Demonic Double Cross

by B Branin

  * * * * *

  One of the adoption papers I had stolen during our exploits at the Hell Scratch claimed Fredrick Killington was one of those comatose girls’ legal guardian. Buggy’s dive into the internet told us that this adoptive daughter was going to inherit the vast fortune that Fredrick Killington had acquired over several decades of ruthless business deals.

  Armed with a few questions that only Fredrick Killington could answer, we were on our way to the Big Time.

  For cops and those of us on the other side of the law, Big Time was code for a very exclusive residential area. Officially apart of the Business District where billion dollar sky scrapers met fancy specialty shops, there was a crisp, clean center that held a small gem where only the exonerated elite made their homes. Mayors, business barons and big shots (including rich old fossils like Killington) all roosted in these enormous estates, hence the nickname.

  If you were able to pull off a robbery or con in the Big Time, you’d get underworld bragging rights and possibly end up on easy street. Hell, Bruce once told me that someone came into his pawnshop with a stolen necklace stripped from a jogger in the Big Time. The jewelry was pure platinum and frosted with enough diamonds to send the client to Cancun indefinitely.

  That was what the jogger had chosen to wear.

  You can imagine the sight we must have made. Kurt led us through picture-perfect streets where rolling lawns were shadowed by disgustingly extravagant manors and mansions. Rumbling behind the biker, West, Fiona and I followed in the Road Killer, the only machine within five blocks that didn’t cost over half a million.

  We were officially invading enemy turf. If I knew my rich people (and since they are my favored prey, I did) a few Big Time residents were already calling the neighborhood watch, the police and possibly the national guard to inform them that some “outsiders” had entered their wealthy sanctuary.

  Lucky for us, I happened to know that the underpaid civil servants such as the police hated those who dwelled in these mansions. Who could blame them? None of the stuffy rich folk knew a hard day’s work and demanded that everyone else meet their impossibly high standards of performance for nothing more than the satisfaction of “doing their job.” I can’t tell you how delighted I am in knowing that even as the police operators had their ears chattered off by some ancient, martini soaked trophy wife, no cop car would even bother heading towards Big Time unless there was a guarantee of a dead body being found.

  “This it?” West asked as we slowed to a stop in front of an enormous gate that fenced off an entire estate.

  Along the top of the black, spear-tipped gate bars were the letters K-I-L-L-I-N-G-T-O-N in bright, shiny gold. I looked at our driver with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yeah,” I deadpanned, “I think so.”

  I slipped out of the Road Killer as Kurt killed the engine to his motorcycle. Stepping up to the intercom attached to one of the large pillars on either side of the gate, I cleared my throat and tried to look as professional as possible. If there was an intercom, there was bound to be a security camera somewhere.

  “Hello?” I prompted, pressing the big red button on the intercom.

  There was an annoyingly long pause.

  “This is the Killington estate,” A deep voice boomed back, “May I ask who is speaking?”

  “My name is Arthur Broker,” I replied crisply, “My associates and I need to speak to Mr. Killington immediately.”

  “That’s not possible,” The same voice remarked, “Mr. Killington is in an important meeting. Please call ahead of time for an audience. Thank you and have a nice day.”

  Meeting? Yeah right! The old fossil was probably getting drunk on expensive imported wines or bitching at some of his staff.

  “We’re investigators!” I barked gruffly, switching tactics and tones, “We need to speak to Mr. Killington immediately about his adoptive daughter. Either we speak with him now or we get in touch with a few social workers who will have the police serving you a warrant by sunrise.”

  A longer pause.

  “If you would just call ahead…” The deep voice replied, though not as confident as before, “…we would be happy to receive you as early as tomorrow morning.”

  “If we don’t speak with Mr. Killington right now,” I bluffed, adding more bite to my words, “His name will be on the front page of tomorrow’s paper followed by the words ‘neglectful parent.’”

  A long, looong pause.

