His house, which mirrored my own, was nearly identical in shape. The loft, however, had a uniquely different feel, masculine and simple. I stood at the entrance, balking.
Lucas ignored me, moving around the room to collect a small stack of clothes. I watched his brawny chest and arms, coming to terms with how little I knew about men.
“Here,” he said, handing me a white T-shirt and pair of plaid boxers.
“I bet you sleep naked.”
He nodded. “Usually.”
Lucas brushed past, rotating his shoulders to get by. I watched him walk down the stairs, wondering if he’d changed his mind about sleeping on the couch. Probably not, I figured he was just giving me a bit of privacy. So I rushed to undress, shimmying into the borrowed garments before he came back. My clothes I set neatly on a rocking chair that faced the window. But then, knowing I would never wear the filthy things again I shoved them into the wastebasket. That was when Lucas returned. He watched, but did not comment.
I turned to face him, straightening upright. His expression gave nothing away, and he was emotionless as ever. Impatient to fill the silence, my mouth leaked, “You didn’t kiss me yesterday.”
I wanted to hear what he would say, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, Lucas padded across the loft and pulled me forward by the arms, kissing me without hesitation.
I kissed back, relieved to find him interested. But I was unsure of what else to do, wondering if I ought to touch him back. Tentatively I rested my fingertips against his chest. He must have taken this for a sign or something because he pulled me closer, sliding his arms around my waist. But when they moved lower, skimming the small of my back, I pulled away.
“Skittish,” he murmured, his voice rough and low.
“Does it bother you?” I asked, unable to look him in the eye.
“No.”
“We’re just going to sleep,” I said, sounding unsure to my own ears.
“Get in then, I’ll turn off the light.”
It was a queen size bed, big enough for the both of us. Lucas flicked the switch and followed me in, making no move to touch me. I was both relieved and disappointed. Snuggling would have been nice, but I didn’t want to push things.
I was somewhat vulnerable at the moment, tired and compliant. He might have persuaded me into anything during my current need for comfort. But he hadn’t. I didn’t think Lucas was one for seduction, his manner inherently straightforward. It was impossible to picture him coaxing anything, let alone a woman.
Holy crap, I couldn’t believe it. I was in bed with a man. My mind was whirling and I thought I’d never sleep. My body didn’t agree. I was unconscious in no time.
Chapter 43
Although I knew she was still feeling wrathy, I had to call Francesca. I thought my news might relieve some of the tension between us, plus, I just really wanted to tell her about Lucas. So that was what I did first thing after getting to work, well, first thing after Ben left.
I didn’t bother calling her cell phone, knowing she wouldn’t take my call. Instead I tried her at the Crowne, certain she was working the front desk about now. Having worked there myself, I knew that she could still see who was calling. But this way she could answer and save face, pretending I had tricked her into picking up.
I got her on the second ring. “Good afternoon, you’ve reached the Crowne. How may I assist you?”
I hurried to say “I slept with a man last night” before she could hang up.
There was a pregnant pause.
“But not in the sex sort of way,” I amended.
“What other way is there?”
She sounded confused, confused but curious, so I didn’t have to worry about her hanging up. I got to take my time explaining. “Yesterday I had the worst, most awful day, and I didn’t want to go home and be by myself, so I went to Lucas’ and he let me spend the night. In his bed.”
“Wait, so why didn’t you have sex with him?”
“I didn’t want him to think, you know, that I’m easy or something.”
“That’s a woman’s perspective, men don’t think like that. A woman hears a girl is easy and calls her a slut, but a guy hears she’s easy and says, ‘Hey, I think I’ll ask her out.’ He’s a guy. He’s hoping you put out.”
“Why do I even call you? You give the worst advice.”
“Because,” she said lightly, “I— Shit! Someone’s coming, gotta go, bye.”
