by Claire Kane
“Something’s not right,” Jessica, said. She disappeared for a moment, then reappeared, a look of disgust twisting her beautiful face. “The living room is front,” she announced, her voice dripping with disdain.
“A front for what?” Victor asked.
Jessica turned a flat stare on him. “She looks that way for a reason. Let’s leave it at that.” Victor swallowed and nodded, getting the hint.
“So,” Ginger said, splaying herself seductively on the couch, “you say you know how my last drug died.”
Victor wrinkled his nose. “What does she mean ‘her last drug’?”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “It’s pronounced ‘droog’ and it means ‘friend’ in Russian. I won’t even bother to spell it.”
“Uh,” Butch said, “we don’t really do that kind of thing, you know?”
Victor gave Nainai a quick explanation and the old woman held up a hand to forestall further comments from her children. “Chanel called to me from the dead through a friend. She told me to come here. Told me that she had all sorts of goodies to prove who killed her.”
“And you need me for this?” Ginger raised an eyebrow, then winked at Butch. Mei Hua growled audibly, and placed herself directly in front of her husband before crossing her arms firmly over her chest.
“It’s on her computer,” Victor said to Nainai. “Ask her to let you use it.”
Nainai complied and Ginger nodded. “Ah yes. Chanel and I often shared this machine. It was… useful for business. We kept track of clients.” Even Victor shuddered at this, and turned a wary eye on Chanel. She met his gaze with an undeniable innocence, and he found himself wondering how he could have thought ill of her.
While Ginger booted up the computer, Chanel tapped Victor’s hand. “Tell her to open my e-mail account. The password is too-hot-for-you.”
Victor wrinkled his nose. “That seems like a pretty weak password.”
“It’s the number two, and the number four, and the letter ‘u’. All lower case.”
He shrugged, and relayed the information through Nainai. Soon, Chanel’s e-mail account was laid bare before them. With a few more instructions from Chanel, they located some very incriminating e-mails in a matter of minutes.
“O, moye slovo,” Ginger muttered, clearly shocked. Jessica, Nainai, and Mei Hua all gasped repeatedly as the sordid and threatening e-mails scrolled across the screen. Chanel simply hid, weeping quietly. “She had told me that Mister Ross was devil, but I did not believe this thing before now. The police—even in this country, these e-mails would be enough to make arrest.
“But… wait,” she said, suddenly. “These e-mails, they are from Gospodin Zigmund.
Victor whirled, and Jessica gasped. “How do you know that?” She demanded.
“How do you know that?” Nainai echoed.
The dancer shrugged. “You can see it if you look close at metadata.” She messed around on the keyboard, then pointed at something on the screen that meant nothing to anyone else. Sensing their confusion, she glanced at the ceiling. “O, moye slovo. Stupid Americans. They claim to invent Internet, then do not even know how to read technical details.”
Mei Hua frowned and asked, “What does that mean?”
“It means that someone lied to someone else. I can smell lies. I have known them whole life. Gospodin Ross is not only devil here.”
Jessica scowled as she studied the e-mails. Suddenly, she perked up and whirled on Chanel. “You said Ross had been planning on doing something to hurt people tonight. Do you remember what it was? And where?” The little girl cowered, seeming as if she wanted to curl into a ball. Jessica seized the girl by the shoulders, her gaze boring into the child. “Tell me.”
Chanel began to cry. “B-black m-magic. T-tonight.”
“Not ‘when,’ ‘where.’”
Chanel’s weeping intensified, and her words became incoherent. Victor snatched the girl from his ex-girlfriend with a glare. “I was just starting to like you again,” he said.
Jessica opened her mouth to reply, then stopped with a scoff. Turning back to Nainai, she jabbed a finger at the screen. “It’s Zigmund. I can feel it inside. Whether he knows it or not, something tells me he’s going to follow through with whatever his brother planned. Nainai, please ask Ginger to contact the police and get them working on an arrest. If we hurry, we might be able to get them to The Illusion in time to stop Zigmund from falling for his brother’s plans.”