  “Mr. Killington will see you.” The deep voice replied finally.

  The enormous gates jumped a little as they automatically swung open for us. Smiling, I nodded to Kurt who took the lead down the ridiculously long driveway to the enormous manor at the end. We followed the biker as soon as I hoped back inside the Road Killer.

  “You’re sure about this?” Fiona asked, nervousness creeping into her voice, “That he’ll know something?”

  “He’ll know something.” I assured her, “But let’s just hope it’s enough to help us.”

  At first I thought Fiona was simply nervous because we had no idea what we were about to face. After the encounter at the club and the church, there was simply no possible way to predict when or even how the Daughters of All would strike at us. But there was something adding to her anxiety. It took me a moment to place it before I realized what it was: My client was out of her element. After all, she was just some simple country girl and now we were ass deep in the richest part of an enormous city.

  It was almost cute to think that she’d feel awkward about the ritzy part of town after what we’ve been through.

  After driving for what seemed a couple miles down an imitation cobblestone driveway, we all ended up at the front of a house so big that it could have doubled as a Victorian-themed hotel. Standing on the porch waiting for us was the picture-perfect butler complete with white gloves and a snobbish air about him.

  Not even Kurt’s cold stare made the immaculately dressed dandy wilt.

  As the four of us assembled on the wooden porch made from some lacquered, foreign lumber, the butler eyed us all curiously. Kurt in his biker attire, West’s unkempt hair and I in my ragged outfit including a shirt that had been in the bottom of a lost and found hamper for a month. The only one of us that looked even close to presentable was Fiona, owing most of the credit to her natural beauty.

  “You…are investigators?” The butler sniffed.

  “I am the lead investigator,” I declared with a step forward, “These two gentlemen are my assistants.”

  I knew the next thing out of his mouth would be a demand of credentials, either a badge or official documents backing our claim. That’s why I hurried on and didn’t give him the chance to ask for identification.

  “…and this lovely young lady,” I added hastily, taking Fiona by the elbow and guiding her in front of me, “Is the young woman who filed the missing persons’ report. You see, this is Connie. She is the sister to the young woman Mr. Killington is in the process of adopting.”

  Ha! The dandy’s snooty mask didn’t break but he did pale at the sound of that. The butler stared at Fiona, who was just as confused as he was about my lie. Thankfully she had the good enough sense to keep quiet.

  “I…I was not aware that Ms. Kelly had any blood relations...I am sure Master Killington was clear on th-” The butler began but I held up my hand and cut him off.

  “It is a very complicated matter which is why I was called in.” I replied, puffing out my chest with counterfeit pride and authority, “You see, Miss Connie here is the half sister of Mr. Killington’s adopted daughter, Kelly. She was sent to an out of state foster family a few years ago.”

  Solemnly I bowed my head, placing a hand on Fiona’s shoulder as if trying to comfort her.

  “In addition, Connie was also placed in a protection program because her abusive father refused to leave her alone. That is why there is no record of Connie and Kelly as sisters. Only the agents handling her witness protection case workers would have access to Conni
e’s background.” I continued on, laying it on a little thick but I needed to be as convincing as possible, “But now that she has reached adulthood, Connie was hoping to come to her sister’s aid and offer Kelly a place to stay. Imagine our surprise when we discovered that her seventeen year old sister had been adopted.”

  The butler’s arrogant countenance (that I’m sure he took much satisfaction in perfecting) was beginning to crack. It was obvious that this situation was getting out of hand, something he was by no means use too. If I had to guess, I’d say that butler-boy had specific instructions not to disturb Mr. Killington but did not have enough information about the adopted daughter to call my bluff.

  “I…I can understand this delicate situation but…I’m afraid Madam Kelly has gone with the lady of the house to Boston for the week.” The butler tried to ward us off with the weak lie.

  Unbeknownst to the butler, the four people standing in front of him knew that was bullshit. Kelly Killington was last seen by us, trapped in the bottom of the Hell Scratch along with several other teenaged girls.

