“Mr. Slade…?”

Carter Slade looked up from the dusty map that he had been poring over for most of the morning. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of a hand, acutely aware of how damp his shirt was. It clung to him like a second skin and he was sure that he looked unwashed — which he was. Leading this dig in the middle of the Nevada desert didn’t afford very many opportunities for cleanliness. Swallowing, he answered with as calm a voice as he could manage. “Yes, Eloise?”

Eloise Green, a 24-year old graduate student, stepped into the tent’s interior. She noticed the casual, bachelor way that Carter had of strewing his belongings all over the ground, but she found it somewhat charming. Carter Slade was old enough to be her father (or much older brother, she preferred to think), but he had kind of a Tyrone Power quality to him that made her weak in the knees. She smiled at him, hoping that he didn’t think she was some kind of tart looking for a good grade. She smoothed down the front of her jodhpurs and cleared her throat.

“Harper found something outside. She wanted me to come get you.”

Carter forced his eyes away from her pert young breasts. He was grateful that she’d come to him on an archaeological matter… more and more lately they’d found little excuses to be alone together, talking about what she planned to do with her degree, how he’d ended up at the University of Nevada…

A few more times alone, Slade knew, and his willpower wouldn’t be strong enough to prevent his acting on their attraction. “What is it?”

Eloise walked out with him, her arm brushing against his. She was much shorter than Carter — no more than 5′5″, with shoulder-length auburn hair. In contrast, he was tall and broad-shouldered, his skin bronzed through years of working in the sun. A pair of spectacles gave him an intelligent air.

A small knot of students was gathered around Harper Kincaid, a frail little student from the Midwest. Carter could hear her excited voice droning on about something and he felt a surge of annoyance towards her.

Most of the students he brought out into the field considered it nothing more than a glorified field trip and that never sat well with him. Harper was one of those, always bubbling over with laughter at some off-hand remark. Harper and Eloise were the only females amongst the two dozen members of the expedition and Carter had sensed an immediate rivalry between the two.

As if reading his thoughts, Eloise whispered under her breath, “It’d be nice if we had this place to ourselves, huh?”

Carter flushed a bit, casting a glance in her direction. She was grinning like a Cheshire cat and Carter shared a laugh with her. “Yes… We’d get twice as much done, that’s for sure.” Composing himself, he stepped into the midst of the students. “Harper… What did you find?”

The thin girl looked up with an expression of triumph. “We’re going to be famous, Professor! Look…” She backed away and Carter saw the hole in which she’d been digging. Bits of pottery lay scattered about, but that wasn’t what had attracted her so much attention. There, just barely revealed by Harper’s activities, was what appeared to be a door or seal of some kind. It was formed of reddish-brown stone, with a raised impression of a man’s face. The expression on the face was one of torment or horror.

“What do you think it is?”

Carter didn’t even turn to see who had asked him the question. He was kneeling instead, reaching out to run a hand over the smooth surface of the stone. It was warm to the touch. “It’s not Native American… I’m sure of that. None of the local tribes ever practiced this sort of work.”

“You think it’s a tomb? Or maybe some kind of time capsule? Like the one they buried at the World’s Fair?”

Theo Ridley laughed as he said it, making Carter wince. He was glad to hear Eloise respond, “I think the idea of time capsules is pretty recent, Theo. This is probably where someone buried something of religious significance…” Her pretty little nose wrinkled in revulsion, “Something pretty terrible, from the looks of that seal.”

She squatted down beside Carter, her scent filling his nostrils. She smelled sweaty, but it mixed with her perfume and made his head spin. Carter cleared his throat, feeling along the sides of the seal. “There’s a latch of some kind…” He paused, pulling away.

Harper frowned, not happy that her grand discovery wasn’t being pounced upon. “Why aren’t you opening it?”

“Because we don’t know what we’re dealing with, Harper. There may be traps, for one thing.” He stood, facing the throng of students. “Everyone, take a break. I don’t want anyone coming within twenty feet of here. Understood?”

Amidst a flurry of mumbles the group broke up, leaving only Carter, Eloise and Harper. The latter stood unhappily for a moment before turning away. She marched off with tears in her eyes.

Carter felt a surge of sympathy for her… It was quite a discovery. But he didn’t want anyone getting hurt here.

Eloise touched his arm. It was a familiar gesture and it didn’t go unnoticed by some of the other students. Rumors were beginning to swirl about Eloise Green being the “teacher’s pet.” Moving closer, Eloise said “So… What are you going to do?”

Carter looked back at the seal. Something about it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“I think we should open it. You and I.”

Eloise’s words took him by surprise and he shook his head. “No. I’ll do it alone. I don’t want you here where you could get hurt.”

“I’m a big girl.”

“So I’ve noticed.” He put an arm around her and led her away. “I’ll open it tonight. In the meantime, rope it off, okay?”

CARTER IGNORED THE sounds of laughter coming from the campsite behind him. The students liked to cut loose in the evenings and Slade didn’t blame them — being on an archaeological dig was hard work. He thought about Eloise and felt a pang of jealousy… she’d been dancing with Theo when he’d seen her last. Let it go. He’s more her age, anyway, he mused. Besides, she’d looked my way while she was doing it. Probably some adolescent attempt at making me jealous since I wouldn’t let her come with me.

Staring down at the seal, he felt his heartbeat begin to quicken. He could almost smell the supernatural aura from the thing, like an acrid cloud of smoke drifting slowly away from a fire. Taking one glance back behind him to make sure no one was watching, he bent and ran a gloved hand over the seal, feeling for the latch. With a twist, he felt it give and the stone seal slid to the side. Immediately, the horrible scent grew stronger and something could be heard slithering deep inside. It was no snake, he knew, not unless that snake was of gigantic size, for the sounds it made were inhuman and frightening.

Setting the seal gently aside, Carter peered into the darkness, picking up a lantern that lay beside him. There were stairs within, but the shape and size of them seemed odd, as if they were made for creatures whose gait was much shorter than a man’s. Small claw-marks lined each of the stairs.

Carter patted his hip and was relieved to feel his revolver in his left hip pocket. He considered holding off on this little expedition until the morning and possibly taking a few of the boys with him, but then he thought about the potential fallout if one of the students broke an ankle or worse down there. Given the still fragile state of the economy, the archaeology program was under constant review — best not to tempt fate by risking an embarrassing injury.

Taking a deep breath, Carter began to descend into the pit. The stairs were so small that he took them four and five at a time.

Carter Slade vanished into the abyss.

Violet Cambridge lay in bed, her nude form hidden by the crisp white sheets. In her left hand was a lit cigarette, the scent of cloves wafting from its tip. In her right hand she held a Smith & Wesson Hand Ejector II. The revolver had been introduced a few years before World War I and was Violet’s favorite type of handgun. Chambered for .45 caliber rounds, the Hand Ejector II normally had a five or six inch barrel but Violet’s gun had a modified barrel that had been cut down to four inches in length.

Violet took another hit off her smoke and watched as the shadows visible beneath her door grew closer. She counted at least two men in the outer room of her apartment. They were professionals, too, by the way they moved and how silent their break-in had been. Violet had keen ears and she’d barely heard them. She thought about trying to get dressed before they burst in but figured that it would only waste time. If they caught a glimpse of her, what did it matter? They weren’t long for this world anyway so why not give them a thrill on the way out?

The door suddenly shattered inwards, a heavy boot having been driven right into the wooden center. Two men pushed their way in, both dressed in identical gray suits and felt fedora hats. They were broad-shouldered types with square jaws, cold eyes and poor shaving habits. One had a patch of unruly whiskers on his chin, the other suffered from a perpetual case of razor burn.

The obvious leader of the two — Mr. Razor Burn, Violet dubbed him — moved closer, brandishing a revolver. His friend was more of a hands-on type: he was holding a ligature of rope.

Mr. Razor Burn hesitated, his eyes falling on the Smith & Wesson that Violet had trained on him. “Put down the gun, you crazy dame,” he said. His voice was hoarse and Violet pegged him as a hardcore smoker.

“Why would I do that?” Violet asked, looking completely nonplussed by the turn of events. Her raven-black hair was only slightly mussed from sleep, the bangs falling evenly over her dark eyes. “I’d say that you two gentlemen aren’t here to ask me out on a date. Am I right? So forgive me if I’d prefer to stay armed.”

“You give us the money you stole and Mr. Armitage says we can let you live.”

Violet took one last puff on the cigarette before stubbing it out in an ashtray on her nightstand. The motion caused her sheet to drop on one side, allowing a pale white breast to come into view. Her rosy nipple hardened in the night air and she knew that both men had caught sight of it. Mr. Razor Burn suddenly sounded even huskier than before. Men, she thought to herself, are such idiots.

“C’mon,” Mr. Razor Burn said, taking two steps closer. “I don’t want to hurt a good looking dame like you.”

“Good. That makes two of us that are concerned about my safety.” Violet moved the barrel of the gun slightly, focusing it on the guy holding the strangulation weapon. “I want you to tell Armitage that I didn’t steal any money. He’s the thief, not me. He had his boys raid the charity fund for the orphanage. Who does that? Not even Hitler, I’d bet. So all I did was take it back for them. And in the morning I’m going to drop it off at the orphanage… and all those happy little boys and girls will get to have Christmas this year.”

“You make yourself sound like a saint,” Mr. Ligature said. When he spoke, he revealed a set of teeth that were badly in need of dental care. “You’re nothing but a whore, showing off your tits like that. You need a man to put you in your place.”

Violet smiled coolly. “Pity you won’t get the chance.” She fired twice, both bullets striking Mr. Ligature in the throat. Blood flowed quickly from the wounds and Mr. Ligature’s eyes bulged in shock. He dropped his weapon and reached up with both hands in a vain attempt to staunch the flow of blood. He looked at Mr. Razor Burn in desperation, staggering back until he bumped against the wall. He slid to the floor, making gurgling sounds all the while.

Mr. Razor Burn didn’t seem distressed over the loss of his partner. He kept his own gun pointed at Violet but hadn’t fired it yet. Violet had been right: he was the smarter of the two and the one more easily reasoned with. Smart men were in no hurry to die, especially if they could prolong their life while staring at a beautiful woman’s breasts. “You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered.

“No, I didn’t. But it felt damned nice.”

“Look… I’ll go back and tell Mr. Armitage that you don’t have the money anymore. That you already gave it back.”

“You think he’ll buy it?”

“Dunno. But it’s worth a try.”

“That would be real square of you. I’d appreciate it.”

“Enough to let me see what else is beneath that sheet?”

Violet laughed. “No. I’m afraid not.”

Mr. Razor Burn shrugged good-naturedly. He started to turn, stepping over his friend’s body, when he stopped suddenly, as if something had come to him. “Oh. One more thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

Mr. Razor Burn shook his head, smiling. “That jerk-off that you killed when you took the money…”

“Yeah?”

The smile faded. “That was my brother.”

The shadows of the room were suddenly gone as both guns belched hot leaden death. Violet had fired her gun while simultaneously throwing her body to her left. She plummeted to the floor, her lower body wrapped up in her bed sheets. She hit the carpet hard, sending pain racing through her hip. Mr. Razor Burn’s bullets missed her easily, tearing chucks out of the headboard instead.

Violet’s aim, however, was far better. Even though she fired while in motion, she caught Mr. Razor Burn in the stomach with her first shot and in the wrist with her second. He fell to his knees, gasping in pain.

Violet stood up, testing her hip. It hurt like hell but nothing seemed broken. She checked to make sure she still had bullets remaining. Her gun’s chamber held six shots and she’d spent four of them so far. She walked to where Mr. Razor Burn was crouching, kicking away his pistol with her toes. She then placed her foot on his shoulder and sent him onto his back. He landed with a grunt, one hand holding his guts together.

He looked up to see a sight that under other circumstances would have been a lovely one: Violet Cambridge was a stunningly attractive woman. She stood five foot, four inches tall when not in heels and she had a wondrously fit body. It was firm in all the right places but retained the softness that men found so appealing. Her dark hair was matched by the midnight quality of her eyes, which spoke of secretive whispers and fiery romance.

Violet knew that the other residents of her apartment building were probably frightened out of their wits by the gunfire. At least one of them had probably already placed a call to the police.

She knelt at Mr. Razor Burn’s side, placing the smoke barrel of her gun at the side of his head. “Be sure to tell your brother I said hello.”

“You can’t keep killing people, Violet. The police get real touchy about that.”

Violet smoothed out her black dress and offered up a glittering smile before buttering a biscuit and taking a bite. It was a lovely Atlanta morning, with just the right crispness to the air that made one think that Christmas was just around the corner. But it being the Deep South, it was still warm enough at this time of year to enjoy a breakfast at a sidewalk café. Peachtree Street was abuzz with activity, the thoroughfare being filled with businessmen and holiday shoppers. “It was self-defense,” she said. “Even Chief McKenzie had to admit that. Those brutes broke into my apartment with the obvious intent of killing me.”

Miles Knopf stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. He was some ten years Violet’s senior and was a shockingly thin man. His pride and joy was the pencil-thin moustache he cultivated on his upper lip, greasing it until the ends jutted out in sharp little points. “And I suppose the orphanage is singing your praises this morning?”

“Of course not. I left it for them anonymously. No need attracting more attention to myself than I already get.”

Miles took a sip of coffee. “When are you going to stop wearing black?”

“When I’m finished mourning my husband.”

“Walter’s been dead for almost four years. That’s three years longer than you were married.”

“Sometimes I think you’re jealous of a dead man,” Violet said pointedly. “I wear black because I like black. Isn’t that enough?”

“Your entire wardrobe looks like you’re readying for a funeral.”

Violet wiped at a bit of crumb on the corner of her lip. “What’s eating you today, Miles? It’s got to be more than just Armitage’s men turning up in my bedroom. You’re acting like a catty old woman.”

Miles sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Business is slow, that’s all.”

Violet carefully examined the cheese-covered grits before her and took a small bite. They were still a bit hot but the deliciousness encouraged eating on despite the discomfort. “What are you talking about? I just got back the orphanage’s money and took down some of Armitage’s goons. Sounds like we’ve been plenty busy.”

“That’s free work! It doesn’t pay the bills!” Miles leaned forward. “Look… your husband was my partner and he was a damned fine detective. After he died, you convinced me to let you come onboard and I haven’t regretted that even once. But you’re spending so much time playing Robin Hood that you’re driving us out of business!”

Violet chewed slowly, thinking things through. Miles was right enough, she supposed. The general public thought of Miles Knopf as Atlanta’s premier private detective but the truth was that he was nothing more than the “face” of the agency. He handled the contracts, dealt with moneylenders and attended society functions. It had been that way even when Walter had worked with him. It had been Walter who’d put his life on the line tracking down cheating husbands and thieves.

“I’m sorry, Miles. Tomorrow I promise we’ll get to work on some paying cases.”

“Why not today?”

“Well, tonight’s the big premiere. I’m going with Mr. Jacobs.”

Miles knew Clint Jacobs well. The president of a local bank, he was a pleasant enough fellow. A confirmed bachelor, Jacobs was known to favor the company of other men… though he frequently went out with Violet for appearance’s sake. It was a satisfactory arrangement for both: Violet got to attend some of the swankiest affairs in Atlanta while Jacobs got to maintain his standing in the community. The premiere that they were attending was for Gone With The Wind and it was the climax of three days’ worth of festivities. Mayor Hartsfield had played his role as host to the hilt and the events had included a parade of limousines featuring stars from the film, false antebellum fronts on businesses and homes and a costume ball.

Miles cleared his throat and Violet stopped eating. She knew this mannerism well. It always preceded an admission on Miles’ part, usually about something that he knew would make Violet unhappy. “Think you could spare a few minutes in the office this afternoon?”

“You scheduled a meeting with a client, didn’t you?”

“It shouldn’t take long.”

Violet set down her silverware and examined Miles coolly. “What’s the case about?”

“I’m not sure yet. That’s why we’re meeting with her.”

“You must have some idea.”

“She’s looking for a missing relative. Her sister, I think.”

“I hate missing family members, Miles. It depresses me.”

“Well, this one seems pretty cut and dry.”

“I thought you didn’t know much about it.”

Miles took a deep breath and grinned. “You’re incorrigible, aren’t you?”

Violet resumed eating her breakfast. “You love me for it.”

THE DETECTIVE OFFICES of Knopf and Cambridge were located on Spring Street, on the top floor of a three-story building. They were nice enough to present the image of a successful company but not so opulent that their clients expected to pay through the nose for service.

Miles was sitting behind his desk when Abby Whitehead arrived. Violet was perched on the edge of the desk, her long legs crossed. Both she and Miles were smoking, taking turns dropping their ashes into a brass tray on the desktop.

Abby was a delicious young thing, in her mid-twenties and golden haired. She had striking green eyes and was so long-legged that she gave the impression of being a young colt, newly given her freedom. Her breasts were high and as round as little apples. She wore a knee-length white skirt and a yellow blouse that caught the emerald of her eyes. In her right hand she held a small purse. She looked like such a ray of sunshine that the dark-clad Violet almost felt like shielding her gaze from the sight. The only thing that ruined the overall bright and sunny effect was the moistness of Abby’s eyes and the way her bottom lip kept trembling. The combination of beauty and vulnerability was intoxicating and Miles was on his feet in a hurry, offering her a seat and a drink. She accepted the former but refused the latter, speaking with a voice that was so soft and quiet that Violet had to strain to hear.

“What can we do for you, dear?” Violet asked.

“I’m here about my sister. Her name is Margaret but everyone calls her Maggie. She’s only seventeen years old and she’s not… she’s not very wise in the ways of the world.”

Violet looked at Abby’s pretty face and wondered if the girl in front of her knew much about those things. She looked as innocent as freshly fallen snow.

“A few months ago she began dating a man named Morehouse. Sidney Morehouse. He’s much older than she is and I tried to tell her from the beginning that his interest in her wasn’t right. But she wouldn’t hear anything negative about him.” Abby chewed her bottom lip so harshly that Violet thought she was going to draw blood. “Finally, just before Thanksgiving, she called me to say that she wasn’t going to be joining us at our family dinner. She was going to spend the holiday with Morehouse instead. I tried to talk her out of it but she wouldn’t listen. That was the last time I saw her… in the flesh.”

Violet cast a glance at Miles but she quickly realized that her partner wasn’t really listening to the girl’s words. He was staring openly at her with such a puppy dog expression that it was all Violet could do not to laugh aloud. Turning back to Abby, she blew out a long plume of smoke and asked, “What did you mean, honey? The last time you saw her in the flesh? How else would you see her?”

Abby opened the clasp on her purse and withdrew a rolled up magazine with trembling hands. She held it out to Violet, being careful not to actually look at it herself. Violet accepted it, knowing what it was before she’d even taken a glance. It was a cheaply produced erotic magazine, the cover of which showed a black and white image of a young brunette nude on her knees. The model had a gag stuffed into her mouth and her hands were tied behind her back. Her eyes somehow managed to convey both arousal and fear. Across the top of the image the banner headline blared

Violet had seen such things before and she knew too much about the sordid world in which they were created to ever find them sexy. They catered to ‘forbidden’ fantasies and everyone had those… Even Violet herself found nothing wrong in indulging in them from time to time, but most of the girls in these underworld publications were not truly there by choice. Monetary and physical coercion sometimes forced young women into situations that would haunt them the rest of their lives.

“Is your sister in here?” Violet asked. She felt that Miles was on his feet, coming to join her. He gasped when he saw the cover and Violet blushed on his behalf. Miles was easily shocked and she knew he’d be worthless from here on. His sense of propriety had been offended. “Can you point her out to me?”

Abby nodded.

“Of course.” She took the magazine from Violet and flipped to the center section. A series of eight photographs were arranged across two pages. They showed a girl who looked like a younger version of Abby. In the first image she was dressed like a normal teenager, in pleated skirt and fuzzy sweater. But as the images progressed, she was stripped and placed into a painful looking harness while two hooded men pinched and twisted her nipples. “That’s her. It would just kill my father to know these pictures existed.”

“I imagine,” Miles whispered.

“How did you come across this?” Violet asked.

Abby shifted in her seat. “A male friend of mine says that he found it in a gentleman’s club to which he belongs. He recognized Maggie and brought it to my attention, as he knew that I was concerned about her.”

Violet flipped through the magazine, looking for some clue as to when it had been produced. She found a small notice on the last page, instructing the magazine’s readers to keep an eye out for the special ‘XX-Mas’ issue. She wasn’t sure what sort of schedule the publisher of this magazine kept, but it appeared that this issue of STAG had been produced within the last month or two. “Have you confronted Mr. Morehouse?”

“Yes. I approached his home yesterday. He was very angry to see me and told me that Maggie had no desire to see me or anyone else in our family. I confronted him about the magazine and he told me that she was old enough to decide what she wanted to do with her body.” Tears welled up in Abby’s eyes and she looked on the verge of breaking down. “I have to speak to her! I have to know that she’s okay… that she’s not being forced to… do these awful things!”

Violet reached out and patted the girl’s shoulder. She honestly wasn’t sure Abby really wanted to find out those answers. What would be worse for her — that Maggie was being forced into these acts… or that she wasn’t being forced at all?

“You have an address for this Morehouse character?”

“I do.” Abby took a deep breath to steady herself and pulled out a small slip of paper.

Violet looked at the address and then passed it on to Miles. It was in a bad neighborhood, one that was frequently a hangout for prostitutes and opium addicts. “And Morehouse… what does he look like?”

“He’s tall. At least 6′4″ and he’s built like an athlete. He keeps his hair very short, almost military short. And his eyes are… well, they’re mean looking. He has a small scar on the left side of his mouth, too. It makes it look like he’s always smirking.”

“Do you know what he does for a living?” Miles inquired.

“No. I have no idea.”

Violet offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I tell you what, honey. We’ll get started on this first thing tomorrow. We’ll have some facts on your sister’s condition in no time.”

“You can’t begin sooner than that?” Abby asked, her voice beginning to sound so immensely sad. “I was hoping you’d start right away.”

“Well,” Violet said but Miles immediately cut her off.

“I’ll take care of it myself,” he said. When he caught Violet looking at him with a surprised expression, he placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder and pulled her aside. “I can start looking into it while you’re at the movie premiere.”

“You gallantry is showing,” Violet teased. “That girl’s young enough to be your daughter, remember.”

“I don’t have any prurient interest,” Miles said, though his eyes said otherwise. “I just feel sorry for her. Besides, all I plan to do is stake out his house and follow him around. Maybe I can catch a chance to talk to our client’s sister.”

Violet pursed her lips, considering it. Miles wasn’t used to fieldwork but he was right… it all sounded pretty cut and dry. “Okay. Just be careful.”

“I always am, darling.” Miles turned back to Abby, who stood up in anticipation. “Like I said, I’ll be starting work straightaway.”

Abby smiled gratefully and retrieved one last item from her purse. It was two one hundred dollar bills, which she placed on the desk. “I hope this will be enough.”

Violet’s eyes lit up but she kept her voice calm. “More than adequate.”

Abby nodded quickly and moved to the door. “You’ll contact me as soon as you learn anything?”

“The very second,” Miles assured her. When the door was closed, Miles plucked up one of the one hundred bills and examined it. It was crisp and looked brand new. “Was it my imagination or were there several more of these in that purse of hers?”

“I saw that, too. Looks like Miss Whitehead is quite the wealthy one.” Violet looked at Miles with affection. “Do take a gun with you. Please?”

“I never touch the things.”

“This Morehouse character might be violent.”

“Then I’ll just have to run like I have the devil at my heels and scream for your help.”

Violet wore a sleeveless black dress that accentuated her slim waist and full hips. A matching black purse and black heels completed the ensemble, giving her the look of a dangerous but alluring woman. Her ever-present cigarette was held tightly in one hand as she and Clint Jacobs walked towards the Loew’s Grand Theater. A massive crowd was assembled outside, forcing the closure of Peachtree at Pryor Street. It was an ice-cold night but Violet hadn’t let that change her choice in attire: this dress flattered her and was sufficiently fancy for an event like this.

Spotlights swept across the sky with huge beacons of light and every now and then the crowd would go wild, cheering as one of the stars of the film exited their vehicles and waved to them before entering the theater. As they got close enough to spot whom was eliciting the latest round of applause, Violet felt a rumble of surprise go through her. Striding towards the front entrance was a group of old men, several of them sporting Confederate uniforms.

“Who are they?” she asked Clint.

Jacobs grinned. He was nattily dressed in a tuxedo and he sported just the tiniest bit of makeup around his lips. Jacobs was a frequent sufferer of cold sores and they had a habit of appearing right before major public outings. Violet had helped him hide the latest outbreak as best she could. “Those are Confederate veterans,” he said. “Guests of honor for tonight.”

“Hmm. What must Clark Gable and Vivian Leigh think of us? It’s bad enough that some folks around here don’t want to recognize that we’re in the 20th Century without dragging out the Civil War all the time.”

“I imagine it won’t change what they already think,” Jacobs answered. “You heard that Gable wanted to boycott the opening, didn’t you?”

The two of them were squeezing past the gawkers and approaching one of the theater’s ushers when Violet gasped. “No! Whatever on Earth for?”

“Well, the Negro actors aren’t here. You know the rules: Negroes can’t sit with Whites in the theater. Gable was incensed and refused to even come out for the big event. Hattie McDaniel, the woman who plays Mammy in the film, convinced him to come.”

“That’s so absurd. We’re about to spend four hours of our life watching them on screen but they aren’t fit to sit next to us?”

“You’re a progressive young woman, my dear.” Jacobs leaned close to whisper, “I hope we get to see Mr. Gable up close. The man’s simply beautiful.”

Violet laughed, enjoying the secrets that they shared. It was a shame that Jacobs had to hide his sexual interests from the world… but too many people, both men and women, seemed threatened by anything that deviated from the norm.

The inside of the theater was even more breathtaking than the exterior. The rich and famous from throughout the South — and more than a few from Hollywood — were standing around, exchanging pleasantries. Violet dazzled more than one man with her smile and she found herself enjoying the attention. She and Jacobs were chatting up a makeup artist from the film when someone tapped Violet on the shoulder. She turned, the smile on her face turning brittle.

It was Daniel Armitage. The crime boss was short, standing just a smidge over five feet in height. He was twice as big around as he was tall. His suit bulged in all the wrong places and he held a cigar in his right hand. A horrible scent wafted from the end of the stogie. He was dressed in all white, which stood in stark contrast to Violet’s midnight attire. “Miss Cambridge. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Sorry about your boys, Danny-boy,” Violet said. “They came by to give me your message but they both slipped and fell.”

“I heard. The Police Chief came by and asked me all sorts of questions. Of course, I told him I didn’t know nothin’ about them coming to see you.”

“You shouldn’t tell fibs,” Violet responded. Jacobs had come to join the conversation now, recognizing that Violet might be in danger. A look from her kept him silent, however. “Let’s let bygones be bygones, shall we?”

“You took a bunch of money from me, lady,” Armitage said, lowering his voice.

“And you took it from a bunch of orphans. Sounds to me like everything worked out just fine.”

“You need to watch yourself, bitch.” Armitage poked his lit cigar at Violet’s face but she didn’t flinch. “One of these days you’re going to get what’s coming to you.”

