Ceremony in Death (24 page)

While he hoped her purple lipstick hadn’t transferred to his face, he smiled. “My favorite tenant.”

“Could you call her, Roarke?” With fingers tipped the same shade, she plucked at his sleeve. “Just give her a little goose.”

“Of course. Go play hostess, and don’t worry. I’ll get her here.”

“Thanks.” She rolled off on glittery, red-wheeled shoes.

Roarke turned with the idea of hunting up somewhere quiet to make his call, then blinked at the apparition. “Peabody?”

Her elaborately painted face fell. “You recognized me.”

“Barely.” With a faint smile, he stepped back to take a full measure.

Long blonde hair swirled over her shoulders, down her back, over the tiny scallop-shaped bra that covered her breasts. From the waist down, she was encased in shimmering green.

“You make a lovely mermaid.”

“Thanks.” She perked up again. “It took me forever to rig myself out.”

“How the hell do you walk?”

“I’ve got a cutout for my feet, the skirt of the tail covers it.” She wiggled back. “Pretty restrictive to movement though. Where’s Dallas?” She twisted her head to search. “I want her to get a load of it.”

“She isn’t here yet.”

“No?” Because she hadn’t worn her watch, she peered down at his. “It’s almost ten. She was only going to stake out Isis’s place for a couple hours then come straight here.”

“I was about to call her.”

“Good idea.” Peabody tried to ignore the prickle of nerves. “She’s probably stalling. She hates stuff like this.”

“Yes, you’re right.” But she’d have been there for Mavis, he thought as he slipped into the corner. And for him.

When her ‘link went unanswered, he bypassed security and called through her communicator. There was a humming buzz that indicated it was on standby, but it went unanswered.

“Something’s wrong,” he said when he stepped back up to Peabody. “She isn’t picking up.”

“Let me get my bag, try her communicator.”

“I already tried it,” he said shortly. “She isn’t picking up. She was staking out Spirit Quest?”

“Yeah, she wanted to talk to Isis… let me get out of this costume. We’ll go check it out.”

“I can’t wait for you.” He pushed his way through the crowd as Peabody shuffled and looked for Feeney.

She thought it was a dream at first when she woke, groggy and hot. Her head spun, and when she tried to lift a hand to it, she found she couldn’t move.

Panic rushed in first. Her hands were bound. He’d often tied her hands when she was a child. Tied her to the bed, clamped a hand over her mouth to hold in her screams when he raped her.

She pulled at them, felt the vague, faraway pain of the straps cutting into her wrists. Her breath sobbed out as she struggled. Her legs were secured as well, tied down at the ankles so that her thighs were spread.

She whipsawed her head, trying to see. Shadows shifted through the room, chased by the flickering lights of dozens of candles. She could see herself in a mirror, a wall of black glass that reflected images and light.

She wasn’t a child, and it wasn’t her father who had tied her.

She forced down the panic. It wouldn’t help. It never did. She’d been drugged, she told herself. She’d been brought here, stripped naked, and tied to a marble slab like a piece of meat.

Selina Cross meant to kill her, and maybe worse, unless she could keep her mind clear and fight back. She continued to work at her wrist straps, twisting, tugging, while she forced her mind to focus.

Where was she? In the apartment, most likely, though she couldn’t quite remember. The club would have been too dangerous, full of people. It was more private here, in this room. This room where Alice had seen a child sacrificed.

What time was it? God, how long had she been out? Roarke was going to be pissed. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood to hold back the bubble of hysteria.

They would miss her, wonder about her. Peabody knew her last location, and they would check it out.

And what good would that do her?

Eve closed her eyes to wait for calm. She was on her own, she told herself. And she meant to survive.

The mirrored wall slid open and Selina, draped in an open black robe, slipped through. “Ah, you’re awake. I wanted you awake and aware before we started.”

Alban stepped in behind her. He wore a similar robe and the fierce, toothed mask of a boar. Saying nothing, he picked up a thick candle, set it between Eve’s thighs. He stepped back, lifted an ivory-handled athame from a black pillow, then held it aloft.

“Now, we begin.”

Roarke opened the door of his car when his pocket ‘link beeped. He whipped it out. “Eve?”

“It’s Jamie. I know where she is. They’ve got her. You have to hurry.”

“Where is she?” As he spoke, Roarke climbed behind the wheel.

