Redemption Song (Daniel Faust)

by Craig Schaefer

  “You forgot to search your prisoner,” I breathed. “That’s bad police technique.”

  Harmony slapped cuffs on his wrists, bound by a sturdy chain in the middle that ran through a bolt riveted to the floor. These were the heavy-duty shackles, the kind for hard-core violent felons. In three quick breaths she had him trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey.

  “Non,” he groaned, shaking his head. “Non, non, non! How? How did you—”

  “Magic,” I said, and it was true in a way.

  Back in the day, and I mean way back, Bentley had a vaudeville routine. Sort of a low-rent Houdini. Thing is, a lot of escapology tricks have valuable real-world applications for guys in my line of work. Like for instance, the fact that handcuff keys are universal. If you keep one stuck to the inside of your belt with a blob of putty, slipping out of a pair of cuffs just takes a little practice and a few seconds of distraction.

  As far as the chrome-plated .22 in my hand, that was easy: Harmony had slipped it into my pocket when she shoved me into the car back at the motel. I knew Gilles would be too arrogant to actually learn anything about how a real cop would operate, and he wouldn’t think to search me. Too late now.

  “Speaking of magic,” Harmony said. She marched to the one-way window and licked her fingertip, drawing a swirling rune across the glass in spittle. She whispered sibilant words under her breath, and the winds of power rose and tingled like static electricity against my skin. A rime of frost spread across the mirror’s face, turning the glass pearly white. She paused, studied her handiwork for a moment, and left the room.

  I pulled up a chair and straddled it, keeping the gun on Gilles.

  “Alone again,” I said.

  “What now?” he demanded. “Shoot me? I’ll just jump into another body, and this man, an innocent, will be dead.”

  “Right. See, Harmony is pretty tight with Lars—”

  “Aha! See? You don’t dare shoot.”

  “—which is why I’m the one with the gun,” I said. “Not her. She couldn’t pull the trigger on her buddy. I can.”

  His smile of triumph faded a bit.

  “This is the last resort,” I told him. “Just in case.”

  “Just in case of what?”

  The door rattled and Harmony came back in, toting a pair of brown paper grocery bags. She set them both on the table. She reached into the bag on the left. Mama Margaux’s spirit-bottle glittered in her hand, the glass festooned with a rainbow of sequins and dripping with the magic of prisons, the haunted echoes of red bricks and black iron. She set it down where Gilles could get a good look.

  “In case we have trouble fitting you into your new home,” I said.

  I peeked into the other bag. Harmony had brought everything I asked for. I took out a slender blue glass flask of perfumed water and walked around Gilles in a slow, steady circle, splashing droplets on the floor.

  “You’re mad!” Gilles cried, thrashing against his shackles. “You can’t do this to me! I’m a nobleman!”

  Next came the chant, words spitting from my lips in guttural grunts. The language was Germanic, but the rhyme was older, more primal, from a cold and bitter age. I opened a canister of sea salt from the bag, wet my fingertips with the last of the perfumed water, and dipped them in. Then I gripped Gilles’s chin with my other hand and smeared a blasphemous sign across his forehead in salt, the crystals suddenly sharp as a hundred tiny razor blades. I pulled my bloody fingers away as Gilles let out a shriek.

  As I cursed, Harmony beckoned. She sang, waving her pale, long-fingered hands across the surface of the sequined bottle, making them glitter in response to her gentle voice. She sang of the sea, of movement, of grace, in words I felt more than understood.

  “Please,” Gilles screamed as rivulets of salty blood ran down his face. “Please, I don’t want to go back. I’m begging you. I don’t want to go back—”

  As my voice grew more strident Harmony’s grew softer, yet somehow still keeping pace, spinning through the room, weaving between the jagged consonants of my cursework. My spell washed over Gilles’s stolen body, poisoning the meat and spreading toxins through muscles and bone. Harmony’s fingers spun the bottle into a glimmering beacon, a lighthouse on a distant shore offering serenity. We spiraled upward, upward, reaching a sudden crescendo that ended as we both spoke the same word at the same moment.

  “Go.”

