The Long Way Down (Daniel Faust #1)(57)

“That sounds rather apocalyptic,” Bentley said.

I nodded. “That’s the impression I got, too. Let’s look at what we know. Lauren Carmichael has the power to bind demons, to force them into slavery without any kind of bargain—”

“That’s impossible.” Jennifer cut me off. “There’s always a price for a demon’s service. Always.”

“I thought so too, but I saw the proof. Caitlin’s contract was a hundred percent one-sided. She was forced to sign it against her will.”

“Caitlin?” Margaux said, and I caught the hard look in Bentley’s eyes.

“You’re on a first-name basis with it?” he asked, his voice tight.

“The succubus Lauren bound,” I said, pushing ahead, “and subsequently gave to Artie Kaufman for safekeeping. We know why she did it: to enslave a detective named Holt and keep him in line. Holt was doing some dirty work for Carmichael-Sterling Nevada, and the demon was there to ensure his ongoing loyalty. Artie murdered Stacy Pankow, used a soul-trap on her, and forced Holt to help him cover it up.”

“So Artie was working for Lauren?” Jennifer said.

“Only to babysit Cai—the succubus, and report on Holt. I get the impression that Artie was never in the inner circle and never would be. They just patted him on the head and fed him cookies to shut him up. Sheldon, Artie’s brother, gave him a soul-trap but didn’t seem to care that he botched the job. At the golf game, Meadow Brand said they didn’t need Stacy’s soul in the first place.”

“Implying they needed other souls,” Corman rumbled.

“I think that was why they needed Detective Holt,” I said. “He made sure the case jackets on everyone they murdered ended up on his desk so he could stall the investigation, just like he did with Stacy Pankow. As long as he stayed happy and addicted, he was their get-out-of-jail-free card.”

Bentley paced, thinking aloud. “The natural connection is the souls and the Box. One opens the other, somehow.”

“They had almost everything they needed, just one—” I paused, grimacing as I remembered. “Damn it, we have to move. The guy they called Tony, he was going to claim the last soul they needed, and it was all set to go down tomorrow night. That doesn’t give us a lot of time.”

I frowned, catching the looks on their faces. “What?”

“Daniel,” Bentley said, “you were unconscious for over sixteen hours. It is tomorrow.”

? ? ?

Trying to organize a group of magicians was usually a battle akin to herding cats. When times were dire, though, we managed to get things done. Jennifer and Corman stayed behind to clean up the morgue, wiping away any sign we’d ever been there, while Margaux went to find her sometime-boyfriend and sweet-talk him into twenty minutes of unfettered Internet access. Before long, Bentley and I sat side by side at a pair of computer desks, alone in a dimly lit staff lounge. A Closed for Cleaning sign hung on the outside of the glass door.

I scoured Carmichael-Sterling’s website while Bentley hit the online newspaper archives, trying to track down the mysterious Tony. Outside, the sun dripped behind the city skyline, dyeing the clouds blood orange.

“He talked about construction permits,” I said, clicking furiously. “Maybe he’s a contractor of some kind.”

Bentley slipped a pair of silver-rimmed reading glasses from his vest pocket. “But highly placed. An architect, perhaps?”

Sifting through the archive of press releases, I struck gold.

“Not an architect,” I said, “the architect. Tony Vance, golden boy of the Berlin neo-deco movement and sole designer of the Enclave Resort and Casino. The whole damn thing’s his baby from the ground up.”

Bentley looked over at me. “Curious. You made it sound like he wasn’t an enthusiastic participant.”

“He wasn’t. Meadow Brand tore him a new one for dragging his heels on the soul-collection thing. When we fought at Spengler’s place, he didn’t even get involved. He just stood on the sidelines and watched. I’m hoping I might be able to talk some sense into the guy, get him to come over to our side.”

“It wouldn’t hurt. Oh. Oh dear.”

I peered over his shoulder to get a look at the screen. “What is it?”

“Two months ago, Lauren Carmichael’s husband and son were murdered in a home invasion. She was conveniently working late that night. Sheldon Kaufman’s sister died two weeks later, casualty of a convenience store robbery. Just a day after that, Meadow Brand’s father was stabbed to death in what’s being reported as a mugging gone wrong.”

Why don’t you just kill your wife? Sheldon had asked Tony back at the golf course.

Because I don’t love my wife.

“Christ,” I breathed. “It’s not just any souls they need. Family members. Blood relations, maybe. Someone they have a personal bond with.”

“An intimate sacrifice,” Bentley said.

It’s Amber, Tony had said. It has to be Amber—she’s the only one who qualifies.

“A sacrifice to the Box. Or just to the lock that seals it shut. All right, see if you can dig up a home address for Tony Vance. I’m going to find out who Amber is. We’ve got to get to her before he does.”

My head swirled with maybes. Maybe Tony would lose his nerve. Maybe he’d drag his heels just a little longer. Maybe he’d show his hand too soon, and Amber would fight him off or get away from him in time. There was still a chance.