  “That’s perfect!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands together delightedly, much to the butler’s dismay, “We did not want to speak to Kelly yet. Connie just wants to speak with Mr. Killington about the possible arrangements of Kelly visiting her out of state. As you can imagine, they have plenty to catch up on…isn’t that right, Connie?”

  I nudged Fiona with my elbow.

  “O-Of course that’s right.” Fiona stammered, clearing her throat as she tried to slip into her false identity, “I just…want to talk about the future.”

  The butler produced an ivory handkerchief from somewhere on his person and mopped up the beads of sweat that began to make his bald head shine underneath the porch light. He finally came to a decision and the slight slump in his posture told me he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  “If you’d all follow me to the hearth room,” The butler called, making a crisp motion for us to step in line behind him, “I will go inform Mr. Killington that he has guests.”

  We followed the butler inside the house, keeping in stride with his brisk pace. Fiona actually gasped as she saw the obscenely decorated interior of the house. My companions might have been out of their element in a place that spent more money on rugs than most middle class people made in a year but I, on the other hand, was right at home.

  There were some perks about being a conman after all.

  As we wandered these ridiculously designed hallways, I thought of Rome. Several years back, I was a part of an international scam selling knock-off artifacts and paintings on the black market. One of my partners had been a penniless historian who accompanied me to a potential mark’s home. If there had been less than fifty grand spent on décor at the target’s house I would have been surprised. My partner had been less impressed, pointing out armor that belonged to Byzantine soldiers next to a bust of Augustus. I chuckled as the historian snidely mentioned that some of the pottery on display belonged to the Holy Roman Empire but was carelessly mixed in with Nervan-Antonian Dynasty paintings.

  It was a valuable lesson: Money couldn’t buy sophistication, which meant the more sophisticated the furnishing, the more naïve the owner. I hoped Mr. Killington would be no exception to the rule. My fingers were crossed that he was just some sucker who had accidentally got on the wrong side of the Daughters of All.

  After all, why would a millionaire willingly ally themselves with a cult that specialized in drug peddling and kidnapping?

  “Please, make yourself comfortable,” The butler spoke curtly as he guided us to a cozy room the size of my apartment, “I will send for refreshments.”

  With a stiff bow the butler left us, disappearing around the corner of the hallway we just came down. Not one to turn down hospitality, I walked over and flopped down on a velvet red chair next to the oven-sized fireplace. The Twins followed suit quickly enough, choosing to sit down on a couch as Fiona timidly took the seat across from mine.

  Despite its comfort, there was one thing about the hearth room that nagged at the back of my mind. There was only one way in or out. This was a corner room, right at the elbow of an “L” shaped hallway. There were a few windows behind us but they were a good eight feet off the ground and double-paned, making them virtually useless as an escape route. The boxed-in design of the hearth room would be perfect for an ambush.

  I tried to ignore that fact, chalking it up to my paranoia.

  There was some comfort to be had with the Twins being present. They, as always, were my trump card. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Mr. Killington had some security guards on the property but with Kurt and West here he’d think twice before trying to outmuscle us.

  So I hoped.

  Twenty minutes crawled by before we heard the sound of footsteps in the hall. Fiona had spent that time drinking in the extravagance of our surroundings, probably still unable to comprehend how anyone could spend so much money on a waiting room. The Twins spent the time in silence, probably thinking about opening a tab in my name as soon as they got back to the Bin despite my specific orders not to.

  I spent the entire twenty minutes trying to ignore the tingling sensation crawling up my spine and making my scalp itch. It was too late to change my game plan, so I just had to disregard my sixth sense for danger and alarm. Besides what could I do anyway? Tell everyone to bolt? Claim something wicked this way comes? No…the best option was to sit tight and hope that whatever was coming our way was human.

