The Devil's Own Page 8

  “We agreed we’d never talk about that again.” I kept my voice low, the words wooden, not allowing any emotion to show.

  “You asked me not to. I feel it has some bearing on the situation you’re in now.” This was his patented dad voice, forced calm overlaying the true emotion running underneath. “If I could have prevented what happened to your mother, I would have. If I could have kept this gift from you, I would have done that too. I hate that it’s caused you pain.”

  I knew all of this, knew how much my father had loved his family, even my unborn brother that never lived to join us. Angus had realized too late the effect he was having on my mother’s pregnancy and, despite calling in everyone possible to assist, there had been no way to save the baby. My father’s need for energy, normally satisfied by the adoring crowds at his concerts, had meant he was unwittingly siphoning energy from my mother and brother once he chose to remain at home. He’d planned out his exit in perfect detail, a death worthy of any true rock star, the plane crashing right after takeoff with him and all members of The Law on board. It was splashed across every newspaper, magazine cover, and television screen for countless weeks. The last public photos of my mother and me had been taken at his funeral. Mom had said goodbye to the home we’d shared as a growing family, moved me to her family’s ranch, and turned down all requests for interviews. She was a grieving widow and wanted to be left alone.

  With Angus gone, my mother’s strength had gradually returned, and she was healthier. Healthy and alone, missing the man she loved. And she was without me too—once we’d realized that my body had started to thrive on the energy of others, I refused to see her again. I was never going to put her at risk.

  “You should have considered my offer to set you up with a band, Delaney. You love to sing. Performing would have allowed you to meet your needs and not connected you too deeply with any one person. Neglecting that has led us to this.”

  I shook my head. I sang in public one time. One time only. I’d been standing on the edges of the dance floor, swaying with the music and singing the lyrics quietly. I’d gotten lost in the sound and hadn’t realized I was drawing a crowd. I remembered how the energy had felt, the sweet taste as I’d pulled it into myself without understanding what I was doing. When the music finally trailed off, a ragged riff that ended with silence other than my voice, I opened my eyes, surprised at the number of people that surrounded me. One of them reached out to touch me and I stepped back, bumping into someone else. There was pushing and shoving, and then people were tugging at me from all directions. I screamed, the sound echoing, shrill and hurt, off the high ceiling. Some people cowered at the sound while a few fled. And one of them, Brett, began tearing the room apart as he tried to reach me. He was my prom date. He’d kissed me at the end of our last dance, right before he’d gone to get us drinks. My first kiss. Not exactly a romantic memory I liked to reminisce about. He’d hurt people that night. I could still hear him begging me not to leave, screaming that I was his as police who’d come to the scene took him away in handcuffs. That was the night Angus had come, had given me a choice. Stay where I was or join him Below. I learned a lot in my time away. And my decision to stop the demon who was hunting down women had been my first experience at attempting to manage regular contact with people since I’d returned.

  Thinking back, I wondered about Brett. My one and only date. He’d been a good guy. Until it all fell apart. I couldn’t help but wonder where he was now.

  “Dad, have you had anyone check on Brett? To see if he started to improve after I left, I mean?”

  My father nodded quickly. “I promised you I would. Newt’s been keeping an eye on him. When you first left, Brett deteriorated very quickly. He was undergoing treatment, living with his parents. He was making progress.”

  “There have been more women murdered. That’s what Torren, I mean, Detective Bishop, wanted me to know.”

  “And why did he feel it was important you be given this information specifically?”

  I sighed. Best to just be honest. “He showed me pictures of them. They were both dressed like me. Like I’d been at the club. Even the same hair. And they were strangled.” I shivered remembering the marks on their throats. Those bruises were a frightening reminder of how close I’d come to losing that fight.

  My father’s green eyes narrowed, considering the implications of this. “So, he was there, saw you that night.”

  “It’s worse than that. I think he saw me other nights, as well. They were wearing two different costumes, two different wigs.” At my father’s questioning look, I said, “An angel and a devil.”

  Cal whistled low, then said, “So, he not only saw you, he studied you. Enough to remember how you styled each costume, the wigs you used. Did you notice anyone paying more attention to you than normal?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. There were always guys making comments or trying to get a girl’s attention, but nothing out of the ordinary. And I wasn’t a dancer—all I did was get drinks and make sure no one skipped out on their tab.”

  Callum laughed softly and when I looked at him with anger, he held his hands up in defense. “Laney, don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t realize how hard it is not to notice you. Whether you were dancing or not wouldn’t have mattered. People see you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Exhaustion took me as soon as I slid beneath my sheets and I welcomed the sleep. I was so very tired, every bit of me worn through by all that had happened. But instead of rest, I found myself falling into a dusty dream world, everything black and white, except for splashes of crimson that appeared from time to time. The bright spots were clearly spatters of blood on the pavement or grass, bushes, and even the walls of buildings. I walked deserted streets and saw abandoned homes, doors standing wide open, possessions spilled out into yards and driveways. Silence screamed at me.