Violet was about to respond when she caught sight of something over Armitage’s shoulder that made her pause. It looked like Miles, though she only caught a glimpse of her friend’s back. He was moving through the crowd as if he were looking for something. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Jacobs. She pushed past Armitage without another word and the man stared daggers at her as she walked away.

“You’d be better off just forgiving whatever debt you think she owes you,” Jacobs said.

Armitage made a sneering expression at Jacobs. “Go to hell, you fucking queer.”

Clint Jacobs shrugged, smiling, “Suit yourself. All I’m trying to do is warn you for your own good. Violet’s enemies aren’t usually long for this world.” Armitage muttered something under his breath but Jacobs didn’t catch it over the noise of the crowd. The fat little crime boss turned and vanished amongst the noisy theatergoers, leaving Jacobs to wonder what had taken Violet from him.

“MILES!”

VIOLET WAS increasingly perplexed. She was positive that it was Miles but she hadn’t been able to reach him yet, as the crowd was packed in too tightly. What was he doing here? Had something happened already on his stakeout? Was he looking for her?

Up ahead, Miles Knopf came to a stop in a small alcove next to a door marked Staff Only. He still hadn’t turned around but Violet could see that there was a moist stain on the collar of his jacket. It looked like someone had spilled catsup all around it.

After squeezing through a small pocket of reporters, Violet was finally within a few feet of her partner. “Miles! What are you doing here?”

Miles continued to face the wall. His voice sounded strangely emotionless, like he was suffering from shock. “I found her.”

“Who? Maggie?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“The case is a lot worse than we thought.”

Violet was a bit out of breath from fighting her way through the crowd. She lit a new cigarette and took a few drags, standing on her tiptoes until she caught Jacobs’ eye. She waved at him, letting him know it was okay to go on in and get seated. “So talk. What’s going on?”

“She’s not alive. Maggie, I mean.”

That took the wind out of Violet’s sails. “Did you find her body? How do you know?”

“I’m sorry, Violet. I shouldn’t have rushed us into this one. It just seemed so easy… and we’re in debt. More than I’ve told you. We’re two months behind on the rent for the office.”

Violet took another drag on her cigarette. She wasn’t sure if she felt more annoyed or fearful. It wasn’t like Miles to be like this. Then again, she didn’t think he would have lied to her about their finances, either. “It’s okay, Miles. We’ll work this out. Now tell me about Maggie.”

“I have to go.” Miles turned and started to move past her but Violet caught him by the arm. Now that she could see his face, she could tell he was covered with blood. There were numerous cuts all around his eyes and mouth. They were shining with red wetness.

“Miles… Jesus. We need to get you to a doctor. Did Morehouse do this to you?”

Miles looked at her then, stared deep into her eyes. Violet removed her hand and actually took a step back. The intensity in his gaze was heart-stopping. “I’m so very sorry.”

Stunned, Violet watched him move towards the exit. No one seemed to take notice of the blood-covered man moving amongst the crowd, not even the ushers or the policemen who were there to provide security. Violet knew she should stop him or yell for someone else to get him help but she couldn’t seem to find her voice. For a woman who was normally as self-confident as Violet, that was very unusual.

“Violet? They’re about to start the film.”

Jacobs was looking at her with obvious concern. “I’m sorry if that brute Armitage got to you…”

“No, it wasn’t that. It was Miles.”

Jacobs brightened. “Oh! Was Miles here?”

“I was just talking to him. Didn’t you see him? He was right next to me when I waved to you.”

“No… all I saw was you standing here against the wall. I thought you just wanted a moment to regain your composure.”

Violet took a deep drag on her cigarette, shaking her head. “That’s so strange. Miles was right here and he was covered in blood. He said he was sorry…”

Jacobs put an arm around her shoulders but Violet shrugged it away. “Do you want to leave…? We can go find Miles if it’ll put you at ease.”

“No. I appreciate that but no… Are you sure you didn’t see him?”

“Positive.”

Violet thought about how no one else reacted to Miles’ appearance, either. Sighing, she snuffed out her smoke in a nearby ashtray. She forced a smile. “Maybe you’re right. Not enough sleep and too much Armitage. Let’s see this epic film and then afterwards I’ll give Miles a call.”

They entered the darkened theater together and Violet tried hard to put her worries behind her. She wasn’t sure what to make of it all… she hadn’t imagined all that, she was sure of it. But why had no one else seen Miles? She didn’t believe in the supernatural so there had to be some rational answer.

Forcing herself to enjoy the moment, Violet was soon seated beside Jacobs, watching the beginning of the longest film ever made. Within moments, the travails of Rhett and Scarlett had taken her mind off the unsettling events of the evening.

IT WAS NEARLY three in the morning when the phone rang, noisily disturbing the peaceful dark. It rang four times before Violet reached over and fumbled for the receiver. She held it to her hear, blinking away the sleep that had so hungrily claimed her only an hour or so before. “Hello?” she asked, her voice sounding hoarse and tired. After the movie, she’d allowed Jacobs to drag her to an after-party and it had gone on much too long. She’d drunk a little much, leaving her head feeling fuzzy. She’d been dropped off at her apartment, ignoring the crime scene chalk still on her bedroom floor and the bullet holes in the bed’s headboard.

The male voice on the other end was familiar, though it took her a moment to place it. The man’s words shocked her into full awareness, and she quickly remembered every detail of her conversation with Miles.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Where…? I’ll be there right away.”

A few seconds later, the room was illuminated by a hanging ceiling lamp. As was her custom, Violet was nude but she got dressed in a hurry, pulling on a pair of black slacks and a man’s button up shirt, which she tucked into the slacks. She threw on a black blazer over both and flat-soled shoes. It was a working outfit, something she might wear when on a case.

Ordinarily, she’d call Miles at this point and let him know where she was going. It was strange how odd it felt to not do that right now. She’d grown used to having him as a paternal figure in her life, frequently scolding and disappointed but always supportive.

But that was all going to change.

Miles was dead.

VIOLET STEPPED FROM the taxi, shivering in the cold air. It wasn’t hard to spot the crime scene: half a dozen uniformed officers were joined by twice that many plainclothes cops. It was a huge number of people covering a single person’s murder and she wondered what had dragged them all out of bed.

She searched for and spotted Police Chief William McKenzie and made a beeline for him. McKenzie was one of the youngest police chiefs in the country, dark-haired and handsome. He was also one of the most coveted bachelors in the city and enjoyed the company of many beautiful women. In fact, Violet had gone out with him a handful of times. He was an excellent lover but definitely not ready to settle down.

He gave her a grim nod of his head. Behind him, a body lay beneath a sheet, lying half on the street and half on the sidewalk. A pool of blood spread outwards from the shrouded form of Miles Knopf. Violet forced herself to remain calm and professional. She’d seen plenty of death and the fact that she had been a friend with this person shouldn’t matter.

“Hello, Violet,” he said. “It’s a damned shame.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Was he out working tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I thought he didn’t usually do that.”

“He didn’t. What happened?”

“Several things. He was cut up pretty bad and then shot. A bullet right through the heart.”

Violet looked around. They were only three or four blocks away from Sidney Morehouse’s address. It was a quiet residential area and she could see faces pressed up against windows. “Anybody see or hear anything?”

“Nobody’s admitting to it if they did. What kind of case was he on?”

Violet shrugged. “You know I can’t give you any details without talking to my client first. Confidentiality.”

“You can give me something to go on. Was he meeting somebody out here? When was the last time you saw him?”

“He was supposed to be tailing somebody. And as for when I saw him last… that’s kind of a hard question to answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’d think I was crazy.”

“Try me.”

“I talked to him earlier tonight at the movie premiere. Only no one else could see him. He had cuts all over his face and he told me that he was sorry for taking this case, that it was worse than he’d expected. And then he walked off.”

“And nobody else saw him?”

“Not even people standing right next to us.”

“What time was this?”

“Right before the movie started playing.”

“Well, Miles has been dead for at least three or four hours, if not longer. Rigor mortis has started to set in.”

Violet fumbled for a cigarette and Will fished out a Zippo lighter from his pocket. He lit it for her and then put it away. “Can I see him?” she asked.

“You probably don’t want to.” McKenzie leaned closer and Violet could smell his aftershave. It was a nice scent and reminded her of happier times. “You said he had lots of cuts on him when you saw him?”

“Yeah. But I might have imagined the whole thing. I’d just had a run-in with Armitage and I was on edge.”

“Seems an odd coincidence, though. Miles suffered severe facial lacerations before he died. In fact…” McKenzie paused and seemed to consider if he really wanted to go on. He finally decided that Violet deserved to know. “They took his face.”

“What does that mean?”

“Someone cut the skin of his face off. Took it with them. From the looks of it, he was still alive when it happened.”

Violet started, stricken with horror. “He said he was going to have a gun with him…”

“He did. He never drew it. There are no signs of a struggle either.”

“Miles wouldn’t have just stood there while someone cut his face off…” Violet said. She felt suddenly even colder than before and it had nothing to do with the December weather. Miles was such a sweet, gentle man…

“I know that. I’m just telling you what we’ve been able to figure out. Would you mind coming down to the station and telling me exactly what he said to you at the theater?”

“You don’t really think he was there?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. And I really am going to need to know about the case you two were working on.”

Violet nodded, her face having gone placid. “Can I do it in the morning? I’m exhausted.”

McKenzie followed her gaze to her friend’s body and gave a quick nod. “Sure. Go home and get a few hours of shut-eye. Can you be at my office around nine?”

“I’d rather you came to my place.”

McKenzie realized that Violet hadn’t been to the police station since Walter’s death. She’d managed to avoid it ever since. McKenzie had never gotten a chance to meet her husband— he’d arrived in Atlanta just weeks after his death — but from all he’d heard, Walter Cambridge had been one hell of a detective. His death had been a loss for not just his wife but for all those in the city whose interest lay in justice.

“Sure, Violet. Want me to have one of the boys drive you back to your place?”

“If you don’t mind.”

McKenzie waved one of his men over and gave him instructions. Violet had stopped listening. She couldn’t get past the fact that her friend — her husband’s best friend — was now dead. It felt like the final nail in Walter’s coffin had just been hammered in.

Her eyes still locked on his corpse, Violet made a silent promise to Miles to avenge his death… and to find out what the hell was going on.

Daniel Armitage grunted in pleasure. He was sitting in a chair behind his desk, the sun’s morning rays spotlighting the dust motes that floated above his ledger. His pants were unzipped and his short, stubby cock was poking through his fly. His secretary, a round-faced, big-bottomed redhead named Lacy, was sliding her bright red lips up and down his shaft. She was doing it nice and slow, which was the way Armitage had taught her that he liked. Her lips came off the tip on every upward stroke, making a little smacking sound that the fat man enjoyed.

Lacy had worked for Armitage for about six months and oral sex had become the morning routine. Every day he would come in, take off his coat and hat and buzz her in for his morning coffee. She’d bring it in, set it on the edge of his desk, and get down on her knees. She was married with two kids but badly needed the money and Armitage knew it. Her husband had lost the use of his legs after a construction accident and it was only Lacy’s hard-earned money that was keeping them afloat. Armitage knew that she didn’t particularly like him and certainly didn’t find him sexually appealing but that was okay. Her distaste for the act only made it better for him.

In six months, he’d only fucked her half a dozen times and never in the vagina. He found women’s sexual parts strangely disconcerting. He didn’t like seeing them, touching them or smelling them. He preferred other orifices for his pleasure. The buggerings he’d given her had been vigorous, leaving her bleeding and sore each time. His cock wasn’t very large but he enjoyed hammering it in. There were times he privately wondered if he wasn’t gay, but he didn’t think so. Men were hairy and ugly… he liked his lovers to have soft skin, with big tits and heavily lipsticked mouths. If that wasn’t straight, he didn’t know what was.

Armitage felt his orgasm building and he reached out to grab hold of the secretary’s hair. She squealed in pain as he rammed her mouth down to the base of his cock. He held her there, hearing her nostrils flare as she tried to breathe, until his shaft started to spasm. He shot the first part of his load deep down her throat and then released her. She pulled back, gasping and wheezing. Armitage pointed his cock at her and caught her on the chin with his second spurt. The third was smaller and weaker, trickling out onto her blouse.

Lacy made a disgusted face. She hated when he stained her clothes. Not only did it leave a noticeable wet spot that everyone could see but it also made it hard to explain when she got home. She’d run out of excuses about spilling drinks, ink, or whatever she could think of.

Armitage stood up and put away his shriveling member. He tossed a tissue at Lacy but made no move to help her up. After taking a sip of his coffee, he muttered an oath and slid it across the desk. “My coffee’s cold. Fetch me another cup.”

The humiliated woman kept her eyes down but was unable to hide how much she hated him at the moment. Armitage just grinned but his smile faded quickly when the door to his office burst open. Violet Cambridge stepped in, her handgun clutched tightly in one black-gloved hand.

Lacy stood there with mouth agape but Violet gestured for her to leave. “Get out of here, honey, but don’t you dare call the cops. Understand?”

The frightened secretary nodded, glancing back at Armitage. A part of her hoped this stranger would blow a hole through her boss’s head… but another part of her knew how much her family needed the money. She hurried out, unsure which side carried greater weight.

“What the hell do you want?” Armitage growled, keeping his bluster. He tried to move towards his desk, where an automatic was kept taped to the underside of the chair, but Violet cocked her pistol and he froze in place.

“Did you kill Miles? Answer me truthfully.”

The look of genuine shock that registered on the crime boss’ face was disappointing to Violet. She’d hoped he was involved somehow… not only would it have put a bow on the case but it would have given her an excuse to kill him. “Your partner’s dead? When did that happen?”

“Last night.” Violet lowered her weapon. She only had half an hour before McKenzie was supposed to come knocking on her door. “What about your goons? You have somebody on your payroll who might have thought he was doing you a favor by striking at Miles?”

“None of my boys would have whacked him. I had no problem with Knopf. He was a right guy…” Armitage sneered, “…aside from his choice in dames to partner up with, that is.” He gestured towards the chair. “Can I sit?”

“Only if you keep your hands where I can see them.”

Armitage took a seat and reached for some cigarette papers and tobacco. He rolled one without asking Violet if she wanted one for herself. After lighting it, he sat back, causing the chair to creak under his weight. “Well now, isn’t this interesting… I hear you’ve been having some money problems. Think maybe Miles got himself killed by someone he owed a debt to?”

Violet frowned. Did everyone in town know about their money problems? How had she missed this? “If I knew who killed him, I wouldn’t be here, you idiot.”

“Maybe I can help you find who did this.”

“And why would you do that? Out of the goodness of your heart?”

With a sneer, Armitage replied, “Not quite. You cost me a lot of money and I don’t forgive easily… but you’re good at what you do. Maybe now that your business has gone south, you can come work for me. Tail some people, get ’em to tell you their secrets, the kinda thing you do now. Me helping you with this Knopf situation, that would be the kick-off to our new relationship.”

“I don’t work with scum. But thanks for the offer.” Violet spun about and left the office door swinging open. She was angry with herself for having stormed over here with no proof. It was an amateur move and she was better than this. She locked eyes with Armitage’s secretary on the way out and she saw the dull ache in the woman’s expression. There was a dark stain on the woman’s blouse. The look in the secretary’s eyes was proof enough that allying with Armitage would never work. He was a human leech, sucking the life right out of people.

She walked two blocks over, striding straight into the lobby of Century Tower. It was a very expensive hotel, one of the tallest in Atlanta, and it was the address that Abby Whitehead had given her. She found a dark-haired fop working the desk. He greeted her in a prissy manner that she found annoying.

“I’m looking for one of your guests. Her name’s Whitehead.”

“Ah, I know Miss Whitehead. Unfortunately, she’s not a guest at this hotel.”

“You mean she’s checked out?”

“No. I mean what I said. She is not a guest here and never has been.”

“Then how do you know her?”

The desk clerk smiled, showing off very white teeth. “She frequents one of the nightclubs that I do.”

“And what nightclub is that?”

He looked her up and down, frowning at her black clothing. “No place you’d ever be invited, dearie.”

Violet leaned across the desk, keeping her face neutral. Her voice, however, was so sharp that it could have cut glass. “Tell me how you know her or I’ll crawl over there and turn you into a girl. Got me?”

The suddenly alarmed fop tugged on his shirt, nodding. “Sure, sure. No need to get nasty. The club is called Topaz. It caters to… unusual tastes… in its clientele.”

Violet’s eyes narrowed. “Bondage?”

“Some of that, yeah.”

Something began to click in Violet’s head and it wasn’t pleasant. “Abby Whitehead have a sister that you know of? A younger girl named Maggie?”

The fop chuckled. “Dear, oh dear. Maggie is her stage name. She does look younger with the right makeup and hairstyle, though. You a fan of her act?”

“I’ve seen pictures.”

“If I liked women, I’d be all over her.” The fop lowered his voice when another guest glanced in their direction. “But she’s not staying here. She lives with her manager.”

Violet repeated the address that Abby had given her for Sidney Morehouse. The fop confirmed that was the place.

On the way back home, Violet’s mind was racing. Abby Whitehead had come to their office and spun a bundle of lies… Why? What did she gain by claiming to have a younger sister? Was it all a setup to get Miles and her on the case, so they could be bumped off? If that was the case, it seemed strange that she would have given any truthful information at all. Then again, she probably assumed that both Miles and Violet would be dead soon, rendering their knowledge moot.

Still, this gave new meaning to her conversation with Miles at the cinema. He — or whatever she had actually spoken to — had told her that Maggie wasn’t alive. She’d assumed that meant the girl was dead… but apparently Miles had meant something else. Maggie wasn’t alive because Maggie had never existed.

McKenzie was standing outside her door, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He greeted her with an expression of annoyance. “You’re late.”

“I remembered that I had an appointment this morning.” Violet unlocked her apartment and stepped in, holding the door open for McKenzie. He cast a quick glance around the living room before taking a seat.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been here,” he commented. “Hasn’t changed much.”

“I should show you the bedroom.” McKenzie’s eyebrows shot up and Violet laughed. “I just meant the chalk outline and bullet holes.”

“Oh.” McKenzie smiled. He had arrived at the tail end of the investigation the other night and hadn’t even set foot in the building. “Look, Violet, there’s a few questions I have to ask and… well, I hope you won’t take any of them the wrong way.”

Violet sat down on a padded chair, a few feet away from McKenzie. She lit a cigarette, not bothering to offer McKenzie one. He didn’t smoke. Her eyes flitted over to a photograph on the mantle. It showed a slightly younger Violet, her arms around a dashing man only slightly older than her. They were at the beach, the wind catching their hair. She suddenly felt wistful for days that were long past.

“Violet?”

“Sorry. My mind was wandering.”

“That’s okay. It’s been stressful, I know. You and Miles were close.”

“Yes.” Violet’s face became quite calm and she reclined in her chair, taking a long drag on her cigarette. She crossed her legs and noticed that McKenzie’s eyes caught the movement. “What do you want to ask me, Will?”

“Well, I do need to know about the case Miles was working on… but before we get to that, I need to ask something else.” McKenzie took a deep breath. “Did Miles ever talk to you about Satanism?”

Violet’s face momentarily lost its sense of calm. Her lips dipped downwards in shock before she recovered her cool. “What are you playing at?”

“I’m serious.”

“What do you mean by ‘Satanism’? You know as well as I do that Miles wasn’t religious.”

“Well, Satanism is mainly about the worship of the Devil. Black Mass, sacrifices, orgies…”

“None of that sounds like Miles.” Violet held her cigarette away from her face, perched between two fingers. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because we found some interesting things during the autopsy. Did you know that he had a tattoo behind his left ear? It was hidden by his hair.”

“A tattoo of what?”

“A five-pointed star. A pentagram.”

“No. I didn’t know that.” Violet shifted in her seat, feeling a bit uncertain. “I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s true. I can show you the photographs. Given the combination of the pentagram tattoo along with the bizarre injuries he suffered… well, it’s got some folks around the station wondering what Miles might have been into.”

Violet stood up, shaking her head. “Miles was no Satanist. The pentagram doesn’t always mean Satan, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t that long ago that the pentagram was a commonly used Christian symbol. The five points were believed to refer to both the five senses and also to the five wounds that Christ suffered on the cross. People used to wear the pentagram as a ward against demons and witches.”

McKenzie was watching her closely now. “How do you know all that?”

Violet smiled bashfully. McKenzie had rarely seen her look more girlish and he found the effect very pleasing. “I used to love stories of knights and chivalry. One of my favorites was the poem Sir Gawain and The Green Knight. Gawain had a pentagram on his shield and the poem talks about how the pentagram’s five points have five different meanings; the five wounds of Christ, the five senses, the five joys that Mary had of Jesus — the Annunciation, the Nativity, the Resurrection, the Ascension, and the Assumption — and the five virtues of Knighthood: generosity, purity, fellowship, courtesy and compassion.”

“That’s incredible.”

Violet looked away, her smile vanishing. McKenzie got the feeling that she felt vulnerable and didn’t like it. She puffed away on her cigarette, offering a brief shrug. “It’s strange the things you remember,” she said.

“So it’s possible that Miles had the tattoo for some other reason than devil worship. That’s good to know. Did you and Miles ever talk about any of this stuff?”

“No. Never.”

“Well, then… maybe we should talk about the case Miles was working on.”

Violet placed her cigarette between her lips and closed her eyes. Where to begin, she wondered. “A young girl — a looker with the face of an angel — came to us and wanted us to find her little sister, who she said had fallen in with a pornographer. The girl’s name is Abby Whitehead. The man we were supposed to tail is Sidney Morehouse. I normally handle the fieldwork myself but I wanted to go to the movie premiere and Miles offered to handle it. I think he was a little sweet on her.”

“And then you saw him at the theatre?”

Violet looked at him and nodded. “Yes. Only nobody else could see him. He apologized for getting us involved with the case and said something about it being a lot more than he’d thought it would be. He said he’d met Abby’s sister. Then he walked off.”

McKenzie said nothing, letting her continue at her own speed.

“Last night, after meeting with you, I came back here and tried to get some sleep. I couldn’t so I left a little early this morning and went to see Armitage.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To see if he was involved in Miles’ death.”

“And what did you find out?”

“He’s clean. Of that, anyway. So I headed over to the hotel where Miss Whitehead was staying. Come to find out that she doesn’t have a sister — the girl we saw in the pornographic pictures was actually her. The name she gave us for the sister is her stage name when she strips at The Topaz. According to my source, Whitehead lives with Morehouse.”

“So this was all a set-up?”

“Looks that way. I’ve got Morehouse’s address but I figured I should speak to you before heading over there.”

McKenzie stood up. “I’ll go with you.”

“This is all so strange.”

The handsome young police chief grinned. “I’ve seen worse, believe me.”

“Have you?”

“Oh, yes.”

Violet nodded. Something in his eyes made her believe him. “Still… a pentagram tattoo on my partner’s head? A set-up designed to kill one or both of us… and that strange bit at the theatre. Was it some sort of ghostly vision or something? I’ve never believed in that sort of thing.”

“There’s a lot more out there than most people have ever imagined.”

Violet stepped closer to him and put a hand on his chest. “You sound like someone who needs to unload a little. What’s been going on with you? Is it work? Or have you found God?”

McKenzie laughed but there was no joy in it. “I can’t go into it. Not now. But I’ve seen things that would get me locked up in a loony bin for talking about them.” He placed his hand over Violet’s and gave a squeeze. “You ready to go?”

Violet’s lips parted and her tongue appeared, moistening them. “Do you want to be with me again, Will? For a little while?”

“Is that what you want?”

Violet noted the husky tone in his voice. “It’s probably not a good idea… but yeah, I do. Right now I want to feel you next to me. Something solid. Something real. All these lies are making my head spin.”

McKenzie took her cigarette from her and tossed it to the floor. He stamped it out, neither of them caring about the ashes left behind on the carpet. Their mouths came together, hungry and searching. Violet let herself be swept away, though in the back of her mind, she still saw Miles and his bloody, bloody face.

Sidney Morehouse’s home was in a seedy part of town, the sort of area that nice girls simply didn’t go into. Violet had been here many times and she always left feeling like she needed to rush home and take a lingering bath.

The house was a single-story affair with a brick exterior. The shingles on the roof looked in poor repair, with several of them peeling away from the structure. A single car was parked in the driveway, a green-colored 1935 Plymouth Deluxe rumble seat coup.

McKenzie was dressed in his full uniform, which was unusual for him. Generally he wore a suit and tie, with his badge pinned to the front of his coat. But today he was in police blues and Violet had to admit it looked good on him. For her part, she wore a knee length hip hugging skirt and a blouse that buttoned up the front, leaving an ample amount of cleavage on display. A small black jacket kept her arms warm and a purse was held tightly in her right hand. The purse was empty save for one thing: her Smith & Wesson Hand Ejector II.

McKenzie knocked on the door but after several moments there was no answer. He repeated the action, looking at Violet when there was no sound of movement within. “Maybe he’s bolted town,” he suggested.

Violet moved around to peer into the front window. She could see the living room, where the furnishings consisted of a long red cloth couch, a mismatched brown chair, a low table and a large radio perched on another table. On the low table lay an ashtray. A smoking cigarette had been stamped out in it recently. A thin trail of the noxious fumes was still rising from the ashes. “He’s either still in there or just left.”

McKenzie nodded. He took a step back and raised his foot. He brought it crashing down against the door. The entrance remained blocked but the wooden barrier had cracked.

“Don’t you need a warrant before you go breaking and entering?”

“Not if there’s an immediate danger. I thought I heard a scream from in there. Didn’t you?” McKenzie took a step back and then drove his left shoulder against the door. Already weakened, it gave way and McKenzie tumbled into the foyer. He kept his feet, drawing his pistol.

Violet followed him in and noted that a light had been left on in the bathroom. She peeked in and saw that the toilet lid was sitting up and several glistening drops of urine lay around the mouth of the bowl.

The sound of something being knocked over echoed through the house, followed by hurried footsteps. Violet sprinted as fast as she could in her tight skirt and heels, reaching the source of the sound just behind McKenzie. A small-framed dark man of medium height was in the bedroom, desperately trying to force open a window so he might escape.

McKenzie pointed his revolver at the man and barked, “Stay right there unless you want a bullet to the head!”

The man’s shoulders slumped and he turned to face the police chief, a sickly smile on his lips. Violet got a good look at the man now and she didn’t particularly like what she saw. The fellow had black hair that glistened wetly against his skull. He wore a pinstriped suit that was obviously expensive but which was a bit too tight for current fashion. His lips were full and a thin moustache that looked a bit like smudged ink covered the upper portion of his mouth. His eyes were sunken and slightly bulbous, with a yellowish hue to them. He wore gloves and a black derby hat dangled between the fingers of his left hand.

“Who are you? Where’s Morehouse?” McKenzie demanded. That this fellow wasn’t the athletically built Morehouse described by Abby went without saying.

The man fidgeted a bit before answering. “My name is Lazlo Bane. I am a friend of Mr. Morehouse.”

“Why didn’t you answer the door?”

Bane swallowed nervously before finally spreading his arms in helpless desperation. “I am a liar. I do not know Mr. Morehouse. I came here to speak to him, only to find the front door unlocked. When I entered, I meant to wait for him in the living room. When you knocked the first time, I peeked outside and saw you were in uniform. I panicked and tried to escape.”