  Gilles lurched forward as his spirit boiled out of Lars’s body in a violet cloud. It streamed from his mouth, his nose, his ears and eyes, tendrils slithering from under his fingernails to join the growing mass. Like a fish on a hook, the roiling cloud flew toward the open mouth of the bottle. As the last glimmering mote slipped inside, Harmony slammed in the cork.

  I slumped against the wall, spent, my shirt caked to my body with cold fever-sweat. Harmony flopped back in her chair, panting.

  Then Lars opened his eyes, reared back as he drew a desperate gasp of air, and threw up.

  I stumbled over and patted his back. “That’s it. Get it all out. Had to make your body an unhappy place to live. You’ll be feeling queasy for a couple of days, but it’s better than the alternative.”

  The burly Norwegian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He sat there, mute with shock, and shook his head. When he could finally speak, his words came out in fits and starts, like he was learning how to speak all over again.

  “I couldn’t…I couldn’t do anything. It was like I was a…prisoner behind my own eyes. I tried to fight, but…I couldn’t.”

  I looked at Harmony and said, “You’re gonna need to have a long talk with this guy. Not fair not to clue him in. Not after what he’s been through.”

  “I know,” she said softly.

  “Listen,” I told Lars. “Bottom line is, you’re gonna be okay. You might have some rough nights for a while, but you’ll get past this.”

  I didn’t tell him that my nightmares never went away. He’d earned a little hope, even if it wasn’t true.

  “Was that…was that some kind of demon?” he said.

  I looked over at the bottle and shook my head. “No. No, that was just a major-league asshole. You got someplace we can stash this, Agent Black?”

  Harmony nodded grimly.

  “I’ve got the perfect place,” she said. “Bottom of a cardboard box in an evidence room dedicated to cold cases. They told me a light blew out in there once, and it took five months before anyone even noticed.”

  “Good deal. Hey, we worked pretty well back there together.”

  She glowered at me, but she was too exhausted to put much anger into it. “Don’t make it a bigger deal than it was.”

  “All right, all right. Lars, Harmony is going to bring you up to speed, but we’re pressed for time, so here’s the short version: the dead guy who was running around in your skin is a bargaining chip between a couple of world-class menaces to society. We’ve just taken that chip off the table, but they don’t know that.”

  He pushed his shoulders back, taking a deep breath and steadying himself. The guy was tough, I’d give him that.

  “What next?” Lars asked.

  “What’s next is the really dangerous part. You just have a cameo, though. You’ve done more than enough already. Agent Black, did you get the other stuff on my list?”

  “All of it,” she said.

  “Good. First, to set the scene.”

  I moved to the corner of the room, far enough away that they couldn’t overhear the other end of my phone call. I’d told Harmony that I knew of a mole inside Vegas Metro who answered to Sullivan. I didn’t tell her it was one of her own partners. I’d keep that secret as long as I could. Not for Gary Kemper’s sake, but because he was still useful to me. Gary answered on the fifth ring.

  “Faust,” he groaned, “it’s four in the fucking morning—”

  “Non,” I said gravely, imitating Gilles’s accent the best I could. “Not Faust. Not anymore.”

  Thirty-Six

  The line went s
ilent for a few seconds. When Gary came back, his voice was a whisper.

  “No fuckin’ way.”

  “I have, how do you say, ‘upgraded my accommodations’?”

  “This is Gilles de Rais,” Gary said flatly.

  “Oui.”

  “And you’re possessing the body of Daniel fucking Faust.”

  I chuckled, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  “Oui.”

  “Well hot damn, Christmas came early this year! What happened to Lars? Is he okay?”

  “Regrettably,” I said, “Faust and some lady…how do you say, ‘cop’? Attempted to apprehend me. There’s been a terrible accident.”

  “Wait. Wait. Harmony? Harmony and Lars? What happened, de Rais? What did you do?”

  “As I said, a terrible accident. You should come pick me up. Be swift and silent.”

  I told him where to find me and hung up before he could ask any more questions. Harmony sat on the far end of the steel table, giving me a dubious look.