“That Cross bitch. They’ve got her inside the apartment. Or I think they do. I lost transmission when they got her out of the car.”

Roarke didn’t wait, but pushed the accelerator and flew through traffic. “What transmission?”

“I bugged her car. I wanted to know what was going on. I planted a transmitter. I heard stuff tonight. Cross told her to put the car on auto, go to the apartment. Dallas must’ve been drugged or something, because she sounded weird. And Cross said how she’d killed my grandfather and Alice.” His voice flooded with tears. “She killed them both. And kids. And Christ…”

“Where are you?”

“I’m right outside their place. I’m going in.”

“Stay out. Goddamn it, you listen to me. Stay out. I’ll be there in two minutes. Call the cops. Report a break-in, a fire, anything, but get them there. Understand me?”

“She killed my sister.” Jamie’s voice was suddenly calm and cold. “And I’m going to kill her.”

“Stay out,” Roarke repeated, swearing as the transmission ended. Digging for control, he called Mavis’s, snapped out a demand for Peabody when the call was answered with wild laughter.

He was already pulling up at Selina’s building when Peabody answered. “Roarke. Feeney and I are heading to Spirit Quest right — “

“She’s not there. Cross has her, most likely in the apartment building. I’m there now, and I’m going in.”

“Jesus, don’t do anything crazy. I’ll call for a cruiser. Feeney and I are on our way.”

“There’s a young boy in there, too. You’d better hurry.”

With no weapon but his wits and his will, he rushed the door.

They were chanting over her. Alban had lighted a fire in a black cauldron and the smoke was thick and overly sweet. Selina had discarded her robe and was now slowly rubbing glistening oil over her body.

“Ever been raped by a woman? I’m going to hurt you when I do it. So will he. And we won’t kill you quickly, the way we did Lobar, the way we told Mirium to kill Trivane. It’s going to be slow and unspeakably painful.”

Eve’s head was clear now, brutally clear. Her wrists burned, slicked with her own blood as she continued to strain against the straps. “Is this how you call up your demons? Your religion’s a sham. You just like to rape and kill. It makes you a degenerate, just like any creep crawling in the gutter.”

Selina brought her hand back, whipped it down hard over Eve’s face. “I want to kill her now.”

“Soon, my love.” Alban crooned it. “You don’t want to rush the moment.”

He reached into a box, pulled a black cockerel out. It clucked and squawked, wings flapping as Alban held it over Eve’s body. He spoke in Latin now, his voice musical, as he took the knife and sliced off the head. Blood gushed out, steaming over Eve’s torso. Beside her, Selina moaned in ecstasy.

“Blood, for the master.”

“Yes, my love.” He turned to her. “The master must have blood.” And very calmly, very quickly, he raked the knife over Selina’s throat. “You have been so… tedious,” he murmured when she stumbled back, breath gurgling as she grabbed at her throat. “Useful, but tedious.”

When she collapsed, he stepped over her, removed the mask, set it aside. “Enough of the pageantry. She enjoyed it. I find it stifling.” He smiled, charmingly. “I don’t intend to make you suffer. There’s no purpose in it.”

The stench of blood was nauseating. Using all her will, Eve concentrated on his face. “Why did you kill her?”

“She’d ceased to be useful. She’s quite insane, you know. Too many chemicals, I suspect, in addition to a defective personality. She liked me to beat her before sex.” He shook his head. “There were times I actually enjoyed it. The beating part, anyway. She was very clever with chemicals.” Absently, he ran a hand up and down Eve’s calf. “And I discovered with the right direction, the proper incentive, she was a clever businesswoman. We’ve made an enormous amount of money over the last couple of years. And, of course, there’s the membership contributions. People will pay ridiculous amounts of money for sex and the possibility of immortality.”

“So it was just a con.”

“Come on, Dallas. Calling up demons, selling the soul.” He chuckled, delighted. “It’s the best grift I’ve ever run, but it’s hit its peak. Now Selina…” He glanced down, idly rubbed a thumb over his chin. “She became quite serious about it. She actually believed she had power.” He studied the sprawled body with something like amused pity. “That she could see in the smoke, call up the devil.” He smiled again, made the ageless sign for lunacy by circling his finger at his temple.

A sham. Eve thought, from the beginning, nothing but a long con for profit. “Most grifters don’t add human sacrifice to the theme.”

