The Devil's Due (18 page)

Simon must have taken her silence as acquiescence because he stood a little taller and said, “I'll call Jack in the morning.”

“Invite him for lunch at the Derby.”

“That isn't what I meant.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I know, but we can't leave. Not yet.”

“Grant himself said there's nothing we can do to help. Staying here, putting you in danger, is an unnecessary risk.”

“We don't know there's nothing we can do and I think it's necessary.” She met him at the foot of the bed and turned around, silently asking him to unzip her and, hopefully, listen.

Simon undid her dress and she took a few steps away.

“It's too dangerous,” he said simply.

Elizabeth slipped the dress over her hips and stepped out of it. She laid it gently on the edge of the bed and turned to him. “It's—”

Simon waved a hand to stop her. “If we're going to argue, you can't be naked.” His eyes raked over her bare body. “I need my higher brain…something, and that…” he said gesturing with a sigh at her and losing his thought. His jaw clenched. “Elizabeth…”

“All right.” She retrieved their folded pajamas from the dresser drawer and heard Simon grunt in appreciation, as she turned away and bent over to get into them. She grinned demurely as she stood and tossed the bottoms across the room. They hit him in the chest and fell onto the bed between them.

Elizabeth pulled on the pajama top and lifted her arms as if to say,
is this better?

“Thank you,” he said, as he shed his shirt and unbuttoned his trousers.

Elizabeth caught sight of his long, muscular thighs before having the sense to look away. “We still have three days until the contract runs out. And, it's not like this is a case of demon possession. Alan even said that the whole deal has to be voluntary. Thorn doesn't oogie-boogie and jump out like a soul snatching snatcher-person.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Simon straighten up and begin to tie the pajama string. “Yes, but if there's truly nothing we can do—”

“We don't know that. Alan's frightened, but he's a man.” She ignored Simon's sour expression and pressed on. “He isn't used to asking for help. And besides, you don't help someone because they ask you to; you help someone because they need it.”

Simon had no reply to that. He walked into the bathroom and turned on the taps. “Don't forget Benny Roth. He's part of this too and, perhaps, just as dangerous.”

Elizabeth followed him into the bath and washed her face as they talked. “Do you really think he was behind the attempt on his brother's life?”

“It's possible. I doubt he hired the boy, but there was definitely a connection between the two. At the very least, I think he encouraged it. The boy was genuinely upset, no doubt of that, but it was equally clear that he was far out of his depth. From his clothes and his accent, I'd guess a farmer, Midwest probably.” Simon handed her a towel. “And poor. How did he get the money for the train ticket? How did he know where to find Sam?”

“I hadn't thought of that. Poor kid,” she said. “If Benny needed money and Sam wouldn't give it to him, killing him would be one way to get it.”

Simon nodded, leaned toward the mirror and touched the nearly-healed abrasion and bruise on his chin.

“Does it still hurt?” Elizabeth asked.

“No, but it does serve as a reminder.”

“That you should lead with your left?”

Simon smiled tightly. “No,” he said drawing out the word. He squirted a blob of toothpaste onto his toothbrush and handed the tube to her. “That being here is dangerous and has consequences.”

“We knew there would be risks. Sebastian's list, his unfinished missions, there's danger built in, but people need our help.”

She stuck her toothbrush in her mouth and started to scrub. Simon frowned and followed suit. They glared at each other over their toothbrushes. Eventually, Simon finished first and leaned over the sink to rinse. Elizabeth wasn't finished though and kept brushing. She could see it was making him impatient, which just made her brush that much longer.

“Spit,” he said. And when she smiled at him with a frothy, cheeky grin, he pointed at the sink. “In there.”

Elizabeth rinsed her mouth and the argument picked up where it left off. “When we agreed to come here,” she said, “we accepted the risks.”

Simon shut off the light in the bath as they re-entered the bedroom.

“Risk, yes, but not every risk.” Simon walked around to his side of the bed and waited for her to get under the covers before turning off the light and joining her.

“We knew it wouldn't be easy,” she said to the darkness.

Simon lay on his back and sighed. Elizabeth pushed herself up on an elbow and watched his face in the moonlight.

