The Paradise Prophecy

23

The one who called himself Jonathan Beel hadn’t felt like doing the interview, but the moment he saw the reporter, he changed his mind.

She was quite fetching.

It was obvious that she had dressed up for the occasion, and he had no desire to disappoint her by politely feigning indifference to her appearance. He supposed he could uncross his legs and let her have an unvarnished view of her effect on him, but he decided that this might be pushing it. He didn’t want to frighten her away.

Instead, he merely offered her his appreciative gaze, and she drank it up like a milk-starved kitten.

“So for the one or two readers out there who haven’t yet seen the show,” she said, “why don’t you explain what Saints and Sinners is all about?”

They were seated in directors’ chairs just to the right of the soundstage. He’d given her a tour of the new house they’d constructed, and she’d seemed suitably impressed by it. The truth was, this was first time Beel had seen it himself. He didn’t normally spend much time on the set. He had an empire to oversee, and this was only a very small part of it.

“It’s simple,” he told her. “We put twenty people in a house and force them to live together. Ten of them lead what most of us would consider virtuous lives, and the other ten have run into a bit of trouble, so to speak. Saints versus sinners. After eight weeks of various challenges to their hearts and minds, whoever is left standing is awarded a million dollars.”

“Well, it’s obviously a winning formula.”

Beel nodded. “Six weeks at number one. The network has already renewed us for another season, which is why we built this new set. We’re casting now.”

“Great news. But what do you say to those who claim that the show is fixed?”

“In what way?”

“The Saints never seem to win any of the challenges. Only the Sinners.”

Beel laughed, waving off the accusation. “Isn’t that the way the world usually works?”

The air outside the soundstage was chilly. As he walked the reporter to the parking lot, Beel pulled off his leather jacket and threw it over her shoulders. It was a shame to cover that smooth brown skin, but chivalry was a rarity in Hollywood and was sure to win him a few points.

He wanted to seduce her the old-fashioned way.

The interview had gone quite well. After she was done with her questions, the reporter had smiled and given him a look that said she was clearly interested. He knew that he could tempt her with a walk-on in one of his episodics (he was currently producing twelve shows for various networks), or maybe an on-air reporting audition for one of his cable news channels-but that would be cheating. Beel had no desire to use any tricks with this one. He considered her a challenge, and he had a feeling his efforts would not go unrewarded.

“Do you always wear your sunglasses at night?” she asked.

Her lips were full, but not altered by collagen or implants like so many of the women out here. He could imagine himself biting into the lower one, hearing her cry out in pain as he drew blood.

Then he’d move on to her nipples.

He had put on his sunglasses because he knew that his eyes gave him an unfair advantage with her. Inside the studio, she had so loved the feeling of his gaze as it washed over her, that he had decided to give himself another handicap.

“Always,” he said, in answer to her question, but didn’t offer any further explanation.

“It just seems so . . . pretentious, I guess. And I like it better when I can see your eyes.”

Of course she did.

Beel smiled. “If you could see my eyes right now, I’m afraid it might embarrass you.”

Ten points for that one.

They reached the parking lot and she moved to the slot he had reserved for her, where a worn ten-year-old Miata waited. He had expected her to be driving something a little more upscale, but then he remembered that she was a newspaper reporter.

She definitely carried her poverty well.

Stopping at the driver’s door, she opened her purse and dug around for her keys. When she found them, she turned, and Beel made sure to be standing close. Not close enough to make her uncomfortable, but enough to make his intentions clear.

She didn’t shy away. In fact, she surprised him. “Do you feel like having a drink?”

“I’d love to.”

“I have an apartment off Cahuenga, just over the hill. I might even have some vodka.”

“Excellent. Lead the way.”

She smiled now and leaned into him, brushing her fingers against his jeans. “And when we’re finished with our nightcap, maybe I can do something about this little devil you’ve been trying to hide from me all night.”

“Not so little,” he said.

Her smile broadened, and she leaned up to kiss him. “I certainly hope you’re telling me the-”

She stiffened suddenly and her whole body began to shake. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets until only the whites were showing.

