Damn Him to Hell sd-2 Page 7

  I spent the rest of the afternoon filing and wondering what was happening at home. Lives were at stake and I was making coffee!

  I was hot under the collar and itching all over before the judge decided we’d done enough for the day. I was paid by the week, not the hour, so I didn’t expect any reward for my efforts. Telling myself this was just the first rung on the ladder, and that I was making connections to pave my way up, I took the stairs faster than the elevator and hit my bike.

  Max’s bike, actually, but he wasn’t here to ride it. Since he’d crashed my car, it had seemed like a fair trade. If I thought too hard about that time, I’d cry, so I just let the wind cool my cheeks and disperse the glitter. I refused to cry anymore.

  Rain clouds were moving in by the time I parked the bike behind the house and trotted around to Pearl’s front door. The gloom hid the glittering Disneyland effect. Wondering if I could tolerate the Zone if it turned pink instead of neon blue, I jogged upstairs to hug Milo.

  He sniffed haughtily but agreed to eat the fish I chopped up for him. Bill had spoiled him by sending fillets home when he had leftovers. I wondered how Bill was doing in his zombie state and hoped he could somehow sense he had a luscious babe taking care of him.

  Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody wormed its way through my head as I nuked frozen Chinese. The image of a head dancing without a body loomed in my overwrought imagination. That’s the reason I should never watch musicals. Tunes stay inside my skull, circling and warping and driving me battier. Sleep wasn’t happening with my mind on spin cycle.

  I needed to eat before I headed out hunting for trouble, but, remembering my new toy, I dug the tablet out of my bag and turned it on. I could tune in and see what was happening. Seeing the low-battery signal, I realized I’d need a charger. Dang. I should have stolen that, too. Schwartz would be so mad at me. But there was plenty enough juice to get in and change the password to something a little smarter than my name.

  I explored its contents while I ate, but I’m no chemistry major. I’d need Paddy to explain the head honcho’s documents and programs. I plugged in a USB drive, backed up the tablet, then cleaned out the crap. My pretty new toy had built-in 4G, so I downloaded my e-mail program on Acme’s dime.

  I checked Facebook to see if I had any messages. None. I started fretting about Themis, my theoretical grandmother, who hadn’t left me any messages in a while. When he was in hell, Max had said he had knowledge she was alive and living on another plane of reality, not that it was really proof to me. I’d never met the woman, and she didn’t exist in any database that I could locate, other than a Facebook page for Themis Astrology and Tarot.

  But I’d been receiving creepy messages from the Universe, like Saturn is the planet of justice. It comes around every twenty-eight years to dispense karmic reward and punishment. I wouldn’t be twenty-seven for a few months yet, so that just felt like bad math on the planets’ part and I was trying not to worry about that one.

  Themis only seemed to drop by when I disturbed the universe’s vibrations with my fury. Could she be one of the zombies Acme had nuked? Idiotic to worry about someone I’d never met, I knew.

  I took a hasty shower, returned the tablet and the USB drive to my bag, and jogged over to Andre’s carrying Milo over my shoulder. I reminded myself once again that I needed a bigger carryall for my pet. He had grown way past kitten size.

  No one answered the door, so I let myself in. Milo preferred to take the stairs on his own. We clattered down and were met at the bottom by Cora.

  “Where’ve you been, girl? Andre is about to send out the National Guard. Calm him down, will you? I’ve got to get home.” Without explanation, Cora departed by the stairs I’d just traversed.

  I hoped he wasn’t sending out the Guard for my sake, but I dreaded finding out why our über-cool amoral leader was on the warpath.

  I checked the room where I’d last seen Sleeping Beauty. She was still there, with Julius mournfully holding her hand. On another cot lay Sarah, still zonked, still with chimp appendages. I could have used some of those z’s she was piling up, but I wanted to be able to wake up after. I studied her with concern, but for the life of me, I didn’t know what to do if prayers to Saturn Daddy didn’t work.

  “Where did the other patients go?” I asked Julius.

  “Andre moved them into the warehouse, where the med students can look after them.” With expert ease, Julius flipped Sleeping Beauty onto her side and began massaging her back.