“It will never be
easy
for me to put you in danger.”

His head rolled to the side and Elizabeth leaned in to kiss him. He pulled her into his arms and she shifted so that her head was resting on his chest.

“Someone needs our help,” she said. “The watch, the list. It's what we're meant to do. It's who we are now.”

Simon traced the contours of her check with the tips of his fingers. “Tomorrow,” he said, his voice deep and husky. “We'll be those people tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to be a man who's lucky enough to be sharing a bed with his beautiful wife.”

Jack poured himself a cup of coffee and tried not to make a sound as he pulled his chair out from under the small table in Betty's kitchen. He started to take a sip, but could feel the heat against his lips as it drew closer. He blew on it a few times and set it aside to let it cool. Finally, he pushed it away.

He'd woken up in plenty of women's beds in his life and usually the last thing on his mind was a hot cup of coffee. And yet, here he was — waiting and worrying. Why had he eased his arms away from around Betty's warm body and slipped out of bed unseen? Why hadn't he kissed her shoulder and woken her in the early morning to make love again when sleep had given up on him? Why was he sitting here alone?

He tried to distract himself from those questions by looking for something to eat, but his heart wasn't in it. His heart was still in bed with her. Why wasn't he?

The answer was plain and painful in the cold light of day. He'd been such a fool, a fool for love, but a fool nonetheless. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly; he'd ignored everything but her. He'd ignored the warning bells that rang like air raid sirens now.

He'd had plenty of relationships built on lies; maybe they all had been in a way. But now that he wanted to tell the truth, to be completely honest with someone, he couldn't. What could he see say?
Hello, I'm from the future. Let's go to Carmel for the weekend?

It was impossible.

Could he stay? Could she go? What would any of that mean for the timeline? For them?

“Good morning,” a soft voice said from behind him.

He turned and saw Betty looking more beautiful than any woman had a right to. She smiled shyly at him and wrapped her robe more tightly about her waist. Jack stood and kissed her lightly. She laughed and pulled him in for another, deeper kiss.

His body responded as it had last night, all night.

She eased out of his arms. “Hungry?”

“Starved.”

She opened a small milk door, a little opening to a cubbyhole in the wall of the house for deliveries, and pulled out a fresh pint of milk. “I think I have some eggs.”

He nodded and she put the milk on the counter. “Good, and then maybe we can talk,” Betty said. Jack felt his stomach clench at that. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to keep lying. She turned around and a blush stole across her cheeks. “I don't really know anything about you.”

“I'm an open book,” he lied and hated the way it tasted in his mouth. “Ask me anything.”

“Well,” she said nervously. “Where are you from?”

“Texas originally.” The lies came naturally. He'd been telling them for far too long. “But I've lived lots of places. Chicago, Nevada.”

“Any family?”

“Kid sister,” Jack said, thinking of Elizabeth. “And her husband, I guess, too.”

“You don't like him?”

“I do actually. It's just more fun if he doesn't know that.” At least that part wasn't a lie.

She laughed and then suddenly stopped. “What time is it? Would you get the paper?” she asked. “If I leave it out past eight, Mrs. Geary across the street steals it.”

“Sure,” Jack said.

Taking a last sip of his coffee, he went to the front door, glad to escape her questions and feeling guilty for the thought. He took a deep breath of fresh morning air and looked out at the sleepy neighborhood. What the hell was he doing? He had his second chance and it was practically perfect. And yet, he felt it all slipping away. He'd been supposed to keep to himself, keep a low profile. So much for that, he thought, as he waved and smiled to a rather shocked woman across the street who wrapped her robe tightly about her and ducked back into her house.

Jack sighed and found the paper resting on the second step. As he picked it up, he unfolded it. Emblazoned on the front page was a picture of Sam Roth and Alan Grant with Simon and Elizabeth in the background. The headline read: Attempted Murder, Foiled by Star & Others.

“So much for a low-profile.”

The taxi wound its way up through the hills of Los Feliz, a small affluent community east of Hollywood and just touching the southern edge of Griffith Park. Rugged, chaparral and sage-covered slopes mixed with tall oaks and Manzanita pines.

