The Infernal Heart

by R. L. King

  She looked down at her hands in her lap, started to say something, and then opened the car door. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Dr. Stone,” she said tonelessly.

  “Ms. Ruiz?”

  She turned back toward him.

  “Thank you. For—everything.”

  “Thank God, not me. I’d better get inside—Abuelita’s probably waiting up for me.”

  She closed the door behind her and walked off before Stone could say anything else. He thought about lowering the window and calling to her—trying to explain—but he didn’t. Instead, he remained where he was for several minutes until he felt he could drive safely, then headed off toward Palo Alto.

  Archie—at least his earthly form—was dead.

  He’d survived a mortal wound, thanks to Grace’s potent but untrained magical talent.

  Tomorrow he’d find Beal and end this once and for all.

  So why didn’t he feel better about the whole thing?

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Stone awoke early the following afternoon after a night of unsettling dreams to find Raider busily licking dried blood off his arm.

  He sat up, confused for a moment—was he bleeding again?—before remembering that by the time he’d arrived home the previous night, he’d been too dead tired and lightheaded to do anything but stagger upstairs, shuck off his bloody T-shirt and jeans, and throw himself onto the bed. The hell with the comforter, he recalled thinking. I’ll burn it and get a new one.

  He sat up, testing how he felt. Aside from being ravenously hungry, not too bad, all things considered. The exhaustion and swimmy-headed feeling from the previous night was gone, and he no longer felt sure he’d faint if he tried standing up. He did, however, briefly consider that Raider looked tasty.

  The clock on the nightstand read one twenty-four—late even by his decidedly non-early-bird standards. He swung his legs around, got up, and padded into the bathroom.

  The sight that greeted him in the mirror nearly made him jump until his mind filled in that it was his own reflection. Clad only in his shorts, he got a clear and unobstructed view of the dried blood covering most of his chest and abdomen. His back was probably worse.

  Shower. Now. Then food. Lots of food.

  He flipped on the little radio he kept in the bathroom and listened to the news as he showered. When it cycled around to the local beat, the church in Milpitas was the top story. Stone leaned out and used magic to turn up the volume.

  “—Police are still baffled as to the cause of a bizarre situation occurring in a Milpitas church last night. Parishioners report some kind of mass episode of unconsciousness that affected all of them as they attended a Saturday night service, but none of them can remember anything about what caused it or who was presenting the service. Some of the parishioners were taken to local hospitals, displaying injuries consistent with trampling, and the church sustained significant damage, but once again no one can remember what happened. Anyone who has information about this bizarre event is urged to phone the Milpitas Police Department.”

  Stone turned the radio back down as the reporter moved on to other stories. Odd—no mention of the pile of rotting organs, or the clerical robe run through with an oversized crucifix. He’d have thought that would be important. Perhaps the police were keeping that bit to themselves for now, though with that many people at the scene, he doubted they could do so for long.

  He got dressed, threw his bloody clothes and comforter in the bathtub for later burning, and was about to head out in search of large quantities of food when his mobile phone warbled. He almost didn’t answer it, until he saw the number. He hit the button as he opened the door out to the garage. “Ms. Ruiz. Good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon. How are you feeling?” Her voice sounded oddly subdued.

  “Starving. Still a bit off, but nothing like last night. I was just about to find someplace and order about five breakfasts. You?”

  “I just got back from church. I prayed for you.”

  “I appreciate that. I should go now, though—I don’t trust myself to drive and chat at the same time, at least not until I get something to eat.”

  “We need to talk, Dr. Stone.” Her voice still held the odd, inflectionless tone.

  “About what?” He pulled out of the garage, the phone stuck between his ear and his shoulder.

  “About Archie. About you. About…what we need to do.”

  “I told you—I know what I’m going to do. I plan to track down Beal today and get the heart back. Then I hope I can still count on your help putting it under wraps.”

  “Dr. Stone—”

  “Ms. Ruiz, I told you—I can’t talk just now. I’m driving. I’ll call you later, after I—”

  “Abuelita wasn’t angry with me last night.”

  That seemed an odd non sequitur, given the way the conversation had been going. “What?”

  “She was waiting for me when I got home. She looked really weird. Do you know what she said to me?”

  “I’ve no idea.” Stone frowned, making a left and trying to keep the phone in place.

  “She said she’d been praying for me all day, and that God had given her a message.”

  “That’s great, Ms. Ruiz, but I need to—”

  “She told me that whatever battle I was facing, I had to see it through to the end.”

  Stone gripped the steering wheel. “What?”

  “Do you feel well enough to come down here for your five breakfasts? We really do need to talk.”

  He sighed, and didn’t respond. Damn it, he didn’t want to think about this right now. Memories flashed through his mind: the cage, the torture, the horrific stench of his own flesh roasting—

  “Dr. Stone?”

  “Fine,” he snapped. “We’ll talk. But it isn’t going to change my mind. Where shall I meet you?”

