On a sunny day in August, she took us onto the back patio, overlooking the valley below. She disrobed before us and stood nude in the sunshine with her arms raised. Clouds formed in the clear sky. Lightning flashed. Thunder roared. Rain fell. Then hail. And snow. Only over the valley. I stood gaping at the spectacle. Then Lilian lowered her arms and turned to me, and the sunshine returned. She strode past us back into the house.
My sisters and I exchanged looks of awe. I had no idea if Lilian had actually changed the weather—created weather—or if she had merely created an illusion. In that moment, it didn’t matter; I believed she was a god. We followed her into the house and administered to her needs, reveling in her magic.
After my third book for Eternity was published, Lilian arranged for me to become president of the Romance Writers of America, a position I held for two terms. It was an honorary title as far as I was concerned. In reality, I was a puppet: Harla’s staff drafted my agenda and posted my positions on the RWA message board. All I had to do was appear at functions and read the speeches Lilian wrote for me. But my time in office cemented my reputation as one of the real players in my field; I became a commodity. TV deals landed at my feet, all managed by Harla.
Lilian and Harla took me to a high-profile industry party thrown by Alicia Dormeyer, the head of The Love Book, Eternity’s chief rival. Alicia had started out as a reader and progressed to editor like so many others in publishing, then switched gears and became an agent. She formed The Love Book as an independent publishing company and cultivated the careers of many greats in the genre, including Lilian, who eventually left to form Eternity.
Alicia was in her sixties, though she appeared to be a decade younger, and she and Lilian enjoyed a friendly, catty rivalry like two old movie stars. Seeing them together made it almost impossible to believe Lilian was close to the same age; my mentor looked only a decade older than me, which she attributed to plastic surgery and blood doping. When she appeared at many public events, she wore glamorous sunglasses, which hid just how youthful she appeared.
Alicia greeted us with open arms at the party, and as soon as she turned her back Lilian ordered me to seduce Scott Dormeyer, Alicia’s son and second in command, which took little effort on my part. Scott hoped I’d spill Eternity’s secrets. Instead, I absorbed from him every facet of The Love Book’s upcoming four-year game plan. Lilian wasted no time destroying her rival’s company.
At our next retreat, Lilian presented me with a gift to keep at the mansion: a beautiful black cat, fully grown. I named him Othello, and he took to me just as my sisters’ cats took to them. I became Lilian’s regular companion at the retreats, and we spoke for hours on every topic imaginable. I loved Lilian but so did all my sisters. She said she loved us. Rituals began to dominate our weekends, and she demanded absolute allegiance and obedience from us, which we gladly granted, refusing her nothing.
Almost three years ago, after the publication of my sixth book for Eternity, Lilian gathered us in the basement where we practiced our spells and named me her chief disciple, which made me second in command. Tears filled my eyes and I thanked her. I expected the others to be jealous, especially Harla, but they embraced me and made love to me. That celebration felt like the culmination of my life.
Then Lilian led us into a secret chamber illuminated by torches. A man lay naked on a round table, his wrists and ankles bound to the surface by an invisible force. He wore a black hood. We stood around the table as he strained against his invisible bonds.
Lilian handed me a long dagger with a serpent wrapped around its handle. “Kill him.”
Even in my inebriated state I must have looked dumbfounded.
“Prove your love and loyalty. Sacrifice this man.”
I stared at the blade in my hand, then at the man on the table. Lilian removed his hood, and it took several moments for me to recognize James Spider’s horrified features.
“This man humiliated you. He treated you like dirt. He represents everything we despise in our industry and in life. No one knows he’s here. No one will find his body. No one will ever tie you to this action, which is only a crime in the eyes of a system we reject. Do this for yourself. Do this for our sisterhood. Do this for me. Show us how much you love us.”
Staring at Spider, I tightened my hands on the knife’s handle. I had never forgotten him even though I had tried, and I had daydreamed about confronting him in public and belittling him as he had belittled me. But I always pushed such thoughts to the back of my mind, as adults are prone to do.