There was a click and she was gone. I wasn’t surprised. Our phone calls often ended abruptly, guests taking precedence. But our conversation had gone well, reminding me of our happier times. Things between us weren’t all better, but they were alright.
I intended to call Nancy next, but was interrupted by a family of five. The door was thrust open with such force that it sent the blinds swinging back and forth with a hiss, setting a tone of discord and chaos, much like the family itself. They shuffled in, the children leaving pillows and backpacks to trail behind. The father explained, as he dug around his wallet for a credit card, that they’d just endured a nine hour drive. Tired and cranky, they did nothing to lighten my mood. And when they finally filed out to find their own rooms I locked the door behind them, unwilling to be interrupted again.
Settling back behind the counter I took a moment to clear my head, but a moment wasn’t long enough, so I gave up and dialed.
“You’ve reached the Parlor, where—”
“Nancy,” I cut in.
“Oh, hello, Adelaide,” she said, recognizing my voice.
I didn’t bother with pleasantries. “What do you know about demons?”
She paused. “Well, I grew up in the Catholic faith, so what I know is in a religious sense. Would that help?”
“I don’t know... I was thinking more along the lines of modern summoning, not the eternally damned.”
“You should talk to Eclipsys then, she follows the occult more closely than I. Hold on.”
I heard a muffled exchange in the background before Eclipsys answered. “Ms. Graves,” she said, a real accent replacing her mystical one.
“Hello, Eclipsys.” I replied warily, trying to think of her as anything other than a fake.
“You’re interested in demons,” she prompted.
“Yes, I’m curious about the summoning process.”
“I’ve met a few practitioners, though I’d call them all amateur, none having actually managed to call up a demon. They do a lot of research, learning rituals and such. Sometimes they feel confident enough to create their own.”
“Rituals?”
“They vary,” she explained. “Some involve animal sacrifice while others include nothing more than a harmless pentagram.”
“Why do they do it?” I asked, wondering if all summoners were as intellectually motivated as Anastas.
“Different reasons. It’s commonly believed among practitioners that a demon can give you things, like wealth or fame. The church would say you were selling your soul to the devil. And they aren’t all wrong,” she added. “Dealing with demons is dangerous.
“But there are other reasons people do it. A less popular belief is that demons can be bound, and there you’ll find practitioners seeking their own otherworldly slave. Or maybe some just want the recognition and knowledge that comes with successfully calling a demon. Who knows?”
“Okay, so say someone actually does manage to summon up a demon. How does that someone get it to go away?”
“The summoner would simply dismiss it.”
“What if the summoner can’t talk?”
“That would be a problem. Traditionally the summoner must speak the demon’s name during both summoning and dismissal.”
“Shit,” I said, struggling to remember, “it might start with an R.”
“What do you mean?” Eclipsys asked, sounding suspicious. “I thought these were all hypothetical questions?”
I heard Nancy squawk in the ba
ckground, followed by a scuffle. It was easy to imagine the heavyset card reader prying the phone from a petit Eclipsys. “What’s this?” Nancy huffed. “You can’t be mucking around with demons, it’s dangerous!”
“I’m not,” I lied. She started to fuss in protest, but I didn’t let her finish. “I heard a thing and I was just curious. But I’ll promise never to summon a demon if it makes you feel better.”
“Stick to ghosts,” she said in exasperation, and hung up.
How I wished I could.
* * *
I was going to go home, get pretty, and see Lucas. I had it all planned out, well, not with Lucas, but planned nonetheless. And Reed ruined it.
The phone rang just as I was walking out the office door. Missy answered sounding chipper, contradictory to the eyeliner, which streamed down her face like black tears. Her mood abruptly turned sour and I rushed to shut the door behind me, but she called me back. “Adelaide, it’s for you.”
I sighed, walking toward the counter with my hand extended. But she didn’t pass me the phone. Instead she covered the mouthpiece with her palm and stage whispered, “You know you shouldn’t take personal calls at work.” It was sympathetically said, as if she didn’t want to correct me, though I knew she was enjoying it more than Christmas. “But if this is the last time then I don’t see any point in telling Ben,” she generously offered. It was the highlight of her day, lording the phone call over me.
