Speak of the Devil

by Shari Shattuck

  A single spark from his lighter set off the blaze, and he stood upwind, transfixed by the gemlike glow of the sapphire yellow flames that moved in erratic waves across the eager landscape, turning opalescent orange and even bluish green as it consumed everything it touched. Within minutes, the strong arm of the wind had spread the multifaceted fire into a crescent that burned outward and away from him. Still he stood, watching with adoring eyes this child of his rage. It expressed so perfectly, so eloquently everything he felt inside, the destructive, hungry need. As he watched, he felt an absolutely sexual arousal. No, it was better than sex, it was better than drugs—it was power. It was his. He owned it.

  Just ahead and to the left a group of deer broke from the burning underbrush and stopped, confused and fearful, just inside the partial ring of flame, sniffing the air.

  Burn, you insignificant little fuckers, he thought. Feel my wrath and my power. You are nothing. I am everything.

  Then slowly, into his trance of power came a realization that he could hear something that he shouldn’t over the crackle of the brush and the swoosh of the wind. A human voice floated up. Someone was shouting something. Rotating slowly in place, he realized that the someone was along his path back. Still in a dream state, he searched the landscape around him, planning an alternate route back to the road, but in the time he had stood, high on his euphoric rush of endorphins, something had changed, and now a new sensation broke him away from his intoxicating elation, bringing him back to his senses. The wind, which had been pushing firmly at his back, was now whipping his shirt and hair away from his face.

  The wind had changed.

  Spinning, he saw the fire had begun to close around behind him. Crashing forward, he made for the few open feet of unburned brush and passed through just before, with a rushing swoosh, a wall of flame closed in behind him. Coughing from the smoke that was now rushing into his face, he tried to get his bearings and find the trail that would lead him down to safety.

  But any recognizable signposts were gone. Ahead of him, a solid wall of smoke undulated and pulsed like some vast, otherworldly barrier. Whipping around, he faced the fire, swelled now and pressing its cruel weight and heat on his face. Suddenly—and for the very first time—he understood the fear that he had seen in the eyes of the insignificant deer, and his drunken sensation of omnipotence sobered in the space of a single second into a terrifying realization that he was equally mortal, completely vulnerable, and nothing more than another piece of carbon-based fuel to the inferno that he himself had created. The horror of it shut down his logical thought process and he spun, disoriented and lost, gasping and searching for safety. Consumed by a debilitating panic, he plunged blindly into the indiscriminate, choking, black smoke.

  Chapter 40

  “Simon!” Joshua’s voice was rising, growing hysterical as a few hundred yards ahead of him he spotted smoke struggling to form a column in the wind—and below it, waves of heat. “Simon!” he shouted. He would have to go back soon; this wind could shift the as-yet-unseen flames in a few seconds. Joshua knew all too well, and he also knew it was unlikely that anyone else had spotted this fire, and the sooner he could report it, the better chance the firefighters would have.

  But still the little dog appeared in front of him, barking in hysterical silence, and Joshua could not give up. He forced himself forward, half running along the steep path through thick shrubbery that grabbed at his pants and tore the bare skin of his arms.

  Without warning, the shrubbery fell away and a large, open field of dry, golden grass spread out on either side of him. The path split into three directions, one of them directly toward the rapidly accumulating smoke, one off to the right, and one to the left that appeared to curve back down toward the road. Once again the little dog was yapping insanely over the left-hand path, but this time Joshua did not need him. Ten yards away, like a coffee stain on a pale, wheat gold tablecloth, lay the prone and motionless figure of a young man. Sprinting forward, Joshua closed the distance between them and dropped to his knees next to the figure, who was lying facedown, one arm sprawled out, the other crooked awkwardly underneath his body, as though the boy had fallen in a full-out run. Joshua could see a drying trickle of blood from the left ear and, inches away, the rock that had probably caused the damage.

  Joshua felt quickly along the neck for signs of life and was relieved to detect a faint pulse. Pressed for time and alarmed by the small bits of ash that were already landing on the prone figure, he flipped the boy over. It was Simon.