  My bet was that he’d been doing this for a while. I didn’t know whether I had any right to question it.

  “Have you eaten? Do I need to cook something?” There was a task I knew how to take on. I’d never nursed a patient, but I’d fed the famished hordes before.

  “Lack of food may be part of Andre’s problem. Find out what has him roaring, and then we’ll sort things out.” Julius has the patience of a saint, and his unhurried response proved it.

  “If Andre and I tear each other’s throats out, you might regret waiting,” I warned.

  He sent me a beatific smile and let me go. I wish I’d had a father like him.

  The warehouse was on the other side of the street, accessible by a tunnel at the end of the bomb shelter. I trotted over with Milo at my heels.

  I had to follow the sound of voices once I reached the top of the stairs on the other side. The warehouse was a rambling place. Andre used the loading dock as a garage for his Mercedes sports coupe. But off to one side were doors leading to offices and storage rooms and I had no idea what else. Not hearing any shouting or gunfire, I figured it was safe to explore.

  I located a high-ceilinged room lined with shelves of supplies. Cartons had been stacked along the walls to clear a place for an infirmary filled with cots. Along with Leibowitz, there must have been a dozen zombies, with the med students moving among them, checking pulses, making notes, administering IVs. Where in heck had they found IVs? Suspecting illegal pilfering, I didn’t ask.

  Andre was on the phone, leaning against a stack of crates as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His silk shirt was filthy and looked as if he’d never completely buttoned it all day. He had pink glitter on his tight trousers. His usually styled thick black hair had fallen across his brow. And even though he appeared cool and unruffled, I could tell he was breathing fire. I’m pretty much the only one who generates that reaction.

  He glowered at me, snapped off his phone, and, in a voice that thundered doom, said, “Call off your boyfriend now or he’s dead meat.”

  I came all the way over here for that old argument? I was asleep on my feet and didn’t need more crap. I glowered back, said, “Good luck with that,” and, turning on my heel, walked out.

  Hell, I’d just strolled through a Magic lab. Andre didn’t have nothing on me.

  8

  Knowing Max and Andre were growling at each other left me feeling like a bone caught between two dogs. Yeah, the Zone had to be hazardous to our health. But most of the people living and working there would have no lives at all otherwise. Where would a kid who turned invisible live outside the Zone? He’d be reduced to a life of crime. And Sarah? They’d have her in a zoo.

  “Damn it, Saturn,” I muttered, “if you really wanted to give me power, you’d give me fairy dust so I could just make everybody happy.”

  My head in a muddle, I stomped back to Julius’s kitchen, dumped a bunch of cans into a casserole dish with some chicken I defrosted from his freezer and a bunch of noodles, and shoved the concoction into the microwave. I threw some frozen rolls into the oven. I’d learned creative cooking while traveling around the country with my mother. I couldn’t guarantee the result would taste good, but it had the maximum number of calories and nutrition and served to distract me from Andre and Max.

  My phone kept ringing—chiming church bells this time. The apartment is not in the Zone, I reminded myself. My cheap phone had just obviously been infected with magic juice.

  I didn’t really b
elieve in magic, but uranium was a dangerously reactive element. Which thought raised an unease that had been niggling in the back of my mind all day—what was in those pink particles? Of course, for all I knew, we’d all be blown sky-high before we had to worry about pink-particle contamination.

  Once I had the casserole cooking, I checked my caller list. Max.

  I really, really couldn’t afford to offend a senator, no matter how weird he made me feel. And I owed Andre a lot, as well, so I at least owed him an argument with my ex-do-gooder boyfriend’s conscience in an effort to keep the Feds from condemning the rest of the Zone. Still, it was hard wrapping my mind around Dane as Max—which was probably why I was avoiding him.

  With a sigh, while my casserole cooked, I settled into a comfy chair in Julius’s front room and called Max back. I sure hoped no one was tapping his line or recording his calls, because they’d wonder why a powerful senator was talking to little old fractious me.

  “Justy, I need you over here, now!” he shouted.

  Okay, that was a surprise. I stared at the phone a full minute before returning it to my ear. “Why?” I asked cautiously.