  It felt like I stumbled through this landscape for hours, alone and unsure. Fear wormed its way through me, until it seemed like there were eyes watching from every shadow, every corner. And when my legs were about to give way, the muscles fatigued and aching, I began to hear a clear voice ringing through the starless night. One voice singing out, calling for people to come and be safe, to join with others in the truth that promised salvation. I followed, discovering others ahead of me and struggled forward faster to walk with them, until the trickle of bodies became a crowd gathered at the base of a hill, worshiping the one who stood upon it.

  As the swell of people increased, the voice grew louder, gaining power and sway over any who stood below. New voices rose up, carrying the call to surrender and have faith. We would each be lifted up, delivered from the devastation threatening to overwhelm us. And still, above it all, the siren song continued, gaining power from those gathered near, until the press of bodies was so heavy that it was difficult to move, and it felt like I would be crushed. The murmurs and cries of the crowd were angry and pained now, demanding justice and leadership, promising service and unending allegiance. An army seething, waiting for release.

  The frantic voices rose in pitch and the moon began to move from behind the clouds, a spotlight slowly shifting into place. As the pleas of everyone gathered peaked, the clear light landed full on the figure that had first sent out the call to come. Fevered cries erupted, and I swore I could hear weeping around me. On that mound, the recognizable face of my father was clear to all, the miracle of his presence securing the loyalty of the horde now swearing to serve him. Shadows swirled behind him, constant movement that framed him perfectly. Screams of exaltation swelled and I tried to push against the crush that held me in place, tried to reach the stage he stood upon and stop this, recognizing madness in his eyes. But I was pushed to the ground by his ardent followers and the weight of their bodies held me down until I couldn’t fight back or even gather breath to cry out for help.

  My father’s voice rose to a crescendo and the crowd came to a halt, their weight still poised above m
e. A harsh note rang out and the weight bearing me into the ground was released, bodies flung off me until there was a small clearing in which I could struggle upright. I panted, dragging in air, doubled over and mentally checking for wounds or broken bones.

  “Hear me now!” Angus cried out, his voice so strong it overwhelmed the crowd. “This is my child, who has made me very proud.” I looked up to find him pointing down at me, the eyes of everyone focused where he directed. “She will lead with me, my right hand, and together we will bring about the promised victory!”

  Crazed cheers and maddened calls for battle broke out as the people parted before me. I made my way to the hill where my father happily surveyed his followers. Demons were darting behind him, the shadows I’d seen as I approached. I climbed to the top, my feet slipping in the loose dirt, my nails breaking as I tried to steady myself and move forward.

  Finally reaching the top, the demons made way for me as I passed them. I searched the faces I could see, hoping for someone familiar that would help me reason with my father and break the spell he had cast, but there was no one I recognized. When I made it to the front, Angus turned to me, a strange smile on his face as he grabbed my arm and pulled me to him. He gestured to the wasteland around us and the people milling about below. Fires flared up, the scene reminding of an ancient battlefield encampment.

  “See Delaney, I have given you the world. Now all we have to do is go out and take what is ours.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. My mouth was dry, but I forced out the words. “This isn’t you, Angus. You wouldn’t do this.”

  His eyes bore into me, the flames below reflected in his pupils. “But I would. For you, I would do anything.”

  I woke drenched in sweat with tears still wet on my cheeks. An urgent awareness filled me, a warning that I had seen a very possible future, one where my father led an army of followers in the wake of some devastating event. There had been promises in the songs he’d used to draw people to him, the power of his voice luring people to his cause. Promises they would be protected, part of a better world to come. One where he would rule. This couldn’t be allowed to happen. I needed help and I knew exactly where I had to go.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Driving the dusty roads from my home into town was usually relaxing, the surrounding trees and wild growing things a shifting patchwork of colors that eased the mind. Today, though, my mind was racing, and the trip didn’t work its usual magic on me. The town of Hazelwood, Nebraska, was several miles away from my home and there were plenty of twists and roller coaster hills that had your stomach butterflying inside if you rode them too fast. I tried to let go and enjoy them the way I normally would, but I couldn’t. Maybe it was the lingering effects of the dream. Or the fact that I had two passengers riding beside me in what was usually an empty car. I just couldn’t bring myself to roll the windows down for a breath of the cool fall weather or sing my heart out with the car radio. I felt restrained and claustrophobic.

  I tried to explain Hazelwood to Callum and Moose. It was a different place, warm and filled with its own magic. I rarely went into town, but over the past few years, the people of Hazelwood had become accustomed to seeing me. Alone. My arrival with two new shadows would trigger a flood of interest through a town of people who knew everyone who came and went. They’d want to know if these guests were going to stay. I had no answer for that question myself.

  When I pulled onto the paved highway from the county road that connected my land to the town, I floored the accelerator, not hiding how much I wanted to get this trip over and done with. Some things had to be done and I couldn’t dodge them any longer. We flew into the town, and I slowed only as we drew near the business area. The old stones of these streets could be hard on the car and I babied it. My destination was in the heart of the old downtown. The one place where everyone in Hazelwood came when a need arose.