  “What?” I said.

  “That is the worst French accent I’ve ever heard. I thought you were doing a Pepé Le Pew impression.”

  Lars nodded. “I heard him talking, inside my head. Didn’t sound anything like that.”

  “Well, the only person I really have to impress is Sullivan, and from what I heard he wasn’t keen on spending too much time having a deep conversation with the guy. Hopefully he’ll overlook it.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Harmony asked.

  “Then he tears me into itty-bitty pieces and scatters my body parts all over the desert. And this officially becomes the worst plan I’ve ever had.”

  I emptied the second shopping bag onto the table. Lars arched a dubious eyebrow when he saw what was inside.

  “So,” I said lightly. “Ready to die?”

  • • •

  I stood at the end of the corridor, imperious, with my hands braced on my hips. Gary almost broke into a run when he rounded the corner and saw me. Sweat plastered his sleep-tangled hair to his scalp.

  “Where are they?” he demanded. “What did you do?”

  I waved my hand at the frosted-over interrogation room mirror. The spell faded like a gust of hot breath, giving Gary a prime view of the room beyond the glass. His breath seized in his throat.

  Lars slumped on the floor in the far corner of the room, his throat slit from ear to ear and caked with freshly dried blood. Harmony’s corpse lay on the stainless-steel table like a body ready for autopsy. Deep red stains pockmarked her ivory blouse in the aftermath of a savage stabbing. Her killer had left the knife behind, protruding from one of her eye sockets.

  “Jesus Christ!” Gary shouted, drawing curious looks from down the hall.

  “Be quiet!” I snapped, staying between him and the door.

  “You just murdered two federal—” He caught himself, lowering his voice. “You murdered two goddamn federal agents, you sick bastard! Do you have any idea how much heat you just brought down on all of us?”

  “You are at a bit more risk than I, monsieur, so have a care and be a bit more discreet.”

  “More discreet?” he snapped, looking at the murder scene then back to me. He slapped his palm against his forehead and tugged at his hair. “Those were friends of mine, do you get that? Do you understand that at all?”

  “They were necessary sacrifices for the cause. You…do support the cause, do you not? Sullivan would hate to hear of your disloyalty, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, you’re gonna play that card? What do you think Sullivan’s gonna say about this goddamn stunt, huh?”

  I shrugged expansively, imitating Gilles’s body language.

  “He forbade me to murder children,” I said, then gestured to the glass. “They are not children.”

  Gary paced back and forth, running his fingers through his hair. “All right. All right. All right, you goddamn psycho, here’s how we’ll do this. I’m leaving. You wait here for five minutes, and I mean not a second sooner. Then you leave and walk three blocks east. I will pick you up there. Do not even look in my direction until then.”

  He stomped off. I waited until he disappeared around the bend, then gave two knocks on the glass. Harmony groaned as she sat up, rubbing the back of her neck and tugging the fake knife hilt from the glob of cherry-colored latex over her eye. Lars pushed himself to his feet, scratching at the Karo syrup “blood” on his neck.

  Vegas is a party town. It’s never hard to find supplies for Halloween.

  I poked my head in the door. “You both get Oscars. Best corpse in a police station.”

  “He bought it?” Harmony asked.

  “Hook, line, and sinker. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to go try and con a demon.”

  “Hey,” Harmony said before I could shut the door. “Faust.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nodded. “Don’t die.”

  “I’ll make that a priority.”

  I strolled out of the precinct house like the picture of innocence and headed east. Eventually I heard the slow rumble of a car coming up on my left and the whine of a window rolling down.

  “Get in,” Gary said, gesturing towards the passenger side of his battered old Datsun. My shoes crunched on a clutter of crumpled McDonalds bags and empty plastic water bottles when I climbed in.

  “I called Sullivan,” he said, not looking at me. “Told him whose body you jacked. I’m not sure if he’s pissed or ecstatic. He’s probably not sure either.”

  “It is my pleasure to amuse,” I said.