Violet strode over to him and without preamble began to rifle through his coat pockets. Her hand came back with a pack of cigarettes matching the type that was in the ashtray out front. “Had a little smoke while you were waiting?”

“Yes,” Bane said in confusion.

McKenzie gestured for Bane to lead the way to the living room. The three of them each took a seat, with McKenzie and Violet on the couch and Bane in the chair. “Start talking,” McKenzie said. “Why are you here? What’s your business with Morehouse? And why’d you run when you saw I was a cop?”

Bane reached for the cigarettes that Violet still held. “May I?” Violet allowed him to take one of the smokes and even held a lighter for him. He took three long puffs before speaking again. His voice seemed calmer now but his eyes kept drifting to the floor. “I will answer the last question first, if I may. I have not always been on the right side of the law. In fact, I spent three years in a federal prison for my role in a bank robbery. I drove the getaway car, you see. I’m a free and honest man now but seeing you there brought back old memories. I was afraid you would question why I was in another man’s house.”

Violet leaned forward, making sure that her cleavage was clearly displayed. She wasn’t averse to using her beauty to sway a man but from the clearly uninterested glance that Bane gave her, she knew that she wasn’t his type. Straightening, she asked, “How do you know Morehouse?”

“I don’t. I’ve never met the man. I was sent here by my employer to speak to Mr. Morehouse about an object that’s supposedly in his possession. My employer would like to buy it and he’s quite willing to pay an ample amount for it.”

“Who’s your employer?” Violet asked.

“I… I am not in a position to say. My employer values his privacy.” Bane was twisting the brim of his hat as he spoke, the lit cigarette in his free hand.

McKenzie was still holding his pistol with the barrel pointed directly at Bane. “What is it that Morehouse has? What’s worth — what did you call it? An ample amount?”

Bane hesitated, his eyes straying upwards. His gaze lingered on Violet for a moment and finally he leaned forward, setting his cigarette into the ashtray on the table between them. “Are you Walter Cambridge’s wife?”

Violet couldn’t hide her astonishment. “Yes. You knew my husband?”

“Not personally, no. But from what I have heard, he was a very good man. He knew about this object that I seek. In fact, my employer hired Mr. Cambridge and Mr. Knopf to find it for him. Your husband was killed while attempting to retrieve it.”

Violet’s heart fluttered. She’d never known many details about Walter’s death. According to Miles, Walter had been working on a simple missing person’s case when he’d been shot several times by a hoodlum. The wounds had been so severe that the funeral had been a closed casket one, the killer never being caught.

Bane looked away again, now using both hands to mangle the brim of his bowler hat. “I am not at liberty to divulge everything about the object in question but it is about 18 inches in height and carved from obsidian. It is an ancient object that predates all known civilizations on this continent. It first appeared over six years ago, unearthed during an archaeological dig in Nevada. The leader of the dig went mad after discovering it. He resides in a psychiatric care facility now. But one of his students stole the statuette and brought it to the East Coast, hoping to sell it. There seems to be a… a curse associated with it… owners have come to various bad ends over the years. It was in Atlanta in ’35, when my employer hired your husband’s firm to find it. After Mr. Cambridge’s death, it vanished again… until very recently, when we learned that Mr. Morehouse had it.”

“You said it was a statue… of what?”

“An ancient deity, one whose name has been lost to the mists of time.”

McKenzie was sitting back now, having put away his gun. His eyes were bright and shining. “If it’s cursed, why does your boss want it? What powers does he think it has?”

Bane seemed surprised to hear those words but he nodded slowly. “You are a very bright man. The object is not merely valuable for its monetary worth. It is said that the god still speaks through this artifact. Its whisperings can drive men mad, force them to do unspeakable things… but it can also impart incredible wisdom. It tells of secrets lost to humanity, of strange creatures who dance insanely at the center of creation… and of the ultimate dark fate that awaits our world.”

“Who killed Walter?” Violet demanded. “It wasn’t some passing tough, was it? He was killed specifically for this statue?”

“I don’t know the answer to that. But it seems very likely that his death was directly related to The Damned Thing. The last communication my employer received from Mr. Cambridge mentioned that he had come into possession of the statuette.”

McKenzie spoke up before Violet could ask her next question. “What did you call it? Damned?”

Bane sighed, obviously having shared too much. “The Damned Thing. That is what it is called.”

“Sounds charming.” McKenzie glanced over at Violet. “This gives new light to what I told you about this morning. About Miles and the tattoo.”

Violet nodded, feeling strangely betrayed. It wasn’t because of Walter, certainly. He hadn’t always shared details about his work with her and it had been Miles, not Walter, who had concocted the cock and bull story about it being a missing person’s case. “Oh my god,” she whispered.

“What is it?” McKenzie asked. Bane, too, looked concerned.

“Maybe that’s why Miles wanted to handle this case himself. He volunteered to tail Morehouse while I was at the premiere. Maybe he knew that Morehouse or Whitehead was involved with The Damned Thing and he remembered that Walter had died because of it…”

“You think he was trying to protect you?”

“It’s possible.”

Bane stood up, pausing when McKenzie made to draw his gun again. “I’m sorry… but unless there is some reason why I should be detained, I would like to leave and contact my employer.”

“I’d like to know his name,” McKenzie responded. “And don’t tell me I don’t have a right to know. You just told me that a man was killed four years ago over this object your boss wants to acquire… and another man was killed last night over the same damned thing. Now I’ll run you down to the station and make you talk if I have to.”

Bane looked alarmed and quickly raised his hands in supplication. “Please! There is no need for this! I have done nothing illegal. I have told you what you wanted to know — more, perhaps, than I should have!”

“There’s still more you could share.”

Bane’s eyes bulged in horror and then he bolted, running like a deer towards the front door. Violet jumped from the couch, landing on his back with all her weight. He buckled under the sudden load and fell to his knees, Violet’s arms wrapped about his neck. She shoved him away when it was clear he wasn’t getting away and followed this by delivering a swift kick to his stomach. He heaved in pain, clutching at his wounded area.

“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” McKenzie whispered.

Violet ignored him. She grabbed Bane by his slick hair and yanked his head up. “How can I get in contact with your boss? Tell me or I swear to heaven you’ll regret it.”

Bane whimpered like a small child. “I can do that. Please! Just let me go!”

Violet released her grip on him and stepped back. Bane sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his coat sleeve. He stood up and looked at her from beneath his brows, his eyes red and moist. “His name is Johann Burkard. He is coming to Atlanta in the next few days. I can arrange for you to meet him then.”

“And where are you staying?”

“The Clarion Hotel.”

Violet took out one of her cards and passed it to him. “Call me when you’ve set something up. If I don’t hear from you — and I mean soon—I’ll hunt you down and castrate you. Understand?”

Bane swallowed hard, obviously believing her. “I swear it.”

“Then get your ass out of here.”

Bane hurried out, nearly dropping his hat in the process.

McKenzie holstered his gun and looked around. “Want to keep waiting?”

“No. I’m going to take a break for a while. This has been really emotional for me.”

“You’re not going to go off and do something stupid are you?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

Violet offered McKenzie a cool, emotionless smile. “I’m not a stupid girl, Will. I’ll call you later on. Maybe we can visit The Topaz Club together. I’m betting somebody there will tell us where we can find Morehouse and his dame.”

“Sounds fair. And I’ll station a man outside here. Have them call me if Morehouse comes back home.” McKenzie reached for her and Violet allowed him to pull her close. “All of this… it scares me, angel. A pentagram, occult statues, people having their faces peeled off… this isn’t one of your usual cases. How about you let me handle this one? Maybe you could go away for a little while and try to get your balance back.”

“I have to be here to handle the funeral for Miles. He didn’t have any family.”

“I can do that.”

Violet kissed his cheek before moving to leave. “You’re sweet, Will. I’ll give you a call.”

VIOLET SAT AT her favorite bar, nursing the strongest drink in the house. The bartender, a portly Jew named Albert, had quickly figured out that Violet was in no mood to talk today. After giving his condolences about Miles, Albert had resumed talking to the other patrons. There weren’t many at this hour of the day — mostly hardcore drunks, the unemployed and a few tourists who hadn’t yet left after the Gone With The Wind madness.

Strange thoughts kept running through her mind. Her carefully crafted lie of a life had been laid bare and she wasn’t sure how to feel. She still loved Miles like a brother or an uncle but the thought that he’d lied to her for years ate away at her spirit. And poor Walter… if she’d known he’d died because of some stupid statue, she wouldn’t have rested until his killer had been caught.

“May I sit down?”

Violet froze in place, the rim of her glass touching her lips. Without looking at the person who spoke, she finished her sip and set her glass back down on the counter. “Come to tell me some more lies?”

Abby Whitehead slid onto the stool next to Violet’s, her green eyes downcast. She wore a red dress that emphasized her figure and which complemented her eyes perfectly. “I deserve that. I know I do. But you don’t understand.”

“I understand that my partner ended up dead after taking your case… and that you lied to us about your sister’s involvement with Morehouse. In fact, you lied about having a sister at all. You’re the one who gets her kicks by taking off her clothes and being tied up. Isn’t that right?”

A few men in the bar glanced over at this, having overheard Violet’s words. Abby blushed considerably and for a moment Violet almost regretted embarrassing her. The girl’s ability to project an illusion of chastity was that good.

“It’s not like that. It’s really not,” Abby said under her breath. “Won’t you please hear me out?”

“I’m listening. But it better be damned good or else I’m dragging your ass to the police station.”

Abby offered a shake of her head to the bartender when he approached. Keeping her voice low, she said, “You don’t know what Sidney’s like. He’s so controlling and sometimes he… sometimes he becomes violent. I met him a few years ago after I left home. I was so bright-eyed and excited about being on my own… I was terribly naïve. I’d never been with a boy, let alone a man. And when Sidney met me at a restaurant, he seemed so smooth and so mature. I melted, Miss Cambridge, I literally did. I was like putty in his hands. He took me to his bed and molded me to be the kind of lover he wanted. I didn’t enjoy some of those things but I knew he did so I let him abuse me… and eventually, when our money problems started to hit, I let him persuade me to take a job modeling for some magazines and eventually performing at The Topaz Club. Have you heard of it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a vile place. Men and women sit around drinking while I’m stripped naked, put in chains, sometimes whipped or violated in ways that good girls simply shouldn’t be!”

Violet snorted, “And is that what you are? A good girl?”

“Yes! I still am, despite everything.” Abby tapped the fingers of her right hand on the counter. “A few months ago, Sidney started working for a local crime boss, shaking down people who were behind in their protection payments. One of the guys Sidney was beating up offered him this horrible little statue in lieu of money. He said it was priceless. Something about it appealed to Sidney and he took it. He kept it in the apartment, in our bedroom and I could feel it watching us when we… when we would lie down together.”

“What did it look like?”

Abby glanced up. “It’s hard to describe really. It’s not very tall but it’s really heavy. It’s carved out of black rock and it… it’s always so cold to the touch. Like it was left out in the freezing rain. It’s a sculpture of a little… thing. A monster or a demon or something? I’m not even sure. It looks like… well, if you asked me to show you what madness looked like in its physical form, that would be it.”

Violet finished off her drink and waved for another one. Albert refilled her glass while Abby thought over her next words.

“Almost from the moment he brought home that horrid little thing, Sidney started to change. He became paranoid that people were after it. That they wanted to steal it and destroy it. He told me that they didn’t know who he was — not yet — but that they would soon. So he had to strike first and take them down. Kill them before they could kill him. That’s how I ended up coming to Mr. Knopf.”

“Wait… you’re saying that your boyfriend thought Miles was looking for The Damned Thing?”

“Well, yes. Sidney said he was. He said that Mr. Knopf was a member of an organization known as the Temple of Jerusalem.”

“Miles wasn’t religious.”

Abby shrugged. “Maybe Sidney was just making things up. I don’t know. But he told me to see if I couldn’t get Mr. Knopf to come and meet with him. So I made up my story and hired him.”

Violet lit a cigarette. “Parts of your story don’t hold water, sister. Even if I believe you about this all being Sidney’s idea and you being a poor girl in over her head, why in the world wouldn’t Sidney just drop in on Miles himself? Why would he need you to be the go-between? And hiring Miles so he could be ambushed makes no sense, either. I’m usually the one who goes out into the field, not Miles. You were more likely to get me than him.”

“I just did what he told me to do, Miss Cambridge.”

“Uh-huh. And is that what you’re doing right now?”

“No! He doesn’t know I’m here. I… I left him last night. We had a fight and I told him that I couldn’t take it anymore. I stormed out of his place and spent the night with a friend. I came back to get some of my things and saw you come in here. I waited for you to come back out but finally decided to follow you inside.”

“Your boyfriend’s flown the coop, too. I went inside his house earlier but there was no sign of him or of The Damned Thing.”

“He must be staying at The Topaz. He has a room there he uses sometimes.”

Violet looked over at her, studying the worry lines around the young girl’s eyes. Though still very fresh and lovely, Abby Whitehead was aging fast. Violet had been too dazzled by her the first time to notice it but upon closer examination, you could see the girl’s light being dimmed with each passing second. “You said you spent last night with a friend… where are you going next?”

Abby sighed, chewing her bottom lip so hard that Violet was afraid she was going to draw blood. “I don’t know.”

“I can put you up at my place. You’ll be safe there.”

“You’d do that for me? After all the lies I told?”

“Sure. Besides, it’s usually better to keep people you don’t trust close by.”

“Oh.”

“C’mon.” Violet paid her tab and stood up. Abby followed her outside, trailing behind like a lost little puppy.

HALF AN HOUR later and Violet was in Miles Knopf’s apartment. She’d jimmied the lock, feeling a rush of emotion upon entering. She missed him terribly. Losing Miles was almost like losing Walter all over again.

Violet had left Abby in her apartment, asking the snoopy busybody down the hall to keep an eye out for any visitors or for Abby sneaking out on her own.

Most of the apartment seemed innocuous enough. Miles had obviously read the evening newspaper before going out, leaving it roughly folded next to his favorite chair. His bedroom had an unmade bed and a pair of socks on the floor.

Every scrap of paper was looked at, however, and Violet began to realize the enormity of their financial situation. The business had been bleeding money for quite awhile and there were threats of eviction, seizure of property and public humiliation. All of these bills and letters were found in a small box under her partner’s bed.

But it was the box next to it that had most shaken Violet. She had finally sat down in the living room, the radio blaring beside her, to look through its contents. There were various medals and papers relating to his membership in something called The Sovereign Military Order of the Temple of Jerusalem. Just like Abby had said… but the organization seemed like an odd cross between a public works order and a religious one. The SMOTJ was the United States affiliated Grand Priory of something called The Ordo Supremus Militaris Templi Hierosolymitani. If that mouthful wasn’t enough, the OSMTH was, in turn, an international association of other groups, all based upon the traditions of the historically significant Knights Templar. From the looks of things, the group was focused on preserving holy sites around the world, antiquarian research, charitable works, and diplomatic lobbying and intervention.

There was a small leather-bound history book dedicated to The Order. It was dog-eared and had obviously been read many, many times. According to this, a French physician named Bernard-Raymond Fabre-Palaprat had founded the Order in 1804. Fabre-Palaprat intended for it to be a modern-day revival of the Templar tradition and he proclaimed himself the Grand Master. The group quickly became accepted in occult circles and Napoleon himself showed interested in joining.

A membership certificate showed that Miles had joined the organization in 1936, less than a year after Walter’s death. He had accepted the honorific title of Sir Knight and had been assigned to a specific division within the Atlanta branch known simply as Division 13. What exactly their duties were, or who the other members might have been, was not to be found in any of the papers.

Violet closed the box and set it aside. So Miles had most likely gotten that pentagram tattoo upon joining the Temple. He had been engaging in secret meetings with an occult organization for over three years, without ever once mentioning this to his friend and partner.

And, in the end, something related to all of this had gotten him killed.

She stood up and began pacing, finishing two cigarettes before she came to the decision that she needed more answers. It wasn’t going to be enough to simply find Morehouse and bring him to justice… for one thing, she still didn’t know that he was the one who had killed Miles. Even if he was, was he the one who killed Walter? And how many more people would die over possession of The Damned Thing? She wanted to find that piece of occult hardware and deal with it, too.

But where to start? At the Topaz Club, where Morehouse might be found? Or with Bane’s employer, the mysterious Johann Burkard? Or maybe…

Violet looked over at the box of items related to the Order. A cool smile played upon her full lips. She stubbed out her cigarette and picked up the box, studying the underside of it. There was a small piece of paper stuck to it with glue. She’d felt it with her fingers while manipulating the box but hadn’t glanced at it until now. There was an address scribbled on the paper: 1764 Essex Way. That was in an old Atlanta neighborhood, with several houses that managed to escape Sherman’s burning of the city.

She returned the box to its hiding place and left the apartment, using a spare key she’d found inside to lock the door. Within moments, she was seated in the back of a taxicab, headed towards Essex Way.

The black sedan that had followed Violet’s taxi parked at the far end of the street and the driver quickly pulled up the previous day’s newspaper, covering his face. Violet had noticed it several blocks previously but wasn’t prepared to confront the driver just yet. For all she knew, it was one of McKenzie’s men, assigned to keep tabs on her.

The house at 1764 Essex Way was a lovely, well-kept affair. A white picket fence surrounded the property, which was set some distance off the road. A sign out front read “The Johnson-Davis House.” Violet had never been here before but she knew of the place. Miles had told her when he’d attended a party here some years ago. Now that she knew more about Miles, she realized that the party had been held around the time he’d apparently joined the Order.

Violet stepped through the gate and strode up the steps to the front door. She knocked sharply and immediately heard a man’s footsteps in response. She had thought about the different ways she could handle this meeting on the way over but in the end, she’d elected to go with the direct approach. It was one she favored in general and it suited her current mood.

An older gentleman in a well-tailored dark suit opened the door and his eyes immediately widened at the sight of the lovely Violet. She was holding her pistol directly at his face.

“Hello. My name is Violet Cambridge. My partner Miles Knopf used to be a member of this… club. Is that the right word for it?”

The man took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “Madam, I don’t have the first clue as to what you’re talking about.” He spoke with the deliciously smooth tones of a true Southern gentleman.

“Really? You’re telling me you’ve never heard of The Sovereign Military Order of the Temple of Jerusalem?”

The man’s eyes widened briefly but nothing else on his face suggested that he was surprised by those words. “I think you have the wrong address.”

“Don’t lie to me. Being lied to makes me develop a real itchy trigger finger.”

The man stared at her for a moment before stepping back, holding the door open for her. “Please come inside. There’s no need for the entire neighborhood to hear our business.”

Violet entered the foyer and noted that the place was distinctly male in ambience. The paintings on the walls, the colors of the place, even the scents, made it feel like she’d entered a well-to-do men’s club. “You have a name?” she asked, still brandishing her pistol.

“Indeed I do. My name is William Sinclair, though my friends call me Bill.”

“Considering I’m pointing a gun at you, I’m not sure I qualify as a friend.”

“A beautiful woman is always welcome to call me Bill.”

Despite herself, Violet found herself being charmed by this man. He had an easy way about himself that was appealing. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties, with silver hair that was long enough to brush the collar of his coat. He was slim but not skinny and his eyes were an enticing shade of oceanic blue. “All right, Bill. How about answering my question? Have you heard of the Order?”

Bill nodded. “Yes. I have. Miles was a member of our organization and I was very sad to hear of his passing. But not altogether surprised. These are dark days, Miss Cambridge. And before things get better, I’m afraid a few more people are going to join Mr. Knopf in the grave.”

Violet didn’t even notice that Sinclair had called her by name. She was so pleased to finally be getting somewhere with her investigation that it totally passed her by. She glanced down at her gun and then back at Bill’s face. “Am I going to need this?”

“I would hope not. I’m certainly not your enemy.”

Violet was about to put the gun back into her purse when the door suddenly exploded inwards, shards of wood striking both her and Sinclair. Someone on the other side had fired a double-barreled shotgun and Violet could hear them reloading. She went to pull Bill out of the way of fire when she noticed that he was bleeding from his belly.

“Damn it,” she whispered, grabbing him by the hand and yanking him into a sitting room down the hall. She pushed him back into a chair and crept back towards the foyer. Another set of shots rang out, basically destroying what was left of the door. It swung inwards, hanging in tatters off its hinges.

A man wearing a dark suit and a fedora hat kicked his way in, scattering more pieces of wood. He was loading in two more shells when Violet sprang out into the open. She emptied her chamber, catching the man with four shots to the chest and midsection. He staggered back, squeezing the trigger of his shotgun as he did so. The blast tore a chunk out of the wall and echoed loudly up and down the street.

Violet relaxed as the man fell backwards, tumbling down the stairs and landing in a bloody heap in the grass. She approached the door cautiously, not sure if the man had come alone. Not seeing anyone, she moved further out until she could see the sedan parked down the street. It was now empty, confirming that this was the man who had followed her from Miles’ apartment.

Kneeling at his side, Violet hurriedly checked for any identification the man might have carried. She noticed a few of the neighbors beginning to cautiously emerge. She ignored their gawking, completing her search. He had nothing on him to indicate who he was but there might be something in the car, she decided. But first she had to check on Sinclair. As she started to rise, she noticed a strange symbol on the back of the dead man’s right hand. A closer examination revealed that this was no mere tattoo. This was a branding, like what was done to cattle. The symbol itself was that of the sun being partially eclipsed.

Violet moved back towards the house, stopping long enough to yell across the street to a portly gentleman with curly hair. “Call the police! Tell them there’s an emergency!” The man responded instantly, sprinting as fast as his obese form would allow.

Back in the house, Violet found Bill where she’d left him. He was holding a hand over his stomach wound, blood flowing freely between his fingers. His skin was now a ghastly shade of white. “Help’s on the way,” she said, pulling his hand away so she could examine the wound.

“The gunman,” Bill hissed, “where is he?”

“Outside. Dead.”

“Did he have an image of an eclipse on his hand?”

Violet blinked in surprise. “You know him?”

“I know men like him. You have to get back out there and watch over him.”

“He’s dead.”

Sinclair gripped her wrist tightly, his bloodstained fingers biting into her flesh. “No. He’s not.”

Violet pulled away, ignoring the red stains that were on her flesh. She moved away from Bill, returning to the front door. True enough, the spot where the gunman’s body had lain was now empty. She quickly reloaded her gun, slipping the last of the bullets into the chamber.

Stepping out onto the porch, Violet looked down the street and saw that the sedan was still parked in the same place. But where had the dead man gone? Surely she hadn’t made a mistake… he’d been riddled with holes and there had been no trace of a pulse.

She walked cautiously down the steps and heard a rustle of grass to her left. She had just started to turn when a heavy weight slammed against her, knocking her painfully to the ground. Her eyes fixed on the still bleeding form of the mysterious gunman, who was now crouched on top of her, pinning her down. He drew back his fist, obviously intending to strike her in the face. Violet struggled to adjust her position and pulled the trigger of her gun. Because of the angle, she wasn’t sure exactly where her bullet would strike her target.

The shot tore through his thigh, the bullet passing onwards until it embedded itself in his cheek. He grunted and rolled off of her, reaching up to paw at his injured face. Violet moved as quickly as she could, pain lancing through her entire body. She got to her knees, took careful aim, and blew the man’s head into a splatter of crimson mist and gray matter.

Violet’s shoulder slumped and she found herself panting from the exertion. She wiped her forehead with the back of her arm and for a moment was afraid she was bleeding… before realizing that it was Sinclair’s blood, not hers.

A police car skidded to a stop in front of the house and two uniformed officers sprang out, guns drawn. They approached Violet and one of them recognized her. He waved his partner to go inside the house, the shattered door having caught his eye.

“Miss Cambridge? You okay?”

Violet looked up and tried to remember the officer’s name. Henry? Howard? No… Hank. That was it. “Hank, help me up, would you?”

Hank allowed Violet to take his arm, putting most of her weight on him as she struggled to her feet. She felt like the entire side of her body where she’d struck the ground was bruised and throbbing.

“What happened here?” Hank asked.

Violet was about to attempt an explanation when Hank uttered a four-letter word, the sort that gentleman rarely said in front of a woman. She looked down to see that the dead man, the one whose head she’d turned into pile of mush, was undergoing a profound physical change. His body seemed to shrink within itself, becoming brittle and aged, like one of those Egyptian mummies that used to be all the rage. The rapid decomposition continued, until the flesh and bones broke apart, becoming tiny black spiders, which scurried away into the grass.

“What the hell?” Hank whispered. He suddenly swayed on his feet, his eyes rolling up into his skull, and he tipped over, nearly carrying Violet with him.

Violet was left standing there, dumbfounded. She wasn’t sure which was more shocking: that a man’s body had dissolved into a bunch of insects or that a strapping police officer had just fainted dead away.

Hank’s partner had reappeared, just as an ambulance arrived on the scene. The cop was carrying Sinclair in his arms and Violet immediately knew that Bill was near death. His eyes were small slits and his mouth was moving soundlessly.

Violet rushed over to them. She walked alongside as the officer moved the injured man towards the ambulance workers. “Bill… please. Tell me what’s going on. Who was that man? What’s so important about The Damned Thing?”

Bill opened his eyes but his gaze seemed unfocused. “It has to be destroyed,” he said between clenched teeth. “Don’t let it fall into their hands.”

Violet was pushed aside by the emergency personnel, who were quick to load Sinclair in the back of the ambulance. She stayed where she was for a moment before turning to leave. She found herself staring into Will McKenzie’s frowning face.

“You told me you weren’t going to go and do something stupid.”

“I didn’t,” she answered.

“Hank’s coming over there, telling me that some corpse turned into a bunch of baby spiders. The neighbors are telling me you killed a man — twice. And that fella in the ambulance looks like he’s going to an early grave himself. So I think this whole thing qualifies as stupid.”

Violet unleashed the pent-up fury she’d been carrying inside her since this affair began. She poked a finger in Will’s face, making him take a step back. “I’m trying to solve this case! My husband and my friend are both dead because of this and I want to know why! All I keep finding are lies and more damned lies! So don’t stand there and tell me I’m being stupid! There was a man who tried to kill me — and after I killed him first, he got up and started coming after me again. So I shot him in the head and then you know what? It’s like Hank said: he turned into a bunch of spiders. And now I need to go back home and check on Abby — the girl whose lies started off this entire thing? She’s in my home, Will, doing God knows what!”

“Violet, I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you.”

“Yeah, well worry about yourself. Life’s nothing but a series of kicks to the head and the sooner you get numb to the pain, the better off you’ll be.” Violet turned away and lit another cigarette. Her hands were shaking with emotion.

“Want me to take you home?”

Violet looked thoughtful for a moment. “Hell, no. Not yet.” She moved past Will, hurrying back into the house. Will followed after. “I came here to get some answers about Miles. Turns out he joined up with a group that’s related to the Knights Templar. He suited up right after Walter died. This is where the group’s based.”

“The Knights Templar…?” Will murmured in disbelief.

Violet hurriedly opened every door, finding nothing out of the ordinary. She knew that any moment McKenzie would point out that they had no right to be looking through someone’s property like this but she didn’t plan to give up just yet. When she finally found a locked door, she grinned. “I bet this is it.”

“This is what?”