  The sound of footsteps stopped and was replaced by a sound much like a gear winding. Looking up, we saw that the butler had returned with a serving tray with several glasses and a bottle of brandy resting on it…oh, and an old man who was in a mechanized wheelchair.

  The years hadn’t treated Mr. Killington kindly.

  Mr. Killington looked as I expected ancient corporate moguls to look; bald, covered in livers spots, skeletal save for the paunch that served as his stomach, hunched from the immense pressure of his years…and dressed in a thousand dollar suit.

  “Mr. Killington.” The butler announced with a slight bow of his head.

  With an impressive display of skill, the butler glided past his employer, balancing the tray in one hand while pouring the brandy with the other. After swooping in and making sure we all had a glass, the butler then excused himself from the hearth room.

  Despite the tempting aroma of brandy, all of my attention was on Mr. Killington who returned my scrutinizing gaze.

  “You are a….investigator?” Wheezed the old man, and despite rasping out each syllable, he still managed to sound unimpressed.

  “Of sorts,” I parried, setting my brandy down on the small coffee table next to my chair as I stood up, “This here is Connie, the sister of-”

  “Cut the bullshit.” Mr. Killington coughed, pausing to catch his breath before continuing, “I paid top dollar to make sure my adoptive daughter was a single child. Looked into it myself! Kelly’s mother was a crack whore who died giving birth to her and her father was just some John. Kelly herself was well on her way to becoming some street walker, which sped along the adoptive process.”

  My smile never faltered. In any other situation I could respect this man. He was hands on; didn’t leave important tasks to some lackey. The devil was in the details after all and if you didn’t want to be burned, you needed to handle things yourself. So that was that. My cover was blown but at least now we could get down to the real reason we were here.

  “Now,” The fossil continued, “Who the hell are you and what do you want?”

  “Call me Broker,” I replied casually, “And what I want are some answers. You and I both know that this adopted daughter of yours is gone. You haven’t gone to the police or filed a missing person’s report either.”

  Reading this wrinkled shell of a man was hard, but I managed. His left eye twitched ever so slightly, probably surprised that some stranger knew about his dark secret. I love rich people. They pay through the nose to keep their
secrets buried, but we bottom feeders dug them up easily enough.

  “Meaning?” Mr. Killington asked, eyeing me coldly.

  He liked to play his cards close to the vest, a song and dance that I’ve been through plenty of times. This is how it worked: he wanted me to give up some information first, then judge how much of a risk I was before coming up with a response or bribe. That was fine with me. I laid down my first ace.

  “Meaning that she was abducted. That boils down to you either being the victim of a kidnapping scheme,” I replied, “Or that you’re involved somehow...”

  I laid down my second ace.

  “…though I’m not quite sure what you might gain from the latter, considering you made your adoptive daughter the heir to your fortune.”

  Mr. Killington’s eyes went wide before he recovered his scowl. He now knew I wasn’t some lucky scumbag who happened to stumble upon some golden information. Realizing he was dealing with a professional, the old fart changed gears accordingly.

  “I see.” Mr. Killington rasped, “Now Mister…Broker, was it? Yes…where do you fit into all of this? You have me at a disadvantage. Why would you be interested in my foster child? What do you want?”

  “If you are expecting me to round off a number.” I said bluntly, “Don’t bother going for your checkbook. That’s not why I am here. I just want answers. You tell me what I want to know and you’ll never see me again.”

  The prospect of keeping his money made Mr. Killington smile so wide that he almost lost his dentures. That wasn’t right…usually this is the part of the process where Mr. Killington claimed he is innocent, tried to threaten me, or attempts to buy me off. Something wasn’t adding up…again.

  “You either must be one of those…whatchamacallems? Humanitarians or just plain ol’ stupid.” Mr. Killington laughed and if it was possible, his laugh sounded even drier than his usual tone, “You don’t want money? Just to talk? Over a missing child? Fine. Ask away.”

  As Mr. Killington folded his hands into his lap, I cleared my throat and began.

