blood my sweet nectar and I will drink you down with an unyielding thirst. And you will feel every exquisite agonizing sensation as it pulses along your nerve endings.”
Darius morphed back once more into human. “You will sleep now. Come morning you may find you have some memory of this but you will fight it. You will insist that it is just your imagination working hard to process everything you’ve seen and learned.”
He laughed one last time. “Or maybe, just maybe, you will be brave enough to let your instincts decide your destiny this once. Are you that brave, Curran? Are you brave enough to come for me when every reflex you own screams at you to run and hide?”
He smirked. “Sleep now. Our time together will come soon enough. And I am looking forward to it. Very much.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Curran woke the next morning feeling like his head had been used for soccer practice. An unending series of tidal throbs rocked and bucked his senses. He tried to eat breakfast and promptly puked it back up. Bucking his usual trend, he shot down four migraine headache pills, bolted back a half can of Pepsi and then sucked down two cigarettes in short order.
Remarkably, his treatment held. And soon enough the pulsing pain had subsided.
What the hell happened to me last night?
He had vague memories. And somehow he knew Darius figured into it. But not just another weird dream. Not this time. This time something very unusual had happened.
The answer hit him at about the same time as his conscious mind realized the same thing. Darius had opened some sort of link with him.
Great, now he had a telepathic demon haunting him.
If things get any better, he thought, I’ll just die from happiness.
He called Kwon. His friend answered on the fourth ring and Curran could tell he’d woken him up.
“What?”
“I need a favor.”
“I do any more favors for you, Curran, and I’ll be dead. You realize that?”
“It’s an easy favor.”
Kwon sniffed and cleared his throat. “Famous last words. What the hell time is it?”
“Seven.”
“Sick. You are a sick bastard. I haven’t even had a proper cup of coffee yet and here you are ringing me up for favors.” He sighed.
“Can you sit on top of our new friend for a while today?”
“What — you got a hot date?”
Curran smiled. Right. Not this time. “I’ve got some things to do.”
“Oh sure and I’ll just set the fridge down at the office to freeze so none of my corpses start to thaw and stink the joint up. How’d that be?”
“I need someone on Darius all day. I need to know where he is at all times.”
“Why?”
“It’s probably better if you don’t ask.”
Kwon paused as if debating whether to do so anyway. Curran bit his lip. Not now, pal, he pleaded. Just do this one thing for me.
Kwon sighed. “Yeah. Okay. I can park down at his store. That be okay?”
“Great. Call me on the cell if he leaves there, okay?”
“Yeah. When you need me down there?”
“Sooner the better. Parking fills up fast on Beacon Hill and I want you in an advantageous position.”
“My definition of an advantageous position is being the only man in a room filled with uninhibited nurses.”
Curran chuckled and his head throbbed vaguely. “Think warm thoughts, just keep your eyes on Darius.”
He hung up and got out the White Pages. It couldn’t be this easy, he thought, could it? Would a demon really have his address listed?
But there it was. Right in the phone book. Curran looked at the simple listing and frowned. The reality of his decision burned itself into his brain as he stood there memorizing the address.
That’s it then, he thought.
He slammed the book shut, grabbed his badge, gun, and keys and walked out of his house.
He found it easily enough.
Chestnut Hill’s homes ranged from sprawling old mansions to newer developments reminiscent of 1970s architecture styles. Curran called it California kitsch. He wound his way off route 9 west and then onto Sleigh Street. At the intersection of Maple and Sleigh, he banked left and followed it around into a small cul de sac.
Curran slowed to a stop.
So this is it.
The house itself looked about a hundred years old. Red and gray paint flaked off in large pieces, littering the crab grass lawn. Wooden gutters that looked rotten from where he sat, jutted out of the house at odd angles. Once black shutters weathered into a dull battleship gray hung slightly askew. A few clapboards in the front hosted a zigzagging fault line.
For Chestnut Hill, and given the rest of the neighborhood, the house stuck out like a sore thumb. But even if it looked like hell cosmetically, Curran knew it was a prized piece of real estate.
Still, thought Curran, seems odd an antiques dealer doesn’t have a better-looking place. Then again, maybe the Soul Eater, if he was truly that, didn’t want the house to look too inviting.
He could make out the silver Saab parked in the driveway. And again, he thought about how weird it was to imagine a supernatural creature needing to drive around in a car of all things.
Curran cracked the window, letting a slight breeze fill the car. He adjusted the seat so he was reclined somewhat, able to see, but not be seen. If anyone passed by he would look like he was just taking a nap. Perhaps he was waiting for someone.
Anything but a cop.
And anything but someone trying to stop the resurrection of Satan.
Steve, he thought, your life has definitely gotten weird.
He thought about Lauren.
The way his heart ached every time he thought about her only served to reinforce the notion that he liked her a helluva lot more than he wanted himself to. He frowned. It couldn’t work. She was going to be a nun of all things. And he was still nursing old wounds that had fractured his faith. Possibly forever.
I wonder what Darius is doing, he thought. The dashboard clock read seven-fifty. Maybe he’s in there plotting his next victim. Maybe he’s even thinking about killing me.
Curran felt his insides go cold.
Deja vu? Something about that thought felt familiar.
What happened last night?
Curran patted his back right hip and felt the bulge of his pistol. It gave him some comfort.
But only a little.
He would have liked to kick the door down and go in with guns blazing. Would bullets kill the Soul Eater? Curran didn’t know but he sure would have enjoyed testing the theory out.
But he was a good cop.
And part of him — a fairly large part if he felt like being honest — still wasn’t convinced about the Soul Eater stuff.
Curran had seen enough psycho cases in his time to know that people could get some very strange ideas in
