem a bit tired. Been burning the candle at both ends?”

“Of course not, Mr. Morales,” Faith answered, straightening. She had to stay on her toes—she couldn’t afford to lose her job, particularly not the health insurance. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Not at the moment,” he said crisply, “but one never knows.” Then he turned and walked away, his stiff-backed posture as obnoxious as the rest of him.

“Sneaky weasel,” she mumbled beneath her breath.

“Why, Faith—” A man’s voice made her jump. “It’s lovely to see you, too.”

A frightened squeak died in her throat as she looked across the marble counter and met the ice blue eyes of her worst nightmare.

“You’re looking well,” Satan said smoothly, resting well-manicured hands on the counter. His blond hair was carelessly tousled, the perfect contrast to a stylish black sport coat worn carelessly over jeans and a pinstriped shirt. Business casual,
GQ
style. “I’d like a room, please, an executive suite, if you have one available.”

Faith willed herself not to faint. She’d almost convinced herself that he’d been a hallucination—a horrible, stress-induced hallucination—but here he was, in the flesh.

Again.

“Come now,” he urged, in a lower tone. “I’m not going to bite you. Behave normally, and do as I say.”

“I—” Words stuck in her throat. “It hasn’t been a month yet,” she managed to whisper, tears pricking her lids.

“Monday,” he answered, with great satisfaction. “It will be a month on Monday. Nathan has a follow-up MRI that day, doesn’t he?” The Devil cocked his head, smiling. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if his doctors found his tumor had completely disappeared?” Those ice blue eyes hardened. “Of course, they could just as easily discover that the biopsy results were wrong, and that the cancer has spread.”

She stared at him, searching his face for some remnant of humanity, some forgotten quality of mercy, but there was no mercy in him.

“You remember our bargain, don’t you? I gave Nathan a one-month reprieve—” He quirked an eyebrow for confirmation. “He
is
feeling better, isn’t he?” She nodded soundlessly, and he continued. “Now you must decide if he’s to stay that way.”

She fought the urge to throw up, and wondered wildly, in the back of her mind, what the Devil might think of ramen noodles all over his sport coat. Licking her lips, she swallowed her gorge and steeled her resolve. “What is it you want me to do?”

“I believe I said I’d like a room,” he repeated mildly. “Club level, of course.” He pulled out his wallet, handing her a credit card as if he were a real person instead of Lucifer himself. The name on the card read Samuel B. Divine.

“While you’re checking me in, I’ll fill you in on what you need to do to fulfill your end of the bargain.” He glanced idly around the lobby, and even in the midst of her fear, Faith saw that he was drawing plenty of glances in return—mostly feminine, of course. A woman in a red-sequined party dress looked ready to devour him with her eyes, and two women in an alcove were staring, whispering and giggling like schoolgirls.

He noticed, of course, but didn’t seem to care. “Ah,” he said to Faith, “I used to love Atlanta on a Friday night, but with the Underground gone, good old Hotlanta is just not what it used to be.”

She knew what he was referring to, of course, having grown up in the area. Underground Atlanta, the old subterranean entertainment district, had long ago been converted to a shopping mall. Just shops and a food court now, not the party destination it once was.

“Back in the twenties,” he went on, as if they were having a pleasant little chat, “it was all about jazz and freedom from Prohibition. If you wanted to hear some great blues and raise a little hell down South without heading to New Orleans, Atlanta was the place to do it. ‘Blues, booze, and broads,’ as they used to call it. Good times.”

Forcing herself to breathe, to behave normally, Faith focused on the computer and the check-in process. Not speaking, just listening. He was like a snake, using camouflage and a forked tongue to get victims used to his presence.

“And the seventies . . .” He gave a low laugh. “Do you know, I actually amused myself for a time by running a nightclub in the Underground called Dante’s, where it was all about drugs, free love, and music.” He put his elbows on the counter, leaning in toward her. “Do you like music, Faith?”

She nodded warily, doing her best to slow her heart rate and steel herself for what was to come.

“I’m glad,” he said, eyeing her calmly. “Now, are you ready to be a big, brave girl, and hear what I have to say?”

No, I’m not ready, I’ll never be ready . . .

“I’m ready.” She slipped his receipt and credit card across the counter, including a pen for his signature.

“A musician by the name of Finn Payne is about to check into this hotel,” the Devil said, signing with a flourish. “He’s wearing a ring that belongs to me. It’s very distinctive: black and silver with a starburst of arrows. I want it back. Get me the ring before Monday, and Nathan’s next MRI will be clear. His tumor will be gone forever.”

“Finn Payne,” she repeated, disbelieving. “As in
the
Finn Payne?”

Rock star, guitar god. Apocalypse had been her favorite band as a teenager. Even now, though she was closer to thirty than thirteen, she owned every single one of their CDs.

“Oh good,” Satan said, smiling. “You
are
a music lover, after all. I was afraid you were just telling me what I wanted to hear.”

She shook her head, stunned at the magnitude of what he was suggesting. She’d never stolen anything in her life, and now she was expected to steal from a rock star?

Focus
, she told herself sharply.

“That’s it? I bring you the ring, and we’re done?”

“Well”—he glanced around the lobby again, looking amused—“there
are
certain conditions attached.”

“What conditions?” Small hairs rose on the back of her neck.

“First,
you
must handle this personally—you can’t assign the job to someone else.”

So much for a faint hope of bribing someone on the hotel housekeeping staff.

“And in order to
get
the ring”—he gave her a smirk that made her stomach roil—“you must use the gifts God gave you.”

She blinked, wondering if she’d mistaken his meaning.