“Make yourself feel good. Make yourself feel powerful.”
Swallowing, I hesitated.
My sisters rubbed my back and shoulders. “Do it,” they said in unison. “Do it for us.”
Spider’s face trembled with fear, tears rolling down his cheeks. His mouth opened and closed, and I knew he wanted to beg for his life, but Lilian had placed some spell on him to keep him silent.
Gripping the dagger in both hands, I held it over his heart, giving myself a target, then raised it over my head.
“Do it now,” Lilian said.
I drove the dagger down with all my strength, piercing Spider’s heart. Squeezing his eyes shut, he arched his back, a whistling sound escaping his nostrils. Releasing the dagger, I stepped back and Spider’s body slumped to the table.
Lilian closed the fingers of one hand around the handle and drew the blade out, freeing Spider’s dark blood to pump through the wound. His head rolled to one side and his body stilled.
For a moment I felt nothing, then shock. I had just murdered a man in cold blood.
“Now you’re really one of us,” Lilian said. Stepping closer to me, she ran her tongue over the dagger’s blade, lapping the blood, and kissed me. Then she and my sisters pulled me down into darkness.
I awoke early the next morning, entangled in Lilian’s limbs on a round bed, her thoughts hidden from me as always. Recalling little that had occurred after the murder, I slipped on a silk robe and descended the stairs to the gallery, where I gazed at the portraits on the walls. Lilian worshipped the women in those paintings. I cast my first solo spell, creating a tiny blind spot in my mind, where my thoughts and new suspicions would be safe from Lilian and my sisters.
A shadow glided over the tile floor. Othello blinked at me, and I knew he had been sent to spy on me. Turning my back on the portraits, I walked into the kitchen, selected my breakfast, and carried it out onto the patio. The cat followed me and rubbed against my leg.
My sisters rose in pairs, and soon we luxuriated on the patio and in the pool. I smiled and made conversation, laughing when it seemed appropriate, but inside I wanted to cry. I had committed murder, and that murder linked me to those witches forever. No one mentioned my actions the previous night; no one had to. They had me right where they wanted me.
Alone in my new condo, I wept. I couldn’t write; the magic that came from creating was gone. Lilian called me to check up on me, and my sisters did as well.
My contract with Eternity was up for renewal. Everyone assumed I planned to sign on for another round, and I assured them I did. Harla mailed me a contract for ten novels that would have made me a multimillionaire. I signed the papers and mailed them, and Lilian made sure the announcement received great fanfare. I was on the cusp of being as famous as Lilian herself.
I enjoyed a weekend at home and dreaded returning to the mansion. To my relief, Lilian departed for a two-week publicity tour in Europe. I had two weeks to plan my escape. On Lilian’s advice, I had invested most of my money in real estate and had little in the way of liquid assets.
The first payment on my heralded deal with Eternity would not arrive until the following month, and I knew that if I asked Harla to expedite it, red flags would go up. Then Harla called me: Lilian had requested that she take me out to a celebratory dinner in her absence. I accepted her offer with seeming gratitude and set my plan in motion. I went to my second bank and closed down my old college fund. I had kept it a secre
t from Eternity’s accountants and had stuffed it with cash at every opportunity. If Lilian’s team monitored my banking with the account they knew about, no sudden flurry of activity would alert them. I walked out of the location with a hundred grand.
I purchased a used SUV. Wearing a disguise and plain clothes, I rented a basement apartment. It was in a Staten Island house, so I didn’t have to worry about paperwork or a background search. I returned to Manhattan, showered, and got ready for my dinner with Harla.
We met at Le Bernardin on West Fifty-first Street. We drank wine and ate fish and chatted like old friends. I made sure the wine kept coming. I drew the conversation out, prolonging our date, and by the time Harla paid the check with her corporate credit card she was drunk. When we left the restaurant she staggered and I caught her. Then I hailed a taxi. Sitting in the backseat, Harla closed her eyes and moaned. I slid my hand over hers and interlocked our fingers.