“Somewhere in this place has got be a meeting room, where they do whatever the hell it is they do. This has got to be it.”

Will looked dubiously at the door. “Looks like it leads to the basement. Listen, Violet, what kind of group did you say this was?”

“They think they’re the modern heirs to the Templars or something. Miles was assigned to find occult artifacts.”

“Like The Damned Thing?”

“Just like that.”

Violet knelt in front of the door, picking the lock in less than a minute. She pushed inside, feeling for a light switch on the wall. A spiral staircase came into view, leading downstairs. With Will at her heels, she descended, finally stepping into a chamber that looked straight out of a movie serial. A large Christian cross was hung on the wall, carved from ivory. A huge wooden table dominated the floor, a dozen or so chairs arranged around it. The table’s surface was lined with carved symbols that awakened something inside Violet. She wasn’t sure how or why but she seemed to recognize these unusual things, as if they’d lain untouched in the back of her consciousness until now.

Will, too, was studying them. “I know it’s going to sound crazy but… those things do something to me.”

Violet nodded. “They’re wards, I think. Occult symbols that carry great power.”

While Will reached out to trace one of the symbols with his fingers, Violet moved around the room, studying it in greater detail. There were several locked filing cases against the wall, with strips of tape identifying each one by a series of dates. A book bound in leather lay atop a reading table and Violet stared at it for a moment before looking away, shuddering. She was sure that the book’s cover had been formed from human flesh… there was no rational way to know that, but she was positive nonetheless.

A plaque on the wall next caught her eye and the words seemed to further chill her blood: That is not dead which can eternal lie; And with strange eons even death may die.

Violet jumped when one of Will’s men yelled down the stairs. “Chief? You better come up here.”

McKenzie bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time, leaving Violet alone. She continued to examine the room, taking note of every odd scrap of paper or unusual tome. It was hard to picture Miles being associated with something like this. He had been such a pragmatic man, not given to bouts of fancy or mysticism.

Or so she’d thought.

Maybe, when all was said and done, you never really knew another person. Unless you were inside their head, you never knew what they were really thinking or what they truly believed.

In the end, she mused, maybe we’re all just a private bundle of thoughts and lies, forever orbiting around others who are the same, but never truly connecting.

“I’m sorry, Violet.”

The words, spoken with such gravity, rooted Violet in her spot. She didn’t want to turn her head but she felt she had to. Yes, standing there not more than five feet from her, was Miles Knopf.

But it was not the Miles she liked to remember, nor was it the Miles she had seen at the cinema. This Miles was wearing the suit she’d last seen him in but his face was a ruined mess. The skin had been cut away, revealing slick red meat. His eyes and teeth seemed so white against this horrific crimson landscape.

“Are you really here?” she asked, her voice sounding low and more than a little scared.

Miles reached out for her, his hand a painful blue-and-white color. She shrank back from the apparition of her former friend, feeling guilty for doing so. “Have you found Morehouse?”

“No. Not yet.”

“You should be looking for him. You shouldn’t be here. The threat doesn’t lie here.”

“But maybe they can help—”

“No.” Miles suddenly looked pained, as if he were suffering some tremendous crisis of faith. “I should have told you but I wanted to keep you safe. I blamed myself for Walter’s death and couldn’t bear to think of you dying the same way.”

“You should have told me.”

“I know. I paid the coroner to keep the details of Walter’s death a secret. He didn’t die from a gunshot wound, Violet. It was so much worse. That’s why it had to be a closed casket funeral. So you wouldn’t see the truth.”

“How did it happen?”

“He was flayed alive… just as you see me. They took his face and treated him like a piece of cattle. Left him to bleed out in a rain-soaked alley. But that wasn’t the worst of it. They did the same thing to him that they did to me… they trapped his soul on this plane, to wander aimlessly until the energy that powered it finally faded away.” Miles looked up towards the ceiling. “I can hear the voices on the other side, loved ones I’ve lost. They want me to join them. But I can’t. I’m trapped here, as in life.”

“Are you telling me you’re a ghost? And that Walter is one, too?”

“He was one… but his spirit finally dissipated last summer. He watched over you, Violet. He told me so, often.”

“Why didn’t he ever appear to me… like you’re doing?”

“He wanted you to move on with your life. If you’d known he was there, you wouldn’t have done that.”

“I haven’t done it! I still love him! I would have wanted to have seen him!”

Miles moved closer and a disturbing odor began to come from him. It was the smell of death. “You’re repulsed by me. Imagine how you would have felt if you’d seen him like this…”

Violet took a deep breath and looked away. “We don’t have time for this. Tell me something I can use, Miles. You want me to go find Morehouse?”

“Morehouse and his girl are full of lies… but they have useful information, too. You need to get hold of The Damned Thing and drop it into a long, dark hole. Please do this, Violet. Please.”

“I’ll try, Miles, you know that. But what about that man out there — the one whose body turned into spiders? Can you tell me anything about him?”

Miles frowned, his eyes closing. He opened his mouth and a dozen tiny butterflies flew out, flapping about the room in a dazzling display of colors. Their wings came in various shades: orange, yellow, white, black and green.

Even as the butterflies seized control of Violet’s attention, a strange sound began to emanate from Miles Knopf’s form. It sounded like the droning of a bee but grew louder and louder until Violet was forced to cover her ears with the palms of her hands. Miles’ form began to grow indistinct, finally fading from view.

Violet let her arms fall down by her sides, trying to regain a sense of equilibrium. Ever since she’d woken up to learn that Miles was dead, things had gotten progressively weirder. Having sex with Will had momentarily given her back a sense of control but that was long gone by now.

An agnostic, Violet had never been quite sure what the truth of life and death really was. But, if pressed, she would have told you that she believed that you were born, you lived and then you died. Anything beyond that was a desperate attempt by humanity to impose a sense of importance on their dreary existence.

But now she’d been confronted by proof of life beyond death. She’d talked to Miles twice… and she’d seen a dead man get up off the ground and attack her. Obviously, her worldview was going to have to change.

She moved back upstairs, where she found McKenzie was exchanging harsh words with a couple of reporters from the competing Atlanta Journal and Atlanta Constitution. They were wanting to get inside and take pictures, which McKenzie was dead set against, at least until the crime scene had been secured and all witnesses had been interviewed.

There were now nearly a dozen police officers around but Violet found it easy to slip past them unnoticed. She hurried down the street, her heels clicking on the pavement. Taking a turn around the corner, she hailed down a passing cab and slipped into the backseat.

“Where to, lady?”

Violet looked at the sky, which was growing dark with approaching dusk. “The Topaz Club.”

The driver looked back at her over his shoulder. “You sure? That ain’t such a nice place.”

Violet smiled at him. “Well, I’m not a very nice girl, so I should fit right in.” She leaned forward and pressed a hundred dollar bill into his hand. “Before we get there, I need to pick up some bullets. Most of the legit shops are closed by now. You know where I could pick up some without any questions being asked?”

The cabbie smiled, taking the money. “Sure do, doll. You just sit back and I’ll have you there in a jiffy.”

THE DRIVER WAS as good as his word. After purchasing a box of shells from a man named Buster, Violet was locked and loaded. She was soon deposited outside The Topaz Club, which was a retrofitted warehouse on the outskirts of town. The dirt roads and high grasses that surrounded the place did not make it look like a hub of activity but there were nearly a dozen cars parked outside and it was still early in the evening.

The Topaz was one of Atlanta’s worst kept secrets. Though it was never reported about in the papers, virtually everyone had heard of the club and its odd goings-on. Rumors of everything from opium use, orgies and even bestiality had been bantered about but — for the most part — the truth was a little less exotic. Women took their clothes off and danced for the pleasure of men… And some of them engaged in prostitution on the side. There were public sex shows, to be sure, but most of them consisted of a pretty girl being put into bondage and then whipped by another scantily clad girl. Once blood had been drawn, the act usually ended.

Violet knew that there were occasions when things went further, however. She’d heard from Will about a nineteen-year-old girl who’d come to the police station last year, saying she’d suffered severe injuries to her rectum after being tied up onstage at The Topaz. For a fee, men were allowed to insert larger and larger objects into her anus, until finally one of them had torn her so badly that there was momentarily a fear of her bleeding to death. Apparently, the whole thing had been a punishment for the girl, who had been accused of stealing from the till. McKenzie had tried to shut the place down but word had come down from a city councilman to leave the establishment alone.

Violet swayed her hips suggestively as she approached the front entrance, which was protectively guarded by a bearded man wearing a dark suit and bowler hat. He was a broad-shouldered, brutish type and his eyes roamed eagerly up and down Violet’s body as she came closer.

“Good evening,” she said, blessing him with a dazzling smile. “Is there a cover charge?”

“Haven’t seen you here before,” the man said. “You sure you want this?”

“I’ve heard all about the club from my friends. I think it’s my kind of fun.”

The man pursed his lips. “My name’s Flint.”

“Violet.”

“Well, Violet, there’s no cover charge for women. But we don’t usually allow unescorted women inside. Don’t want any working girls screwing up the business. You a working girl?” The tone in his voice suggested that he was more than a little hopeful that she was.

“Oh, I work for a living… but not on my back. I just want a little adventure tonight, that’s all. Isn’t there some way I could get in there?”

Flint’s eyes lit up. “Maybe you and I could have a little adventure together?”

Violet stepped up so close that one of her legs pressed between his. She felt something large — and growing — in his slacks. Bringing her lips close to his ear, she whispered in a husky voice, “Let me in and I promise to show you a good time afterwards.”

“Why afterwards? Why not now?”

“Because I don’t want to muss my makeup, baby.” She slipped a hand down and gave him a firm squeeze that elicited a grunt of arousal from him. “Please, Flint. I’ll be ever so grateful…”

Flint was wavering but he still refused to budge. “If I’m gonna bend the rules, I have to get my payment up front.”

Violet stepped back, her face going cold for a brief moment. “If that’s the way it has to be.” She gestured to the side of the building, which was far enough out of the light to be shrouded in darkness. “How about a quickie over there?”

Flint glanced around to make sure that he’d have a quiet moment or two. With a lascivious grin on his face, he gestured for her to lead the way. “Ladies first.”

Violet moved over to the shadows, feeling Flint’s gaze on her ass the entire way. When they were safely hidden from sight, she turned to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He came for her, his tongue already extended for a kiss. Violet kneed him in the groin, causing his eyes to nearly pop out of his skull. She then slammed his head into the side of the warehouse. Before he could recover, she had drawn her handgun and pistol-whipped him twice across the face.

Flint slumped over, a trickle of blood oozing from the side of his skull.

Violet checked to make sure he was still breathing and then hurriedly moved to the door and slipped inside. The sounds of Benny Goodman filled her ears and she noticed that two girls were dancing on a tiny stage at the far end of the main room. The girls were topless and were dancing with one another, like a man would with a woman. A group of bored looking men sat in chairs near the stage, occasionally flicking money towards the girls’ feet.

The Topaz Club consisted of a large center room filled with tables and a stage. There was a full bar nearby and a set of stairs leading to private rooms upstairs. Violet figured that at least one of those rooms was an office for the manager but the others… Well, she could assume what went on in those. A series of cigarette girls milled about, their too-short skirts offering numerous peeks at their bottoms, and a few waitresses, all with bare breasts on display, were taking drinks to the various tables. The waitresses wore high heels, fishnet stockings and pleated skirts to complete the ensemble.

A quick headcount revealed that there were some eighteen men seated in various spots around the club. Besides the girls on the stage, there were three waitresses and two cigarette girls. A male bartender was smiling at Violet as she looked around. She didn’t see anyone who matched the description she had for Sidney Morehead.

Forcing a look of nonchalance, Violet approached the bar and slid onto a stool. She took out a cigarette and placed it between her lips. “Got a light?” she purred.

The bartender struck a match and held it close to the tip of her smoke. “You a virgin?”

Violet laughed. “My first time here… yes. Is it that obvious?”

“A bit. You here alone?”

“No, my date’s outside. He’s going to join me soon.”

“A steady boyfriend?”

Violet held her cigarette away from her mouth and smiled. “Nothing serious. We’re just friends with similar interests.”

“You like girls or just being tied up?”

“You’re direct. I like that. Can’t I like both?”

The bartender smiled. He was a swarthy fellow with tufts of hair that sprouted past his collar and his cuffs. He looked a bit like the missing link, Violet thought. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

“Violet. And you?”

“Frank.”

“Frank, could I get an Americano?”

“Comin’ right up.”

Violet sat back and waited for Frank to mix her cocktail. It was a bit of an acquired taste but Walter had introduced her to it and she’d eventually fallen in love with it. A mixture of sweet vermouth, club soda and the oft-times bitter Italian aperitif called Campari, the Americano was garnished with an orange slice stuck on the rim of the glass.

Up on the stage, the two girls who had been dancing were exiting the scene. A man who looked an awful lot like the Mayor’s personal secretary stopped one of them. The secretary spent a moment speaking to the girl who gestured to one of the rooms upstairs. Seconds later, they were on their way.

“Here you go, gorgeous.”

Violet took the drink and sipped it. “Perfect. Do you think I’ll get a chance to see a girl named Maggie tonight? I’ve heard she’s really beautiful.”

“She hasn’t been around lately,” the bartender said, confirming that part of Abby’s story, at least. “Her beau is here, though. If you want, I could ask him when she’s coming back.”

“Oh, would you? I’d be just thrilled if you’d do that for me! I really wanted to see her act.” Violet tried to adopt a guise of modesty. “Some of the things I’ve heard she does… well, it just gets me so flustered thinking about it.”

Frank smirked. “Yeah. She’s a talented one, she is. You here for her ropes and whips routine or the one where she takes two at once?”

Violet pondered that for a second before shrugging her shoulders. “The ropes and whips, I think. But that other one sounds pretty interesting.”

Frank snorted and moved away, stepping out from behind the bar. “I’ll go find Sid. That’s her beau.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Violet cooed with a little wave. She spun around on her stool and watched as a new girl stepped up on stage. This one barely looked legal age. She was already nude and Violet spotted red welts on the girl’s back and ass. The girl knelt on the stage and waited as a man approached. He expertly trussed her up with a gag in her mouth and ropes binding her arms behind her back. He then picked up a cat-o-nine-tails and bent her forward until her ass was pointed skyward.

Violet watched with a mixture of disgust and interest as the girl began to writhe in response to the whipping she was receiving. Most of the men in the club began to slowly move towards the stage, drawn by the act of depravity like moths to a flame.

“What the hell do you want?”

Violet turned to see Sidney Morehouse standing there, looking at her with obvious distrust. As Abby had said, he was big. He towered over Violet and his scarred left lip made him seem very sinister.

Frank the bartender was taking someone else’s order but was obviously keeping an ear out to hear what Violet and Morehouse were saying.

“Sid,” Violet said with forced friendliness. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to talk to you.”

“I bet. If this is about your partner, I didn’t kill him and I don’t know who did.”

Violet set her purse on the bar’s counter and reached inside. She held up just enough of her pistol for Morehouse to see it. “Sit down,” she whispered. After the man did so, she leaned forward, keeping her voice low. “Your girl says you were convinced that Miles wanted to steal your little statue from you so you sent her to us, hoping to lure him into a trap. That true?”

Morehouse shifted, not looking at her. “True enough. You know where Abby is?”

Score another one for Abby’s latest attempt at honesty, Violet thought. “Yes, but she doesn’t want to see you. Now, if you admit you set him up, why should I believe you didn’t kill him?”

“Because the same people who took The Damned Thing from me are the ones who whacked him. They’re the ones who whacked your husband, too.”

A ripple went through the crowd and Violet turned to see that a topless woman with large breasts had taken over the whipping of the younger girl. After every third or fourth strike, the busty woman would stop and lean down to lick the reddening welts on the girl’s back.

“That turns you on? I can get you up there so you can whip the little bitch… or you can get whipped, if that’s what you’d rather.”

Violet stared daggers at Morehouse and he retreated, looking away once again. “Tell me everything.”

Morehouse sighed. For the first time, Violet began to pick up on the fact that he was nervous… and it had nothing to do with her. “I used to help out on a protection racket. Guys would fall behind in their payments and I’d go in and rough ’em up. One day a guy begged me not to break his nose. Said he had something that was so valuable that it would take care of whatever he owed. He took me into a back room and he showed it to me.”

“The Damned Thing?”

“Yeah. And that’s the perfect name for it, too. For such a small little statue, it’s got something really amazing about it. The first time I saw it, I felt nauseous and scared. It was like when I was really little… my dad, he wasn’t around too much, but one time he was and he took my brother and me to the circus. I was only about five or six. When I saw the clowns, I nearly wet myself. There was something about them that was just so damned creepy with their powdered skin, big nose and shoes… and the way they kept trying to make me laugh, even when I tried to get away from them.”

“That’s how the statue made you feel?”

“Yeah.” Morehouse laughed hoarsely. “And then it began telling me things — in my head, where no one else could hear them. It… knew things about me. About what I’d done and what I wanted to do.”

“And what had you done?”

“When I was 12 years old, I raped a 7 year-old girl who lived near me. I choked her to death when I was done and dumped her body in a stream. She was found three weeks later but nobody ever knew I did it. But The Damned Thing knew. It knew every detail, like it had been with me. And it knew… it knew things that I wanted to do to people. Things I didn’t share with anybody.”

Violet saw the strange expression taking hold of Morehouse’s face. He looked scared, true, but it was also a peculiar yearning for something that had been lost. “And so you took this thing home with you?”

“Yes.”

“And you started getting paranoid about people taking it…”

Morehouse laughed but there was no humor in it. “It’s not paranoia if people really are after it. Almost immediately, it started warning me about two different groups who were seeking it: The Sovereign Military Order of the Temple of Jerusalem and The Followers of the Eclipse. The Order wanted to destroy it and The Followers wanted to use it for their own purposes. Both would be more than happy to kill me if that’s what it took to get The Damned Thing.”

“What about Johann Burkard? Who’s he?”

Morehouse started in surprise. “You know about him?”

“I met a guy named Bane who works for him.”

Morehouse nodded slowly. “Burkard is a third party in the whole affair. I don’t know much about him, to be honest. Most of the time The Damned Thing was warning me about The Order or The Eclipse.”

“And these Eclipse guys have a brand on them… of the sun undergoing an eclipse?”

“Yeah. They do.”

“I ran into one of them earlier today. He got up and walked around after I’d killed him. I had to do it a second time to get it to stick. Then his body broke down into a bunch of spiders.”

Morehouse looked at her but there was no disbelief in his eyes. “They came to get The Damned Thing the other night. Tried to off me, too. They took it and left — I only managed to survive by hiding in a closet. I was cowering there like a scared little kid.”

“Like one who was afraid of clowns?”

“Yeah. Like that.” Morehouse summoned Frank and ordered a shot of whiskey. He downed it in one gulp and asked for another. “You believe me that I didn’t kill Knopf?”

“For some reason, I do. You know how he died?”

Morehouse nodded. “He talked to me about The Damned Thing and I told him that those guys had taken it. And I told him that they’d been hanging out not far from my place. He went out looking for them and that’s when they got him.”

“Why’d they take his face?”

“It’s what they do. They cut the faces off their victims… and then they eat them later on. They think it gives them the power of the men they’ve killed.”

“How do you know that?”

“It told me.”

Violet didn’t bother asking who or what “it“ was. She had a feeling she already knew. “You think if I hung around in the area where Miles was killed that I’d find them, too?”

“If you were that stupid, then yeah… But if you’ve run into them already, they’ll know you. They don’t like people who know who they are and what they’re up to… So you’re bound to get a return visit.”

Violet sat there quietly for a moment, ignoring the sounds of simulated passion coming from the stage behind her. From the noises that were aimed in her direction, it seemed that the S&M scene had moved into a lesbian sex display. “Are you still in danger?”

“Everyone who comes into contact with The Damned Thing is in danger. Death follows that thing. If you’re smart, you’ll forget about it. Let it go. Let your husband and your friend stay dead and buried.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because they won’t stay dead and buried.”

A small commotion caused both Violet and Morehouse to look towards the club’s entrance. Flint was standing there, one hand held to his head. With him were two other beefy guys in black jackets. “That’s her,” Flint was saying. “That’s the little bitch who hit me.”

Violet hopped off the stool, drawing her Smith & Wesson Hand Ejector II. When the bouncers saw the weapon, they all stopped their approach. “Mr. Flint was getting a little fresh, that’s all. You can’t look down on me protecting my virtue, can you?”

Morehouse looked at the men and sneered, “Let her go. She came here to talk to me.”

Flint adopted a petulant expression. “She hit me! And she kicked me in the balls!”

“Shut up,” Morehouse said. He looked at Violet. “Get the hell out of here.”

“Anything you want me to say to Abby for you?”

Morehouse grunted and then nodded. “Yeah. Tell her I did love her. My way of loving might be a little different than with most guys, but I did love her.”

“You make it sound like it’s past tense.”

“Nah. Not how I feel about her. But me? Yeah, I’m past tense… or I will be soon.”

Violet considered feeling sorry for him but elected not to. He was a bastard and had hurt so many people over the course of his lifetime… a painful ending was the only fitting way he could go out. She turned away from him and pushed through the wall of man-flesh blocking her path. “Thanks, Flint. It was fun.”

The glare he sent her way should have burned a hole right through her. Once she was outside, away from the smoke and the smell of sweat, Violet’s icy reserve threatened to shatter. She had come here via taxi and had no immediate way of getting back home. It was cold and it was dark — and she had only moments before Flint returned to his position at the door. If she were still within sight, he might decide to act on his fantasies of revenge, regardless of what Morehouse had said.

Violet threw a hand up in front of her face as an approaching car shone its headlights directly in her face. The vehicle came to a stop just a few feet away from her and a familiar form emerged from the passenger side of the front seat. Even though she could barely make out his silhouette, Violet recognized Lazlo Bane and his too-tight pinstriped suit.

“Miss Cambridge? My apologies for not reaching you at home… but I made contact with my employer, Mr. Burkard. He wishes to speak to you.”

Violet moved towards Bane, stepping past the headlights. “And is he in the car?”

“He is.”

Violet looked over her shoulder, where Flint was emerging. His expression was frightening to behold. “Then let’s go,” she said. Bane opened the rear door for her and she slid in, prepared for anything as long as it took her far away from this den of iniquity.

Johann Burkard was long and lean, with a wolfish quality to him. He looked like der Fuhrer’s dream come true: golden blond hair, piercing blue eyes and finely chiseled features. Violet found him to be a very handsome specimen, though he smelled a bit too strongly of cologne. He wore a black suit, a white shirt and a black tie. His legs were crossed and his well-polished black shoes were so shiny that Violet could see herself reflected in their surface.

“Miss Cambridge,” he said, speaking in a voice so smooth that it reminded her of warm liqueur. He had a slight German accent but it wasn’t entirely without appeal. “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. You made quite an impression on Mr. Bane.”

Violet glanced to the front of the car where Bane sat beside the driver, whose face she had yet to see. “I thought you weren’t going to be in town for another couple of days.”

“I changed my plans.” Burkard placed his hands atop his knee and smiled at her. “I understand that we are after the same thing.”

“Are we?”

“You want to find The Damned Thing. As do I.”

“Our reasons are very different,” she pointed out. She glanced out the window and saw that they were headed back into the heart of the city.

“Perhaps. But expediency sometimes makes strange bedfellows.”

“I thought that was politics.”

Burkard shrugged. “Same thing.”

Violet slowly grinned, finding this mysterious stranger somewhat bewitching. She realized she was nearly running on empty, having slept very little since her partner’s death. How long had it been since he died? Just 24 hours? Was that possible?

“Are you unwell, Miss Cambridge?”

Violet found that Burkard was staring at her. “Just tired.”

“Understandable. I do hope you realize that I feel a measure of guilt over your husband’s demise. He died while in my employ. I would do nearly anything to change the past so that he would still be with you.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“Well, you’re the kind of guy who’s spent years chasing after something you know is cursed, something that people die for all the time… and yet you’re sensitive enough to care about my husband’s death? Doesn’t seem right to me.”

Burkard laughed softly. “You’re very direct. I like that about American women. I find it very appealing.”

“I’m not trying to be appealing. I just want to find that statue and make sure nobody else dies along the way.”

“That could prove difficult.” Burkard reached into a pocket and withdrew a small packet of tobacco and several cigarette papers. He offered one to Violet, who politely declined. She couldn’t stand German tobacco. Even the expensive variety tasted like it was lined with sawdust. Burkard poured out an ample amount of tobacco onto the paper and carefully rolled one. “Can we work together on this?”

“And what happens when we find The Damned Thing? Who gets what they want? I want to see it in pieces and you want it on your shelf.”

Burkard laughed, obviously enjoying Violet’s presence just as much as she was enjoying his. “We can… how do you say? Cross that bridge when we come to it?”

“That works. Morehouse told me that the Eclipse gang is holed up somewhere around the area where Miles was killed. Our best bet is to look there.” Violet leaned back in her seat, letting the back of her head lay on the cushioned headrest. She stifled a yawn. “What do they plan to do with The Damned Thing? What do you plan to do with it?”

“The Followers of the Eclipse believe that they can resurrect the spirit that dwells within the statue. They want to give it physical form. Once it’s loose, they have some prophecy they believe will be fulfilled. Women will be theirs to play with, money will fall into their hands and they will be invulnerable to harm. All the things that good little occultists want.”

“And you?”

“Ah. That’s a little more complex. There are certain things that I want to know… and The Damned Thing is reputed to be aware of almost everything. I plan to make it tell me all the secrets that have been eating away at me.”

“Like what?”

The German’s face tensed and Violet saw a vein in his temple begin to pulse. “I think we’ve reached your apartment building.”

Violet looked out and blinked in surprise. She’d stopped paying attention to where they were going and hadn’t realized she was nearing home. “Aren’t we going after the Followers of the Eclipse?”

“Not tonight. You are exhausted. Go inside and get some sleep. I shall come to pick you up for lunch and we can plan our actions.”

Violet felt her anger rising. “But they have the statue. They might skip town with it! We can’t waste any time!”

Burkard’s intense gaze held her in check. “Violet. These people will not leave this city. Atlanta is a nexus for mystical energies. In the Southeastern United States, there is no better place to attempt a dark ritual.”

“What makes Atlanta so special?”

“There is a confluence of energy here… but I couldn’t tell you why. Sometimes places are just like that, Fraulein. The walls between worlds are thin in some places.”

Violet slid out of the car and sighed. She couldn’t really deny that she was running on empty. “I hope you’re right about this. If they escape while I’m taking a nap, I’m going to be extremely angry.”

Burkard chuckled. “Hell hath no fury…” he said. “Good night.”

Violet watched his car drive away. With a sad heart and a weary head, she entered her apartment building. When she stepped into her home, she found Abby lying on the couch, a bound volume of Sherlock Holmes clutched against her chest. The girl sat up when she heard the door close, fear evident in her eyes. She relaxed upon seeing Violet, who walked past her without speaking, entering the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of scotch.

“Oh thank goodness, it’s you,” Abby said. She set down her book and smoothed out her hair. She was wearing a sheer nightgown and Violet could tell that the woman wore nothing underneath. Poor Miles, she mused. I’m sure you would have loved to have seen this. “I expected you back hours ago.”