Victor turned away, chaffing at the sense of frustration and betrayal he felt. Jessica had seemed to have changed so much, but to see this darker side of her, harassing a small girl—it tore at his soul. He cradled little Chanel, rocking her as she sobbed.
After a few moments, she quieted, and tapped his arm. He looked at her big, innocent eyes. She stepped out of his arms aside and called him forward with a finger.
“What is it?” he asked, stepping away from the others, who were in a state of surprise, reading through the messages.
The girl closed her eyes and suddenly the room turned black, bringing to view a vision of Lacey that chilled his spirit.
TWENTY
All around Lacey were dark souls, clawing at her, biting her. Victor saw her on the jail’s phone with someone, and his heart sank as a look of betrayal flashed in her eyes. He felt a tsunami of despair wash over her and felt the happy, confident woman he knew drown in that rising tide—he could feel it as though he were there in her shoes. The demons pressed in on her and her anguish rose with it. Time seemed to fast forward, with Lacey sinking ever deeper into sorrow until, when the lights were turned out for the night, Lacey removed her orange jumpsuit, made a crude noose, and found a very creative way to hang herself.
Victor collapsed to his knees, weeping. “No. No. She can’t do that! It’s not even her fault!”
Jessica’s voice penetrated his vision, like an echo in the distance. “Victor, what’s the matter? Victor?”
He didn’t answer. The weight of what he was watching was too much to bear.
Chanel stepped into his view. Without her mouth moving, words entered his mind. Take my hand and come with me. Help save Lacey.
Ethereal blue tears streamed down Victor’s face as he lifted a hand.
Rao’s voice trailed in the back of his mind, more distant than Jessica’s. She’s deceiving you, Victor. Don’t go…
But the vision had been too real, the torment and pain palpable. His fingers wrapped tightly around Chanel’s, and the next instant he disappeared.
Jessica whirled in surprise. “Where did he go?” she murmured, perplexed. Somehow, she had the feeling he’d just done something supremely stupid.
I warned him, Rao’s voice said in her mind. That’s all I can do, Rao added. It was his choice to go. Her usually snarky-confident tone was gone, leaving nothing but disappointment.
“Is he going to be okay?” Jessica asked, true concern flashing in her eyes.
That again, will be up to him.
“I warned him about that demon child, too.” She shook her head in frustration, crossing her arms. A tear nearly sprung from her eye.
I know you did. It’s time for us to forget about Victor and focus on stopping Zigmund from following through on his brother’s plan. Contact me if you need me. I’ve got to take care of some things on this end—this is way bigger than Vic’s personal problems. Let’s pray he gets a clue before he really gives his soul away.
Oblivious to what had spiritually gone down in her apartment, Ginger was on the phone with the police. “Yes, Mister officer, I am certain this man is killer. And you may frisk me when you arrive.”
*
Backstage at the Illusion, one of Entertainment Tonight’s reporters faced her cameraman with excitement in her eyes. “With the recent murder of Pietr Ross, a theater of record-breaking proportions, and the promise of a magic show described as ‘out of this world,’ Gerald Zigmund does indeed have the whole world’s attention.”
The camera panned, then zoomed in
on Zigmund as he extended his arms toward the packed audience, their cheering like thunder. Several colored stage lights pointed down at him, highlighting the magician decked in white, bright like lightning. “Willkommen,” he said. “Tonight, you are in for a special treat!
*
At once, Victor found himself back in front of The Omelet House. He hesitated, blinking. “Why are we here?” Doubt entered as Rao’s faint warning came to mind. She’s deceiving you, Victor. Don’t go… Don’t go… “Shouldn’t we be at the jail cell?” he asked.
“Come see,” is all she said. The little girl entered the restaurant, and Victor followed.
Chanel made her way directly to the meat locker.