“Hand me the phone,” I said, staring at her like she was an idiot.
Missy pursed her lips, but did as I said, slumping into the chair to eavesdrop.
“Hello?”
“Good evening, Adelaide.” I ground my teeth at hearing Reed’s voice. “I’m sorry to have gotten you in trouble,” he continued, not sounding sorry at all. “Wouldn’t want to get you fired from your little motel, now would I?”
“I’m going to hang up.”
“How ungrateful,” he accused lightly.
“Ungrateful?”
“Unforgivably so I’m afraid. You see, I’ve just done you a favor.”
“It’s only a favor if I asked for it, otherwise it’s a presumption.”
“Come meet me,” he said as if I hadn’t spoken.
“No, I’m going home.”
“You’ll regret it later,” he warned.
“Fine,” I said throwing up a hand in defeat. “When? Where?”
“Now,” he answered, naming a length of public beach to rendezvous.
“Alright,” I agreed. “On one condition.”
“That’s a bit backwards. If you’ll remember, I’m the one who’s doing you a favor.”
“You’ve got to bring Agata.”
“Whatever for?”
“Just do it,” I said, and hung up.
* * *
I parked on the street, noticing what must have been Reed’s slightly stretched limo with its tinted glass. He was already waiting. Maybe he’d been waiting here the whole time, confident I would come. The thought made me want to get in my car and go home, but I didn’t.
I walked down the wooden planks slowly, scanning the moonlit beach. Lamps were posted, a dotted line that stretched across the sand. In addition, the hotels and houses cast their own glow. But the crashing waves seemed to mute everything, creating a pall of isolation.
There he was, standing in the moist and hard-packed sand. Waves washed forward, slinking back only when they reached the tips of his shoes as if they too bowed down to his charm.
“I’m here,” I announced, though he’d already turned at the sound of my patting approach. “Where’s Agata?”
“I left her in the car—I assume for a reason?”
“I didn’t specify that you leave her waiting like a lapdog,” I reproached. “You could have brought her.”
He turned back to the water, unspeaking.
“Well?” I demanded. “What is it, this favor?”
“Be patient,” he replied, the wind catching his words and whipping them back at me. “Don’t you trust me to act in your best interest?”
Disdainfully I told him what he already knew. “I trust you to act in your best interest.”
“So young to be a cynic,” he observed, giving me a brief glance. “And when did this low opinion of me come about?”
He was leading the conversation, already knowing my answers. But since I wanted to list my grievances, I obliged his herding. “When you blackmailed me into this dangerous game you’re playing with Lars, where I’m the one at risk while you lie, manipulate, and keep secrets.”
“I had no idea you were so put off by exclusion. But I’ve already made you my girlfriend, how could I involve you more? Is it a proposal you’re after? Shall I get down on one knee?”
I refused to be baited. Calmly, and with complete honesty, I said, “I want you off St. Simons. But until that’s possible I’d appreciate it if you kept me in the loop.”
Reed was angled away and I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell there was something he wanted to say. It was the same feeling I recognized in Francesca when she wanted to apologize, but was too proud, and in Stephen when he felt the need to confide. It was the constraint of silence at odds with a desire for communication. I waited patiently while he warred within himself.
“Alright,” he said after a time. “Come closer and I’ll tell you a secret.”
I moved to face him, stepping into the surf. It rushed over my ankles, invading my shoes and soaking the hem of my jeans.
His face was all sharp planes in the dim light, the contours falling in harsh lines. With a steely voice that matched his severe exterior, he said, “Tim Beckett was already on St. Simons when I called the work retreat. He arrived the day Theodore died.”
“Tim came to meet Theodore?”
Face grim, “Perhaps he did meet Theodore.”