“Why is that? I didn’t tell you what time I was coming home.”

“I just assumed…” Abby took a deep breath and smiled in that vulnerable way of hers. “Did you get any closer to solving your friend’s murder? Did you talk to Sidney?”

“I did talk to him. He mostly confirmed your story.”

“I’ve been completely honest with you. Today, anyway.”

“Hopefully that’s the way it’ll stay. Your boyfriend said to tell you that he loves you. He also seems to think he’s not long for this world.”

“What do you mean?”

“He thinks someone’s going to kill him. So if you want to spend any time with him at the end, you might want to hightail it over to The Topaz.”

Abby looked conflicted but finally shook her pretty head. “No. That’s over with. I’m not going back to him.”

“Suit yourself.” Violet downed her scotch and set the empty glass aside. “I’m going to bed.”

“Do you know where it is?”

Violet pretended to be stupid. “Where what is?”

“The Damned Thing. I thought you might have found it.”

“What makes you think your boyfriend doesn’t have it?”

“He doesn’t, does he?”

“No.”

Abby came forward in a rush, taking Violet’s hands in hers. “That thing scares me, Miss Cambridge. So many people have suffered because of it. I want to help you destroy it. Please?”

Violet searched the girl’s eyes but could find no signs of deception. “You’re good, sister, I’ll give you that.” She pulled her hands free and started heading towards her bedroom door.

“What do you mean?” Abby said to Violet’s back.

Violet paused in the doorway to her room. She gave Abby a coldly amused smile. “I don’t trust you any farther than I could throw you. You’re welcome to stay here… but don’t fool yourself into thinking I’m going to share any information with you. If that’s your game, you might as well pack up and hit the street. Good night.”

And she shut the door.

JOHANN BURKARD EMERGED from his car, nodding briefly at Lazlo Bane, who held the door open for him. Burkard’s driver remained behind the wheel, his eyes kept straight ahead. Burkard paid him handsomely to always be on call and to never voice an opinion about anything he saw or heard.

“What did you think of Miss Cambridge, sir?” Bane asked, following a step behind his employer as they walked towards a plus two-story house situated just outside the city proper. It was an old home, dating to just after Sherman’s burning of Atlanta, and it retained a lot of the old antebellum charm.

“She is beautiful… and very, very dangerous. She could either be a tremendous boon to our activities or a very painful thorn.”

Bane nodded, being in perfect agreement. In fact, he’d argued that Burkard should simply have the woman killed rather than risk her interference. He’d been ignored, unfortunately.

The two men entered the house and turned on the lights. The furnishings in the living room were not exactly to Burkard’s taste but he was only renting the place, so it was of little consequence. He preferred European tapestries over oil paintings of the Old South, a fine wine to the garish ‘moonshine’ found throughout Georgia, and sheets of Egyptian cotton over the scratchy linen that he always found in Atlanta.

Burkard pulled off his coat and gloves, tossing both carelessly over the back of the couch. “Go and fetch our guest, won’t you? I am curious to see if some time in the cellar has loosened his tongue.”

Bane moved to do as he was commanded though there was some hesitation in his walk. He was not a brave man and some of the things he was asked to do in service to the German tested his mettle. The pay was quite good, however, and Burkard had proven quite adept at finding the kinds of “rewards” that a man liked Bane craved. Smooth, hairless young men of Greek descent were not always easy to come by… but Burkard had found a bevy of such beauties to slake Bane’s lusts.

Burkard clasped his hands behind his back while he waited for Bane to return. He could feel his quest nearing its end… for so many years, he’d hunted The Damned Thing and now he was in the same city as it was, only days — perhaps hours! — away from claiming it for his own. He knew that the mere sight of it was enough to drive some men mad but he was not afraid of gazing upon it. He was made of sterner stuff than most men and considered himself capable of almost anything.

And with The Damned Thing, he’d have access to all the great knowledge; all the things that were not meant for mere mortals to know. He’d ask it about the meaning of life; what awaited all men in the afterlife and what was the true definition of the soul. And those would just be the beginning.

Bane returned, interrupting Burkard’s reverie. The man with him was pale and wiry, with several days’ worth of beard. In another setting, with better nutrition and care, Burkard’s guest might have been considered handsome. But he had aged considerably over the last few years and now seemed far older than he actually was.

“Ah, Professor Slade. So nice of you to join us. Won’t you have a seat?”

Carter Slade stared at Burkard with the weary expression of a man who had nothing left to live for. He staggered towards a chair and collapsed into it. He stank but seemed to take no notice of it. It had been quite some time since he’d cared about things like hygiene. “Let me go,” he murmured, slurring the words. “You don’t want this.”

“But I do.” Burkard motioned for Bane to fetch a glass of water. The smaller man did so, pressing the drink into Slade’s hand. Slade looked at it for a moment before raising it to his lips. His fingers shook so badly that he spilled most of the liquid into his beard. Burkard waited until the archeologist had drained the glass dry before continuing. “I rescued you from that mental institution because you and I both know that you’re not crazy. Not like those mental defectives. You’ve just had problems adapting to all that you’ve learned.”

“You’re a fool to want that thing. It’s dangerous.”

Burkard leaned back against the wall, taking a deep breath. “You have a connection with The Damned Thing. If you had simply done what I asked of you, I could probably already have it in my possession and you would be a free man.”

“I don’t know where it is. My… connection, as you put it… doesn’t work that way.”

“Then how does it work, Professor Slade?”

“I can sometimes still hear its voice… and I can almost picture it in my mind, staring at me. But I don’t know where it is… I just know it won’t leave me be! It won’t take its hooks out of my soul!”

Burkard sprang forward, crossing the distance between them in several long strides. He knelt in front of Slade, bringing his face close. “Tell me again… what does it look like?”

Slade shivered suddenly, like a naked man slapped by the pounding surf. “It was foul and repellent. The thing it depicted should never have been given life — if life be the term to use for it. Portions of its anatomy looks like a man, it had two arms and two legs and a torso… and it had the genitalia of a man, though of hideous girth. But its face….! A horrible visage, like something from the worst of your nightmares. And its eyes… those deep pits that could catch the light and reflect it back at you in a kaleidoscope of colors…” Slade closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “Oh, and it’s always so cold to the touch. Like it’s packed in a meat freezer. It chills you beyond the bones, its cold goes down into the pit of your soul.”

“And its voice? What is it like?”

Slade looked at Burkard and smiled, though it was the grin of a lunatic. “It sounds like me. It’s my voice.”

Burkard stood up again and turned away from Slade. He looked over at Bane, who was once again twisting the brim of his hat. “I think this has been a waste of time. Mr. Slade’s faculties are too far gone to be of use to us.”

“Should I return him to the hospital?”

Burkard shook his head, moving to retrieve his jacket from its spot on the back of the couch. He reached into an interior pocket and pulled out a Mauser. The gun had belonged to Burkard for many years and was almost a trusted friend. He pointed it at Slade. “No, Lazlo, I think it’s best to wrap up the loose ends ourselves.”

Two shots landed in Slade’s head, hitting with such force that his chair flew backwards. He landed in a bloody heap on his back.

Burkard lowered his weapon and nodded once to Bane. “Clean that up, won’t you? I’m going to get some sleep.”

THE FIRST RAYS of sunlight were shining through Violet’s windows when she heard the sound of furtive footsteps across her floor. She tensed but didn’t open her eyes. For the second time in less than a week, someone had violated the sanctity of her bedroom and, if necessary, she planned to deal with them the same way she had the last ones: with a bullet to their head. She stretched, still feigning sleep, and reached one hand under her pillow. She found her handgun waiting for her and prepared to whip it out.

“Are you awake?”

Violet relaxed slightly, though a frown formed on her lips. She sat up, staring at Abby. The girl was dressed the same as she had been last night, though Violet thought she’d added a bit of makeup. “Now I am. What do you want?”

“I want you to trust me, Violet. I’m scared and I’m alone… what if that Damned Thing is really cursed? I could be in danger, too.”

“You’re safe here.” Violet lay back down, placing one arm over her eyes. She’d slept very soundly but not nearly long enough. She’d been having a very pleasant dream about attending a fancy ball at the Davies House on the outskirts of town, one of those affairs where everyone who was anyone was present. And Violet had been the belle of the ball. She’d even worn something besides her traditional black.

The sound of fabric slipping across skin and landing on the floor made Violet look up. Abby was standing nude next to her bed, looking somehow both lustful and frightened. “Now what are you doing?” Violet asked.

“I can be good to you,” Abby whispered, sliding onto the bed and reaching out to caress Violet’s leg through the sheets. “If you’ve never been with a woman before, I can show you what to do. Or you can just lie back and I’ll do it all.” Abby’s pert young breasts swayed enticingly as she moved and Violet had to admit the girl was quite beautiful… but not beautiful enough to entice Violet to cross a line she’d never stepped over before. It wasn’t that she had anything against lesbianism — some of her best friends were homosexual, after all. She simply preferred the company of men.

“Stop,” Violet said, pulling away. “I appreciate the effort but it’s not working.”

“But—”

“No.” Violet stepped out of bed, pulling the sheet with her. She wrapped it around her own nakedness, which somehow emphasized Abby’s own. “I’m sure you’re used to manipulating people like this but it’s not going to work this time.”

Abby looked down and suddenly burst into tears. She buried her face in her hands, her body shaking. Violet watched her coolly, retrieving her cigarettes and lighting one. She lit a second and approached Abby, offering it to her.

“Thank you,” Abby said, sniffling as she reached to take the cigarette. She took a few puffs on it and seemed to settle down somewhat. “You probably think I’m a harlot… or worse.”

“I don’t judge women for using their sexuality. Sometimes it’s the only weapon that civilization leaves us. But I don’t like women who lie, cheat or steal. And, sister, I bet you do all three.”

Abby stood up, shaking her head and suddenly looking far more dangerous that before. “I don’t like it when you talk to me like that.”

“You’re welcome to get the hell out then. If you stay here, you stay by my rules. If I insult you, you take it and you take it with a smile.”

Abby stuck her cigarette between her full lips and bent down to retrieve her gown. She got dressed in silence, occasionally unleashing a sharp look of anger at Violet. When her body was covered, she blew out a long trail of smoke. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“I can imagine.” Violet sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at Abby closely. “So you have anything else worthwhile to tell me? I think it’s pretty clear that you’re really after The Damned Thing, just like everybody else. You’re probably hoping I’ll do the hard work and find it for you, and then you’ll swipe it out from under me. Right?”

Abby paused a moment, enjoying her cigarette before finally giving a shrug of her shoulders. Gone was the vulnerable look from her eyes that she’d presented since first walking into the offices of Knopf and Cambridge… in its place was the steely-eyed gaze of a predator. “You’re not as dumb as you look. Yeah, you’re right… I started this whole thing for kicks but once I realized that people were going to be trying to kill Sidney over that stupid statue, I took off. I wanted to take The Damned Thing with me but Sidney watched it like a hawk. So I figured maybe I could get you to find it for me. I knew Sidney wouldn’t have it for long… he’d either end up dead or in hiding. Can’t blame a girl for trying, can you?”

Violet moved to her closet and picked out her clothes for the day. After selecting her wardrobe, she entered her bathroom and proceeded to start her shower. She heard Abby milling about in the bedroom but didn’t say anything to encourage further conversation. She really wasn’t in the mood to listen to Abby’s continued lies. In fact, after her shower, she planned to show the girl out the front door.

Abby’s voice, now back to its normal tones, came to her from the other side of her shower door. “Miss Cambridge… Violet… I haven’t had an easy time of it. I’ve had to do these things to survive. I know that I’m a liar and… well, there’s no other way to say it. I’ve been a prostitute. But please don’t think that I’m without a hope for redemption. I want to do the right thing, I just don’t know how.”

Violet placed her head under the water, hearing the pipes complaining as the building’s hot water heater strained — and failed — to produce a truly warm spray of water. “What do you think is the right thing, Abby?”

“The Damned Thing… it needs to be destroyed.” Abby took an audibly deep breath. “I thought to sell it but that’s too dangerous. I’d just end up as dead as poor Sidney.”

“Sidney’s not dead yet,” Violet said with a disbelieving shake of the head. The girl had already moved on to the point where she’d virtually put her lover into the ground.

“You know what I mean. I just… I want to live and have all the things any girl wants. Pretty dresses and a nice house, a man who dotes on me.”

Violet turned off the water and stepped out, grabbing a nearby towel. She turned her back on Abby, feeling the girl’s eyes on her backside. “Look, Abby, I think it’s probably best if you go ahead and leave. I’ve always believed it’s best to keep your enemies close but…”

Abby lunged for Violet, driving her into the wall. Violet’s forehead smacked against the wall and for a moment everything went blurry and then black. She felt her hair being yanked and allowed herself to be tugged back. Abby then drove a rather pitiful excuse for a punch against the side of Violet’s face.

“You bitch,” Abby was hissing. “You should have counted yourself lucky to have me throw myself at you. Do you have any idea how many men — and women — would throw money at me hoping to see me like that?”

Violet swung out a fist that caught Abby in the stomach. The younger woman gasped, loosening her grip on Violet’s hair. “You’re not a fighter, honey. So you really shouldn’t go starting fights.”

Violet delivered a powerful roundhouse that spun Abby around. The girl teetered on her feet and finally toppled over when Violet raised a foot and drove it hard against her hip. Abby landed on the tile floor of the bathroom, blood dripping from a split lip and what promised to be a nasty shiner already beginning to form on her left eye.

Picking up her towel again, Violet finished drying herself off. She got dressed slowly, ignoring the unconscious woman on the floor. When she had finished making herself up, she walked to the phone and dialed Will McKenzie’s number. He seemed relieved to hear from her.

“Will, could send an officer or two over to my place? That Whitehead girl I told you about… she just attacked me and I had to put her in her place. I’m willing to press charges if you’ll get her up off my floor.”

“I’ll come over myself with a couple of guys. Listen, Violet, I think maybe you should come stay with me for a few days.”

“Why?”

“Sidney Morehouse was found murdered this morning. Same as with Miles… his face was sliced off while he was still alive.”

Violet pursed her lips. The Followers of the Eclipse were busy fellows. But why were they committing these murders at all? If all they wanted was The Damned Thing, why continue killing people who’d had dealings with it? Why not go ahead and do their little magic spell and be done with it?

“Violet? You there?”

“Yes. Sorry, I was just thinking. Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Will, but I have some things I have to do this afternoon. I can’t go into hiding.”

“People have already tried to kill you,” Will said, sounding a bit stressed. “I’ve got men looking into the things you’ve told me but if you’re holding back, I need to know.”

“If I knew anything else, I’d tell you.”

“Would you? Or would you just think you were protecting me so I didn’t get killed like Walter and Miles?”

Violet’s lips twitched. “I’m going to truss up Miss Whitehead and leave her outside my door. Hurry over before she wakes up and starts screaming.”

“You’re going to be there, right?”

“Goodbye, Will.”

Violet hung up and moved to quickly fulfill her promise. She hogtied Abby, making sure to keep the knots nice and tight. Anyone who’d spent as much time in bondage as Abby had was bound to know how to slip out of such things. After dragging the girl into the hallway, Violet grabbed her purse, making sure it was well stocked with her gun, some ammunition, a pack of cigarettes, lighter and a few feminine products such as lipstick, perfume and a dagger small enough to fit in the top of her garter.

A few moments later, she was stepping out onto the busy Atlanta streets. Burkard was supposed to be coming by in a few hours but she had plans before that… and if it worked out, she wouldn’t need Burkard’s help at all. Given how Abby had turned against her, she was anxious to find The Damned Thing on her own. It would be nice to not have to watch her back…

Toby Washington was a 65-year old Negro with a painful left knee that left him hobbling around the street corner where he worked. He’d shined the shoes of white men since he’d turned eight years old but because of his knee, he’d been forced to bring on an apprentice. The boy, a skinny thing named Kenny, was a good-for-nothing ten year old who was more interested in baseball and pulp magazines than he was in earning an honest dollar.

Toby watched Kenny sitting with his back against the brick exterior of a restaurant, his eyes glued to the words of a Shadow pulp magazine. Several men walked by and the boy never noticed them, let alone offered to shine their shoes.

Toby hobbled over and smacked Kenny on the side of the head. Ignoring the boy’s cry of alarm, Toby leaned into him. “Let me explain this agin’ to you. You don’t make money unless I make money. And I don’t make no money unless you get off yo’ lazy ass and start shinin’ shoes.”

“Yessir.” Kenny rolled up his pulp magazine and stuck it in the back of his pants, causing them to sag a bit. He stood up and started harassing people as they attempted to walk past.

Toby was wondering about the wisdom of taking Kenny on as his assistant when a sultry female voice brought a smile to his wrinkled face.

“Hello, handsome. Mind if a girl sits for a spell?”

Toby turned around and grinned at Violet Cambridge, gallantly offering a seat in the shoeshine chair. “If you’d do me the honor,” he said.

Violet sat down and immediately lowered her voice. “I need some help.”

“Don’t ya always?”

“I’m serious.”

Toby became grave. “I know you is. I heard about Mr. Knopf. Damn shame. He was a nice man and he always tipped real nice. This about who killed him?”

“It is. Members of a group called The Followers of the Eclipse killed him. I know the general area they hang out in but I need to know specifics. Which building are they in? How often do they come and go? How many of them are there?”

Toby looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “You talkin’ about those quiet boys with the mark on them? The sun being swallowed up by the dark?”

“That’s them. I love how you always know what I’m talking about. I could have saved a lot of time by coming straight to you.”

“Den why didn’t you?”

Violet looked away and her eyes moistened a bit. “Because people are dying all around me. You’re not just an informer, Toby. You’re a friend. I’ve met your wife and your kids. Hell, I’ve had your granddaughter sit on my knee. This is bad stuff. You could get killed if you get mixed up in it.”

“But you’se heah now,” he pointed out.

“Yeah. I’m here now.”

Toby digested all this and then knelt in front of her with a painful grunt. He lifted up her left foot, encased in its high-heeled shoe. He began to prepare it for polishing, using this as an excuse for their conversing. Even in this day and age, so long after the end of slavery, a white woman and a black man had to be careful about being too familiar in public. American society in general — and especially Southern society — was a long way away from being comfortable with a true breakdown of racial divisions. “I’ve seen those boys,” Toby said at last. “Dey don’t talk much. Just walk around and get into unmarked cars. No plates or nothin’ on them. I tried to get one of ‘em to let me shine his shoes and he just gave me a look that woulda scared the white off rice.”

“Do you know where they’re staying?”

“I do. But I don’t know if’n I should tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you just told me how dangerous it is. Mr. Knopf is dead and now you’re gonna go and get yourself killed, too. Maybe I should just go to da police.”

Violet felt touched by this but she wasn’t about to let Toby do something like that. “Toby, what if I promised that I wouldn’t do anything without going to the police first?”

Toby looked up at her and grinned. “You wouldn’t be lying to me now would you, Miss Violet?”

“Please.”

Toby looked down, the droop in his shoulders showing that he was relenting to her pressure. “Dey stay in the blue-and-white house at the corner of McIntosh. The one with the widda’s walk on the top. You know that one?”

“Yes. It was bought by someone a year or so ago, wasn’t it?”

“Uh-huh. Dose boys. They’re the ones.”

Violet pulled her foot back and stood up. “Thanks, Toby. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I hope so. I hope I ain’t sending you to die.”

Violet bent down and kissed the top of the old man’s head, not caring if anyone saw them. “Take care of yourself.”

“SHE’S NOT IN her apartment.”

Burkard was soaking in the tub, his well-toned body covered by scented bubbles. Without opening his eyes, he addressed Bane, who was standing nervously in the doorway. He was sure that Bane was drinking in the bits of flesh he could see. “How do you know?”

“I went by to ask her to join us here for breakfast, as per your instructions… but when I arrived, I found the authorities already there. They were taking Miss Whitehead into custody and the police chief was very upset that Miss Cambridge was missing. He threatened to take me into the station for questioning but I convinced him that I knew nothing about it.”

“And did he have a man follow you back here?”

“I don’t think so.”

Burkard sighed and sat up. He gestured for Bane to turn around and the man did so, his slicked-down hair glistening in the harsh bathroom light. Burkard stepped from the tub and toweled off before pulling on his underwear and pants. “Where do you think she’s gone, Lazlo?”

“Ah… I would think to find The Followers of the Eclipse. She seemed very concerned that they might have escaped with The Damned Thing.”

Burkard stepped past him, entering his room and beginning to pull on the shirt and tie he’d left on the bedspread. “Then I think it would be wise to make sure she hasn’t gone and gotten herself killed. We might still have need of her… and I certainly do not want her finding The Damned Thing before we do.”

Bane stared at his employer. “Should I go now?”

Burkard continued getting dressed. “I will come with you. Go and fetch my gun, won’t you?”

VIOLET STOOD ACROSS the street from the house that old Toby Washington had told her about. The sun was shining brightly in the sky and it was doing its job in keeping the chill out of the air. When the wind blew hard, it was enough to rattle her bones, but for the most part it was a very pleasant day.

Violet waited for a car to pass and then she set off across the street, having decided to avoid subterfuge. Given that she had no idea what sort of security was in the house or how many agents of the Followers were present, she had decided to not sneak inside. She was afraid of ending up in a situation where she couldn’t escape… by going to the front door, she could get a gauge on the situation and, if it looked too dangerous, she could turn tail and run. Not the best of plans, she had to admit, but she was always one for taking the direct approach.

Violet stood outside the door, noticing how quiet it seemed. She rapped her knuckles across the surface and waited. Slow, shuffling footsteps preceded the door swinging inward a few inches. Bloodshot eyes stared out at her and a voice that sounded like it belonged in a Boris Karloff picture asked, “Can I help you?”

“My name is Violet Cambridge. One of your boys tried to kill me yesterday.”

The door shut abruptly and for a moment Violet thought she was going to burst out laughing. Did they really think she was going to turn around and leave now? It wasn’t like she was going door-to-door handing out religious literature. She wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer.

The door opened again, revealing a tall man with dark hair, tinged with white at the edges. He wore a black suit and tie, which gave him the impression of being an undertaker. This was accentuated by his grim visage. “Miss Cambridge. This is a surprise.”

“I imagine it is. You were probably expecting to see me next in a pine box.”

A twitch of the man’s lips suggested that he had almost — but not quite — smiled. “Please. Would you like to come in? My name is Jameson.”

Violet considered her options and then stepped across the threshold. “If you’re going to try and kill me, just let me know now and we can settle this like grownups.”

Jameson gave a brief shrug of his shoulders. “I do not wish for any violence. In fact, I would think that we would have far more in common than you might think.”

Violet found that hard to believe but she didn’t voice her concerns… her breath was momentarily taken away by the fact that some dozen of the Followers of the Eclipse were lining the foyer and central hallway, each of them standing erect with arms at their sides. Their faces were emotionless masks and none of them moved so much as an inch, not even to blink. She recognized the one who had opened the door for her initially.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“These are my brothers. We all exist to serve the Master.”

Violet followed him down the hall and into a sitting room. She gazed into the faces of the men she passed but none reacted to her presence. It was as if they were automatons that had been shut off for the time being. She wasn’t even sure if they were breathing.

“I hope you don’t think I’m being rude but… are you human?” she asked Jameson. A quick glance around the sitting room showed that it was not very well kept up. A thick covering of dust lay across everything and a scent of mildew filled the air.

He gestured towards a rather comfortable looking couch and waited until Violet was seated before he responded. He didn’t appear at all surprised by her question. “Actually, I am not. Neither are my brethren.”

“That’s why the one I killed yesterday turned into… spiders?”

“Yes. We are actually a conglomeration of various powders, insects and alchemical potions. Artificial people sometimes referred to as homunculi.”

Violet said nothing. She wasn’t familiar with the term but didn’t care to share that fact. Instead, she continued with the strange conversation by asking, “Do you mind telling me who your master is?”

“I was created by The Great Beast in 1934. Some of my brothers date back as far as 1927. We were tasked with maintaining his interests here in the United States, specifically the location of The Damned Thing. We have sent word that we have it in our possession and he shall be returning to lead the ceremony soon.”

“The Great Beast? Are you talking about the Devil?”

Jameson did smile at that. “I speak of the great sorcerer, Aleister Crowley.”

“Ah. Well, of course you do.” Violet had a passing familiarity with the world’s most notable occultist. She remembered when he’d left the United States to form some utopian community in Italy, only to be kicked out with the change in government. She didn’t know where he was residing these days but apparently the stories about his magical powers weren’t overstated in the least. “So Mr. Crowley is coming to Atlanta?”

“Yes.”

“I only have a few more questions. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“First: why are you being so nice to me? Twenty-four hours ago, one of your men was following me around with the intention of killing me.”

“We were tasked with several duties by The Great Beast. First and foremost, we were to locate The Damned Thing and retrieve it by any means necessary. Secondly, we were to remove anyone who might have had knowledge of it.”

“I still have knowledge of it…”

“Yes. But our latest communication from our Master has asked us to maintain a low profile and not draw attention to ourselves. Thus, we have recalled all of the brethren and are waiting here for his arrival.”

Violet relaxed a bit, feeling a little less threatened. “Okay. Another question, then. Did your brothers kill my husband?”

“Yes.”

“And my partner Miles?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” Violet patted her knees with her palms and stood up, her purse held tightly under one arm. “And is The Damned Thing here?”

Jameson hesitated, obviously not sure if he should answer. Violet got the feeling that he was slightly more intelligent than his ‘brothers’ but that they were all basically robots, following orders given to them from above. When something didn’t fall within the parameters of those orders, they either shut down or dealt with the situation to the best of their ability. “Yes, it is,” he finally said at last. He looked puzzled by his own response, as if he couldn’t decide if that had been the proper response.

“I don’t suppose I could see it.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.”

“But it is here, in this house?”

Jameson’s brows knotted together. “Yes.”

Violet nodded and opened her purse. She peered inside, counting the bullets in her gun and in the shell boxes she’d brought with her. Even with the dozen or so men out in the hall, she felt confident she’d brought along all she would need. “Thanks for all the information, Jameson. You’re an idiot but a damned useful one.”

Jameson’s eyes widened somewhat as Violet drew her handgun and fired it. The bullet passed right between his eyes and sent his body slamming back against the wall. Her previous encounter with these Followers had indicated that only a shot to the head would put them down for good and she was prepared to act on that hypothesis until proven wrong. Jameson’s body began undergoing the same decomposition that his ‘brother’ did, his skin drying up and breaking down into its individual spider components.

The other Followers responded to the noise, entering the room in a confused rush. They seemed uncertain about what to do — their orders to protect The Damned Thing warring with their orders to remain under the notice of authorities. Violet was under no such dilemma, however. She opened fire, striking with pinpoint aim. As soon as her gun’s chamber was empty, she reloaded, eventually leaving the sitting room a smoking, stinking mess. Despite the fact that the Followers of the Eclipse left behind no bodies, they did leave behind a distinctly unpleasant odor that reminded Violet of rotting vegetation.

When she was finally done with her grisly work, Violet found herself alone in the room, the blood-splattered walls and the hundreds of tiny spiders scurrying about on the floor the only evidence that the Followers had ever been there. She knew that even in this neighborhood, that much gunfire was going to attract the police. Acting quickly, Violet began a thorough search of the house. She found nothing in the basement below, not even a makeshift lair like the one that The Order had possessed. But on the second floor, in the master bedroom, she hit the jackpot.