  “Wake up! Simon, can you hear me? It’s Joshua. We’ve got to get out of here.” But there was no response. He leaned down and put his face close to Simon’s mouth, checking for breath. The boy’s skin smelled as though he’d been hovering over a barbecue, but he was breathing. Joshua slapped at Simon’s face as he glanced furtively back over his shoulder; he could feel the strong wind gusting toward him from the direction of the now thickly rising smoke. It was still two ridges beyond where he crouched next to the unconscious boy, but he knew, with a cold metal hand gripping his heart, that it was coming, and he had only a precious few moments until not only would he smell the smoke but he would be able to taste it.

  Chapter 41

  Leah deliberately placed herself next to Rowland in the row of folding chairs that had been set up under a sunshade in front of the library. She asked politely after Susan, and Rowland told her that her back was still sore, so she had elected to remain at home, working from her bed. He chuckled proudly at that.

  Wondering how in hell to broach the subject of criminal actions, Leah turned her attention to the parade passing in front of them. A convertible car had been covered in red, white, and blue streamers, and perched on the top of the backseat several overheated cheerleaders were waving their like-colored pom-poms and smiling fixedly from their red, sweaty faces. Next came a local precision-riding team, horses and riders alike decked in shiny, royal blue satin. Strong gusts of wind threatened to separate cowboy hats from riders, and most of the faux cowgirls kept one hand on their reins and the other pressed firmly on the crown of their hat.

  Just behind the horses, a huge hook-and-ladder fire truck, resplendent in its polished red glory, rolled slowly along, bearing its local heroes and receiving shouts and cheers from the gathered onlookers. The firefighters themselves seemed only grimly pleased, as though to show too much enthusiasm for the adulation would somehow lessen the seriousness of their jobs. Leah couldn’t help herself from searching through the faces above the starched, dark blue uniforms for Weston though she knew that he wasn’t there. He was flying observation today, and the fire conditions were peaked out at extreme. As Leah was buffeted by a hot blast of Santa Anas, she wondered how difficult it was to fly in this unpredictable atmosphere. And worse, how anyone could bear to fight a fire in it.

  Rowland rose from his chair and went to speak with the councilwoman, who beamed on him while Leah watched surreptitiously. She waited until they broke apart and Rowland had gone to take a water bottle from a cooler before she joined him.

  With no other ideas, she plunged in awkwardly. “So, by the way, the Caseys were in the bank the other day.” She glanced pointedly at Rowland, who did not react to the name. “Do you know them? They own about six acres and a little house in the perfect spot for you to build the exit road from phase three.”

  Rowland turned and watched as a group of children dressed as clowns straggled along with various pets on leashes, drawing indulgent exclamations over their cute-ness from the crowd. “No, I don’t believe I’ve met them.”

  “You don’t know of them?” Leah asked, suggestively.

  “I don’t believe so, no.”

  “Well, I do. And I know that they haven’t been willing to sell, and that has been a problem for you.”

  Rowland turned to look at her. Good, she thought, I’ve got his attention.

  “And I think I might be able to induce them to sell.” She lowered her voice and leaned in close to add, “For a rea
sonable fee.” Rowland said nothing, so she went on. “I told them that you would be willing to sweeten any random offer they may have had, and they seemed to prefer that to the alternative.”

  Rowland’s eyes had narrowed. “And what alternative would that be?” he asked her suspiciously.

  “Let’s just say, other persuasions. They’re willing to overlook any previous, uh, misunderstandings if the price is right.”

  Rowland bit his lower lip and appeared to be thinking quickly. After a moment he glanced around to see if anyone could overhear them, and then he drew her away by taking her arm. “Let me get this straight,” he said in a rumbling, half-whispered voice. “You’re telling me that they’ve come to think I’ve tried to persuade them to move, or sell out, and that if I offer them the right price now, through you—with a fee for you, of course—they will sell to my company? No questions asked?”

  Leah felt a rising excitement and could have kicked herself for not finding a way to record this conversation, but it was too late for that. “Yes, basically, that is what I am saying.”

