Hollyweird (7 page)

“Naw,” I finally said. “I'm sure she'll grab her shades and come right back.”

We leaned against Jameson's BMW to wait. My body felt buzzy with leftover adrenaline and sudden exhaustion. Definitely needed food.

“You really enjoyed yourself, didn't you?” Jameson asked, with an affectionate smile that made me feel even dizzier.

I smiled back but didn't say anything. He knew the answer.

“I liked seeing things through your eyes,” he said.

My heart surged in my chest. “Is that why you kept watching me?” I asked in surprise. Then my cheeks heated at my forward question. I'd certainly felt his stare throughout the day, but never knew what to make of it. Only that his avid attention made me warm and antsy.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I couldn't help but watch you.”

I knew he didn't mean it in a stalkery way. Sometimes seeing an experience through someone else's eyes can make you appreciate it in a way you wouldn't with your own. “Today,” I said. “All this—it's everything I imagined and so much more.” I peered at him sideways. “You've quit seeing the magic.” It wasn't an accusation or question, just my own observation.

“Some,” he agreed. “But I think the magic you see comes from your perspective.”

I felt like I was standing on a precipice of discovery, one that could explain this baffling boy. Losing myself in his guarded green eyes, I dared to say, “And your perspective shows you something different than I see?”

He licked his lips and then gave a little huff of laughter. “Yeah, 'fraid so.”

“Tell me,” I beseeched.

Jameson shook his head. “Uh uh.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don't want to ruin your—”

We both looked up at the sound of someone running hell-bent toward us. Des's face was stricken, no,
terrified
.
Her pupils eclipsed the brown of her irises and her breath came in asthmatic pants.

I grabbed her by the arms. “Desi, what's wrong?”

She shook her head, unable to form words.

“Tell me,” I ordered. “You're scaring me.”

She swallowed and her gaze darted between me and Jameson.

“His eyes,” she whispered in a scared, little girl voice.

“Who's eyes?” I asked. “Des, what happened?”

Finally her focus locked on me. “Oh, God, Aly. His eyes. Dakota's eyes were glowing demon-dog red.”

My throat tightened. Red. Just like I'd seen at the photo shoot yesterday. I'd chalked it up to a trick of the light, my own bad vision, exhaustion, even an over-active imagination. But if Des had seen it …

“Show me,” I ordered.

“No,” Jameson said, and moved to block our path.

I searched his eyes and
knew
this had to do with his perspective. He had been hiding the truth all along, protecting us from it, whatever
it
was. This wasn't a shared hallucination between Des and me. So what was it?

“Oh my God,” Des screeched as she stared over Jameson's shoulder. When he whirled around to look, she grabbed my hand and we dashed past him.

As diversions went, it was weak, but it gave us the head start we needed to reach the makeup trailer and sneak in. Thankfully, Nat was nowhere to be seen. Taking cover behind a rack of clothes, I peered between an oxford shirt and hoodie to watch Dakota. He looked perfectly normal, if a bit narcissistic, as he chatted on his cell phone while studying himself in the makeup mirror. As he leaned forward to toy with the waves in his hair, I started to think both Des and I had lost it. What were we thinking? That the front page of
The National Enquirer
would read
Paranormal PI Star Possessed ?
Yeah, right!

Then Dakota blinked, and the mocha eyes that made me melt when I watched him on TV were suddenly blood red. We're talking not a speck of white or black anywhere, just scary, scarlet orbs.

I bit my tongue to keep from gasping and Des gripped my hand in a death clutch. What the hell?

“I know,” he was saying, his normal-sounding voice not matching the evil visual before me. “Talk about luck. Missy just fell into my lap.”

I straightened at the mention of my sister and strained to listen.

“She's gorgeous, talented, and desperate. My three favorite things. I can't wait to trash that piece of fresh meat until she's putrid enough to please dear ole Dad.”

A hot flush of fear seared up my spine and I blindly backed up from the clothing rack toward the door. Once we were outside, a grim-looking Jameson took us firmly by the arms and quick-stepped us toward his car.

Numb. Shocked. Scared. Des and I meekly let him lead us. Once inside the vehicle, I looked at Des. “Did you hear—”

She nodded, but didn't say a word.

“What happened?” Jameson demanded.

“He, he,” I rambled. “His eyes were red and he threatened Missy.”

“Sounds about right.” Jameson jabbed his fingers through the spikes of his hair.

I shook my head. “I don't understand.”

Jameson turned the key in the ignition. “Come on—it's time you learn the real reason why they call it Hell-A.”