It was in a large black case, resting on the floor in front of the bed. Even without seeing inside the case, Violet knew that this was The Damned Thing. There was a sense of incredible unease that radiated from the case and it made Violet’s stomach turn somersaults. Her palms felt clammy and her mouth went dry, but that was not the worst of it.

Worst of all was the voice.

The one which sounded so much like her own that she wondered momentarily if she had spoken out loud. It very clearly came from the box, however, and it was full of warm familiarity.

“Hello, Violet. We are going to have so much fun together.”

WILL McKENZIE WAS in his car when the call came over his radio. Multiple reports of gunfire, and a lot of it, were coming from the same area where Miles Knopf had died. He whipped his car around in a u-turn that left burned tire marks on the road and floored the accelerator. He knew that Violet was involved. That much didn’t require him to be Sherlock Holmes. What he couldn’t figure out was why she kept insisting on going solo on this one. Yes, her husband and partner had both died because of this case… And, yes — if it had been Will’s family involved—his first priority would have been to catch those responsible by any means necessary. Doing it on his own would have been nice but that would be a bonus, not a requirement.

Mixed up in all this was his own feelings for Violet. He wasn’t quite sure what they were. They were good together in bed and he admired the way she showed no fear in fighting for what she believed in… But he also worried that she would never move past the loss of her husband. And this whole affair just seemed to prove that. She was risking not just her life but also her relationship with Will over this. If she kept leaving a trail of bodies throughout Atlanta, he wasn’t going to be able to protect her much longer.

Will was not the first car on the scene. Two police units were already there but McKenzie’s attention was not focused on them as his wheels skidded to a stop. An expensive black car with a chauffeur was driving very slowly past, the men in the back casting baleful glances at the house. Will didn’t recognize the first man he saw but he certainly knew the other: Lazlo Bane. The car continued past, turning the corner. If it had been anybody other than Violet inside the house, he would have taken off in pursuit of that mysterious black vehicle. Bane was bad news and if that was his employer with him, then Will wanted to speak to the both of them.

But it was Violet. And that changed everything.

Stepping from his car, he bolted into the house, drawing surprised looks from his men already inside. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Strangest damned thing I’ve ever seen, Chief,” the man replied. “Neighbors report hearing dozens of shots going off and there’s spent shell casings all over that sitting room. Blood splatters, too… but not a body anywhere around.”

Will remember what Violet had told him about the man she’d killed at The Order’s headquarters. He glanced around, spotting three of four spiders within just a few feet of him. “Any sign of Violet Cambridge?”

“She’s not here, Chief. Did you expect her to be?”

Will turned away without comment. He stepped back onto the porch, looking up and down the street. Where had she gone? Had she managed to find The Damned Thing? And if so, what would she do with it?

WILLIAM “BILL” SINCLAIR lay in his hospital bed, on the brink of death. He had come through his surgery as well as could be expected but the damage had been quite severe and his doctors were all uncertain about his ultimate chances for survival. He had received a steady stream of visitors since being admitted, most of them saying words of prayer and strength for him.

But none of them were quite as eye-catching as the dark-clad beauty that stepped into his room at half past eleven a.m. Violet Cambridge looked smoldering today, with the kind of sexual energy that reduced otherwise strong men to weak-kneed idiots. There was nothing subtle about her sexuality and never had been. Even as a young girl, she’d bewitched every man she’d come into contact with. Though she was well aware of the power she held over men, she didn’t always indulge in it. This morning, for instance, did not find her deliberately catching anyone’s eye. She was far too distracted for that… but her natural beauty was enough to cast her spell, regardless.

Violet stopped at Sinclair’s side, reaching out to take his hand in hers. The vital, appealing man she’d met the day before seemed long gone now. He looked frail and surprisingly old.

“Bill? Can you hear me?”

Sinclair’s eyelids fluttered and for a moment Violet thought he was about to open them and gaze up at her. It didn’t happen. He continued to breathe deeply and rhythmically.

“It’s me. Violet Cambridge. I have it. I found The Damned Thing.” Violet looked towards the door to make sure no one was listening. She kept her voice low but talked quickly. “It scares the hell out of me. I haven’t actually looked at it yet but… I can hear it. In my head. It wants me to take it out and touch it. I need to know how to destroy it. Is it as simple as throwing it into a fire? Can I bury it in a deep, dark hole? Or will it just be found later on and all I’ve done is pass the problem on to someone else?”

“Destroying something like that isn’t an easy thing to do.”

Violet jumped in surprise. She looked to her left and saw a man seated in a chair, legs crossed. He was leaning forward, one hand cupping a pipe that he was lighting. The pipe dangled from a corner of his mouth as he sat back and examined her. He cut an intriguing figure, being in his mid sixties with the sort of softening body that made you think that he had once been very athletic. His features were fairly nondescript but his eyes shone with an inner light and were quite compelling. He was bald, which gave his head a slight egg shape. He wore a charcoal gray suit and black shoes. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.

“I know. My name is Frederick Bentley. I’m a member of the same organization that William is.” He spoke with an English accent, which gave him an air of authority.

“Oh?” Violet relaxed a bit and sat down in the only other chair in the room. She leaned forward. “Do you mind verifying that for me?”

“How would you like me to do that?”

“I don’t really know.”

“Well, I’m obviously not one of The Followers of the Eclipse. I’m a bit too animated for that. Have you met Mr. Burkard yet? If you have, then you know I’m not him… if you haven’t…. You have? Good. So that only leaves me being an agent of some other party entirely, someone else who might have reason to haunt the hospitals, looking for William’s room.”

Violet considered the man’s words and his demeanor. She instinctively trusted him, though she couldn’t explain why. “I have The Damned Thing.”

“So I heard.”

“Do you know how I can destroy it?”

“You really haven’t looked at it?”

“No.”

“That’s good. Gazing at something like that isn’t healthy. Its voice is awful enough but to combine that with the sight of the thing… well, it worms its way into your brain and then you become an addict. You need it, even if it terrifies you. There are some things men and women are not meant to know or see… The Damned Thing is rightly one of them.”

Violet took a cigarette out of her purse and lit it. The room was soon blanketed in smoke, as both she and Frederick puffed away. “So what do you recommend?”

“The first thing you need to do is get away from here. Atlanta is the worst place you can be right now. Not only is The Followers’ leader on his way here, but also Atlanta is a place of great occult power. The spell that could free the demon inside The Damned Thing could be performed here. We cannot let that happen. You need to leave this place and go somewhere else. In fact, I would suggest that you turn The Damned Thing over to me and divest yourself of it before you are cursed by its nature.”

“You still haven’t told me how to destroy it.” Violet’s words were laced with rising anger. She was increasingly angry over how the past few days had gone. She still hadn’t made peace with her partner’s death and the surprises about her own husband’s demise. And now all of this strangeness was only making it worse.

“The Damned Thing is old. Very old. And that kind of evil isn’t evil to kill.” Violet took a drag on her cigarette and stared at him. He continued speaking after a moment. “I can help you.”

“But you want to take me away from Atlanta.”

“Yes. For your own safety.”

Violet crossed her legs, noticing that Frederick’s eyes caught the movement. He looked at her legs for a brief second before looking back up to her face. “I’m not going anywhere. Especially not with you or any member of The Order. As far as I can see, you’re just another cult like The Followers are. Different masters and different purposes but the same cloak and dagger routines.”

“We’re their mortal enemies.” Frederick leaned forward, holding his pipe in one hand. “Don’t confuse who your friends are.”

“Really? You have my partner in your group of a few years and he never once mentions it to me. Why?”

“He wanted to protect you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt that. But considering what you have learned the past few days about The Damned Thing, would you have involved Miles had the roles been reversed?”

Violet had to admit he was right about that. “Can’t I destroy this thing here in Atlanta? Why waste time? Tell me how to do it and I can do it tonight, before Crowley ever arrives.”

“Then might I suggest that you give The Damned Thing over to me? We’ve been preparing for its destruction for years. If you truly want it destroyed tonight… I can do that.”

“I just told you that I don’t trust you.”

“But you obviously do.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You came here to talk to William. He’s a member of The Order, just like me. So if you believe in him… why not show me a little faith, too?”

Violet glanced back over at Sinclair and sighed. She was tired and it was beginning to make her sloppy. Normally, she could bounce ideas off Miles… but that was no longer an option. And Will… Will was Will: stalwart and handsome but far too overprotective. She only had one close friend beyond that left and while Clint Jacobs was a perfect companion for movie premieres and dinner parties, he didn’t have much to say in the way of dealing with murder and bizarre cults. “I just want to get this madness behind me so I can get on with my life.”

Frederick nodded. “Give me The Damned Thing, Miss Cambridge. I promise that it will not plague you ever again.”

Violet stood up, dropping her cigarette to the floor. She ground it out with her high-heeled shoe. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“Frater Perdurabo.”

Violet looked over at Sinclair. His words had been issued in a whisper but they’d electrified the room. Frederick leaned forward, his eyes blazing intensely and Violet rushed to Sinclair’s side, taking his hand. “You’re awake! I’m so glad, Bill.”

Bill cast sleepy eyes towards Frederick. He held the other man’s gaze for a long moment before looking up to Violet. “Get away from here,” he mouthed, the words so softly spoken that Violet could barely understand them. “Perdurabo.”

“I don’t understand what that means.”

Frederick rose from his chair and moved to the other side of Sinclair’s bed. “Perdurabo is Latin for ‘I will endure to the end.’ It’s an old saying amongst The Order.” Frederick patted the injured man’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Go home and think over my offer, Miss Cambridge. You can reach me at Century Tower. That’s where I’m staying.”

“Not at The Order’s lodge?”

“No. It’s too dangerous. None of us are stepping foot in the lodge again until after the current affair is settled.”

Violet looked back down at Sinclair but she saw that he’d slipped into unconsciousness once more. She’d wanted to talk to him… if nothing else, she wanted to wish him well. When he’d spoken that word to her—Perdurabo—he’d almost looked frightened. It didn’t seem like the word was bringing him any measure of peace. And since he had immediately preceded it telling her to get away… did that mean he felt the same that Frederick did? That she needed to flee Atlanta?

“I’ll be in touch. If Bill’s condition changes, call me.”

Frederick nodded. “Of course. I think he will be fine, however. He’s a strong man.”

Violet stepped out, heading towards the stairs. She wasn’t looking forward to getting back to The Damned Thing. She’d left it in a secure location but she knew it was waiting patiently for her to return, so that it could begin filling her head with its seductive tones.

And the worst part of it all was that it might work. She was filled with a perverse desire to open the box and gaze upon The Damned Thing. What did it really look like? Was it truly so awful that one look would sear someone’s soul? How could that be possible?

“I’m not going to find out,” she promised herself. She stepped out into the Atlanta sun, her hands already seeking out a new cigarette for herself.

“YOU SHOULD HAVE called me by name. Frater Perdurabo isn’t the sort of thing she would recognize.” Frederick lifted Sinclair’s head and removed the small pillow from underneath. Bill’s breathing shifted slightly but he didn’t wake up.

The man who had claimed to be Frederick Bentley pressed the pillow down hard on Sinclair’s face. He held it firmly in place until the dark deed was completed and William Sinclair was dead. Then he tossed the pillow aside and moved to the window. Outside, he could see Violet Cambridge down the block, turning the corner and vanishing from sight. She was lovely and obviously intelligent but she was close to the breaking point. He had seen that from the start.

“Frater Perdurabo,” he said under his breath, shaking his head with laughter. That term had been his designation in The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. Aleister Crowley turned from the window, a smile on his face. He had come here to the hospital to speak to this man of The Order, his ancient enemies. Crowley wanted to know how many of The Order lay in this city and how actively they were prepared to fight him. Finding Violet had been an unexpected bonus. He had thought about throttling her until she told him where The Damned Thing was… but he found her engaging and sexually appealing. Fornication was one of his great weaknesses and his desire for new partners had led him into trouble on more than one occasion. He doubted that he’d be able to land her in his bed without going to the trouble of drugging her but it made for an interesting fantasy.

The Great Beast strode from the hotel room, knowing that soon he would be master of all he surveyed.

Violet was not surprised by what she found at the office she had until recently shared with Miles Knopf. The door was open, the locking cylinder shattered. The desks and file cabinets had all been broken into and papers lay scattered all over the floor. She was reasonably certain that she would find the same thing back at her apartment, unless McKenzie had left a man to wait for her there.

She wandered over to the desk where Miles had usually taken up roost and sat down in his chair. The bottom right drawer of the desk lay open, revealing a bottle of whiskey that was mostly empty. She picked it up and stared at the label for a moment. Miles believed that whiskey should be on hand during every client interview. You never knew when they’d need a drink… or loosening up so that information might flow more freely.

Unscrewing the top, Violet drank straight from the bottle. The liquid burned its way down her throat, warming her entire body. She wasn’t worried about anyone finding The Damned Thing since it wasn’t in either her home or this office. But she was still unsure what to do with it… and Sinclair’s words continued to eat away at her. The more she thought about it, the more she thought that he was telling her to not leave the city… but to leave his room. Did he want to speak to Frederick in private? And she knew that Frater meant ‘father.’ So did that change the meaning of Perdurabo? Did it mean that he wasn’t just quoting some Latin phrase but rather naming someone?

Violet finished off the bottle and set it on the desktop. Even with the warming effects of the alcohol, she suddenly felt a chill in the air. She looked over at the window to make sure it was closed and realized that the drop in temperature couldn’t possibly be normal. She could now see her breath as she opened her mouth and exhaled.

“You’re in great danger, Violet.”

Miles Knopf was standing in front of the desk. He looked worse each time she saw him. His face was carved away, revealing moist red meat where his handsome features should have been. His fingertips were bluish tinged and the odor of the grave was so strong that Violet instinctively put a hand over her mouth and nose.

“Oh, Miles… is this how it’s going to be for you from now on? Are you just going to keep… rotting?”

“It’s not so bad. It doesn’t hurt. The dying was the really hard part. Well… and what they did to me right before. That wasn’t pleasant at all.”

“I killed them. All the members of The Order of the Eclipse.”

“Their leader is still out there,” Miles said, leaning across the desk to make his point. The scent of his breath made Violet gag. Miles either didn’t notice her discomfort or was too engrossed in what he was saying to care. “There are forces massing against you. Burkard wants The Damned Thing. So does Crowley.” Miles straightened and looked back towards the door. Violet had pushed it closed but the damage done to it meant that it refused to shut completely. “And you have a visitor.”

Miles vanished in a sudden burst of smoke, disappearing before Violet could even begin to fully process what he had said. The sound of footsteps in the hallway brought her to alertness, however. She drew out her pistol from inside her purse and held it under the desk, out of sight.

It was Daniel Armitage. He pushed open the door, his face betraying his caution. His white suit looked brand new, emphasizing the coarseness of his features and his stubby little body. He relaxed a bit when he saw Violet at the desk, though his eyes drank in the scene around the office. “Doing some housecleaning, doll?”

“What do you want, Armitage?”

The crime boss stepped into the room, taking out a cigar. After biting off the tip, he struck a match and lit it. “Can I sit down?”

“If you can find a spot.”

Armitage walked over to one of the guest chairs and dumped out a stack of papers that had been thrown onto the seat. He sat down, puffing away for a moment. Spotting the empty bottle on the desk, he asked, “You got any more of that stuff?”

“Sorry. If I’d known you were going to stop by, I would have made sure we had hors d’oeuvres.”

“You’ve got a real smart mouth for a dame.”

“I like to think I have smart mouth for anybody.”

Armitage grunted and shook his head. He seemed more amused than angry. “I understand you’re in a spot of trouble.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Word on the street is that some of the people you’ve been talking to have been ending up dead or in jail.”

“And what’s that to you? Still sore about those goons of yours that died in my apartment?”

“Nah. I’ve moved on from that. Hell, I’m even willing to forget about the dough you stole from me.”

“Aren’t you the sweet one? Turning over a new leaf?”

Armitage grinned. “I want us to be friends.”

“This another try at getting me to work for you?”

“I want you to work with me. There’s a difference.”

Violet sighed and stood up. “I don’t have time for this crap. I’m ankle deep in shit right now and the last thing I need is you trying to drag me down into your cesspool.”

“So… you interested in some Limey name of Aleister Crowley? The magician?”

Violet’s eyes widened slightly but she kept her features neutral. “What about him?”

“He’s arrived in Atlanta. In fact… he was just at the hospital.” Armitage grinned like the Cheshire cat. “You were just there, too, weren’t you?”

Violet swore violently, less concerned by the knowledge that Armitage was tracking her movements than she was by the notion that she’d just missed Crowley. Did that mean Sinclair was in danger? Her concern for her new friend morphed into something else very quickly — a sinking realization that she might have been played for a fool. “Frater Perdurabo. That’s what Bill was calling him. It’s a title.”

“I’m not following you, Violet.”

“What was Crowley wearing?”

“My men say you should know that. They say he entered the same room you were in and stayed with you for quite awhile.” Armitage seemed to be enjoying his role. “Hah! You didn’t even know it, did you? The man behind the goons who killed your partner and you sat right next to him. Some detective, eh?”

“Damn it!!” Violet turned her back to Armitage, fuming. No wonder ‘Frederick’ had been so insistent that she let him have The Damned Thing. And poor Bill….! “I have to call the hospital. Have them check on—”

“Too late,” Armitage said. “The guy’s dead.”

Violet whirled around. “Tell me you’re lying,” she said.

“Sorry, doll. The docs found him smothered to death not five minutes after you took off.”

Violet tapped her chin, thinking things through. “You seem to know an awful lot about things… like The Followers of the Eclipse being behind Miles’ death, not to mention all this stuff about Crowley. How long have you been following me?”

“I wish I could say ever since you busted into my office but I can’t. Only since this morning. A guy named Burkard came to see me. He wants me to lie to you and offer you a place to hide out with that statue thing. But once I take you to the safe house, he’ll be there to take it for himself.”

“And you’re telling me all this why?”

“Because I think we could make sweet music together, sweet cheeks.” Seeing the expression on Violet’s face, Armitage waved away her concerns. “Not like that, doll. I wouldn’t turn you down, mind you… What I meant was that you’re tough as nails and deadlier than any black widow. And I’ve got contacts all over the place but twice as many enemies as friends. I help you square away all this mess with the statue and then you come work for me.”

“Bodyguard work?”

“No, nothing like that. I’d just want you to dig up some dirt on my competitors and then leak it to the cops. Let them bust them, nice and legal like.”

“And all the while you take more and more control of the underworld? No thanks. I’ll take my chances on my own.”

“Burkard will kill you if he has to. He told me that. And he’s got a lot of money… he doesn’t have to do it himself or even send his boy Bane to do it. He can hire the best. He can hire people who can make it look like an accident.”

Violet gave it some thought. She actually shared Armitage’s view of Burkard. The man was dangerous… but she wasn’t sure she could trust Armitage and even if she could, what kind of a deal with the devil would that be?

Armitage leaned forward and stubbed out his cigar in an ashtray. “So what’s it gonna be, doll? I know where he’s at and I can tell my boys to take him out… then you come work for me.”

“And you don’t have any interest in The Damned Thing?”

“I don’t deal in art, especially not satanic art.”

“Didn’t know you were superstitious, Danny-boy.”

Armitage stood up and adjusted his collar. “So. I need an answer, doll.”

“You have men downstairs?”

“I came alone. Didn’t figure you’d listen to me if I brought a bunch of goons with me.”

Violet walked over to the window and looked down at the street below. There was only one car parked out front, a black sedan. “That your car?”

“It is. You want to go for a little ride?”

“I do.” Violet walked around the desk and, when she was close enough to Armitage to strike, she whipped up with the butt of her gun. She caught him on the chin and knocked him into the wall. His forehead struck it hard and chipped the plaster. He fell to the floor like a sack of lumpy potatoes.

Violet crouched over him and rifled through his pockets. She took his car key and approximately $25 in cash. Normally, she didn’t steal but in this case, she felt like he owed her something… after all, his men had damaged her apartment and Armitage was unlikely to offer anything to compensate her for it.

Less than two minutes later, she was downstairs, stepping out on the street and looking both ways. She was relieved to know that Armitage had only been trailing her since she’d gone to the hospital — that meant that they hadn’t seen where she had hid The Damned Thing.

She drove the crime czar’s car away from her office, wondering where she should go. It wasn’t safe to go back to her apartment at this point and she didn’t want to involve anyone new in this affair. Dropping in on Will didn’t seem right, either. The last thing she wanted was to be the damsel in distress, making it seem like she needed McKenzie to rescue her. It crossed her mind that she could go and grab The Damned Thing, then speed straight out of the city. On that level, at least, perhaps Crowley had been right in his advice to her.

A flash of light in the rearview mirror caught her attention. Closing fast behind her was the dark car that belonged to Burkard. She couldn’t see anyone in the back seat but at the wheel was the man’s perpetually silent driver, his grim face betraying no emotion.

Violet let out a cry of annoyance when the car crashed into her back bumper, obviously trying to knock her off the road. They were outside the downtown area now and with a sharp twist of the wheel, Violet sent her car bouncing along a dirt road that led to the poorer areas of the city.

The sedan sped along behind her, sending up a plume of dust in its wake. Violet knew the area better than the other driver but his car was certainly faster. Before long, she again felt his car slam into the rear of hers and this time she was unable to keep control of her vehicle. It skidded off the road and the rear door of the driver’s side slammed against the base of an old oak tree that leaned out over the scene, blanketing it in shadow. Violet had slipped out of her door even before the car came to a complete stop, drawing her gun and crouching low, using the side of the vehicle as cover.

The sedan pulled to a halt nearby and the driver’s side door opened. The chauffeur emerged, looking almost wraithlike in his black suit, gloves and tie. He wore the traditional chauffeur’s cap and his face was somewhat long, with prominent cheekbones. He looked at Violet’s damaged car, with its tires still spinning and took a step towards it. A bullet tore at the ground in front of his feet and he stepped back, his eyes finding Violet as she stood up beside the front wheels of her car.

“If you want to live to see tomorrow, you better get your hands up in the air,” she warned. To emphasize her point, she fired her gun again. This time, the bullet whizzed past the driver’s ear, coming so close to hitting him that he could hear the lead shell’s passing, like an angry bee.

The driver raised his hands slowly, though the expression on his face never wavered. He looked just as coldly disinterested as always. “Mr. Burkard would like to see you. He’s very insulted by the way you’ve tried to cut him out of the deal you made.”

“I was on my way to meet him for lunch,” Violet lied. She found the driver’s emotionless way of speaking to be appropriate for his overall demeanor but it was still quite chilling.

“You acquired The Damned Thing on your own. You have made no attempt to contact him. And the fact that you left your meeting with Mr. Armitage alone, in his vehicle, suggests that you have refused his overtures.”

“So now you’re going to drag me kicking and screaming to see your boss?”

“If I have to. But I would prefer that you simply get into the car and let me drive you there.”

“What’s your story? Why do you work for him? What’s your boss really after?”

“Mr. Burkard is a powerful man. He likes to own things. That includes people.”

“You’re a slave?”

The man shrugged. Now that he’d actually spoken, Violet was finding him to be shockingly chatty. “I am a servant. Mr. Burkard owns me, body and soul. If that makes me a slave… then so be it. We all have our masters, even if we choose not to admit it.”

“How philosophical.” Violet came around the car, keeping her gun pointed directly at the driver’s face. “So tell me… what’s going to stop me from taking your car and leaving you here?”

The driver’s lips spread wide in a terrifying expression that Violent only recognized as a smile in hindsight. To say that grinning was not the normal look of this man’s mouth would have been an understatement. “I cannot be killed by that gun of yours.”

“Want to test it?”

“If you like.”

Violet found his calm extremely unnerving. She looked up and down the dirt road but saw no one else approaching from either direction. She was going to have to handle this without any assistance. “Your choice.” Violet pulled the trigger twice, squeezing off two rounds that hit home in the driver’s neck and chin. Blood sprayed from the wounds and he tumbled over, both hands raised in a futile attempt to staunch the flow.

Not wanting to stand around and wait to see if his prediction would come true, Violet sprinted towards the man’s sedan. She yanked opened the door and slid behind the driver’s wheel, letting out a brief squeal of delight upon seeing the key still in the ignition.

She was about to put the car into reverse when a black-clad arm plunged in through the open window. Strong fingers snatched up Violet’s hair, holding her tight. She fumbled for the gun that lay in her lap and brought it up so that the barrel was shoved against the man’s groin. “Why won’t you bastards stay dead?!” she screamed, emptying the rest of her bullets into the driver’s crotch. He released his grip on her and stumbled back, holding his privates. The wounds might not kill him — if anything could — but he was enough of a man to still show some concern for the family jewels.

The car’s tires tore at the dirt, tearing deep rifts as she slammed into reverse. She saw the chauffeur standing there amidst the dust, straightening back up. He was bleeding profusely but it was obvious that he wasn’t about to fall. She wondered what the hell he was and decided in the end that it didn’t matter.

Violet shifted into drive and pressed her high-heeled shoe against the accelerator. The car surged forward, building up speed before striking the driver. His knees shattered as his body was thrown up against the windshield, splintering it. His momentum carried him over the roof of the car and down to the ground behind. Violet didn’t hesitate in the least, shifting back into reverse and accelerating. The car shook as it rolled over his body.

Pulling away a bit, Violet looked out and saw the shattered body lying still on the ground. The head was a mess, looking like a watermelon that someone had attacked with a hammer. One of her wheels had obviously caught his skull directly under its weight.

“Let’s see you get up from that,” she whispered. She began driving back towards town, ignoring the spider’s web of cracks in the windshield and the smoke that was now drifting up from beneath the hood.

WILL McKENZIE STEPPED into his office and slumped down into his chair. He ran a hand through his dark hair and suddenly felt much older than he truly was. Whoever said the holidays were a time of peace and relaxation should be dragged out into the woods and shot, in Will’s opinion. The phone on his desk rang, trilling three times before he decided to pick up the receiver. “Chief McKenzie here.”

The voice on the other end belonged to someone that Will had never thought to hear from again. It was Miles Knopf, the same Miles Knopf whose corpse was being prepared for a funeral over at People’s Funeral Home. “Hello, Will. I hope you’re a bit better off than I am.”

The blood drained from Will’s face and he sat up straight, holding the phone tight against his ear. “Miles? Is this… really you?”

“Yes. It’s me.” There was something slightly wrong with Miles’ voice. It sounded like he was talking around a mouthful of water… or blood. “Violet needs you, Will. Don’t let her go down this path alone.”

“What path? Where is she?”

“She has The Damned Thing. She thinks she can destroy it… but I don’t know if she can do that by herself. She needs someone to help give her strength. I’m getting weaker, Will. I won’t be able to manifest anymore… I already can’t do it physically. So you’re all she’s got left. If you love her — or ever loved her — go find her and make sure she isn’t alone.”

The connection died, leaving Will listening to the sound of a dial tone. He set down the phone and stood up again, surprised to find that his fingers were shivering. During the entire conversation, he’d kept picturing Miles the way he’d last seen him: at the crime scene, his face peeled away to reveal the red meat below.

