Demons of Desire (28 page)

Mr. Wilcox swallowed hard a few times, his face white as the wall behind him. “John Smith. I’m a tourist from New Jersey. I was just taking a walk along the river.”

I sucked at this whole interrogation thing. Still, everyone seemed to be waiting for me to do something, to direct them. Even Irix held back, watching as if the whole scenario bored him. I’m sure he’d rather be back at his party. Heck, I’d rather be back at his party.

“At two in the morning?”

“I was out on Bourbon Street and wanted to sober up before going back to my hotel.”

He didn’t seem particularly drunk, although he did look like he was going to vomit any minute. “Carrying a bunch of magical items?”

“Like I said — I’m a tourist. I got them at one of the voodoo shops as souvenirs.”

“Right. Holy water, maybe, but the tourist shops don’t have scrolls to Hel, spelled athames or chicken wands.” Whatever the heck chicken wands were.

He looked up, eyes darting between me and the vampires. “I dabble in the occult. Last time I checked, freedom of religion was in the Bill of Rights.”

What should have been a wise–guy show of confidence was rendered null by a terrified stutter and short panicked breaths.

“Last time I checked, sabotaging the city’s flood defenses isn’t in the Bill of Rights.”

Mr. Wilcox dropped his gaze to stare at his lap. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Three sets of fangs came out, and Eloise glided toward the man, making clear her carnivorous intentions. Mr. Wilcox cringed, straining away as far as his bonds would allow.

“Go ahead. I’m not afraid of a little blood loss.”

The poor man could hardly get the words out, he shook so badly. He may have stabbed Ourson, but I still felt sorry for him. Heck, I’d shot the vampire in the balls with a jolt of electricity. Maybe there were extenuating circumstances here.

“A little blood loss?” Eloise drawled, her child–like voice somewhat lisping with her sharp fangs exposed. “There are three of us, and I’m particularly hungry. By the time we’re done, there won’t be a drop of blood in your body.”

“I’m not afraid of death either.” He clearly
was
afraid of death, but Mr. Wilcox lifted his chin defiantly. I could see that he intended to stand his ground, in spite of the vampire’s threats. A dead mage wouldn’t do us any good. He’d called Eloise’s bluff.

“Perhaps eternal life would motivate you to talk?” Irix asked softly.

It hardly sounded like a threat to me, but our captive gasped, struggling frantically against the duct tape that held him to the chair.

Irix stalked toward the man like a cat creeping up on a mouse. “I’ll take my time, rip your soul from your flesh over the next few hours while the vampires lap up your blood.”

The vampires seemed in favor of this idea. I held perfectly still, wondering what Irix was talking about. How could the torture he was proposing have anything to do with eternal life?

“What is it you fear, human?” The incubus leaned over the chair, tracing a long finger across the man’s cheekbone. Mr. Wilcox shook, shutting his eyes tightly, but still not saying a thing.

“No matter. No need to tell me a thing. I’ll take your soul with all your thoughts and memories. Your secrets, the plans of your group, it will all be revealed.”

Irix placed a hand on the man’s cheek, and another against his chest. A glow surrounded his fingers. Mr. Wilcox cried out, and Irix gave a low laugh that held pure evil in its tone. Now it was my turn to shudder, reminded that the sexy, playful incubus had a dark side that made my own monster seem like a saint.

“I will know all — everything you fear, the nightmares that cause you to wake screaming, but there will be no more awakenings, no more relief from the terror. For all eternity, you will suffer with no hope of salvation.”

I watched in horror as drops of blood began to bead on the man’s skin. He screamed, convulsing, as Irix’s hands glowed with light.

“One more chance to change your mind, my friend,” Irix purred. “Are your friends really worth the torture you’ll suffer in my hands?”

The demon must have let up on what he was doing, because Mr. Wilcox’s eyes flew open with a gasp. “Stop. I’ll talk. I’ll tell you everything if you promise not to Own me.”

Irix smiled. It was one of the cruelest smiles I’d ever witnessed, and my stomach lurched at the sight. “I swear on all the souls that I Own, I will not claim you if you tell us everything. The truth — otherwise I am relieved from my vow.”

The man nodded, a drop of blood rolling down his forehead to hover at the tip of his nose. The glow around Irix’s hands faded. He stepped back, and Mr. Wilcox promptly puked.