“Whoa,” Victor said, stopping at the door. “We’re not going back down into The Pit, if that’s what you’re asking.” Now he was fairly certain some kind of game was afoot.
She shook her head, then closed her eyes. All at once, the image of Lacey in jail materialized around him. Chanel moved to his side, and waved at the scene. Victor watched in horror as Lacey’s spirit rose up out of her body and was immediately attacked. As strong a woman as she was, she had no practice in spiritual combat. She was quickly overcome and dragged—literally kicking and screaming—from the jail cell.
The all-too-real feeling of fear and desperation took over him, once again. “Lacey!” he chased the dark procession, only to find his way blocked by more spirits. Rage blinded him, and the demons fed off it, growing stronger despite his furious attacks. He grit his teeth and let bald determination carry him through the onslaught and forward toward the tortured soul of his woman. Her agonized wail prodded him forward at an increasingly frantic pace.
The demons hauled her, kicking and screaming, across downtown Vegas, up the Strip, and directly into a place Victor was coming to hate—The Omelet House. He battered his way past the satanic sentries at the door and burst inside, trailing Lacey’s screams. Bulling his way through the now-closed restaurant, he lunged for Lacey just in time for her to disappear through the dull, metal door of the meat locker and, as he was certain, down the hole leading to The Pit.
“No!”
Barreling into the locker he caught a flicker of dark spirits disappearing through the open hatch in the middle of the floor, just as he feared. Lacey’s cries were already beginning to fade in the distance.
He pulled up short, staring into that foreboding hole. He knew what was down there, all too well. Raw terror bled through him, and he found he couldn’t go further. Yet, the thought of Lacey facing that at all, let alone for eternity, chilled him to the core. His own words echoed in his head. “I’ll move Heaven and Earth to save her.” Clenching his jaw, he closed his eyes and lurched toward the portal, only to have the hatch slam shut just ahead of him. He hit hard and bounced off the spiritual vault door. All at once, he could no longer hear Lacey.
“No. No!” He struggled to haul the hatch open, but couldn’t find a place to grip it. He redoubled his efforts, but the gateway to Hell remained obstinately shut.
Something appeared mutely at his side. He whirled, ready to attack, only to realize it was merely the young Chanel Lockhart. Seeing her terrified face calmed him some, and he took her in a firm embrace. “You really are trying to help me, aren’t you? I knew Lacey was in a bad way, but I didn’t know she was suicidal.”
Chanel simply nodded.
“What am I supposed to do now?” Victor cast around the room, hoping that the answer would materialize just as his vision of Lacey had. Chanel locked eyes with him, pointed at the hatch. “You know what you have to do.” She made a lifting motion with both hands.
“I just tried that,” he said, standing and glaring at the trap door. “It wouldn’t budge.”
Chanel shook her head, then pointed at her forehead, then at the door. “You can do it,” she said quietly, making a lifting motion. “I’ve seen how strong you are. You can protect people. You protected me from that mean lady. Now you can protect your girlfriend, too.”
The memory of Jessica opening the hatch the first time sprang to his mind, and he hesitated. She hadn’t used her hands to grip the door, but rather, some spiritual power. He frowned. “I-I’m not sure I can actually do that,” he stammered. “I’m still new at all this.”
The picture of Lacey being dissected by demons formed in his mind, and he could see her staring blankly into his eyes, even more dead than when her spirit had left her body. Even then, there was just enough to hint at her sense of betrayal. Heaven had clearly failed her, and that left him alone to save her.
“Fine. I’ll do it. Heaven give me strength.” The words seemed hollow and flat. He spread his feet apart, positioned his hands the way Jessica had done, and did his best to focus his thoughts on the portal’s hatch. He would pry this hatch open, and save Lacey if it were the last thing he did.