  Rowland smiled flatly and nodded. “Well, basically, this is my answer.” His hand tightened on her upper arm. “I have a good mind to report you to the better business association, or maybe even the police. What you are talking about is blackmail and bribery, and, young lady, I do not now, nor have I ever used those kinds of criminal behavior in my business dealings. Frankly, I’m appalled and insulted, but I’m going to do you the favor of assuming that this is an isolated case of very bad judgment and that you will not ever pursue this course of action again. Not with me, my business, or any other, and let me tell you why.” He released her arm as though it had sprouted contagious skin lesions. “I will be watching you.” And with a strong glare that Leah would not have thought possible from those flaccid eyes, he turned and stalked away, glancing in every direction as though checking to see if anyone had overheard her accusations.

  Shaken, Leah struggled to catch her breath and regain her composure. Her head was spinning and the heat was suffocating her. She wasn’t sure what to think. Was Rowland calling her bluff? Did he think he didn’t need her help or was he really on the up and up? Light-headed and unable to take a deep enough breath, Leah slipped through the crowd and headed down the street back to Jenny.

  It was tough going on the packed sidewalk where the storefronts met the street, but the way thinned as Leah came onto a parking lot, offering more scope to the swarming observers. The hot wind snatched her breath from her chest, and Leah’s vision began to swim. She felt nausea and panic welling up in her, squeezing the air from her lungs. Pausing next to a large tanker truck, she placed her hands on her knees and put her head down, struggling to control the hyperventilation that was overwhelming her, a weakness she thought she had overcome. What had she done? Had she just jeopardized her own standing for some insane, imagined wrongdoing? And if Rowland was guilty but denying it, would he be willing to blow the whistle on her?

  “Are you all right?” The voice came from an older man, dressed in impeccably clean jeans, a plaid shirt, and a high baseball cap emblazoned with the familiar logo of a trucking company. The voice was gruff, but the tone was kind.

  “I’ll be fine,” Leah gasped, but she found she couldn’t raise her head without setting the world spinning.

  “Come sit down,” the man ordered firmly. “Tyler! Get one of those iced teas out of the cooler!”

  Leah found herself guided to a folding lawn chair, the kind with the crisscrossed, brightly colored nylon strapping. She sat down and kept her head low as a cold plastic bottle was slipped into her hand.

  “What wrong with her, Grampa?” a boy’s voice asked with frank curiosity.

  “Nothing. She’s fine—it’s just the heat. Don’t stare, boy.”

  Leah pressed the icy bottle against the back of her neck and ventured a glance up. A young boy was now watching her with furtive glances from the side as he obediently kept his nose pointed toward the street. The effect was so innocently funny that Leah found herself laughing, and with the laugh, she drew a deep breath. After several mercifully spontaneous gulps that filled her lungs, she was able to sit up and speak.

  “Thank you. I’m so sorry. It’s probably the heat and the crowd. I’m all right now. Thank you.” But when she tried to stand, the wooziness in her head won out over the embarrassment that was making her want to flee. She sat back down.

  “Are you going to throw up?” the boy asked, watching her unabashedly. “I can get you a bucket.”

  Leah laughed again at the practical offer. “No, I don’t think so. But thanks again.” She studied the boy, who was watching her curiously, without any kind of revulsion or distaste. As though, if she did throw up, that would be nothing new to him. “I’m Leah,” she said, extending her hand. “What’s your name?”

  “Tyler Tucker, and this is my grandfather, Sheldon Tucker. Nice to make your acquaintance,” he recited.

  Utterly charmed, Leah sat back in the chair and opened the iced tea. It was overly sweet, but the cold liquid felt heavenly in her dry throat. “Are you watching the parade from up there?” Leah asked, noticing that there were two more chairs, tied down to a horizontal ladder that ran the length of the tank on the truck.

  “Yep, but it’s really hot in the sun, and my hat won’t stay on, so I came down to sit in the shade.”

  “Are you enjoying the parade?” Leah asked, still weakly, but feeling closer and closer to normal.