A few moments later, Will stepped outside and wandered over to his secretary’s desk. Brenda Cooper manned the post, a perky blonde who wouldn’t admit to being over thirty. McKenzie knew the truth, however. She was pushing 35 and still unmarried. Given her nice figure and throaty laugh, you’d think that was unusual. But Will knew that Brenda was a recovering opium addict and her struggle with that made it hard to find time for romance. Will had given her a second chance a year or so ago, after busting her at local drug den. She’d stayed straight ever since and was now fiercely loyal to her boss.

“Brenda, I need you to do me a favor. A couple of them, in fact.”

“Anything, Chief.”

The eager expression in the girl’s eyes brought a smile to Will’s face. It wasn’t hard for him to get attention from the ladies but he knew that Brenda was carrying a torch for him the size of the Eiffel Tower. “If a woman named Violet Cambridge calls, you get me on the radio ASAP. And if any calls come in regarding her or these two groups, you do the same.”

Brenda looked at the slip of paper, which contained the names of The Followers of the Eclipse and The Sovereign Military Order of the Temple of Jerusalem. “This sounds like one heck of a strange case, Chief.”

“You have no idea.” Will handed her another piece of paper. “Have someone on the lookout for Johann Burkard and Lazlo Bane. This is a description of the car I saw them in earlier today, including the license plate. If they’re found, you know what to do — call me.”

“Okay.” Brenda suddenly lowered her voice and looked so concerned that McKenzie almost felt his heart break a little. “Are you going to be okay, Will? This Cambridge woman hasn’t done you wrong, has she? I’ve heard about her around town.”

“Violet’s a good friend of mine,” Will said, emphasizing the word ‘good.’ “I’d trust her with my life. She’s in a lot of danger right now. So, please, don’t forget how important this is to me.”

Brenda looked as if she’d never do that for the world. Will walked away from her, grateful to have someone whose word was as good as gold. Despite what he’d just said to Brenda, he wasn’t sure how much he could trust Violet… not at the moment, anyway. She was veering into dangerous territory and was increasingly looking like a loose cannon. He thought about calling his best friend, the philanthropist Max Davies, and asking him if he’d give an assist. Max was a good man and something of an expert when it came to things concerning demons and the supernatural. He knew that Max was wrapped up in his own problems at present, though, and so he decided to put that off for now.

As he exited the police station, he looked up to the sky. Dark clouds were moving in from the west. The paper had said a massive storm was heading in, bringing with it powerful winds and several inches of rain. Just as he was thinking about the forecast, a gust of wind sent a department store cutout of Santa Claus tumbling down the street.

Christmas was coming.

VIOLET CAMBRIDGE ALWAYS loved libraries. As a young girl, she had sometimes run away from home, spending hours getting lost in the stacks of the largest library in Atlanta. She loved being around so many old books, each one containing the knowledge of the ages. She had sometimes escaped into faraway lands or into places that could never exist in reality. Arthur Conan Doyle, Jules Verne and H.G. Welles were her friends and allies. When puberty came and she developed a bit more quickly than the other girls, she had temporarily abandoned her relationship with the dusty old shelves and the white-haired custodians of knowledge. But as an adult, especially since the death of Walter, she’d begun retreating to the library again. And now, when all seemed set against her, that’s where she found some peace and quiet.

It was nearly closing time for the library, which wouldn’t reopen again until the day after Christmas. Violet had staked out her spot in a shadowy corner of the library, several books arranged in front of her. They were all on occult subjects but none of them went into very much detail. Specifics on how to destroy cursed objects simply weren’t present, she had to admit with a grin.

“Miss Cambridge. We’ll be shutting the doors soon.”

Violet looked up to see kindly old Sinclair Watson, who had run the library for nearly twenty years. He was a thin man with stooping shoulders and wispy hair that tended to curl over the tops of his ears. “I’ll start getting ready to leave. Thank you.”

Watson’s eyes drifted over the stack of books in front of her. “Odd reading for Christmas time,” he commented. He didn’t sound disapproving, just curious.

“It’s for a case.”

“Ah.” Watson hesitated before doing something that he’d never done before, not in all the years that Violet had been coming there. He sat down across from her. “I’m so dreadfully sorry about what happened to Mr. Knopf.”

“So am I.” Violet smiled gratefully and sighed. “He was a good man.”

“That he was. And a good friend to The Order.”

Violet’s expression hardened and she looked up at Watson with new eyes, as if seeing him for the first time. “You know about The Damned Thing?”

“I do. And I know where you need to take it if you want to destroy it.”

Violet glanced around, hope swelling her heart and making her feel positive for the first time all day. “Mr. Watson, please tell me this isn’t some new game or bundle of lies. I’ve had my fill of those.”

“No, nothing like that. Most of us are in hiding right now. The attack on our base has made it clear that we can’t afford to mass together. We’re just ordinary men for the most part and many of us are old. Your friend Miles… he was a godsend: A vital young man with the knowledge of how to track the movements of our enemies. That was his gift. But mine…” Watson tapped the side of his head with a finger and grinned. “Mine is that I know where the secret truths are kept.”

Violet suddenly felt like kissing this old man. “Don’t keep me waiting in anticipation,” she teased.

Mr. Watson stood up and for a brief second, Violet felt disappointed. “Let me lock up and then we can talk in private.” A roll of thunder outside made him pause. “It’s going to be a dangerous night,” he said, moving away. Violet wondered if he meant those words because of more than just the weather.

A few minutes later he returned, this time carrying with him a large tome that he set on the table in front of Violet. The leather-bound book had an embossed title: Curios of The Macabre and Damned.

“I don’t recall seeing this one on the shelf,” she commented.

“It was in the archives.” Flipping through the pages with a sure hand, Watson finally came to what he was looking for. It was a page showing several representations of ancient Anglo-Saxon art. All of the images showed variations of a fiery doorway into the abyss, all of them shaped somewhat like the mouth of a roaring creature. “This is called a Hellmouth. It is an entrance to Hell. Images like this spread throughout Europe until the end of the Middle Ages. But it persists in later works, as well… and in our collective unconsciousness. This is not mere fancy, you see. Hellmouths are real. There are probably two-dozen scattered across the globe. Sites located near them are usually mystical focal points, with higher than normal sightings of ghosts and other foul beasts.”

“Earlier today, someone told me that Atlanta was a hotbed of occult energy,” Violet said, staring at the images. They were undeniably creepy. The sound of the raging thunderstorm outside only accentuated the evil that emanated from the pictures.

“That’s because we are close to a Hellmouth. There’s one just off the coast of Atlanta and there is an invisible line — a ley line — that goes straight from the Hellmouth to the heart of this city. You can destroy The Damned Thing by throwing it into the Hellmouth. Once back in hell, the statue will shatter and the demon within will be freed. But he will be in his natural element, not here on Earth.”

Violet looked up at him, for a second trying to reconcile this occult master with the pleasant old man who used to help her find the collected works of Poe and Doyle. “Tell me where.”

“Wolf Island. You know it?”

“There’s a Wilderness Area, isn’t there?”

“Yes. It was established only a few years ago—1930, I think. The island is mostly saltwater marsh but there is a long, fairly narrow strip of oceanfront beach. This goes on for about four miles, I believe. Atop the highest point of this beach is an asylum, a hospital for the mentally ill.”

Violet looked thoughtful. She snapped her fingers in sudden realization. “The Main Institute! I remember reading about that. Caters to the rich and famous. Very exclusive… people check in and out, without the press ever getting wind of it.”

“That is the place. It is very inaccessible… but perhaps you could come up with some way of getting inside the hospital.”

“The Hellmouth is inside the facility?”

“In the basement, yes. It is… not a nice place, from what I’ve heard.”

Violet pushed away from the table and began tapping her chin. She walked back and forth from the table to the checkout desk. There was no way she could get in there as a private investigator — the clinic’s privacy policy would frown on that. But she also wasn’t rich or famous enough to get in there on her own. Who did she know that could—

Clint Jacobs. He was president of a major bank and a known homosexual. He had the money to buy his way in and an obvious reason for being there. But she’d sworn to not involve any more of her friends… But what other choice did she have?

“None,” she whispered. “None at all.”

“He’s dead.”

Burkard said nothing in response, instead choosing to stare down at his bowl of Brunswick Stew. It was a greasy dish that was somehow appetizing, despite the fact that it looked vaguely like someone had vomited it up. He spooned another bite into his mouth and took a cursory glance around the restaurant, a ‘home-cooking’ establishment by the name of Frannie’s Kitchen.

Lazlo Bane shifted in his own seat and nervously reached up to smooth down his slick hair. He detested this sort of place, which was nothing like his usual haunts. Bane preferred smoky jazzy clubs with pretty boys with painted faces and women who preferred tuxedos to dresses.

Burkard continued to eat in silence, finally setting his spoon down into an empty bowl and plucking up a napkin, which he dabbed against his lips. “What do you think she is going to do with it?” he asked at last.

“I have no idea. Try to destroy it, I would imagine.”

“I am unhappy with this situation, Lazlo.” Burkard spread out his napkin in his lap and took out a tin of tobacco. He rolled himself a cigarette, sealing the paper with a quick flick of his tongue. He lit it and exhaled, his eyes locking on Bane’s. “If it continues, I might decide that you are no longer fit for your current position.”

“None of this has been my fault!” Bane protested, his eyes widening. “That damned Eclipse gang interfered and now this Cambridge woman—!”

“She is crafty, I’ll grant you that. But you are supposed to be a dangerous man, yourself. Or am I paying you for something else?”

“I’ll find her, Mr. Burkard.” Bane tried to put an edge of certainty into his voice.

Burkard glanced away, his eyes narrowing. A well-dressed figure was approaching their table, a dark hat pulled low over a bald head. His slightly doughy body somehow managed to convey a sense of masculine power, despite the girth. Burkard tensed, recognizing the arrival of Aleister Crowley.

“My dear Mr. Crowley,” Burkard said, without rising. “Won’t you please join us?”

Crowley cast an imperious glance at Bane before looking back at Burkard. “I don’t sit with the help.”

Burkard snorted. “You heard the man, Lazlo. Go stand in the corner and wait for us to finish our little chat.”

Bane stood up so fast that he banged his knees on the underside of the table, causing the silverware to jump. Grimacing in pain, he moved away, avoiding looking at Crowley. The magician sat down in Bane’s spot, removing his hat and setting it on the edge of the table. “Johann,” he said, shaking his head as he did so. “How long has it been?”

“Almost seven years.”

“And you haven’t changed a bit.”

Burkard puffed away on his cigarette. “I cannot say the same for you, my friend. You’ve gained at least forty pounds, lost your hair and become so pale that you could pass for a ghost.”

Crowley’s lips dipped downwards at the ends but he merely shrugged and answered, “I am your senior. Mortality has a way of catching up with everyone at some point.”

“I heard about the incident at the Followers’ base. A shame to lose so many agents at once.” Burkard smiled teasingly. “Were they really taken out by a single person? And a woman, at that? Doesn’t say much for your warriors.”

“You and I both know that Violet Cambridge is proving herself very capable.”

“So why are you here, Aleister? Not in Atlanta… But right now, here at my table? The last time we saw each other, you had a bullet in your shoulder and I a carving knife in my back. So let us stop playing games: are you here to threaten me? Or propose some sort of alliance that will no doubt end with one or both of us trying to betray the other?”

Crowley threw back his head and laughed. It was a nasty sort of sound and several people at nearby tables stared at him in alarm. “You are so cynical, my boy. But I can’t blame you… your capacity for the truth is only exceeded by your greed. Yes, I’m here to propose that we unite resources. My Followers of the Eclipse are, as you pointed out, all dead. And from what I’ve heard, your loyal driver is no longer on the mortal coil, either.”

“It is strange,” Burkard admitted, picking up his glass of iced tea and swirling the dirty brown liquid before taking a sip. “Here we are… two of the most powerful men in existence and we cannot outwit a single woman.”

“The female is by far the deadlier of the species. Never forget that.”

Burkard finished off his cigarette. “What do you propose?”

“We go to a more private setting and I’ll cast a scrying spell. We can find out where she is and, more importantly, where she’s stashed The Damned Thing.”

“And then we kill her?”

“I’d rather fuck her… and then kill her.”

Burkard thought about Violet’s trim body and nodded. “All right. We will both fuck her. And then we kill her.”

WILL McKENZIE POURED himself a glass of Jack Daniels and stared out the window of his living room. He had a nice home, certainly not the mansion that his friend Max Davies owned, but it was a sturdy single-story house on the edge of Atlanta’s downtown district. It was spacious enough that it could someday allow room for him to bring in a wife and child, though if they had more than one offspring it wouldn’t be enough.

Of course, Will wasn’t planning to get married anytime soon. He was still young enough to relish his role as Atlanta’s most eligible bachelor, though he had been so involved with Violet as of late that he hadn’t bothered returning calls from a half dozen or so interested ladies.

Violet. She was so different from the other girls. She smoked, cursed like a sailor, slept in the nude… If it wasn’t for that incredibly amazing body of hers, he’d almost think she were a man. But she definitely wasn’t a man. She was 100 % woman, full-bodied and sensual.

His attempts to track her down this afternoon had failed miserably and she hadn’t called into the office. His men had picked up Johann Burkard returning to his home with his boy Lazlo in tow but Will had balked at bringing them in for questioning. It wasn’t time for that…. yet. If Violet stayed missing, though, he’d yank them in and give them the business until they coughed up everything they knew. But, Burkard was wealthy enough to be able to afford a small army of lawyers and McKenzie didn’t want to face down a legal firing squad just yet.

Will drank the whiskey in three quick gulps and poured himself another. When this, too, was gone, he poured himself one more before returning the now mostly-empty bottle to the cabinet. He sat down next to the radio, listening to the evening news. The International portion was filled with fearful reports from Europe, where Hitler and his cronies were laying siege to the rest of the continent. Will wasn’t sure how much longer America could avoid getting caught up in that mess. When the reports turned local, he found himself listening to the laundry list of bizarre incidents over the past few days. The city was still basking in the twin glows of the movie premiere and the Christmas holidays, but there was an undercurrent of fear building because of all the shootings and gossip about supernatural goings-on.

The alcohol was beginning to take its effect, warming him up and producing a relaxed sensation. He almost didn’t hear the knocking at his front door but finally roused himself enough to stagger towards the sound. He opened the door and came face-to-face with the woman he’d been chasing all day. Violet Cambridge was in her traditional black but this time it was an off-the-shoulders number that hugged her chest in the most appealing of ways. Her long legs were encased in fishnet stockings and she’d exchanged her usual heels for flats, making her just a few inches shorter than him. The heavy rain that was coming down left little droplets in her hair and on her shoulders. He felt an almost overpowering urge to lean forward and lick one of the drops off her bare arms.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked, trying to sound angry. It was hard to do that when she was looking so good.

“Are you drunk?” she asked, wrinkling her nose in disapproval. She’d had drinks with McKenzie before but had never seen him display any level of impairment.

“A little.” He stepped aside, allowing her to come into the warmth of his dry home. She gave her body a little shake, like a cat, and shivered. “You should dress for the weather,” he murmured.

“I like how I dress.”

“So do I.” The words were out of his mouth before he even knew it and he colored slightly when Violet looked at him with an arched eyebrow. “You want a towel? Or a drink?”

“A towel would be nice.”

When Will returned with one, Violet was seated on his couch, her head tilted back and her eyes closed. The length of her neck looked very enticing and his eyes traveled down it until it reached the swell of her breasts. “Here you go,” he said, his voice husky with desire.

“Thanks.” Violet sat up and smiled, using the towel to dab herself dry.

“Where have you been? I went everywhere looking for you.”

“Not everywhere. I was at the library.”

“What for?”

“Avoiding all the people who were looking for me, silly.”

Will sat down near her on the couch. “When are you going to love somebody again?”

The sudden shift in questioning gave Violet pause. She eyed him steadily. “You are drunk.”

“Answer me.”

“I think people only get one real shot at love. I had mine. And now he’s dead.”

“So you’re never going to marry again?”

Violet’s lips twitched. “Is this a proposal coming on?”

“I’m serious.”

With a sigh, Violet gave a little shrug. “Somebody, maybe. But not you, Will. I’d never marry you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you want a girl to rescue. You want to be the heroic knight who rides in to free the damsel in distress from the horrible fate the world’s planned for her. And I’m not that kind of girl. I can take care of myself.”

Will reached out and touched her arm. “You can’t deny that we make magic together.”

“In bed? Sure we do. But that’s not enough for marriage. Hell, that’s barely enough for a good weekend. The sex can’t go on all the time.”

Violet allowed Will to lean into her, his lips brushing hers. She could smell the whiskey on his breath and felt the heat of his rising lust. “I think we could make it work,” he whispered and despite herself, Violet gave another shiver, this time not from the cold.

“I came over here because I need your help,” she said.

“I thought you could handle yourself.”

“I can… but you could make things easier for me. That’s called friendship. I’m not looking for you to do it all for me, just help me do it myself.”

Will’s hand drifted from her arm to her breast, softly kneading it through her dress. He felt her nipple stiffen against the palm of his hand and he eagerly pulled the dress down a bit, exposing her breast to his feasting eyes. He leaned over and ran his tongue against the crinkled bud, sucking it into his mouth a second later.

Violet gasped and involuntarily placed a hand on the back of his head. She felt his hand going lower now, against her knee and up her thigh. She was growing very damp between her legs and when he raised his lips to hers, she kissed him hard enough to take his breath away.

Her hands fumbled with his zipper, finally releasing his hardness. She tugged on him as they kissed. Within moments they were both naked on the couch, his body covering hers. He rained down kisses on her neck as he drove in and out of her, carrying them both to higher planes of pleasure.

Outside, the rain continued to fall.

AFTERWARDS, VIOLET LAY with her head on Will’s chest. Her fingers were lightly playing with his slick cock, enjoying its spongy hardness. “So are you ready to hear me out now?” she asked.

“About your plan?”

“Yes. I need to get onto Wolf Island. The mental institution there has something I need.”

“If you need an asylum, what’s wrong with Central State Hospital in Milledgeville? Biggest damned nuthouse in the world.”

“I don’t just any asylum… I need the Main Institute in particular. I can destroy The Damned Thing there.”

“That place has tight security and there’s only one ferry that goes and comes from there… once a week, I think.”

“I’ve got all that figured out. Clint Jacobs is going to help. But having you along would give it all an air of authority that can’t be faked.”

“I’ll help… but when all this is over, I want you and I to give this a chance. A real chance.”

Violet sat up and stared at him. “For the last time, Will… I’m not like other girls. I’m too single-minded. When I decided I wanted Walter, I was going to get him, come hell or high water. And now I’m out to avenge Walter and Miles… and I’ll do anything to accomplish that. I’d break your heart in a second if I had to, Will… and I wouldn’t regret it.”

“And what about after you’ve gotten your revenge? What are you going to set your sights on then?”

“I don’t know.”

Will brushed a lock of dark hair out of her eyes. “I don’t believe you. About not caring if you broke my heart. I think you have this tough-girl act of yours down pat but you’re a woman. And a woman needs love like a fish needs water.”

Violet’s eyes became sad. “You’ll help me if I promise to give you a chance, Will?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will.”

He kissed her then and when their lips came apart, she placed her head back on his chest and silently shed a tear. She had no intention of ever taking Will McKenzie to her bed again…. But there was no reason for him to know that. Not until she’d gotten her way.

JOHANN BURKARD FOUND himself amused by the way Daniel Armitage kept shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The crime boss had reported back to Burkard with his tail between his legs, shamefully admitting that he’d been cold-cocked by Violet Cambridge. His car stolen and his pride ruined, Armitage now had a perpetual whipped-dog look to his face.

Lazlo Bane sat at his employer’s side, his hat held tightly in his gloved hands. The prissy little man looked almost as ill at ease as Armitage.

The three men were gathered in Crowley’s lair, seated around a round table. On the table’s surface lay a nude thirteen-year-old girl, her strawberry blonde hair cascading around her shoulders. She was bound at her ankles and wrists by heavy ropes, which disappeared under the table. She had long since stopped her thrashing, now choosing to lay there panting and crying.

“I don’t like this,” Armitage whispered, casting a baleful glance at Burkard. “I do a lot of bad stuff but I don’t kill kids.”

“She’s a whore,” Burkard reminded him. “She works for you at one of your houses of ill repute — remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. But it’s one thing to put a slut on her back and another to slit her throat.”

“I hardly plan to do something as inane as that.”

Armitage jumped in his seat. He looked over at Aleister Crowley, who was entering the room wearing only a plumed cloak. The feathers that covered his flabby shoulders were peacock and their colorful nature stood in stark contrast to the pale white of Crowley’s nudity. His penis stood at rigid attention and the tip gleamed with some form of lubrication. Armitage looked away, feeling sick. “Oh, yeah? So you just gonna get your jollies off on her while we watch?”

Crowley stopped at the edge of the table. His eyes devoured the girl’s nude form like a starving man might eye a turkey. He shrugged off his cloak, letting it fall with a rustle to the floor. He was aware of Armitage’s disgust, just as he could feel Bane’s eyes on his sexual organ. He cared little for either. “Sexual magic is one of the most powerful in this world or any other, Mr. Armitage. I do not expect one of your limited experiences to grasp what you are about to witness… but please be aware that I am not simply rutting like a beast for the sake of doing so. This is an offering.”

Armitage realized that Burkard was staring at him. “Do I have to be here?” he asked with a whine.

“You are free to go at any time,” Burkard answered. “But keep in mind that you asked to be included in this. You said that you were ready for the big time and that if there was a score to be had in your city, you wanted a piece of the action. Or am I misquoting you?”

“I thought maybe that Damned Thing would net me some cash… or at least some kinda power. I didn’t know I’d be watching some fat Limey nut-job screw one of my girls.”

Burkard reached out and gripped Armitage painfully by the shoulder. His eyes seemed to sear themselves into Armitage’s brain. “No one has got you tied to that chair. Either leave or shut the fuck up.”

Armitage nodded and swallowed, hearing the table creaking under Crowley’s weight. The man was on top of the girl now, his pockmarked ass pointed directly at Armitage’s chair. The old man’s dick and balls hug low, partially obscuring the view of the girl’s slit. The crime boss’s lips twisted in disapproval as he saw Crowley insert himself into the girl, his ass cheeks clenching with each powerful thrust. Crowley was chanting something as he fucked the girl, his voice rising and falling. Armitage didn’t recognize what language the words were in but he knew it damned sure wasn’t English. It sounded like something a lot older… Latin, maybe? Armitage wasn’t familiar enough with it to know.

Armitage heard the girl’s moans turn into gagging sounds and he craned his neck to confirm his suspicions. Crowley was choking her now, killing her even as he shot his load inside of her. When he was done, the old magician sat back on his haunches, his cock dribbling the last of his load onto the tabletop. The fat little mobster felt sick when he saw some of the man’s sperm oozing slowly from the dead girl’s vagina.

“Now what?” Bane asked. Unlike Armitage, he had warmed to the scene as it had progressed. His eyes were now alight with curiosity and something akin to desire. Armitage thought the little faggot probably got off on the girl’s pain.

“The spell has been cast,” Crowley said. He crawled off the table, knees cracking, and he looked every bit as old as he truly was. His belly jiggled and his shrunken cock had retreated into its foreskin. “In a few moments, maybe even less, an entity will take root in the girl’s corpse. It will answer our questions for as long as it can, before retreating back to the other side.”

“Bullshit,” Armitage whispered.

Crowley fixed him with a steely gaze. “You doubt my power?”

Armitage shrugged. “I’ve seen some mediums in my time. It’s all a scam. You just wanted to fuck a girl for free, that’s all. And now I’m outta pocket all the money she was gonna be earnin’ me!”

Crowley’s eyes blazed. “Watch and learn, Mr. Armitage. The world is a far stranger place than you have ever conceived!”

Before Armitage could reply, the dead girl’s head lifted off the table. Her eyes were open and filled with a luminescent yellow light. Her lips looked dry and cracked. “Who summons me?” she said and her voice was no longer that of a scared young girl. Though still feminine, the voice now sounded like it belonged to someone far older.

“I do,” Crowley declared, sparing the terrified Armitage one brief triumphant grin before turning back to the talking corpse. “I come seeking knowledge of an artifact that humans called The Damned Thing. Long have I sought this object and now it is very close. So close that with your aid, I can finally claim it for my own!”

Bane exchanged a look with Burkard. Both men heard Crowley very clearly, whether he intended them to or not. He was claiming The Damned Thing as his own, despite the fact that they had agreed to deal with its ultimate ownership after finally locating it.

The horrible thing that had taken root in the girl’s body laughed with deadly malice. “Flatterer. You think that mere words will get me to answer your questions? You must give me more than that…”

“The girl’s soul… it is yours. I have trapped it here in this room, bound it to this spot. Claim it if you wish!”

“She is no virgin this one,” the demon said with disappointment. “So much seed has been dropped into this one’s womb that it’s surprising she did not drip with every step she took!”

“My apologies. She is still very young.”

“Yes… and this snack is better than nothing.” The demon cackled again and her eyes flared brighter. “This thing you seek… I see it traveling over a body of water. To an island it will go, an unwelcoming land. The mouth of Hell yawns wide and waits to receive it… Win or lose, that is the place that shall decide the object’s true fate.”

The girl’s head suddenly fell back with such force that Armitage cringed at the cracking sound. A pool of blood formed beneath the dead female’s skull.

“What the hell was that!?” Armitage demanded, standing up. “All that for some fucking double-talk? She didn’t tell us shit!”

“She told us plenty,” Burkard said. He gestured for Armitage to sit down and the man finally did, straightening his tie in an attempt to maintain his dignity. “You are our local expert, Armitage. What place could she have been talking about? What unwelcoming island is near here?

“There are plenty of islands off the coast but none that have the mouth of Hell on ‘em.”

“Think,” Crowley demanded. “What’s the one island here you wouldn’t want to be stuck on?”

Armitage wracked his brain, trying to make sense of the dead girl’s words. When he finally spoke, he sounded very unsure of himself. “I don’t know… there’s Wolf Island. Mostly swampland but there’s an insane asylum there. I’ve heard bad things about it. Guess I wouldn’t want to end up there.”

“Master, I know of that place,” Bane said. When everyone turned to look at him, he reached up to smooth back his glistening hair. “The Main Institute. It’s where I found Carter Slade. He and one other member of the party who found The Damned Thing were both patients there. I left the other because she was deemed unimportant… while I paid Professor Slade’s way to freedom as you asked me to.”

Burkard snapped his fingers. “Then this cannot be a coincidence. That is the place, Crowley. The Main Institute… that is where this whole affair is going to come to a close!”

The sun was beginning to settle behind the darkening clouds when the ferry made its way to Wolf Island. Jasper Williams shifted his ponderous weight from one foot to the other as the vessel approached the dock. The ferry only came twice a week, once on Monday and again on Thursday. Typically, it brought with it medical and food supplies, enough to sustain a hospital housing some seventy-five patients and nearly that many doctors, nurses, orderlies and armed guards.