  He sounded immensely weary this time. “Because I asked you to, please?”

  Wow, it surely must be serious for Macho Man to use the p-word. “Can I tell Andre that you’re not shutting him down?” I’m a tough negotiator.

  “I can’t shut anyone down,” he said with disgust. “I have to stay as far from my family’s freaking plant as I can these days. Acme is a conflict of interest—you know this. I just wanted Andre to tell me what the hell was happening and if you were all right.”

  The Max I knew would never give up, but I really didn’t know this Dane/Max person. Heck, I didn’t even know if souls inhabited brains or if he still had Dane’s brains or how in hell he was dealing with this weirdness. I grimaced as the microwave bell dinged. “Okay, let me feed a few people. Where should I meet you?”

  “In Dane’s condo. Hurry, will you?” He gave me the address and we signed off.

  I wouldn’t be human if my pulse didn’t beat a little harder at the thought of visiting a hunky senator in his luxury tower, but I had no intention of being anyone’s secret girlfriend. Max couldn’t parade me to embassy dinners, and I can’t stomach politicians, so we were so far from compatible as to inhabit different universes.

  But Max had once been a friend. I could be there if he needed me.

  I delivered the casserole and rolls to Julius, letting him work out how to feed whoever was hanging out in the warehouse.

  Relieved that I no longer had to waste my evenings studying, I took Milo back to my place. Saturday night and now I had a date, of sorts. I glanced at my usual threads, removed the cotton T-shirt, found a fancier bra, donned a satiny shirt with my jeans, and considered myself well dressed. I added a leather jacket—after all, it was September and I was riding a Harley.

  With my lion’s mane from the devil, I didn’t have to worry about helmet hair. I just snapped my hair into a clip I could take down when I got there. I wasn’t into bling, so Max would just have to take me as he’d found me.

  I tried not to be too nervous when I drove up to the security gate at Dane’s place in Bethesda. The towering condos, ornate fence, and elaborate fountains screamed money, but the Vanderventers had million-dollar lines of credit at Tiffany. They could own homes like this all over the world.

  I was just having difficulty picturing my biker Max living like this. He used to crash in a dive even more pathetic than my old one.

  But it wasn’t my scruffy, curly-haired Max meeting me at the door once I was buzzed in. Senator Dane Vanderventer, with his stylishly coiffed chestnut hair, greeted me, wearing gabardine trousers, a quietly elegant tailored shirt, and a loosened silk tie.

  We stared at each other uneasily. The senator was a little taller than Max had been, a little leaner, but he was still one good-looking dude, with broad shoulders and narrow hips and piercing blue eyes. His dimpled chin was even more impressive than Kirk Douglas’s.

  “Lookin’ good, Justy,” he murmured as I removed my jacket.

  The voice didn’t sound right, but the words were pure Max, and a shiver crept down my spine. He was the only one who used that nickname. Once upon a time I used to fling myself into his welcoming bear hug when he said that. I wanted to do so again. But it wasn’t the same.

  Nervously, I resisted any such impulse. Hugging my elbows, I glanced around at the designer-decorated pad. Neutral tans and browns with splashes of black. Fat suede cushions, leather recliner, a huge flat-screen TV hidden behind a faux painting over the fireplace. It was obvious a man owned the place but didn’t really live there. No beer cans.

  Gathering my wits, I dropped my jacket over the arm of the couch and sat down, crossing my leg over my knee and peering up at him as if I belonged here. “Okay, I’m here. I’m creeped out. It’s been a rotten long day, and I don’t want to fight. What do you need?”

  In a familiar Max gesture, he ran his hand through Dane’s styled hair, disturbing the wax or whatever it is politicians use to maintain that polished image. A hank fell down over his forehead, and I almost smiled. I used to tease Max about the curl in the middle of his forehead.

  “I need sanity, among other things,” he said bluntly. “Dane was a lying, cheating bastard. I’m still trying to pry his girlfriends out of my hair. Currently, they’re threatening to go to the media and tell them what a horse’s ass Dane is. I’ve told them to go ahead. I’d rather not even run for dogcatcher if it means putting up with their histrionics.”