  I’d hoped Gary would drive me straight to the Redemption Choir’s new stronghold. If nothing else, and assuming I lived through this, I could call Caitlin’s people and let them burn the place to the ground. No such luck. Gary drove another four blocks and pulled into a Chevron gas station on a lonely corner. Dawn broke over the city, the soft desert sunrise clashing with the harsh gas station lights.

  Sullivan stood in front of his black SUV, leaning on his walking stick. A cluster of cambion stood around him like a flock of vultures scouting out their next meal. These had to be the new guys from back east. There was something harder about them, meaner, more confident. A couple of them wore light windbreakers to cut the dawn chill, and even an amateur could spot the holster bulges under the nylon.

  Gary parked a respectful distance away, and we got out together. This was it, the make-it-or-break-it moment. If Sullivan bought the con, I was home free. If not, I’d never leave this place alive. I focused on my breathing, pushed my shoulders back, and lifted my chin. If Gilles was anything, he was brazenly confident. I had to look the part. More than look it, I had to believe it.

  Sullivan’s gaze burned into me as we approached. I could feel his psychic tendrils sliding over me, wrapping around my body like the tentacles of an octopus bathed in toxic waste. I spun a sheath of armor around my heart and thought of Naavarasi. Scent of jungle, textures of rough wood and vine.

  “You feel…different,” Sullivan said. His face was a mask of stone.

  “I am different,” I said proudly. “My last body was strong, but a simpleton. A dullard! This one has touched the winds of magic. Faust’s power has been added to my own, like two rivers feeding a mighty whitewater.”

  He nodded slowly.

  “And how did Faust find you?”

  I shrugged. “Not all of his secrets are open to me…yet. I am peeling his mind away, layer by layer.”

  He nodded again. Still with the poker face.

  “You’ve done me a favor, it seems,” he said. “Loath as I am to acknowledge it. I won’t mince words, de Rais. You’re an abomination and if I had my way, I’d be pleased to send you screaming back to hell where you belong. Fortunately, you won’t be my problem much longer. You…do remember what I mean by that, correct?”

  There it was. The test. What would Sullivan have told Gilles about his ultimate plans? Would he have gone into detail about Lauren? Or just told Gilles that some kind of trade was in the works
? Sullivan expected a response, and if I gave too little detail—or worse, too much and incorrectly—it’d prove I wasn’t really Gilles.

  Wait a second, I thought, my mind racing. Sullivan hates Gilles. He’s got no reason to share information. Besides, as soon as we let them escape the parking garage, Sullivan stashed him in that motel room and went to Denver.

  “When have we talked?” I demanded, puffing myself up. “You’ve done precious little since I took flesh but to insult me and abandon me. In the absence of words, your actions have made it painfully clear that I’m not an honored guest but a scorned hostage! I treated Englishmen more respectfully than this, in my day.”

  Sullivan stared at me. Then he chuckled softly and nodded. I exhaled in relief.

  “A fair assessment,” he said. “Very well. You’re going to be handed off to another owner tomorrow night, in exchange for something I need. After that, you won’t be a problem for anyone anymore. Until then, though, you will do exactly as you are told, exactly as you are told to do it.”

  If I were really Gilles de Rais, he’d have a point. As long as Sullivan held his contract, the damned soul was bound to obey his every command. I tried to put the right amount of hostility in my voice as I bowed my head.

  “I have no choice but to serve.”

  “No,” he said, “you don’t. Now we’re going to find another place to stash you until the festivities. You will stay there. You will not contact anyone, you will not speak to anyone, you will not harm anyone. Is that understood?”

  “As you command,” I said, practically spitting the words.

  Sullivan turned away from me and shot a sharp look at Gary. The smaller man took a halting step backward.

  “As for you, the deaths of Black and Jakobsen removed a potential long-term problem, but they don’t bode well for your usefulness to the cause. Can you be tied to the killings?”

  He shrugged, shuffling from foot to foot. “The closed-circuit cameras in that part of the precinct house have been broken for two weeks. I didn’t sign in or anything.”

  “You need an alibi, just to be safe. Go to Los Angeles, there’s a Choir safe house there. I’ll arrange receipts and documentation to prove you’ve been out of town for the last two days.”