  “Here. Abuelita’s already cooking.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Grace answered the door almost instantly at his knock. The tantalizing, overpowering aromas of Mexican cooking wafted out into the hallway.

  “Was the drive all right?” she asked, standing aside to let him in. She looked none the worse for wear following her experience the previous night, dressed in her embroidered jeans and a pale green Mickey Mouse T-shirt.

  “What? Oh—yes.” The food smelled so good he could barely concentrate on anything else.

  From the kitchen, Grace’s grandmother called something in Spanish.

  “She says to come in and sit down,” Grace said, taking his arm.

  “She doesn’t have to ask twice. That smells wonderful.” He let her lead him into the dining area and took the seat indicated. Abuelita immediately hustled out, bearing a large platter of huevos rancheros in one hand and another with some kind of spicy sausage dish in the other. She looked Stone up and down and said something else as she set them in the middle of the table, then plopped down into the chair opposite him.

  “She says you look too skinny and pale, and that you should eat. Go ahead,” Grace said, placing a cup of coffee in front of him and indicating the tray. “We’ll talk after you’re feeling better.”

  “Gracias,” Stone said to the old woman, and then to Grace: “Please tell her everything looks wonderful, and she’s far too kind.”

  Grace relayed the message, and Abuelita nodded once, grudgingly. The look of suspicion still hadn’t left her shrewd, dark eyes, but she was no longer regarding Stone as if she were plotting ways to kill him and hide the body. She held up a finger as Stone reached for the serving spoon, then pointedly put her hands together, bowed her head, and began what was obviously a prayer.

  Stone didn’t fold his hands , but did bow his own head out of respect. He owed them that, even though his hunger, combined with the food’s aroma, was making him want to unhinge his jaw and upend the entire tray into his mo
uth at once. When Abuelita finished, he didn’t bother asking Grace what she’d said this time.

  “Eat up,” Grace said. “We’ve already eaten, so take what you want.”

  Stone did as he was told, loading up his plate with some of each of the dishes. Normally it would have bothered him to eat while two women sat across the table and watched him, but his hunger was so intense that a whole room full of people studying him under microscopes and offering commentary on his technique wouldn’t have dulled his ardor.

  It took until halfway through his second helping before he began to feel marginally human again and slowed down. “Tell your grandmother she should open a restaurant,” he said, satisfied, after swallowing another bite of the excellent chorizo. “This is delicious. And I’m not just saying that because I was so hungry I was seriously wondering how my cat would taste with a bit of salt and pepper.”

  Grace murmured something to Abuelita, who once again nodded, and this time even offered Stone the faintest hint of a smile before getting up. She spoke briefly to Grace and then left the room.

  “Why did she go?” Stone asked. “I didn’t offend her, did I?”

  “No. I think she’s getting to like you, actually—at least a little bit. As long as you don’t get too close to me,” she added with a chuckle, but then sobered. “She wanted to give us some time to talk.”

  Stone sighed. He hadn’t been looking forward to this bit, and covered it by concentrating on another bite of huevos rancheros.

  “I spent the whole morning praying,” Grace said. “Last night, too, after I got home. I didn’t get much sleep.”

  Stone didn’t reply.

  “You have to go after him, Dr. Stone. We can’t let this go now. I’ll help you, but you have to do it.”

  He flicked his gaze up, setting his fork deliberately on the table and pushing his chair back. “I told you—I’m going to find Beal. In fact, I’d best be getting on with that. Thank you very much for the meal. I appreciate both of your kindness. But I’m not—”

  “It’s not enough,” she said. Her expression was troubled, but her own gaze was steady and resolute.

  “What do you mean, it’s not enough? That’s not for you to say, is it?”

  “Finding Mr. Beal isn’t going to solve the problem. Not permanently.” She swallowed. “That, what we saw last night—it was horrible. When we saw the demon in the park, I didn’t realize what it was, what it wanted. Not completely. But last night—all those people, under his control…that’s what it wants to do, isn’t it? Take people over and force them to worship it.”

  Stone nodded. “Yes. The more people he can sway to his side, the more powerful he’ll become. That was his plan all along. The murders were just…the preliminary round. But if I can get his heart back and we can put it somewhere no one will ever find it, then we can stop him. He won’t be able to get back here.”

  “No,” Grace said, shaking her head. “I don’t believe that. I don’t think you do either. Demons are powerful, Dr. Stone. They’re devious. That thing wants to be found. How do you think this whole thing started?”

  “It started because some construction worker dug it up,” Stone said. “Goodwin and Eustace thought they’d put it somewhere no one would be able to find, but they couldn’t anticipate what would happen with the area in a hundred years. But if we bury it in a concrete foundation, or literally find a volcano to drop it into—”

  “We don’t know either. How can we know what might happen in a hundred years? He’s there, Dr. Stone. He’s plotting, and this time he knows what happened last time. Can you guarantee he won’t find a way to persuade someone else to locate his heart and start this whole thing over again? Can you guarantee he won’t take some kind of steps to make sure that won’t happen again, even before we manage to drop his heart in the volcano, or wherever? You don’t know how many other people he’s influenced while he was here this time, do you? Could there be more Mr. Beals out there?”