“After all . . .” His voice turned soft, caressing. “What do you think all that lovely female skin and hair is there for? You’re very pretty, and could be even more so if you tried. Good breeder, too, obviously. A wholesome, fertile beauty like you is absolutely irresistible to the average human male. He’ll be no different.”

Bastard.
She didn’t say it out loud, but surely he couldn’t miss seeing it in her eyes. He’d reduced her to a
thing
—something to be used—not a person.

“Don’t worry, Faith. Most women find him quite good-looking, in a darkly brooding sort of way. You might even find yourself enjoying the assignment.”

She said nothing, feeling a numbness creep over her. He was so cold, so icily perfect, as though the unholy fire burning within him was one that froze instead of scorched.

She hadn’t slept with anyone since Jason.

Jason, who’d lied to and abandoned her.

“Must I spell it out for you, my dear?” He tapped a manicured finger on the counter. “Seduce the man, and steal the ring.
Do not ask him for it
. Believe me, he’ll never give it to you—the ring is far too important to him. The moment he knows you want it, he’ll be gone, and you’ll have missed your opportunity.” An amused smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Use your womanly wiles to beguile him into thinking you’re harmless, as women have done since the beginning of time—and then steal it. Unless, of course”—he smiled in a way that made her blood run cold—“you’re too proud to whore yourself for the life of your child.”

She stared at him with loathing, but was unable to meet his eyes very long, for they were devoid of soul.

“Now, now,” he warned, sotto voce. “I do believe your manager would be very unhappy about the way you’re looking at me right now. Isn’t that him, over by the elevator?”

She shot a glance over her shoulder, and saw he was right—Herve was currently harassing one of the bellmen as he loaded luggage onto a cart.

Turning away, she stared down at the counter for a moment, schooling her features to calm.

“Oh good,” he said approvingly. “You’re going to behave.” He smiled a perfectly pleasant smile, as if they were having a perfectly pleasant conversation. “You still have a choice, of course.” He leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter. “You can say no. Your son will be dead within the year, but hey”—he shrugged jacket-clad shoulders—“the rest of us will live to party another day.”

Nathan’s face flashed into her mind, the way he’d looked on his last birthday, smiling and laughing with his friends in the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese. The way he looked before he got sick, and lost all his energy.

“I’ll do it.” She lowered her head, defeated.

“You’re sure?” He cocked his head, obviously toying with her. “Can’t claim later that I didn’t give you a choice in the matter.” He chuckled. “I make it a point of pride to always offer a choice.”

“I said I’d do it,” she repeated tersely, looking nervously around. The woman in the red dress was still watching, sipping her wine and staring avidly at the blond sex god who was checking into the hotel, clearly hoping to meet him.

“In that case . . .” Satan reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a slim black notebook. “Once you have the ring in your possession, you must summon me to come get it.” He held the book out to her, looking her directly in the eye. “Do you understand? You must summon me properly as described in this book, with all ceremony due me as the High Lord Prince of Darkness, or we do not have a deal.”

Faith swallowed again, her mouth gone dry. “Why?” she managed to ask, eyeing the book as though it were a snake. “You can obviously come and go as you please . . . why would you need to be summoned?”

He gave a low chuckle, and repeated nearly word for word something he’d said to her in the hospital chapel. “I didn’t say I
needed
to be summoned, Faith. I said I
wanted
to be.” The look he gave her was chilling. “It’s a matter of respect, of commitment . . . call it the icing on the devil’s food cake.”

She wanted to look away, but didn’t dare.

“And know this.” He never took his eyes from hers. “Once I am summoned, I will never truly leave you. Having summoned me, having committed theft on my behalf, your soul will be mine when you die, whenever that may be.” His smile made her blood run cold. “In return, I give you the life of your child. You and he will have decades ahead; you’ll get to see him grow up, graduate college, get married—maybe even enjoy a few grandchildren. I’ll do nothing to interfere with your natural life cycle, but in the end, making a deal with the Devil means your soul belongs to me.” He gave a low chuckle, tilting his head to regard her in the friendliest of fashions. “We’ll be bound together, you and I.”

Horrified, she blinked back tears, tears she knew were useless. “Is there . . . is there any other way?” she whispered. “Couldn’t you just”—a plea for mercy slipped out—“just let us go?”

Her plea for mercy went unanswered, and so, hand shaking, Faith reached out and took the book, giving in to the fact that there was nothing she wouldn’t do for the life of her child—nothing at all.

“W
elcome to the Ritz-Carlton, Mr. Payne. Please come this way.” Faith kept her concierge staff smile firmly in place as she led the man and his two-man entourage toward the private elevators.

The past hour had been both the shortest and the longest of her life—she’d been so distracted that she’d almost forgotten her name tag, remembering to remove it only at the last minute during her mad rush to greet Finn’s limo. She’d made as many last-minute, emergency arrangements as she could, including calling her buddy Alberto in valet parking, who had given her a heads-up when a black stretch limo, followed by a black SUV, pulled up to the Ritz’s private entrance at 1:12 a.m.

“The bellmen will bring up your luggage while I show you to the penthouse,” she said, swiping the key in the elevator.

“Thanks,” Finn murmured, in the smooth, smoky voice she’d heard many times before—on CDs, of course. A quick glance at his face made her heart skip a beat; he looked just like he did in the magazines. Green eyes, creased at the corners; short dark hair. Signature goatee, neatly trimmed. Unlike some of the other rockers who occasionally stayed at the Ritz, drunk or hungover after a night of partying, Finn Payne was alert, aware, and disturbingly vital.

The elevator door opened. “After you,” he said politely.