Beel was momentarily startled, but then he sighed.

Shit.

He stepped back as the reporter continued to shimmy and shake in what, to the uninitiated, might look like some kind of medical emergency.

But Beel knew better.

Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out a pack of smokes and lit one up, waiting patiently for the moment to pass. Then, with the whites of her eyes still showing, the reporter stopped shaking and perched herself on the hood of her car.

“We’ve had an interesting development,” she said.

Belial. Always one for the dramatic entrance.

“It had better be, my dear. I don’t appreciate this interruption.”

She stared at his jeans with her blank eyes. “That’s obvious. You seem to be adjusting to this skin you’ve acquired. You look even better than you did in Istanbul.”

He waved a hand at her. “Get to the point.”

She nodded. Paused. “I have word from one of my drudges that someone we both know and love made a bit of a fuss today.”

“Who?”

“My dear brother. And he took a few of my darlings in the process.”

“Really,” Beel said dryly. “And I should care why?”

“Because the fuss was over a fifteen-year-old girl. He seemed very concerned about her.” She paused. “Too concerned.”

Beel took a drag off the cigarette. This was interesting. “Who is this girl?”

“All I have is a first name. And my drudge tells me she’s quite a looker. Unfortunately, I haven’t yet had a chance to get up close and personal myself. I’ve been a bit busy.”

“This could be nothing. Your brother’s interest in the creature could be purely predatory.”

“Come on, Beelzebub”-she always used his given name-“you know him almost better than I do. He made up his mind about these things a long time ago, and I doubt he’ll ever change it.”

Beel shook his head. “He’s no more a saint than the rest of us. This fable these moronic creatures have built around him is pathetic.”

“True, but he’s just arrogant enough to believe it, and I’m told he came out of nowhere today, so I can only assume he’s been watching this girl. And that speaks volumes.”

“We’ve been through this before,” Beel said.

“But what if he’s right this time? What if this girl really is the Telum?”

Beel wanted more than anything to believe it, but he wasn’t so sure. Belial’s brother had always played his cards very close to the vest, and there was no telling what he was up to. And as much as Beel would like it to, none of this meant that their former colleague had actually found what they’d all sought for so long. He could merely be trying to distract them, in anticipation of the coming moon.

Besides, identifying the Telum was only half the battle. They needed to find the key to releasing it, as well. And wasn’t that the whole point of going after Custodes Sacri?

“Beelzebub?”

Beel shook himself from his reverie and looked at her. “Moloch and Mammon tell me you visited them in Amsterdam. That must have been pleasant.”

She shrugged. “Mammon’s the same as ever. He’s predicting a massive collapse on Wall Street, and Moloch’s still playing soldier, working tirelessly to get their weapons and drudges in place.”

“But will it be enough?” Beel asked. “The eclipse is only days away.”

“All the more reason to pursue this girl.”

“And what about Custodes Sacri? If she really is the Telum, we need that key to seal the deal. Or unseal it, in this case.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve hit a bit of a dead end. The one the Brazilian told me about has gone into hiding.”

“Then find him,” Beel barked. “You wanted the lead on this, so get me some fucking results.”

She stiffened. “This isn’t just about you, Beelzebub. We all have a stake in this race.”

Beel knew she was right, and he didn’t like letting his temper get away from him. But they had come so close so many times before, only to see their hard work undone by some foolish mistake or some petty dispute.

He thought about all the infighting, the backbiting, the conniving, the fractured alliances, the wars . . .

And where had any of it gotten them?

“Apologies, my dear. I’ve just been waiting so long for this, I sometimes wonder if we’ll ever see it done.”

“We will,” she said. “I promise. But while I’m busy hunting down Custodes Sacri, I need you to keep an eye on my brother and the girl. I’ve already instructed Zack to make contact again and wait for our orders.”

“I do so hope you’re right about her.”

Belial stepped toward him now, pressing herself up against him.

“Don’t fret, Beelzebub. If all goes well, the Master will rise again, and bring the full wrath of Abyssus along with him.” She kissed his cheek, lingering there for a moment. “A posse ad esse.”

Then she was gone.