  Stone stared down into his plate. “Even if that were true—why are you suddenly so determined to send me back to Hell? Not worried about my immortal soul anymore?”

  When Grace didn’t reply, he looked up. “Well?”

  “We have to finish this,” she said softly. “He isn’t going to stop until we do. I’ll do everything I can to help you.” She sighed, toying with her fork. “I don’t like it either. But sometimes we have to do things we don’t like, to do what’s right.”

  “Maybe you do,” Stone said, getting up. He paced the tiny dining area, his thoughts spinning. Damn, but I could do with a drink. Or three. “Convenient that this is something you can’t do, isn’t it?”

  “I would if I could,” she said. “You know that. I don’t want to, but I would.”

  “But you can’t.” He spun on her. “Do you know what happened to me there, Ms. Ruiz? Do you want me to tell you?”

  “Would it help you make your decision?”

  He turned away, looking out the window. Below, three young children kicked a soccer ball around the scrubby grass of the rear courtyard, shouting and laughing. “What did you mean about what your grandmother said when you got home last night?”

  “I thought I’d have to listen to a lecture. She still hasn’t quite accepted that I’m not a kid anymore. But she was sitting there in her chair in the front room, waiting for me. And the first thing she said when I got in was, ‘I don’t know what battle you’re fighting, mi corazón, but God has told me you must see it through to the end.’” She paused, staring back down into her plate. “She’s never said anything like that before. Usually she’s telling me to stay home at night, that nice girls don’t go running around after dark. But this time she didn’t even ask me who I was with or where I’d been.”

  Stone frowned and glanced back through the door where Abuelita had exited. “She’s never shown any signs before of—the sort of things you can do?”

  Grace shook her head. “Not that I know of. She’s never said anything about it. Why?”

  Stone didn’t answer. Was it possible that Grace’s grandmother was also a wild talent? Magical ability did pass through gender lines, and didn’t always hit every generation. Had Grace gotten it from her grandmother rather than her mother? “She hasn’t got any idea what we’re facing, though. She can’t.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “God speaks to her, and He’s given her a message.” She sighed. “I was really troubled this morning, so I went to confession, and asked the Father what I should do.”

  “You told him about what happened?” Stone asked, alarmed. Letting some mundane priest in on what was going on with Archie couldn’t lead to anything good.

  “Not in so many words. I just asked him what someone should do if they were facing a great evil, but what they’d have to do to fight it might put their immortal soul at risk. Should they do it?”

  “What did he say?” The answer didn’t matter, though—he had no intention of taking advice from a priest, regardless of his reply.

  “He said that fighting evil is always desirable, but it’s up to each person to decide how far they’re willing to go. That’s why God gave us free will.”

  “Well, there you go, then.”

  “So you won’t do it?”

  He didn’t miss the disappointment on her face, or the dimming of the light in her dark eyes. Inexplicably, he felt sudden anger rise. “You’re not going to guilt me into this, Ms. Ruiz,” he said sharply. He stalked the dining room, moving back and forth across its small space because he couldn’t stand still any longer. His voice came out harsh and grating. “It won’t work. You may worship someone who’s willing to sacrifice himself for the good of humanity, but he’s a lot bigger man than I am. I’ve already been to that hellhole once. I did my bit. If it hadn’t been for you showing up—and I’ll remind you, you told me you couldn’t help me because you refused to condone what I was d
oing—I’d not only have been tortured and bloody roasted alive for who knows how long, but Archie would have eventually worn me down until I handed over my body so he could harvest it for his little psych project.”

  He flung himself back into the chair. “It’s not as if I’m washing my hands of the whole thing. I’ll track down Beal, just as I said I would. I’ll get the heart back, and make damned sure this time that nobody can find where I’ve put it. Archie’s not omnipotent. His power has limits. Don’t treat him like he’s some sort of all-powerful, all-knowing force of the universe. He’s a pathetic sod from a pathetic dimension, trying to play at being the great and powerful Oz. I see that now, and I’m not buying his lies.”

  “You’re afraid,” she said softly.

  “Of course I’m afraid,” he snapped. “I don’t give a damn about my immortal soul. If such a thing even exists, mine was buggered a long time ago. But I don’t fancy waltzing back in for a second go at playing rotisserie chicken for some sadistic tosser with a god complex.”

  He stood. “Look—I appreciate your thoughts on the situation. I hope you’ll still help me get the heart under wraps after I’ve hunted it down. But for now, I’ve got things to do, and I’d better get on with them before Beal hops the next plane to bloody Sri Lanka or something. He might already have done. Please thank your grandmother again for lunch.”

  He was about to head out toward the front door when Abuelita appeared in the doorway. She wore an odd, contemplative expression and carried something long and thin wrapped in an old flowered towel. She looked first at Stone, then at Grace, then said something in Spanish, nodding to at the bundle.

  Stone frowned. “What did she say? And what’s that?”