“We’ll be there soon,” I said.
Then I absorbed her thoughts, reading her like a book. I disregarded her life experiences; I didn’t care about her. Instead, I focused on her duties and responsibilities at Eternity Books. No matter what Lilian said, Harla was her most trusted lieutenant. I committed dates, figures, bank account numbers, user names, and passwords to my memory. With Lilian’s information in my grasp, I sifted through thoughts and mental pictures until I experienced a conversation in which Lilian discussed her intentions for me with Harla. My eyes widened and I nearly vomited. I released Harla’s hand, and the taxi pulled over to her building.
Harla opened her eyes, as if sensing something had happened while she had been unconscious. I put her mind at ease, thanked her for a lovely girls’ night out, and bid her good night.
Once home, I picked up my laptop with all my files, went into the garbage room, and dropped it down the chute to be compacted in the disposal unit. Then I drove to my Staten Island hideout, confident Harla suspected nothing.
I had nine days to pull off my scheme before Lilian returned to the States. I expanded the blind spot in my brain to encompass the house and set to work. I bought new clothes, hair dye, scissors, and a laptop. I created multiple aliases and over one hundred fictitious shell corporations with corresponding bank accounts. I was grateful my father had insisted I minor in business at college and that I had been blessed with a photographic memory.
I opened multiple Swiss bank accounts, then accessed Lilian’s primary account. It took only six mouse clicks to relieve her of one hundred million of her hidden dollars. I donated 90 percent to charities in her name, sent 1 percent to James Spider’s family, and nine million dollars for myself.
I caught a few hours’ sleep, then dyed my hair blonde and loaded my belongings back into the SUV, taking the blind spot with me. I drove to JFK and abandoned the SUV, then took a taxi back to Manhattan to begin my new secret life.
I’d like to say I thought out every detail, but that wasn’t the case. I went straight to the Flatiron District, because I figured Lilian’s own neighborhood would be the safest when she blew her top. Hiding under her nose appealed to me. I knew that would drive her crazy if she found out.
Surrounded by a shield, I walked into a psychic’s parlor on Twenty-third Street. Madame Lisette greeted me in the sunken parlor, and I paid her for a reading. She was a fraud, and she was on the edge of being destitute: her husband had left her high and dry. Lisette desperately wanted to return to France, so I made that possible. I paid her thirty thousand dollars in cash to sign her sweetheart lease over to one of my new aliases and to leave me with copies of her documents and access to her nearly empty bank account.
I had my sanctuary, but I needed to buy myself greater protection. I had no idea how soon Harla would figure out I’d flown the coop or when Lilian would search for me. I assumed she already knew her money had disappeared and was on her way back.
From the safety of Laurel Doniger’s parlor, I made plans to purchase the entire building.
Two days later, word of my disappearance dominated the media. I felt terrible for my parents and desperately wanted to contact them, but that was impossible.
I knew when Lilian came home, because a storm hit New York that almost wiped the house I stayed at in Staten Island from the face of the earth. Lightning struck and killed my father in Hicksville, and stormy waves drowned my mother one week later. Lilian caused their deaths, but my beating heart proved I’d outsmarted her. I bought the building for five million dollars and readied myself for a life of solitude, biding my time.
18
Tears rolled down Laurel’s cheeks, but her voice did not waver. “I’ve waited so long to tell someone all that.”
The sirens outside had stopped.
Jake gazed at Laurel. “It’s not like I never asked.”
“Knowledge is a dangerous thing. The more you knew about me, the greater the chances of Lilian discovering where I’d holed up. I knew the first thing she would do was cast a search spell for me; the thoughts of anyone who saw me and knew who I was would trigger her psychic alarm.”
A helicopter hummed outside.