  “Kelly, why did you adopt her?”

  “To have someone carry on my legacy.”

  “Bullshit. You have two sons.”

  “Good point.” Mr. Killington wheezed, “You got me. I needed Kelly for a…business transaction.”

  Fiona’s eyes widened at the callus remark. I’ve heard far worse and wasn’t fazed at all.

  “Did you help abduct her?”

  “You don’t know she was abducted.”

  “I do.”

  Mr. Killington frowned, “How do you know that?”

  “I saw her just a few days ago.” I spat, an image of her being stored like a piece of meat flashing through my mind, “Now who are you dealing with?”

  “Their name escapes my feeble old mind…”

  “Let me rephrase the question. What do you get out of dealing with the Daughters of All?” I demanded.

  The fossil’s eyes narrowed dangerously at me. Fifty years ago, I’m sure people of all rank and file withered under that glare. Either I had thicker skin than his past business partners or the aging Killington’s stink eye had lost some of its sting over the years, either way I met his stare evenly.

  “So that’s what you are after?!” The fossil exclaimed, sounding like a tire being deflated, “You little prick! They just don’t deal with anyone! Besides you’re young! What could you possibly want from them?!”

  Killington’s face was turning red as he jabbed a boney finger into the air, pointing right at me as he wheezed along.

  “You won’t ruin this night! No! I’ve waited too long, I’ve come too far, sacrificed too much! I am not going to have some piss-ant from nowhere try to elbow in on this deal!” Killington ranted, his eyes wild with seething contempt, “I spent a lifetime creating this fortune and I tend to take that life back! All of it!”

  The fossil’s lungs finally needed a break. Reaching to the side of the wheelchair, he pulled out an oxygen mask. Slapping the mask to his face with one hand, Killington reached behind him and turned on the oxygen tank strapped to the back of his chair.

  “Don’t give yourself a heart attack, stroke, or fill that adult diaper you are undoubtedly wearing.” I said snidely, “I only want one thing from you. Where is Faye Ambrose?”

  Fiona looked up at me, eyes shimmering with hope. I know that she must be thinking me rather heroic right then, demanding to know where her sister was so we can rescue her…but I had a different motive. I had neglected to mention that, according to Dr. Livingstone, Faye was the leader of the Daughters of All. If this fossil was really in bed with the cult, he should at least be able to confirm who their leader was.

  All I needed was a name. Just one name and then I could start digging myself out of this mess!

  “Faye?” Killington breathed, “Who the hell is that?”

  “My sister!” Fiona cried, sitting up, “If you know where she is, please tell me!”

  “I don’t have time for this!” Killington growled, “All of you get off my property! There isn’t an authority figure in this country I can’t afford! Mention any of this discussion or anything about my adoptive daughter and I’ll have an army of lawyers at your doorstep for slander!”

  “Please I just want to know-!” Fiona tried, but I motioned for her to simmer down.

  “Apparently you don’t appreciate the situation.” I informed the fossil with my own glare, “I need to know where Faye is. Now you tell me nicely or…”

  I motioned to the Twins.

  “I love rich people.” West grunted as he stood up, “They scream a lot louder.”

  The giant cracked his knuckles and took a menacing step towards Killington. The old fossil didn’t even come up to the giant’s waist while in his wheelchair. Killington, to his credit, didn’t stop glaring at us nor did he backtrack at all.

  “You wouldn’t dare!” Killington wheezed, “Besides, you think I would meet with some blackmailing trash alone? Murray!”

  At the shout, two suits rushed into the room. They were the stereotypical bodyguard type, right down to the crew-cut hairstyle. They looked ex-military, probably too stupid to get drafted into a PMC after serving their tours so they joined a private security detail instead.

  Sure they looked mean but they didn’t compare to the Twins.

  “You are trespassing on private property,” One of the suits announced, presumably Murray, “We’ll escort you to the property line. If you refuse, the police will be notified and we will use force to remove you.”