Being duct–taped to a chair doesn’t give a person much room to maneuver, and our captive now had vomit down the front of his shirt and in a puddle on his crotch. Eloise wrinkled her nose in disgust, clearly put off her dinner by the sight.

“My name is Steve Mulligan,” the man said, spitting to clear his mouth. That wound up along with the vomit in his lap. “I’m an apprentice with the Great Order of Crimson Moon, New Orleans Chapter.”

Mulligan. I liked Wilcox better.

In spite of the fancy title of his magical order, apprentice didn’t sound very impressive. This guy had to know something, though, or he wouldn’t have been nosing around the levees loaded for bear with magical weapons.

“What was your purpose at the levee tonight?”

Mr. Wilcox hesitated, as though he was about to refuse to answer, but a quick motion from Irix wiped the color from his face.

“I make the rounds each night. A bunch of Wiccans messed up something we did in a bayou south of the city a few nights back. My job tonight was to check our spells along the levee, and report if any had been tampered with.”

“Are you the only one doing this?”

The man shook his head. “Three, sometimes four. There are a lot of spots, and they’re spread out. It would take too long for one person to check them all.”

“Where are all the spelled locations?”

He shot a nervous look at Irix and swallowed hard a few times before reciting a long list of locations. Three bayous, five sections of wetland closer to the gulf, the twenty spots along the levee we’d found, as well as twelve additional ones on levees along the canals and the lake, the dam, and two sea walls further south of the city.

Shit, that was a lot of locations.

“How long have you all been doing this?” There is no way any group, even with a sorcerer or mage helping, could spell all that in a few weeks. Crimson Moon must have been working on this project for a long time. And there was no way we could fix all that in the next few days. My heart sank. Even if we managed to capture all of Crimson Moon and their mage, the city would remain compromised until the spells were broken. I might need to miss my flight and drive home in Irix’s stolen Audi after all.

“Six months, although we began testing last year. The first spells weren’t very stable, like the one at the dam. They either went off early, or didn’t have the range of effect we’d hoped.”

From the twenty spells we’d found at the levee, and the damage to the cypresses, I hadn’t thought this was a casual endeavor, but I’d never envisioned the extent of their plot. The careful planning, the numerous locations — these people were serious about ensuring the success of their scheme.

“Who do you report back to?” I had the list that Ourson had given me and was hoping the name he gave me would match one on that list.

“Adelphia,” he replied promptly.

I wasn’t sure if he was lying or not. Who the fuck names their kid “Adelphia?”

“What’s their real name?”

He cast a nervous look at Irix. “All I know is that she’s a woman. None of them use their real names with me. Anyone initiate and above is robed or hooded in ceremony, and I’ve never met any of them outside our meetings that I’m aware of.”

How in the world were we supposed to crack a secret society if nobody knew each other’s names or appearance? Frustrated, I figured I’d at least ask the million–dollar question, although this guy was so low in their organization that he wasn’t likely to know.

“Why? Why would you want the city to suffer such destruction in a storm that you would spend huge resources and a year or more in planning?”

“We used to control the most powerful ley line in North America, but all the dams and levees have disbursed and weakened the energy. Nature and the ley line will recover if allowed to take their course. We have the skills to do great good with that power restored. It’s all for a greater good.”

Easy for him to say. I fumed, unable to imagine how anyone could justify the destruction of a major metropolitan area, including significant loss of lives, with some nebulous “greater good”. Plus the whole thing was breathtakingly overkill.

“That’s a lot of damage just to yank the ley line power away from another group.”

Wilcox shifted in his seat and dropped his chin to his chest. “Some of the spells might not work. We need to make sure the first hurricane brings success, or Bon Nuit will find a way to block future attempts.”

It still didn’t make sense. I could see them targeting a few bayous and the river levees to free up the Mississippi River, but what about all the other spots?

“Why put spells on the lake and canal levees? And the wetlands to the east of the river?” None of those breaches would affect the ley lines.

His gaze was just as puzzled as I’m sure mine was. “I don’t know. Maybe for diversions? All I know is that we want to get control of the ley line energy.”

What a bunch of assholes. They were willing to destroy property and risk people’s lives as a diversion? I was so lost in my angry thoughts, that I almost missed Mr. Wilcox’s next words.