  Tyler’s eyes lit up. “I like the horses.”

  “How about the fire trucks?” Leah assumed that would be the favorite of all little boys.

  “Oh yeah, I like those too, but I see them every day.”

  “Is your dad a fireman? Or, uh,” Leah amended her sexist question quickly, “mother?”

  Tyler shrugged and said, “Nope, I live with my grandfather.”

  Taken aback, Leah stuttered, “Oh, that, uh, that must be cool.”

  The small shoulders shrugged. “It’s pretty cool. We mostly have to work a lot. We take water to the fires, or to people’s houses. That’s how come I know the firemen.”

  “Oh.” Leah’s voice grew conspiratorial and she was thrilled to feel a surge of pride as she said, “I know a fireman. His name is Weston. He flies the helicopters.”

  Tyler’s eyes had gone large and round. “Wow,” he breathed.

  “I got to go up in one.” Leah nodded as she shared her secret. “It was really cool.”

  “You think I could go?” the small boy asked.

  During this exchange, Sheldon had stood slightly to one side as though uncomfortable with small talk, but now he cut in. “Tyler, we don’t invite ourselves.”

  “It’s okay,” Leah said, squinting and smiling up at the older man; then she turned to Tyler again and gestured for him to come closer. Trustingly, he leaned in so closely that she could smell the sweetness of his skin, the sweetness of a child who has not yet been polluted with the indulgences of adulthood or the unavoidable souring of puberty. It amazed Leah that something that simple could stir up so much longing in her, and she found herself, for a first instant, aching for a child of her own. Remembering herself, she whispered, “I owe you a favor, so I’ll ask him, but I can’t make any promises.” She sat back and winked at the boy. His eyes were shining with expectation.

  Will I ever know that purity? With a frisson of panic, Leah wondered if she was ever meant to have a child in her life. Instinctively she knew she wasn’t ready, and she had no mate. But she wondered, by the time she had finally found herself and conquered her many fears and healed her many wounds, if it would be too late.

  Chapter 42

  Joshua struggled to move Simon into a sitting position from which he could try to lift him. The boy was smaller than he was, but it would be a cruel test of Joshua’s endurance to carry him all the way back down the steep trail to the road, especially at the speed that he feared they would need to outdistance the approaching blaze.

  Simon�
��s arm slipped through Joshua’s sweaty hands, and his body slumped heavily back down with a thump like a sack of rice dropped onto a cement floor. The sound made Joshua wince. Frustrated, he stood up for better traction and glanced nervously at the danger that loomed behind him. Even before he turned back to Simon, Joshua could feel the uncomfortable prickling of an unwelcome presence joining them.

  The male figure was glaring down at Simon, a hungry hatred written on his cruel features. Joshua had never had much patience for the myths of religion, but if ever he could believe in the existence of a satanic entity, a devil, it was in this moment.

  The despairing chill of helplessness in Joshua’s heart was quickly stomped flat by a rising rage. “No!” shouted Joshua, and he could feel his anger swelling him with strength that overcame and surpassed his reservations and self-doubts. “You cannot have him!” The demonic figure turned its vacuous eyes to him, and Joshua did not flinch or look away; in his righteousness and need for action he felt no fear. Instead he spoke clearly in a strong, even voice without panic or uncertainty. “You have no place here,” he said evenly, fortified by an instinctive knowledge that he was speaking an absolute truth. “Move on.”

  The figure wavered, but remained. As though to illustrate that he could act on the physical plane in a way that the spirit could not, Joshua stooped again, and this time he succeeded in getting Simon hoisted up onto his shoulder. He began, with slow but steady steps, to move toward the path.

  But as he turned, Joshua could see the flames clearly, advancing like a marching army toward the open field where he stood. The wind had assigned the direction and the fiery front was moving far more quickly than Joshua would be able to manage with Simon on his back.

  Think, Joshua screamed silently at himself. He tried desperately to force his memory backward to a time when he was young and he had listened to his father tell him about the forest and survival. Survival in snow, in floods, and in fire . . .