  “Or,” Kurt spoke up, drawing a .357 revolver from the inside of his vest, “You two could step out and let us finish talking to the old man.”

  “Sir!” Murray responded as both he and his counterpart opened their jackets, placing their hands on the pistols strapped to their hips, “I suggest you put away the firearm. We will use lethal force! Our security team is over twenty strong.”

  “I only need one bullet.” Kurt stated, cocking back the hammer with a thumb.

  I felt a smug grin spread across my face as Kurt raised the revolver and leveled it at Killington. All of the vigor and aggression seeped out of the two suits immediately. I don’t think the fossil was scared but he was certainly angry that his hired goons didn’t know what to do.

  “Stop them you idiots!” Killington bellowed through his oxygen mask.

  “He…he might shoot.” Murray managed, still keeping his gun holstered.

  Killington looked at me, enraged as he shouted, “I’m eighty years old! If you shoot me I’ll be killed! What good am I to you then?!”

  “Good point.” I agreed, then said to Kurt, “Aim for his thumb or hips. Odds are he got them replaced so it shouldn’t cause a fatal wound.”

  “Understood.” Kurt replied, readjusting his aim.

  “I’ll have you skinned alive for this!” Killington wheezed, “All of you! You won’t stop me! The Daughters and I have a deal! It won’t be called off! I won’t have it!”

  �
��And what are you gonna do about it?” I asked, satisfied that I held all the cards.

  Me and my big mouth.

  As soon as those words left my lips, the air between Killington and the rest of us began to shimmer like the mirage. Everyone in the hearth room gave an involuntary shiver as the room was sucked dry of all warmth.

  “Fuck.” Kurt, West and I all groaned at once, recognizing the phenomenon for what it was.

  The shimmering expanded. Violently. The mysterious force struck West head on as he planted his feet and threw up his arms defensively. It was no use. Struggling to keep upright, West’s feet slid across the fine carpet until the air pulsed. Everyone was stunned as West was flung across the room by the arcane power that had collided with him.

  The giant flatted the Brazilian Rosewood coffee table as he landed, groaning and cursing at the same time.

  Kurt was the next victim. I cringed as I saw a faint blue light materialize into existence. The faint light was nothing more than a thin sliver and streaked through the air like a shooting star. It made contact, thankfully not with Kurt, but with the pistol he held. The black coating of the revolver immediately lost its luster and the metal cracked. The biker gave a shout of alarm and dropped the firearm, angry welts forming on the palm of his hand where he had been holding the revolver.

  When the .357 landed on the carpet with a muffled thud, the damn thing actually shattered like an eggshell. I remembered only too well the impossibly cold touch of Dr. Livingstone’s phantom. Seeing the same blue light freezing steel to the point of shattering was no surprise to me though everyone else seemed a bit subdued by the unnatural occurrence.

  “Well that was entertaining.” Sang out a rather melodic voice that packed a decent amount of flirtation in every word.

  All eyes (save for Killington, who couldn’t turn his neck that far) went to the doorway. Standing there with one hand on her hip, a cold smile on her lips and horrendously dilated eyes was a face that I would never be able to forget.

  “Faye!” Fiona exclaimed, her voice breaking with emotion, “Oh my god…it’s you…”

  Fiona let out a sob that was probably a mixture of disbelief, confusion and hope all mixed into one. She stood up and took a step towards her supposedly dead sister…the very dead sister that I had danced with that fateful night at Hell Scratch.

  “Sister?” Asked Faye, her lips pursed into a cute pout, “Oh yes! You’re Fiona aren’t you? The one that brought this insect into my affairs.”

  As she mentioned the word “insect” Faye pointed to me which, though insulting, was not harsh enough to invoke a response from me…especially when we were dealing with someone who could manipulate the supernatural. Even the Twins were rather placated, not quiet sure how to square off against an enemy like her.