“I’m not most grifters, and a few realistic ceremonies kept Selina in line. She developed a taste for blood. So did I,” he admitted. “That I did find addicting. Taking a life is a powerful thing, an arousing thing.”

He let his gaze roam over her, appreciating the slim, subtle lines. Selina had been all lush curves, just on the point of overabundance. “I may have you first, after all. It seems a waste not to.”

Everything in her revolted at the thought. “You were the one who had sex with Mirium, you were the one who told her to kill Trivane, to infiltrate the Wiccans.”

“She is the most malleable of women. And under a little chemical inducement, some post-hypnotic suggestion, selectively forgetful.”

“It was never Selina. That’s where I was off. You weren’t her lap dog. She was yours.”

“That’s very accurate. She was losing control. I’ve known that for some time. She did the cop on her own.” His mouth thinned in annoyance. “That was the beginning of the end for this, and for her. He’d never have pinned us, and should have been left to fumble around until he gave up.”

“You’re wrong. Frank wouldn’t have given up.”

“Hardly matters now, does it?” He turned away, taking up a small vial and a pressure injector. “I’ll give you just a bit, to take the edge off. You’re really quite attractive. I can make you enjoy it when I rape you.”

“There aren’t enough drugs in the world for that.”

“You’re wrong,” he murmured and walked toward her.

Roarke had to force himself not to enter the apartment at a run. If she was inside and in trouble, his rushing in could do her more harm than good. He closed the door quietly at his back. Since the security had already been bypassed, he knew Jamie had gone in.

Still, the movement at his side had him lashing out, grabbing at the throat.

“It’s me. It’s Jamie. I can’t get into the room. They’ve installed something new. I can’t bypass.”

“Where is it?”

“There, that wall. I haven’t heard anything, but they’re in there. They have to be.”

“Go outside.”

“I won’t. And you’re wasting time.”

“Then stay back,” Roarke ordered, refusing to waste more.

He approached the wall, running his fingers over it, ordering himself to be thorough, methodical, while every instinct in him screamed to hurry.

If there was a device, it was well concealed. Reaching into his pocket, he took out his daily log, tapped in a program. He thought he caught the distant wail of a siren.

“What is that?” Jamie demanded in a whisper. “Jesus, is that a jammer? I’ve never seen one worked into a pocket diary.”

“You’re not the only one who knows the tricks.” He began to play it over the wall, cursing it for being too slow, too inefficient. Abruptly, it emitted a low hum, beeped twice. “There’s the little bastard.”

As the door slid open, he crouched and, baring his teeth, prepared to spring.

She strained away from the injector, but it pressed against her upper arm, then just as quickly, was removed.

“No.” With a quick laugh, Alban, set it aside. “Not for sex. That would be unfair to you and a blow to my pride. Afterward, I’ll put you under deeply so you won’t feel the knife. It’s the least I can do.”

“Just kill me, you son of a bitch.” With a final vicious pull, she popped the strap, dragged one arm free, and shot her fist into his face. But when she reached for the knife lying beside her, it clattered to the floor.

Then, for just a moment, she thought the demons of hell had been loosed after all.

He came in like a wolf, with a snarl and a lunge. The force of Roarke’s attack sent Alban flying back, sent candles flying to gutter out in pools of blood.

Rearing up, Eve struggled to free her other hand, and panic left no room for shock as she spotted Jamie. “Hurry up, for Christ’s sake. Get the knife, cut me loose. Hurry!”

His stomach was heaving, but he stepped over Selina’s body, grabbed the knife. Keeping his eyes locked on her wrist, he hacked at the strap.

“Give it to me. I can get the rest.” Her gaze was locked on Roarke, the desperate struggle over the bloody floor. Fire was beginning to live in the corner, growing from upended candle to hungry flame. “There’s the cops,” she said when she heard the siren. “Go let them in.”

“The door’s unlocked.” He said it calmly, flatly, as he moved to her feet to cut her ankles free.

“Do something about that fire in the corner,” she ordered as she scrambled down.

“No, let it burn. Let the whole damn place burn to the ground.”

“Put it out,” she snapped again, then leapt like a madwoman onto Alban’s back. “You bastard, you son of a bitch.” Even as she dragged his head back, Roarke’s fist flew up and cracked against his face.