“I’ve got no idea what the foreign guy wants though. We’re not paying him for his help. Personally, I think he’s got a different motive than the rest of us.”

“What foreign guy?”

“I don’t know who he is, but he’s the only one who doesn’t wear a hood or mask. Blond hair, almost white, with green eyes. He’s pretty tan, but, with that hair, I’m sure it’s spray–on. He’s a real jerk. Orders everyone around like we’re all slaves. I don’t think the elders would put up with him except he’s the most amazing magician we’ve ever seen. He’s truly gifted.”

Or truly elven trained, and doing it since before he was out of diapers. “What’s
his
name?”

“I don’t know. Everyone calls him ‘Weaver’ because of the way his magic meshes everything together.”

I walked over to Irix. “A mage from Hel?”

He shrugged. “Or a demon. A mage would probably have the usual mercenary motivations, but many classes of demons simply enjoy destruction and death and wouldn’t ask for payment.”

“But Jordan said the magic didn’t match,” I argued.

“Maybe she was wrong. Maybe other demon’s energy doesn’t look the same as mine does. I just think we should keep all our options open.”

We. I really liked that I wasn’t in this alone, that Irix might consider this project to be just as much his as mine.

“I hope it’s a mage,” I muttered. “Although if it’s a demon, that angel might do the work for us.”

“Maybe. Angels sometimes arrive too late.” He fingered the scroll in his waistband. “And if Weaver has another of these, he may intend to be across the gates before the shit hits the fan.”

I looked at Mr. Wilcox, slumped in the chair, and wasn’t sure what to do next. “I don’t think he knows anything else. What should we do with him?”

It was a perplexing problem. I doubted the police would lock him up for checking magical spells. How loyal was he to Crimson Moon? If he told them about us, about the vampires and Bliss, all my friends would be at risk. This Weaver guy might not be above blowing up the club, or hunting down Ourson and his friends. Normally, I’d bet on Irix in a fight with just about anyone, but I didn’t know how powerful mages from Hel were, and if Weaver was even a mage. Incubi and succubi weren’t all that powerful compared to other demons.

“The vampires will take care of him.” Irix replied, already taking my arm as if to lead me from the room.

I didn’t like the sound of that one bit. I pulled away and turned suspiciously toward Eloise. “Take care of him how?”

Everyone in the room seemed confused by my question.

“What would you prefer?” Eloise asked, as if she were treading on landmines. She clearly didn’t want to offend me, but had no idea where I was going with my question.

“Well, I’d
prefer
we let him go.”

Mr. Wilcox seemed in favor of that too. His eyes darted to me with a tiny glimmer of hope. The vampires stared at me as if I’d gone insane. Irix put a reassuring arm around my shoulder.

“Darling, we can’t let him go. You must put your household ahead of this stranger’s life. Besides, he said he wasn’t afraid to die, and all I vowed was that I wouldn’t Own him.”

Irix sounded eerily regretful at the prospect of not Owning the man. I shivered, moving out from under his arm with the pretense of examining the man closer.

“We can just drain him,” Eloise added cheerfully, looking like a young child eager to head off to the circus. “We’ve got a gland that activates when we feed that makes the process enjoyable for the human. He’d die without pain.”

Mr. Wilcox didn’t look any happier at that prospect, but he stiffened his shoulders in a show of courage.

“Are you kidding,” Guy argued. “The nasty bag of blood nearly killed Ourson with a spelled athame. I say we take our time and pull him apart over the next few days.”

My stomach turned, and I struggled to think of some alternative that would make sense to them, that they’d respect as more than the sentimental emotion of a young succubus.

“He’s … mine. I want him.”

Eloise’s lovely violet eyes widened in shock. “Of course. Would you like a private room to enjoy your captive?”

“Amber, perhaps you should allow the vampires to have this one. I don’t think he’s a good candidate for you to Own.”

Irix came closer but didn’t touch me. I knew what he meant. Half–breeds couldn’t Own, and I hadn’t a really good idea what it entailed anyway. I just figured claiming the man would give me the opportunity to get him out of here and time to figure out what to do with him. I turned to face Irix and saw the table with the human’s belongings strewn across it. In two steps I was there, picking up a rectangular object.