  “Of course it’s me!” Fiona replied, tears welling up in her eyes, “W-Why wouldn’t it be me? Faye, what happened? You were dead! I saw you and...and…”

  Faye took on a gaze of cold sympathy, not so different from someone looking at a flower that was going to be crushed underfoot. She stepped across the room to Fiona, taking her by the hand.

  “Silly little girl,” Faye chided, “You could have ignored all of this. Your sister loved you so very much. She didn’t intend for this to happen to you.”

  Confusion spread across Fiona’s pretty features.

  “My sister? Faye, it’s me! I am your sister!” Fiona exclaimed tearfully, clearly confused.

  “No.” Faye replied with a callous smile, “Your sister is just a mask for me to wear. I am Lorraine the Lost, founder of the Daughters of All!”

  “You must be sick! We can help-!” Fiona began but she never got to finish.

  Faye held up her hand, about chest level to Fiona. The cult leader’s fingers shimmered mysteriously as paranormal powers gathered. In a flash, Fiona was knocked off her feet by the same mysterious force that had struck West. My client was flung through the air like a rag doll, a small cry of surprise and pain escaping her. Lucky for Fiona, I happened to break her fall…unintentionally of course.

  I was knocked to the ground, my cracked ribs screaming in agony as Fiona’s limp form rested on my torso.

  “Get rid of them,” Killington barked at Murray, “Send their bodies to those stupid mooks at the docks. They’ll know what to do.”

  As I cradled the dazed Fiona in my arms, my eyes darted to the two suits. Though their faces were painted with fear and confusion, they had their pistols trained on the Twins. To Murray’s credit, he didn’t tremble as Faye stepped past him like his partner did.

  “Wait.” Faye commanded just before exiting the room, spinning around and locking eyes with me, “That man is too resourceful to be left to these ruffians of yours. And my ‘sister’ would be worth so much more to me as a vessel.”

  Faye brought one finger to her crimson pout, tapping her lips in thought.

  “You there, the cheat!” The cult leader called to me, “You are coming with me.”

  I hesitated.

  She added in a seductive purr, “Be a good boy.”

  “Fuck off.” I spat, my brave words born out of desperation rather than courage.

  With a wag of her finger, Faye conjured another sliver of pale blue light. As it approached, the damn thing changed shape, stretching out to become razor thin before curving ever so slightly. Soon I had a blue blade orbiting me.

  “Don’t argue!” Faye warned, “There are worse fates than my company.”

  The blade dipped low, nearly brushing my cheek with its supernatural edge. I looked over at the Twins to see if they were in any position to help. West looked severely pissed off, eyeing Murray with clenched fists. Kurt returned my glance and simply shrugged.

  “Fine,” I conceded, “I’ll go.”

  “Excellent!” Clapped Faye with childish glee then turned to Killington, bending over at the waist and favoring the fossil with a clear view of her décolletage, “Have those three locked up somewhere. I’m sure your wife has already been prepared so we need to get you marked.”

  Killington’s eyes lingered on her gorgeous bust as he replied, “We should just plug ‘em. I still own a meat packaging plant down at the docks. They can be fish food in a half-hour.”

  Faye frowned.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” The cult leader hissed, “This is my play! My stage! My plan and I said lock them up!”

  Those pools of darkness that served as Faye’s eyes regarded me coldly, “Besides, I might need them as a bargaining chip.”

  With a huff, Faye flounced out of the hearth room, leaving Killington turning his wheelchair around as quickly as possible so he could watch her walk away. His eyes were filled with a lust I didn’t think an old man was capable of without the aide of several medications.

  “Lock ‘em up in the boiler room,” Killington ordered as he began to ease his automatic wheelchair after Faye, “Kill them if they cause any trouble. I will not have this night ruined!”

  Before exiting the room, the old fossil paused and waved a skeletal hand in the air.

  “Hurry Mr. Broker!” He called, “You have been invited to witness a miracle!”

  * * * * *