  “Histrionics, that’s good,” I said, knowing he was just venting and that he didn’t need me for this. “That’s a Max word if I ever heard one. If you used it on his bimbos, they know you’ve flipped out.”

  A corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Yeah, after I blocked one girl’s calls, she threatened to call my grandmother to tell her I need psychiatric help. Dane didn’t mess with two-bit bimbos. These morons actually thought he’d marry them.”

  “How many are there?” I asked in awe, trying to imagine dangling more than one expensive high-society babe on a string, even with the honkin’ big Tiffany credit line. D.C. really isn’t a very large world.

  “Three,” he said with disgust. “He gave friendship rings to all of them. Who the hell gives people friendship rings anymore?”

  “Your cousin,” I pointed out unhelpfully. “And you didn’t drag me over here to chitchat about your social life. You can handle that on your own. What’s really up?”

  Instead of answering, he picked up a remote and flicked on the fireplace. Neat trick, like summoning the devil with a finger snap. I admired the dancing flames.

  “Take a closer look,” he suggested. “Tell me if I’ve really flipped out. I don’t want to check myself into the nearest funny farm unless necessary. Maybe Dane was experimenting with hallucinogens and they haven’t completely left his body. But we’ve both seen hell, so it’s not as if we’re dealing with reality as we used to know it.”

  I’d only seen hell in the mirror with Max blocking the view, but that had been vile enough. I got up and walked across the huge living room to look closer at the flames. Expecting to see horns and a devil’s ugly grin, I didn’t see anything, at first.

  But the twisting flames weren’t normal. Flames should flicker. These wound around each other as if attempting origami. They whispered furiously instead of crackling. Maybe it was my guilt talking, but I could swear a voice inside my head was saying, I’m going to kill you!

  “Not liking your fireplace, Max,” I said, backing away. “Did you feed it magic pinecones?”

  “It’s gas. I don’t feed it anything.” The senator stood well behind me, arms crossed while observing the warped flames. Satisfied I was seeing what he was, he flicked off the remote. “Come look at this.”

  He led me through a dining room that could accommodate a state dinner and into a kitchen that would comfortably house a catering crew. Granite cou
nters, marble floors, probably gold appliances for all I knew—they were all hidden behind mahogany cabinetry. I could have fed the entire Zone from there. Max ate takeout. I could see the leftover Thai cartons still sitting on the counter.

  He opened a panel under the gas burners of the stove and turned one on. “I thought I’d heat a can of soup earlier. That’s when I called you to confirm I’m not bonkers. It’s one freaking thing too many. I think Dane was the devil incarnate.”

  The stove flames performed the same bizarre dance as the ones in the fireplace, more frantically this time. They almost seemed as if they were trying to form an image. A whispered Get me out of here! was painfully familiar, though.

  “That’s what you said,” I murmured. “Provided I’m actually hearing what I think I’m hearing.”

  Dane/Max hurriedly flicked off the stove. “ ‘Get me out of here,’ right? So I’m not imagining it? Dane has a haunted stove?”

  I rubbed my nose with the heel of my hand and tried to dispel the itchiness. I didn’t like any of this. A few months ago, I’d contemplated running away to Seattle to escape this madness. But I had no guarantees that Max’s form of hell wouldn’t follow me.

  “You know who that sounds like, don’t you?” I asked, because I had to spell out craziness.

  Max ran a hand through Dane’s hair. “The stove sounds like Dane,” he said unhappily.

  “Yeah, my thought, too. Wonder if we could get voice analysis?” I asked, sarcasm intended.

  If Dane’s demonic soul was still alive beyond the veil . . . Max and I were likely to be crispy critters any day now.

  So not liking the idea of a real hell. Maybe we were both zonked on crazy juice.

  “When did this start?” I asked, grasping at straws.

  “Hard to say. I’ve been trying to ignore the weird gas logs, and I don’t spend much time in the kitchen. But I think the voice is getting stronger, and both the stove and the fireplace in one night blew my mind. I just wanted to be certain I wasn’t losing it.”