A TV news crew, Jake thought. “You stole one hundred million dollars.” He disbelieved his words as he spoke them.
“Most of it went to good causes, even if you discount what I kept for myself. Thanks to me, Lilian was hailed as a world-class philanthropist. It was the best public relations she ever bought.”
“The most expensive, too. If I’ve learned one thing about the wealthy, they don’t take kindly to other people helping themselves to what belongs to them.”
“I only depleted the secret account I knew about. I’m sure she has more that Harla didn’t know about.”
“You could have skimmed a million, and she might not have even noticed it was missing.”
“She would have known, and she would have been just as angry. Powerful people don’t like to be outwitted.”
“So you made a public show out of it.”
“She still would have killed my parents. It’s a miracle she didn’t kill Harla. I can just imagine what she did to her.”
“You could have gone into hiding in Costa Rica or Tahiti or Belize . . .”
“The search spell would have been global. There’s nowhere I would have been safe. I made the best play I could, which was to hide as close to her as possible.”
“You can’t just buy a building on eBay, even if you have the money.”
“I used surrogates, of course. Middlemen. Money talks, and I knew the odds of a man recognizing a missing romance novelist—even if I hadn’t changed my appearance—were slim.”
“Does Jackie know any of this?”
“No. As far as he’s concerned, Eden, Inc., views me as a favored tenant. He believes I have a medical condition that makes me sensitive to sunlight, coupled with agoraphobia. I came to rely on him, though, and we became good friends. Until you moved in he was my sole company.”
Jake sat forward in his seat. “I remember when I first checked this office space out. I saw your parlor before anything else. When the Realtor showed me the office, I knew I could never afford it, but something in the back of my head told me to make that offer to handle building security in exchange for a discount on the rent. Did you plant that idea in my head?”
“I don’t have that ability. But I felt your vibrations as soon as you entered the building. At first I panicked that Lilian had come, but I could tell your energy was positive. When the Realtor posed your counteroffer to Eden, Inc., I accepted.”
Sheryl’s energy, Jake thought. “Why?”
“I needed a knight in shining armor.”
Jake snorted. “I only set foot in your parlor because you sent Carmen Rodriguez to me. Was that a ruse?”
“No, I really wanted to help Carmen. That’s why I kept the parlor open: to help people. I have a lot to atone for.”
“You murdered a man.”
Laurel lowered her voice. “We have a lot in common: we’ve both killed people, we both
know that the supernatural exists, and we both set up shop near our enemy.”
“I’ve only killed bad guys, usually in self-defense. You killed an innocent man.”
“You don’t need to remind me. Like I said, I have a lot to atone for.”
The telephone rang, and Jake glanced at the light on the device. The hair on the back of his neck prickled.
“Don’t let her answer it,” Laurel said.
Jake stabbed the intercom button. “Don’t answer the phone, Carrie.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Carrie said over the speaker.
The phone continued to ring. The answering machine picked up, and Jake listened to Carrie’s voice. “You’ve reached Helman Investigations and Security . . .”
After the outgoing message ended, there was a click.
“Maybe she’ll send an e-mail,” Jake said.
“Lilian won’t send anything that can be traced to her.”
Lightning flickered through the dust-covered window, and two seconds later thunder boomed like an explosion, causing both of them to flinch.
“That was close,” Jake said.
“She’s angry.”
Rain pelted the windows, streaking the dust, which soon vanished.
Jake rose and went to the windows. As he closed the blinds, he glimpsed the strobes of emergency response vehicles illuminating the disaster zone below. “That tornado threw cars around like they were Tonka toys. If she wanted you dead, she could send a Chevy through this window right now.”
“Lilian could bring this building down if she wanted to, but she doesn’t want me dead. If she did, she would have killed me when she found me or while she had me pinned to her basement ceiling.”
He returned to his seat. “Then what does she want? To make you beg for mercy?”
Storm Demon Page 15