While Simon's knowledge of the occult was impressive and Elizabeth's wasn't too shabby either, both of them felt the reflexive need to research their problem. They'd checked in with Jack that morning, assuring him they were fine and telling him about their evening with Alan Grant.

Simon gave Jack the highlights of Alan's revelation of his pact with Thorn and his suspicions about Benny Roth's involvement in Sam's attempted murder. They asked him if he could find a connection between Roth and the boy. It probably won't help them, but it might help the kid. They arranged to meet Jack for dinner that night at the Brown Derby and exchange notes. That left Simon and Elizabeth free to research.

If they were going to find a way to help Alan, they needed to know more about his agreement with Thorn. While the Los Angeles public library was pretty impressive it was shockingly low on information about deals with the devil. For that, they needed a repository of esoteric knowledge. Luckily, Los Angeles was lousy with them. As it was in the future, Los Angeles attracted the oddball, the seeker, the alternative life-styler.

Religious and philosophical outcasts had been making Los Angeles their home for the last ten to twenty years. The hills outside the city had housed Theosophical compounds and retreats of every imaginable variety. The trick was getting access. Not surprisingly, most of them relished their privacy and were wary of strangers. The one major exception was Manly Hall. Hall was an author, speaker and world-renowned mystic.

They were headed for his soon-to-be opened Philosophical Research Society. The society itself hadn’t been founded yet, but the research materials were bound to be there. Or at least, they hoped they were. Manly Hall had spent the last few years traveling Europe and acquiring the preeminent collection of religious, occult and esoteric texts in the world. If anyone had material about a pact with the devil, it was Hall.

“This isn't right.” Simon leaned forward and instructed the cabbie on where he'd gone wrong and they turned around and started back down the hill. They passed Frank Lloyd Wright's Ennis House, an enormous building that looked something like a Mayan temple.

“Curious, isn't it?” Simon said. “Modern architecture that imitates an ancient culture.”

Elizabeth peered out of the cab window. “What's old is new again.”

“Hall's place will be rather exotic like that too that when it's finished in a year or so.”

The taxi pulled up to a rather nondescript, but elegant, home set atop of a small ridge. Simon paid the driver and asked him to wait. The car idled behind them as they walked up the narrow stairs to the front door.

She'd read about Hall before and was struck with a nervous energy as Simon rapped on the door. He was supposedly quite an imposing and charismatic figure.

The door opened and a slim woman in a maid's uniform greeted them.

“Is Mr. Hall here?”

“Who is it?” a man's voice called from inside the house.

Elizabeth had seen pictures of Manly Hall before, but they didn't do him justice. He looked like a very handsome and very big Harry Houdini. With black hair and penetrating eyes, he cut an impressive figure. Considering the creepy creepiness of others of his ilk, Aleister Crowley and Max Heindel, Manly definitely got all the occult chicks.

“I'm Manly Hall,” he said in a deep and yet gentle voice.

Simon introduced them and, without asking why they were there, Hall invited them in. Simon waved to dismiss the taxi and they joined Hall in his, well, hall.

“I'm a great admirer of your work,” Simon said. “Your
Secret Teachings of All Ages
is seminal.”

Hall was pleased. “You've read it?”

“Several times,” Simon said. “I especially found your thoughts on alchemy and its exponents fascinating. In particular, the section on Paracelsus.”

“Ah, yes.”

“The depth of your research and understanding, it's astounding,” Simon said. Elizabeth feared he was laying it on a little thick, but Hall seemed used to such effusive praise.

“Thank you,” he said and then added, clasping his hands, “And how may I help you today?”

“I'm working on a paper myself. Nothing, of course, compared to your work, but I was wondering if you might allow access to some of your collection.”

Hall looked them both over quickly and nodded. “Lovers of wisdom are always welcome.”

Hall's library was immense, although obviously in a state of flux. Unsorted crates of books were stacked high along the far wall. “He seemed nice,” Elizabeth said once Hall had left them alone to research.

“He's brilliant, but a classicist and more than a little anti-Semitic.” Simon scanned the spines along the top shelf. “Ah,
Malleus Maleficarum
and
Grandier
.” He pulled two large tomes off the shelf and handed Elizabeth one. “These will do to start.”