Understanding dawned. “That would be after Theodore landed but before he died. That shit! He’s got the journal. No wonder he’s not sad that his mentor was murdered, he might be responsible! I knew there was something shifty about him,” I muttered to myself.
A small commotion up the beach broke my concentration and I quit ranting. Reed turned toward the sound, gazing into the darkness expectantly. I followed his line of sight, but couldn’t see past his shoulder. For the first time I noticed how close we were—the charm at work. Hastily I stepped back, water splashing up my calves.
The disturbance grew closer. Two figures slogged through the shifting sand in our direction. One was a hulking man of muscle, the moonlight reflecting off his shaved and egg-shaped head. In his grip was a second man, smaller by comparison, and grunting in an effort to squirm free.
“It would appear you were successful, Ed,” Reed said by way of greeting the big man. At the sound of his voice the wriggling had stopped, with the captive sagging in defeat.
“He was crawling through the tall grass. Hoping for a listen,” explained the big man.
“Did he hear anything?” Reed asked, his tone gone deadly.
“No, sir,” Ed answered. “I caught him quick-like.”
“Thank you, Ed.” With that said, both Reed and I turned our full attention to the smaller man. I was stunned, having not expected to see my stalker up close.
Chapter 44
While I’d been relating the demon’s attack via Demidov’s body, Reed had interrupted to ask how I’d ended up alone in the cemetery to begin with. I’d briefly explained about being followed before moving on with the rest of my story. Apparently Reed hadn’t been so quick to let it go. And for once he had taken care of something.
My stalker now swayed awkwardly in the sand. His orange hat sat askew, unruly hair escaping all over. In the dim light his bland features looked more washed out than ever.
“Why are you following me?”
He knew he was well and truly caught, filled with stress and shame. But his face turned petulant as he said, “
You can’t do anything to me. This is a public beach and I have as much right to be here as you. Take your hands off!” he screamed at Ed, renewing his struggles.
“Consider this a citizen’s arrest,” Reed said calmly, though I could feel him growing bored. “We’ll take you by the police station where you’ll be charged for stalking and harassment. How does that sound?”
His options were clear, he could either explain himself or face the consequences. Sagging again in Ed’s firm grip, it was obvious which he would choose. “I’m a private investigator,” he said quietly. He then glanced at me. “Your mother hired me.”
“Fuck,” I groaned.
“It seemed straight forward,” he continued. “There was an accident, and though you eventually healed physically, there were psychological issues. You barely graduated, and after that you just...”
“Disappeared,” I interjected.
“I expected to find a mess, if you were alive at all. That was your mother’s biggest fear, that you were dead. But all this time she’s been worried for nothing. You’ve been doing quite well here. I meant to return after finding you, only...”
“Only what?” I asked sharply.
“You started dating Reed Wallace,” he explained, clarifying, “a celebrity billionaire.” After flicking Reed an apprehensive glance, he continued. “I saw him come to your motel and I was curious, so I hung around is all...”
I let out a nervous breath. “You can’t tell my mother where I am.”
He threw up his hands. “What’s the big deal? She seems nice! And she’s really worried.”
“You can’t tell her,” I repeated, my voice growing louder. Everything he said was true. She was nice, and probably very worried. But my mother made me crazy, and I didn’t want to revert to my old self. Agitated, I started to pace. It was the PI. He felt caught like a caged animal, helpless, and therefore so did I. Forcing myself to slow down, I staved off the rising panic attack.
“It will be fine,” Reed assured me. Turning to use his boardroom voice on the investigator, he said, “I’m sure we can come to an agreement. What is Mrs. Graves paying you?”
“That’s private information. I can’t say.”
“Whatever it is,” Reed continued untroubled, “I’ll pay you five times over to say nothing.” He paused letting his offer sink in. “Of course I’d ask that you return to my office with me and sign a formal agreement before I wire the money to your account.”