At first, the trap door refused to move. He could feel eager encouragement from Chanel, and that bolstered him. He shoved down his anger and pain, and concentrated even harder on the hatch. He wondered, briefly, how Jessica had done this with such ease. And then, his fingers began to tingle. He cracked an eye open, and smiled at the sight of his faintly glowing fingers, and even more at the emerging, rectangular outline on the meat locker’s floor. He strained against the hatch’s resistance—it was as though it were a living thing trying desperately to bar his passage to Lacey. Still, he pushed on.
Slowly, the outline traced itself to completion. Chanel was practically dancing, now, and with a surge of effort, Victor heaved upward. The portal hissed open just a hair, then stopped. For a moment all was silent, and Victor wondered whether he’d failed.
“Victor! No!” Jessica’s voice broke the momentary silence. He whipped around to see where the voice was coming from and, in the process, noticed Chanel’s face split in the most wicked grin he’d ever seen. For the barest of moments, he thought he saw actual fangs.
Then everything exploded.
Victor was flung aside like a rag doll amid a torrent of screeches and cries. His entire being alternated between being flash-frozen and parboiled as he tumbled through space. Struggling to orient himself, he kept wondering when he would land, but he never did. When his vision finally cleared, he saw that he was easily a mile above Las Vegas. What he saw below stunned him. A cloud like boiling ink rolled forth from what he assumed to be the site of The Omelet House. As it spread, he felt despair and wickedness spread with it.
“I told you not to trust her,” Jessica said, materializing next to him. She leered at the sight below, then turned concerned eyes on Victor. “Are you alright?”
He continued to stare. “Wh-what just happened?”
“That ‘little girl’ wasn’t what you thought she was, Victor. The Dark Ones are masters of illusion, remember? I can see in your mind what she showed you—it was all fake. The passage of time, Lacey’s abduction. It was all a ruse to get you to open the portal, since that little demon witch couldn’t do it. That’s why I wasn’t worried when Cindra tried, either. She didn’t have the power.”
Still floating in mid-air, Victor dropped to his knees. “What have I done?” In an instant, he knew. Rao had been right. He’d allowed himself to obsess over a situation that was simply hopeless, and moving toward coercive. Lacey had made her feelings so plain that he couldn’t have mistaken them even without their special mental link. It wasn’t even that he had failed her so much as he simply wasn’t what she wanted after all. Though his heart still yearned for her, his own pride had twisted what was once love into an addiction—and the demons had preyed upon that with ease. “What have I done?”
Jessica pressed her mouth into a line. “Quit with the self-blame. We don’t have time for that. We need to contain this. Come on.” In a blink, she was down on the ground, battling to push back the vile cloud. Yet she may as well have been a pebble trying to dam the Mississippi River. Within moments, she was barely visible as an intense blur of light in a growing darkness. Victor knew angels didn’t feel fatigue
the same way mortals did, but they did have their limits. Even someone as strong as Jessica Simcox wouldn’t be able to hold out forever against the marauding hordes of The Pit. Though his heart burned to save Lacey, he knew what he had to do. He clenched his fists, cleared his mind, and rocketed down to help her.
*
A roar louder than thunder blasted the jail, shaking it up. The concrete wall behind Lacey crumbled. Her eyes widened, an arm reflexively shielding her from any danger. Dancing orange light pierced through to her holding cell, like fingers of God. Cheers roared from several cells like ocean waves. Lacey shot a glance over her shoulder at the officer still on the other side of the bars. Looking utterly stunned, he struggled to his feet, grasping for his walkie talkie as he frantically scanned the scene. He caught Lacey’s eye and he finally found his feet again.
“Don’t you think of it,” the jail keep warned, pointing.
“This,” Lacey said with a smirk, “is my ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card,” she said and bolted off, heart pounding, the jail keeper calling after her, but clearly too busy dealing with the dozen other inmates who were doing the same as she was.
Outside the jail was utter chaos. A blazing 18-wheeler tanker lie half buried in the side of the jai. The ironic price of her good fortune was not lost on Lacey. She felt a pang of regret, as she saw the building already going up in flames, and hoped no one was seriously injured. For now, however, she needed to reach Nainai.