Jameson

“Did you know it originally said Hollywoodland?” I pointed to the fifty-foot letters perched atop Mt. Lee. “It was a real estate ploy to attract rich buyers, built in 1924 for twenty-one grand and lit up with four thousand 20-watt bulbs. This is as close as I can get you to the sign because it's fenced off.” I leaned back against the windshield, tucking my arms behind my head. We were parked on Beachwood Drive, me lying sandwiched between the two of them on the sun-warmed hood of the BMW and Tourette's-ing some trivia with rattled nerves. “The security system is meant to keep away vandals, and jumpers like Peg Entwistle who plummeted off the H in 1932. The sign's been refurbished twice, once in '49 when it became Hollywood and again in '78. Alice Cooper paid to replace an O in honor of his favorite comedian, Groucho Marx. In 2010, Hugh Hefner donated $900,000 to save it from developers, and—”

“And this has nothing to do with Dakota's red eyes,” Aly said in exasperation. “Pleeease, stop with the avoidance already.”

“Yeah, Jameson,” Des said. “You've been playing dodge ball long enough.”

They were right, of course. I'd taken them to In and Out Burger for dinner, wanting to replenish their energy before I clubbed them over the head with the unthinkable, and managed to stall by saying it wasn't something we could discuss in public. Now it was nearly seven o'clock and we were staring at California's most iconic image, but instead of them enjoying it the way tourists should, I had to tell them that, like the sign, the devil was in the details.

Hell,
he
was in everything.

I blew out a heavy breath. Did I go for a slow build-up, or just blurt it out?

“Is he possessed?” Des asked. “ 'Cause I've been thinking about it and thinking about it, and he wasn't spewing pea soup or anything, but maybe something, some
one
is inside him—”

“He's not possessed,” I interrupted, sliding off the front of the car.

“Then he's a demon,” she said matter-of-factly. “Like on the show.”

I closed my eyes in gratitude. Maybe this would be easier than I thought. Bracing my hands on the hood, I leaned toward her. “You're right. Only he's worse. Way worse.”

“What?” Aly said. Her incredulous gaze slid from Des to me. “Get real. I know you don't like the guy, but—”

“Al!” Des cut her off. “Let Jameson talk. Maybe there's a reason
why
he doesn't like Dakota.”

“Yeah,” Aly said under her breath. “Jealousy.”

“I. Am. Not. Jealous,” I said through gritted teeth, “of Satan's son.”

“Satan's son!” Des shrieked, leaping off the right side of the car. “You mean, he's not your garden variety demon, but Lucifer's actual offspring? Is
that
what you're saying?”

Jaw locked, I jerked my head in a tight nod. Not exactly how I wanted to reveal Dakota's true identity.

“Holy shit!” Desi spun around, hands clutching her hair. “Ho-oh-ly freak-in' shit!”

“Des!” Aly snapped. “You can't really believe—”

“You saw his eyes,” Des argued. “Same as me. That's not normal.”

Aly shook her head. “That hardly means—”

“He's talking about destroying your sister,” Des reminded Aly. “Why else would he do that?”

Aly pressed her lips together and turned to me, silently echoing the question.

Here went nothing.

“Satan's got a slew of kids creating havoc, all over—sons and daughters who do his bidding and thrive on destruction. Mara's in New Orleans, Zep's raising hell in New York, Selene's in your Colorado mountains, Lois prefers toying with small towns like Kismet, Kansas … the list goes on and on. Here”—I jerked my thumb toward the Hollywood sign—“Dakota can take a promising singer and turn her into a wino, yank a self-protective actor out of the closet in front of the paparazzi and ruin his life, and make the latest wholesome ‘it' girl a sleazy, two-timing, psychotic has-been. He manufactures scandals, rips the veil off secrets, and waves temptation around like catnip. The headlines that top Page Six and
The Insider
are usually his doing, and the more devastation he causes, the more gleeful and powerful he becomes. But he doesn't just get off on ruination, he
feeds
off it—literally draws the goodness out of people and funnels it into himself. You know how tired you've been?”

They both nodded numbly.

“Yeah, it's not entirely because you've been busy and excited. It's because he's been tasting your vitality, sipping your virtue. Not enough to truly taint you,” I rushed to assure them when I saw panic in their eyes, “but enough to give him a high, to make him want more. Since you're only here for a short visit, you're a drive-by for him, a delicious diversion. He's been known to take those too far”—I gave Des a knowing look—“but then Missy walked in. She's a prime target.”

“Uh,” Des interrupted, giving Aly a “no offense” look. “Missy isn't exactly Mother Teresa. She's vain and self-serving.”

“True,” I said. “But she wants to be discovered, to live here, to find her fame and fortune. Her newbie desperation makes feeding off her, destroying her, a lot easier. You two might be, er, yummier, but you're more difficult because you don't hunger for something so deeply you'd—”

“Do anything to get it,” Des finished numbly.

“Exactly,” I said.

“Good thing she's leaving when we do,” Des said with relief.

