He glanced around the shabby foyer. “And I don’t think either of us can afford that.”

“I’m sorry, Burton,” she said, reading the name stenciled on the left breast of his uniform. “The maids are gone for the day. No one else would have access, and the locks require a key.”

Burton fought an urge to reach over the counter and slap the magazine out of her hands. “I can’t—”

“Excuse me,” An attractive young woman stepped from the alcove behind the clerk. “Are you having a problem?”

The gum-popper said, “Violet, this man says we’re locking doors on them.”

Burton recognized her. She was the one who’d shown Wayne around during yesterday’s set-up. “Look, we have a lot of hunts scheduled tonight, and we can’t have any accidents that will throw us off track.”

“Please come to my office,” Violet said.

“Janey’s going to kill you,” the desk clerk said.

“I’ll take my chances.”

The gum-popper shrugged and went back to her magazine. Burton rounded the corner and entered the office via a short hall. The fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed, giving their skin a seasick look. The space was cluttered, but Violet took a stack of papers from a chair and indicated that he should sit.

“I can’t stay long,” he said.

“This won’t take long.”

“About the keys. Wayne told me you guys were playing along, setting up stuff so our guests will think they’ve had supernatural encounters. You know, a little knocking on walls, whispering in the air ducts, messing with the electricity. We’re fine with that. I have to admit, you’re putting on a good show. Those projected images went beyond the call of duty.”

“What projected images?”

“You know, in the hall. That ‘Jilted Bride’ thing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Violet had settled behind the warship-gray desk. She lit a cigarette.

“I thought you had a ‘No smoking’ policy,” he said. She held her cigarette with an easy familiarity, though she winced at the strength of the smoke.

“There’s an exception to every rule,” she said. “I’m the exception.”

“We can’t have problems with the keys.”

“There’s no problem. You’ll get where you need to be, when I need you to be there.”

Because she was attractive, Burton had extended a little extra patience. But her blank, cold eyes offset the pleasing angles of her face. “I want to talk to the manager.”

“I’m afraid she’s unavailable.”

“Doesn’t she have a pager?”

“It wouldn’t matter if she did. She’s gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“If I knew that, all this would be pointless.”

Violet flipped her palm, but Burton couldn’t tell whether “all” meant the conference or the hotel. He also couldn’t believe the manager would skip out on the biggest event the White Horse had hosted since the Eisenhower administration. “Someone must have a master key.”

“Only the Master.”

Burton edged forward, only now noticing the corrupt odor of the office. The mop bucket in the corner was the likely cause of the stink. A greasy snake of unease slithered in his gut. “Look here, Violet.”

“I’m not Violet.”

Burton slapped the arms of his chair. “Fine. Just be ready to find another job next week.”

“Thank you and please come again.” She smiled but the gesture was disconnected from the rest of her face.

“The rooms better be open, or you’re going to have sixty unhappy campers on your hands.”

“Please enjoy your stay.”

Burton’s walkie talkie hissed and broadcast Cody’s voice. “Burton, you’ve got to come see this.”

As he was leaving, he glanced down into the mop bucket. The liquid in it was dark and thick, almost like....

Nah.

Chapter 35

Ann Vandooren was afraid to leave the room.

The reason she was afraid was because she wanted to leave the room. Ever since Duncan had brought the two SSI guys to the room, the paranoia had grown. They knew about the rigged images she’d broadcast. She’d be ridiculed and probably reported to the departmental dean at Westridge University. And she really didn’t give a damn.

Because now she understood. The supernatural wasn’t some bit of monkey business concocted by scared primitives; it was the overt manipulation of the dark gods. Give the people something invisible to fear so they didn’t see the demons in their midst.

“What should we do about it?” she asked Duncan, who had shut down the computer and was packing away the cables.

“Consider the experiment a failure.”

“I don’t like to fail. Is the halo still there?”

Duncan nodded. “There has to be some sort of simple explan—”

“Yeah. It’s a halo.”

“I need to get the cameras and projectors.”

“Don’t leave me alone.”

“You’ll be fine.”

Despite what the silly boys in their black jumpsuits had said, Duncan was happy to leave her in this condition. Maybe after sixteen hours observing the black halo, he’d grown accustomed to it.

“You know about succubi, right?” she said, moving from the window toward the bed. “Women believed to be demons or witches who draw power by having sex with their victims?”

“I know the mythology.”

She peeled her Dale Earnhardt T-shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. The cool air of the room drew her nipples into taut purple points. “Want to see what that’s all about?”

“You’re not a demon, Ann.”

“Right. I am a fucking angel.” She laughed, and the sound trailed off into a muted shriek that frightened her. “Get it? A fucking angel.”

“This isn’t the time to—”

“Test the theory?” She unbuttoned her jeans. “Afraid you might learn something?”

Duncan tossed the coils of cables on the bed. “Damn you.”

“I’m already damned.”

He pushed his crotch against her, the fabric of his pants gently chafing her skin.

“Shit, baby, what’s going on?” He was hoarse.

Raw, pulsing possession. The science of seduction. The age-old dance of the devil. “Shut up and worship.”

He brushed her hair with his fingers, then clutched a handful of strands and lifted her face from the bed. His other hand reached for the nearest coil of cable. Bitch Mode allowed her to smile and let her lips grant permission.

“Yessssss....”

Lilith, harpy, siren, witch, eventually it all came to this. No folklore, no religion, no rigorous adherence to scientific method. Just women taking it. Women loving it. And men dying for it.

Ann slammed back to meet his thrust and he was fully inside, reaching deep into the poisonous pit of her womb. He yanked one of her hands back and looped the cable around her wrist, then pressed her harder into the bed, her breasts squeezing into the mattress. She gave him her other hand and he bound her without missing a stroke, the crude knots straining her shoulders. He grabbed the bond and used it for leverage, banging himself deeply into her. The room was thick with the odor of their rutting.

The electric freeze jolted her brain and she screamed into the blankets. Her urgency carried him along on its tide, and her scream turned into a sibilant hiss of satisfaction. He swelled and exploded, and she felt his energy gushing into her.

He groaned and collapsed on top of her, pinning her bound arms between them. “My God, baby....”

God. How strange he’d invoke the thing he couldn’t believe in, the one thing she’d now come to understand and despise. God was the reason she was trapped here in the hotel, exiled among these pathetic humans, when she could have been tasting all the delights of heaven and hell.

The pleasures and pains of the flesh had their attractions, but even those extremes served the will of that oppressive entity that hid behind the clouds. God needed her kind, their kind, on Earth because God didn’t like to get His hands dirty. If only He knew how much fun it was.