  “Remind me again why we had to come here?” Callum asked.

  I sighed. “Miss Tilly. She knows everything that goes on in or around Hazelwood. She used to own the land I live on and she’s still tied to it. If something’s coming this way, she’ll know.” I had no doubt about that, but the question really was whether Miss Tilly would share her knowledge with me.

  “And you don’t want me coming in with you? Are you sure you’ll be safe?”

  “She isn’t going to hurt me. And bringing you in without her invitation would be rude. Miss Tilly doesn’t tolerate rudeness. Anyone in town will tell you that.”

  “Well, we can’t just sit in the car while you talk to this woman, you know.”

  “You don’t have to. You can get out, walk around. Go window shopping, buy a snack at the diner. The pie there is the very best, by the way.” I stopped wanting to make sure I impressed upon him how very important my next words were. “Just don’t follow me in there. When I’m done, I’ll come right back to the car. If you’re not there, someone will tell me where you are.”

  “Really? You think they’ll watch us that closely.”

  I snorted, slowing as we turned right onto Adair Street. “I know it. Without a doubt.”

  He didn’t question me further, just sat quietly until I parked along the curb near Miss Tilly’s and started to take my seat belt off. He laid a hand on my arm and asked with only a raised eyebrow if I was sure. I nodded to him, said goodbye to Moose with a gentle rub of his ears, and stepped out on the red cobbles of the street. They were uneven but familiar, with a low energy thrumming through them.

  Hazelwood was small but prosperous, known for keeping its historic charms intact and offering products that many people from the larger surrounding towns and cities appreciated. Organic honey, fresh milk and butter, bread and pies baked daily brought people in. The orchard we’d passed on the way into town had the most delicious peaches you could find. There was a quilter who specialized in personalizing traditional patterns, melding the old with the new. The hardware store had everything, aisles stretching impossibly far back, and the owner knew where each little bit and part would be.

  Even the beautiful old Victorian home at the end of the block was a popular bed and breakfast, owned by a woman named Donna Kay, whose family had lived here forever. She also ran the town’s only salon, which was in the back of the house, and knew all the gossip. People told her everything and she had a definite knack for figuring things out, whether you wanted her to or not. She’d invited me in for a cut and style shortly after I’d moved to the area. When I declined, she’d kindly whispered that she had figured out who my father was but promised not to say anything to anyone. Except maybe to Miss Tilly, of course. I’d laughed at that. Miss Tilly knew what I was as soon as we met to finalize the property purchase. And she hadn’t cared. She’d just looked at me, nodded, and said, “Yes, you’re the right one for this place.” Things might be changing around Hazelwood, but somehow, the traditions held on. Strong and true.

  Miss Tilly’s little shop was in the center, every other business grouped around it and spreading out in rings from there. The only identifier on the old, beautifully worn red building was lettering on the leaded glass of the large front window, spelling out the hedgerow in carefully swirling letters. Pushing open the front door, I could pick up the soft sweet scent of something candied mixed with citrus and cinnamon riding the comfortably cool air. Bins ran along the walls, glass jars showcasing the different herbs and teas available, mixtures to aid in diet or to relieve stress. There was even one to promote lactation for new mothers. Almond and lavender soaps, handmade by Miss Tilly’s granddaughter, were featured in a display on the right, their scents soothing and inviting.

  Behind the glass case, standing proudly in the soft light, was a wisp of a woman, smaller than me even. But no one who ever got a glimpse of her proud face and silver hair thought she was weak. She radiated strength. The look in the sharp eyes behind her delicate glasses told me she’d been expecting me. And I was late.

  “So, the Girl has finally arrive
d. And about time. I’ve been waiting.” Her voice was soft, but it carried in the quiet store. “She has strange visitors and badness is sneaking toward us all. Still she takes so long to come talk with me. Why?”

  I stepped closer to the glass case but didn’t touch it. This was her domain and until she invited me further, I would wait and answer her questions. Because, if I was honest with her, she might agree to answer mine.

  “I thought I could handle things on my own, Miss Tilly. I was trying to. But there are too many things I don’t understand. I had a dream last night, one that woke me up I was so afraid. That’s when I realized I needed to come to you.”

  She nodded. “You’ve always worked too hard to hold the world away from you. Ever since you first came here, we all felt how you pushed people away. Never trusting that some were strong enough to lift you up.”

  Miss Tilly turned away from me without waiting for a response, moving to the tea set she had waiting in the corner of the shop. Two overstuffed, antique chairs framed the little area near a sunlit window perfectly and they gleamed as if they were brand new. She gestured me forward as she sat and began to pour into the two cups she’d put out.

  “Sit down Girl. No one else is coming. It is your time and we have much to discuss before you have to go.”

  I followed her instructions, sinking down onto the chair and relaxing back into its softness. Miss Tilly’s was one of the safest places I had ever been in. Nothing would dare invade her space. I sipped the tea she handed me and waited. Patience was important in this room, a hard lesson I’d learned in the short time I’d lived here.