“Not if he gives her what she wants,” I argued. “It all depends on Dakota's whim. He'll hook her, get her to stay. Then he could choose to take her to the stratosphere, make her world-famous, and then decimate her before the masses, or he could use her as a plaything, tossing her enough crumbs of hope to keep her starving for celebrity. He makes them and he breaks them. Hell-A is Dakota's playground, and he's one of Daddy's favorites.”

Neither one of them said anything. Crickets chirped. Traffic hummed. Then, “Sonofabitch!” Des yelled, pounding the car with her fists. “That's why he was kissing me. That evil fiend wasn't just sucking face, he was slurpin' my innocence. No wonder I crashed so hard after I worked off my temper.”

“Yeah, um … ” I rubbed the back of my neck in discomfort. “Intimate contact makes it easier for him to—”

“Molest a person's character,” Des finished, her face pinched like she'd chewed a handful of coffee beans.

“This is insane,” Aly said, covering her face with her hands before announcing, “You two are certifiable.”

“Aly.” I held my palms out in supplication. “I know you're not one to believe, but please—”

“No, no, no,” she said, waving away my plea. “Next thing you know you'll be telling me vampires and werewolves exist too.” She gave a ragged laugh and I winced at her too-true words.

Desi, who'd been watching me with microscopic intensity, pounced on my reaction.

“Ha!” She pointed at my face. “I saw that.”

I could've bluffed her out, but I kept silent. You can't come clean and leave some dirt behind.

“Oh my God,” she gasped. “They do exist, don't they? If I were a ‘told you so' person”—she gave Aly an elated grin as she bounced around on the balls of her feet—“I would so be telling you I told you so.”

“Come ooooo-on,” Aly protested. “What have you two been smoking?”

“Think about it, Al. If there's such a thing as demons, it only makes sense there would be other creatures too.” Desi stalked over to me and poked me in the chest. “Right! Right?”

Absently rubbing my chest, I made a concerted effort not to look at Aly as I answered, “Right.”

“I knew it!” Desi crowed, pumping her fists. “Vamps, werewolves, witches?”

“Yes.” Still not looking at Aly.

“Ha! And I bet some of them are celebrities like Dakota, right?”

I nodded. And still kept my gaze from Aly.

“Who who who?”

I
had
to look at Aly.

Knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around herself, head down, Aly looked small and vulnerable on the hood of my car. My soul ached for her.

“Aly?” I asked, fearing I'd forever destroyed a part of her innocence.

Desi's concerned gaze connected with mine. “Al?” she repeated.

Aly's shoulders started to shake and I heard small, snuffling sounds as if she'd started to weep.

“Aly, don't cry.” Feeling like a heartless bastard, I walked to her side and laid my hand on her shoulder. “I know it's a bit of a shock—”

The breathy sounds she'd been making got higher pitched, and …

“Wait. Are you laughing?”

She lifted her head. Tears streamed from her eyes and laughter burbled out of her, escalating to a point where she quit making any noises and struggled to breath.

“You two”—she wiped her eyes—“you had me going.” More laughter and a deep gasp for breath. “I almost believed.” She shook her head and broke into a fresh stream of giggles. “Where's, where's—” She sucked in a slow breath and held it so she could regain some composure while Desi and I gave each other “did we miss something?” looks. “Where's the cameras?” she finally managed to ask.

“Cameras?” I asked, and heard leeriness in my voice.

“Hoo, hoo.” She panted and fanned herself, trying to regain the rest of her composure. “Who? Who? Who?” she mocked, pointing at Desi. “Classic.”

Aly stretched out her legs, took in another deep breath, and then blew it, along with her hysteria, away. “I'm all right now. Gracious,” she said with a spent smile. “You got me good.” Swiveling around, she looked down the street. “So, where are they? I can't see anyone?”

At some point during Aly's mental snap, Des had walked to my side. “Do you know what she's talking about?” I asked her.

“Not a clue.”

“The gag reel, sillies,” Aly said. “There's one on the DVD for every season. I can't believe Dakota decided to prank me, but I bet the fans will love seeing one of their own get it.”

“Al, honey,” Des said in a tread-softly voice. “It would be a brilliant idea … if this were actually a prank.”

Aly's face sobered. “Enough already. Ha ha. I fell for it. Joke's over.”

“It's not a joke,” I said quietly.

Aly opened her mouth for another denial. Grabbing her legs, I swung her around to face me. Hands on her knees, I leaned close so she was looking directly into my eyes. “Absolute truth. Dakota. Is. The devil's son.”

“And vampires, witches, and werewolves are real,” Des added. “Like I told you.”

Aly started trembling under my hands. “Prove it,” she finally whispered.

Fishing my keys out of my pocket with one hand, I tugged her off the car with my other. “I thought you might say that. Let's go. Whatever you do, don't stare.”