The Main Institute was a private facility and in most circles it would have been deemed an asylum. But given the wealth of its clientele, it was usually referred to by the more polite title of ‘mental health clinic.’ Jasper been an orderly here for just under two months and he liked it well enough — even though many of the patients were violent — and more than a few were handy with a racial slur when angered. But Jasper was used to that… being a Negro born and raised in the Deep South, he’d encountered more than a few who couldn’t abide him just because of the color of his skin. Still, he’d managed to become a fairly reasonable sort, with no real hatred of any particular group of people. He was in his early thirties and well educated, despite only having a high school education. He read voraciously and still held out dreams of becoming a doctor someday, though he knew that those were little more than fantasies. But the desire to help those in need had led him here, even though things hadn’t turned out quite like he’d imagined.

Standing on the dock with Jasper were four other orderlies. Like him, they were Negroes and all wore identical white shirts and white slacks. Even their socks and shoes were white. Dr. Thaddeus Main, the man for whom the Institute was named, stood with them. He was rail thin, with jet-black hair and pale skin. His face was cadaverous and seemed to be set in a perpetual frown. Jasper had learned to avoid the man’s wrath, which was legendary on the island.

As the rope lines from the ferry was tossed to the dock, Jasper and the other orderlies jumped to work, tying them off and then rushing onto the ferry itself. The galley had been stripped down to just the metal and Jasper’s shoes clanked against its surface. There were no furnishings on deck save for a few wrought iron benches that were bolted to the floor. Jasper spotted several boxes of supplies and went to begin loading them onto the dock but he came up short when he saw the hospital’s newest patient being led off the boat.

The patient was just less than six feet tall with dirty brown hair that fell in a mess over his forehead. He wore a black suit and tie, which accentuated the paleness of his skin. A large cold sore just above and to the left of his mouth was eye-catching and his hands were handcuffed in front of him. He wore a bit of foundation on his face, along with a bit of what looked like eyeliner. With the man was a lovely young brunette woman with a peaches and cream complexion. She looked as fragile as a Dresden doll and her lovely face was currently etched with concern. Following them both was Atlanta Police Chief Will McKenzie, who had personally escorted the patient, befitting the man’s importance.

Main stepped forward to greet the new arrivals. Just before he spoke, a rumble of thunder rolled across the sky and everyone glanced up to see that the clouds were hanging heavy above, as if in warning. “Welcome to Wolf Island. I am Doctor Main.” He smiled in a condescending manner at the handcuffed man. “And you must be Clint Jacobs. I look forward to working with you during your stay.”

Jacobs said nothing though he stared at Main with murderous intent. Jasper was close enough to know that if Jacobs hadn’t been bound, he would have most likely tried to strangle the doctor.

Main glanced over at McKenzie, who gave him a quick nod. “Good to see you again, Doctor Main. It’s been awhile.”

Looking at the Police Chief, Main smiled coldly. McKenzie was in a dark suit today, looking trim and handsome, like a matinee idol. Main’s distaste for him was almost palpable. “Not since last year’s charity dinner in Augusta, I believe.”

The girl spoke up then, offering a hand to Main. Violet was wearing a color other than black for the first time in years. She wore one of Abby’s dresses, which had been altered by Violet’s favorite seamstress so that the differences in their body types weren’t noticeable. “Hello, doctor. I’m Miriam Jacobs. We spoke on the phone.”

“Of course. You’re just as lovely as your voice indicated.”

Violet blushed slightly, bringing color to her ivory cheeks. She was trying her damndest to remember all of Abby’s nuances, consciously trying to mimic the girl’s vulnerable appeal. “I appreciate you taking my uncle in at such short notice… his behavior has gotten simply dreadful lately and… I’m afraid he’s going to hurt someone. Badly. His penchant for… indecent behavior has always been something of an embarrassment to the family but he no longer seems able to control himself. And the addition of violence to his personality… well, that’s something new and quite horrible.”

Main nodded, ignoring the orderlies who were moving crates of supplies all around them. “Unfortunately, mental disease can affect even the wealthiest members of our society. I know that Mr. Jacobs was a very successful businessman before the recent downturn in his health. I’ll do everything I can to restore him to full health… and do so very discreetly. No one will know that he is here.”

Raindrops began to fall and Main snapped his fingers, motioning for two of his men to escort Jacobs towards the hospital. “If you don’t want to be stuck here on the island for the next 72 hours, I’d advise you to leave on the ferry immediately, Miss Jacobs. We’re expecting a terrible storm and we’re liable to be without radio contact for the duration.”

“Could I stay?” Violet asked. “I know it would be a dreadful inconvenience for you but I’d feel so much better if I could be here for his first few days in the hospital.” Main’s reluctance was obvious so Violet lowered her voice and added, “I’d certainly be willing to pay extra.”

Doctor Main finally relented, spreading his arms in surrender. “Very well. But I must warn you that the storms here can be quite frightening.”

“I’m tougher than I look,” Violet replied, drawing a smile from Main. “Is it okay if Mr. McKenzie stays with me? I confess that I’ve become rather fond of him on the trip over from Atlanta and he’d make me feel much safer.” Violet lowered her eyes shyly, eliciting a humorous wink from McKenzie and a painfully tortured sigh from Main.

“Of course. We would be honored to play host to Chief McKenzie.” His tone suggested he was anything but happy about this turn of events.

The doctor stepped back and watched as Mr. Jacobs and his entourage moved towards the hospital. The three brick buildings lay atop a manicured hill and were ringed by a protective fence, topped by razor wire. Armed guards moved through the grounds, watching as patients tended to the gardens and the lawn. Main knew that it was an unusual image and not one usually associated with asylums. In many ways, it looked more like a prison… but given the violent tendencies of many of his patients, it was well deserved.

Main noticed that Jasper was hanging back, also watching the group. “Get back to work,” he snapped, sending the Negro scurrying towards the hospital, carrying a box of supplies.

Violet and her companions were led to a combination bedroom/holding cell, where Clint Jacobs was to live. It was sparsely furnished with only a bed, a small table and two chairs. The walls were bare and there were no windows. Violet and McKenzie were to be set up in rooms across the hall but as the orderlies and Dr. Main left them, Violet requested that she be allowed to stay with her uncle for the time being.

As soon as they were alone, McKenzie smacked a fist into the palm of his other hand. “This is the strangest hospital I’ve ever been in, Violet. Something’s not kosher. I’ve never trusted Main but this place… it’s more like Alcatraz than a hospital.”

Violet smiled at Jacobs, who was rubbing his wrists, trying to get the blood flowing in them once more. “You did a great job, Clint. You looked like you were going to tear his head off out there.”

“Why thank you, dear. I just tried to picture him as one of those louts from my school days who used to torment me so.” He cleared his throat. “I do hope I won’t have to actually undergo any… treatments… while I’m here?”

“Not if we can help it.” Violet knelt down in front of their baggage and unzipped the largest suitcase. She pulled out a long box and set it upright on the floor. Will moved up next to her, his eyes riveted on the plain brown case. Something about it made his fillings hurt and there arose a dull throbbing in his temples. “Will, did you manage to get those blueprints?”

“Yes… but they’re probably not completely accurate. They’re just the architectural drawings from when it was built. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out they’d made a lot of changes since then.”

“But the basement’s entrance is likely in the same place.”

“True.” Will looked at his watch. “We probably don’t need to try anything until after dark. Until then, I think we should continue to play our roles.” He cast a look over at Jacobs. “And if they come for you… just hang in there. Worst-case scenario, we’ll be out of here tomorrow. I left word back in Atlanta that someone’s to commandeer a boat and bring it out to the island tomorrow, storm or no storm.”

Jacobs nodded, his eyes on the box containing The Damned Thing. “I can’t believe neither of you have looked in that box. How could you resist the temptation?”

Violet looked at him with concern. “Is it talking to you?”

Jacobs blinked. “What? No. I just meant… if it’s so awful, what could it possibly look like? Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

Violet set the box back into her luggage case. “No. It’s bad enough just being around it. If I ever set eyes on it, there’s no telling what hold it would cast over me.”

“You should keep it in your room,” Will whispered in Violet’s ear and she nodded briefly.

“Clint, we’re going to get settled. Please remember what we’ve said… and be careful.” She hesitated and then stepped towards him, embracing him hard. “Thank you so much for this. This really goes beyond typical friend stuff.”

“Oh, hush,” he said with a chuckle. “If I ever need you to go undercover in a mental institution, I’m sure you’ll do the same for me.” With more seriousness, he added, “Besides, I love the chance to play dress up. And you’re a good girl, Violet. You let me be me.”

They separated and Violet picked up her bags. Will tried to take the heaviest of them — the one containing The Damned Thing — but she pulled it away from him. The hallway smelled of cleaning fluids and was so well polished that the lights were blindingly reflected in its surface. They found that Violet’s room was only slightly better than Clint’s. It did have its own bathing area separated from the rest of the room by a curtain and a window that allowed a view of the crashing surf down below. The bedspread had several odd stains and a slightly moldy scent but it wasn’t as bad as some of the hotels she’d stayed in.

McKenzie glanced around with a disapproving expression on his face. “I’m man enough to admit it: I’m scared, Violet. This place gives me the creeps. And that thing doesn’t help,” he gestured towards the bag containing The Damned Thing.

Violet wasn’t listening to him. She was looking out the window and trying — but failing — not to hear the words that The Damned Thing was saying to her. ‘Violet, let me help you,’ it said, in its voice that sounded so much like her own. ‘You don’t need McKenzie or Jacobs or any other man to get your job done. I can show you how to do it all for yourself, the way Walter would want you to. It’s not I who’s to blame for his death or for Miles’, it’s men like Aleister Crowley and Lazlo Bane and Johann Burkard… they’re the real monsters. They’re the ones who should suffer. And when they’re all dead… I can show you how to reach Walter. Death isn’t the end, Violet. You know that now. I can bring the two of you back together.’

Violet realized that Will was shaking her shoulders. “What?” she demanded. She gave his hands a shove, breaking the contact between them.

“You looked like you were in a trance.”

“I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

Violet reached into her purse and brought out a cigarette. She lit it with shaking fingers and took a deep drag on it, calming herself. “I’m just ready to get this over with.”

“Same here.” Will picked up a small duffel bag that belonged to him. “I’ll be next door if you need me.”

“Okay. I’d be surprised if Main didn’t invite us to dine with him tonight.”

“I think you’re being overly optimistic.”

“What do you mean?”

Will looked at her, a deadly combination of vulnerability and strength, shrouded by smoke. It was strange seeing her in Abby’s clothing. It was so bright and cheerful, which rather emphasized how little those words normally described Violet. She could be terrific fun but it was generally fun tinged with high amounts of cynicism. “I mean that Main is likely to invite you to dinner, not me. You’re gorgeous… and, according to our cover story, rich. Those are both qualities he’d find irresistible.”

Violet turned away with a shake of the head. “Jesus. I hope you’re not right about that.”

WILL GRINNED AND stepped out. He nearly bumped into Jasper Williams, who was standing right outside the door. Will recognized him from the dock and gave him a brief nod of the head. “Sorry about that, pal.”

Jasper shrugged, speaking in hushed tones. “Was wondering if I might speak to you, sir.” He looked meaningfully up and down the hallway. “In private, I mean.”

“Sure. Just follow me. I think my room’s next door.”

Jasper trailed after McKenzie, making sure that no one saw him them enter the room together. The quarters were identical to Violet’s, though the view differed slightly. His window was further down the ridge, meaning he saw nothing but muddy grasslands slowly giving way to beach sand.

Tossing his duffel bag onto the bed, Will spread out his arms. “What can I do for you, buddy?”

“My name’s Jasper Williams, sir. And I’ve been an orderly here for only a few months… but there’s bad stuff here. And…” Jasper’s eyes ventured to the wall that separated Will’s room from Violet’s. “…I think there’s a patient here who might have some interest in what your friend there is carrying.”

Will tried to keep the surprise off his face but wasn’t entirely successful. “I don’t know what you mean,” he lied.

“Well, I don’t rightly know either, sir. But I do know there’s a girl here named Eloise Green. Pretty thing, about thirty years old. She’s an emotional wreck and she says it’s all ’cause of some thing that she and her professor dug out of the sand about five or six years ago. When her professor went crazy, she stole the statue from him and tried to sell it, thinking that if she got it away from him, he’d get better. Instead, they both ended up here. But not too long ago, the professor… he was bailed out. That’s what I call it anyway. A fella named Bane came and paid off Doctor Main and they released him into that guy’s custody.”

“Lazlo Bane?”

“That’s him.”

Suddenly Will wished that he were a smoker. He could have used one about now. At the very least, a shot of whiskey sounded mighty fine.

“Anyhow, after the professor left, the girl… she started talking to me now and again. Most of what she said didn’t sound much different from the usual ravings we hear around here. But some of it… some of it kinda seeped into my head and made me wonder a bit. I read up on some of it in the library here and found out that some of her crazy talk wasn’t all that crazy.”

Will heard raindrops begin to fall against his window and he looked out to see the storm beginning in earnest. “Go on,” he urged.

Jasper pulled up a chair and sat down. “She says to me that this hospital is built on top of a big hole, an entrance to Hell. Says it’s something called a Hellmouth. And she says that the thing that drove her and the professor crazy is called The Damned Thing. Just like that — no other name. Just The Damned Thing.” Jasper made a clucking noise, as if he were trying to convince himself that he wasn’t as crazy as he must be sounding. “Anyway, this Hellmouth thing has had an effect on some of the long-timers here. Not just the patients… the staff, too. Main himself… he’s not right. Sometimes he does things to the patients and even some of the staff… it ain’t right.”

“Like what?”

“Like giving people electric shocks until the blood is dripping out of their ears and nose ’cause their brains been turned to tapioca pudding. Or having a grown man stripped to the waist and whipped, just ’cause he had an extra ration of dinner.”

“When that happens to the staff, don’t they quit?”

Jasper fixed him with a serious stare. “I ain’t never heard of nobody quitting. You either join in the craziness or you end up in one of them unmarked graves where the patients end up.”

“What!? Do a lot of patients die here?”

“Four since I’ve been here. One of ’em didn’t have any family but the other three… their folks still think they’re here and so they keep sending checks every month to pay for their treatment. Main’s not planning to tell ’em.”

McKenzie chewed his bottom lip. That Dr. Main was a bad guy didn’t come as a surprise but the effects of the Hellmouth were definitely something they hadn’t planned on. Will wondered if Main would covet The Damned Thing for himself if he found out about it.

“Thanks, Jasper. I appreciate everything you’ve told me.”

“You gonna shut this place down?”

“I’ll try.”

Jasper nodded. “I came here because I wanted to help people, Chief McKenzie. That’s still what I want to do. But these poor bastards aren’t getting helped by being here. They’re just having their souls fed to the devil.”

McKenzie watched as the orderly stood up and left the room, carefully checking to make sure that he wasn’t being observed. When he was gone, Will took his gun out of his holster and checked to make sure it was loaded. Confident that he was ready for danger should it rear its ugly head, Atlanta’s police chief stretched out on the bed and tried to get some rest. Sleep was a long time coming, however.

THADDEUS MAIN WAS walking towards the dock, an umbrella held over his head. His feet splashed through mud puddles and he shivered a bit in the cold wind that was blowing. A few of his guards were hanging wreathes and other holiday decorations around the hospital grounds, a futile attempt to brighten the place in recognition of Christmas. Main cared nothing for the season but he knew that it helped with morale amongst his employees, so he encouraged such things.

For the first time in years, a second ferry was arriving. This one was a privately chartered affair. Main had been alerted to its coming the prior evening, when a telegraph cable from the mainland had arrived. Telephone service was unavailable on the island and the radio was notorious for going in and out, leaving telegraph as the surest means of communication. The message had been terse but to the point: a small party of important men would be coming and Main was to welcome them with open arms. Otherwise, he would be very sorry. Aleister Crowley, a name steeped in rumor and superstition, was listed as the author of the message. Main, who had become something of a devotee of the supernatural in recent years, was delighted by the unexpected visit.

Only one orderly was waiting for him, as per his orders. It was Felix Grau, a mute man who was completely loyal to Main. Grau greeted his employer with a quick nod and then he went to work, catching the lines from the ferry and tying them off. This ferry was much smaller than the usual one but far nicer, with sleek lines and comfortable deck furniture. There were four men waiting to disembark, all wearing hats to shield their faces from the rain.

“Welcome to Wolf Island,” Main said, stepping forward. He had picked out Crowley from the pack, recognizing the man’s intense gaze from photos he had seen.

Crowley offered him a cool smile. The water from his own hat was dripping down in a steady drizzle in front of his face. He offered brief gestures with his hands at his companions. “You know who I am,” he said with only the faintest trace of egotism. “This is Johann Burkard and his man Lazlo Bane. The other fellow is Daniel Armitage.”

“Ah, yes. Mr. Bane. You came here not too long ago.”

Bane nodded, shifting a bit in the pouring rain.

Main struggled to place the other names. Burkard he’d heard of… an occult collector and businessman. Armitage… that name had come up during Main’s trips to Atlanta. A criminal mastermind, it was said. “Let’s go to the clinic, shall we? Get out of this awful weather.”

The four men followed him up the walkway with Grau in the rear. The mute orderly had seen that none of the men had brought any luggage.

“Your message was a bit vague about your true purpose,” Main said.

“Has anyone else arrived here recently?”

“Why, yes. Earlier today we received a new patient.”

“Their name?”

“Clint Jacobs.”

Armitage muttered something under his breath and Crowley came to a halt, staring at the stout man with disdain. “You have something to say, Mr. Armitage?”

“I was just surprised that the doctor would share his name. I thought there was some sort of confidentiality around here.”

Main chuckled. “For normal people, perhaps, but not for the insane. Oh, we keep their names out of the press, surely enough. But it won’t hurt anything to tell you gentlemen. After all, the esteemed Mr. Crowley is worthy of a few indulgences.”

Armitage pulled his jacket tighter around his portly body and said nothing. The ‘esteemed’ Mr. Crowley was going to end up with a bullet in his brain before all was said and done. Armitage just hoped and prayed he’d be the one to send the bastard on to the afterlife.

The group stepped past the razor wire fencing and into the warmth of the hospital itself. Bane had an unpleasant look on his face. He had disliked the Institute immensely on his first visit. It was like a horrible cross between a maximum-security prison and the sort of asylum that Bane had read about in his pulp magazines.

As everyone shook off the raindrops that were clinging to them, Main closed his umbrella and handed it to the guard manning the door. “Mr. Jacobs didn’t arrive alone, however.”

Crowley seemed not at all surprised by this. “A woman came with him,” he stated.

“Yes. His niece. And the Police Chief of Atlanta. They’re both staying overnight.”

Burkard reached out and squeezed Main’s shoulder. “We think they are playing you for a fool, Doctor Main. And we’d very much like to see them get what is coming to them. If you help us do that, you will be very richly rewarded.”

“With money… or something more?” Main looked past Burkard and at Crowley when he asked this.

Crowley smiled, liking the fact that Main recognized that there were far more important things than simply monetary power to be gained here. “I will take care of you, Doctor Main. You have my word on that.”

Main seemed satisfied with that response. “Shall I have Jacobs and the others rounded up and brought to you?”

Burkard was about to say that Main’s suggestion was exactly what he wanted. Crowley, however, spoke first and his answer was quite different. “No. Leave them be for now.” Crowley sniffed the air like a dog. “There is something very powerful here… I can smell the brimstone.”

“It’s in the basement,” Main said, excitement lacing his words. “I found it when we were first building the clinic. It was quite a revelation. Before I came here, I was a firm believer in science. The supernatural was merely a sign of mental illness… but now I know differently. Mankind is just pawns on the great chess board of existence.”

“Too true,” Crowley said. In truth, he disagreed with Main’s conclusions. While the existence of the supernatural was an obvious one, Crowley didn’t believe this made him a slave to more powerful entities. Demons, aliens and the like were simply tools to be manipulated. Crowley was their master, not the other way around. “I wish to see your basement.”

Main nodded. “Of course. Shall I take all of you?”

“Not me,” Armitage said. “I want to get someplace and dry out. Maybe have a stiff drink. You got any booze on this island?”

“We have spirits, yes. I will make sure that you are given comfortable quarters. Mr. Burkard? Mr. Bane? Are you going to join him?”

Lazlo leaned close to his employer. “Unless you need me…?”

Burkard shrugged. “Go with Armitage. Make sure he remembers where his loyalty lies.”

Lazlo nodded, trying to hide his eagerness about avoiding a trip to the clinic’s basement level. He wasn’t sure what was down there but from the way Crowley spoke of it, it didn’t sound like anything he wanted to be near. As Burkard and Crowley left with Main, Lazlo fell in step with Armitage. Grau, who seemed to regard them with something like disdain, was leading them down the hall. As they passed by several of the locked rooms, they could hear the patients gibbering madly. Some screamed while others laughed, but most merely spoke nonsense words in a pleading tone.

“Burkard must pay you a pretty penny for you to put up with this kind of weird shit,” Armitage said, casting a sideways glance at Bane. “Or do you enjoy it?”

Bane shifted a bit, offering an uncertain smile. “He does pay me immensely well. And he gives me the occasional gift that suits my… desires. But I would not say I enjoy his dealings with the supernatural. They unnerve me.”

“They do a hell of a lot more than that to me. They disgust me.” Armitage waved a hand around him, indicating their surroundings. “I mean, an asylum is bad enough… but a damned hole that looks like the devil’s mouth down in the basement? Hearing clues from a dead girl’s mouth? Makes me feel better about stealing money from the orphan’s fund, I tell you.”

“The Damned Thing is supposedly capable of answering any question that is asked. There’s great power in that,” Bane said.

Armitage grunted. “And you’re willing to let your boss get all that for himself, huh? While you walk off with a pretty little faggot on your arm and a new gold watch?”

Bane colored a bit, embarrassed at how easily Armitage had pegged his sexuality. Then again, it wasn’t a particularly well-kept secret. “Mr. Burkard can have the power… he’ll also be stuck with the curse.”

“So you don’t have any interest in turning the tables on your boss and his good-for-nothing magician friend?”

“I have occasionally thought about betraying Mr. Burkard’s trust… but in the end, I would never do such a thing. I have seen firsthand how he handles those who have betrayed him and it is not a pretty thing.”

“And what if he was dead? No way for him to get revenge then.”

Bane was spared having to answer at that moment because Grau stopped outside an open door. Inside were a fireplace, a small table and several plush chairs. A cigar box lay on the table, revealing a wide array of expensive brands.

The room was not empty, however. Seated in one of the chairs, an open book on her lap, was Violet Cambridge.

Violet looked up as the two men paused in the doorway. Only the briefest flicker of surprise touched her features and then she was cool and collected once more. “Armitage. Bane. Looks like the gang’s all here.” She closed the book she’d been reading and Bane caught the title on the leather bound volume: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. “Come on in,” she added, gesturing towards the two closest seats. “We can catch up on old times.”

Lazlo moved closer, fidgeting slightly. “Ms. Cambridge. I was not expecting to see you here.”

Violet leaned out of her chair, adopting a stage whisper that Armitage could hear. “Notice the dress, Lazlo? I’m here in disguise. Mind calling me Miriam?”

Armitage snorted and sat down, obviously more at ease with someone like Violet. They might hate each other but at least it was good, old-fashioned hate with nothing supernatural about it. “Your ass is in serious trouble, girl.”

“Do tell.”

Bane cleared his throat, looking at Armitage with wide eyes. He was obviously trying to do his best to convince the other man to keep quiet but Armitage was having none of it.

“Aleister Crowley and Johann Burkard are both here. They’re looking at some pit to hell in the basement right now.”

Violet felt her heart skip a beat. How had they figured out what she was planning? She was now doubly glad that she’d decided to wander a bit before checking on Clint again. She’d initially just wanted to explore a bit without Will hovering over her shoulder and had finally come to this sitting room when she’d realized that most of the institute was locked off. “I can’t imagine they’ll be happy that you told me this.”

Armitage nodded. “I suspect you’re right. Now I could just deny that I ever said anything… but there’s a catch, see? And his name is Lazlo Bane.” Bane’s tongue appeared, nervously swiping across both his upper and lower lips. He looked like he might bolt for the door at any minute. Armitage and Violet both took note of this and both allowed their hands to drop to where their weapons were hidden: for Armitage, his gun was holstered under his jacket; for Violet, it was in her purse, which lay on the floor next to her chair.

“The really interesting thing,” Armitage said, continuing to watch Bane closely, “is that right before we ran into you, Lazlo and I were having a conversation about loyalty. He thinks that it’s better to be a toady forever rather than risk a shot at the brass ring.” The crime lord smiled broadly at Violet, winking conspiratorially. “Now you and me… we think alike, right? You got an opportunity, you take it.”

Violet found herself warming to Armitage. It was a disconcerting emotion. “I quite agree.” She looked towards the door and noted that Grau was no longer there. They were alone.

Armitage noticed that she was about to draw her weapon but he shook his head. “Let me. I have a silencer.”

By this point, Bane realized that he was in grave danger. The prissy little man threw his hat down and began a mad scramble to safety. He only managed three steps towards the door before Armitage had fired two shots. The firearm suppressor that was screwed onto the end of his pistol’s barrel kept the sound so quiet that no one outside the room would have heard anything. His aim was nearly perfect, too. The first shot caught Bane in the throat, resulting in a tidal wave of blood that gushed down the man’s shirt with every pulse of his heart. The second shot pierced Bane’s heart, ending his life. He fell onto the carpet in front of the fireplace, twitching as his eyes became glassy.

Violet was on her feet before Bane had stopped moving. “Thanks for that.”

“I didn’t do it for you, sister. I did it for me. That little faggot was a coward and I don’t have a place for people like that.” Armitage holstered his gun and adjusted his tie as he rose from his chair. “What was your plan? You gonna toss that statue into the pit to hell?”

“That’s it in a nutshell. We don’t have long before somebody finds out about this.” She looked around and spotted a small closet. A quick examination showed that it was unlocked and contained a few small cleaning supplies. “Drag his body in here.”

“What about the blood stains?”

Violet knew that dragging a chair over them wouldn’t work. His body was lying in a spot where furniture would look very odd if put there. “Can’t be helped.”

Armitage grunted and went to work. Despite the fact that he outweighed Bane by nearly a hundred pounds, the man’s dead weight made it difficult going. The crime boss was huffing and puffing by the time he finally shoved Bane’s corpse into the closet and Violet shut the door.

“Now what?” he asked, fanning himself by rapidly opening and closing his jacket.

Violet looked down at her gaily-colored dress. “First order of business: we head back to my room and I change into something black. If it’s all falling to pieces, I want to be in comfortable clothes.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m really fucking serious. Don’t argue with a woman when she says she wants to change clothes.”

CROWLEY FELT BOTH terrified and elated. The Hellmouth was bigger than he’d imagined, being nearly twelve feet high and some fifteen feet wide. It rested on the floor, like a gaping mouth ridged by rocky teeth. A stench tumbled out of it on a regular basis, like the belching of some ancient and diseased god.

The basement had brick walls and a dirt floor. It was lit only by two small electric bulbs, which hung from the ceiling on thin wires. The breeze emanating up from the Hellmouth caused the lights to occasionally swing, giving the room a psychedelic effect as shadows and light warred with each other.

The world’s most powerful dark magician crouched at the Hellmouth’s edge and peered down into its stygian darkness. “Have you ever dropped anything into it?”

Main sounded quite proud. “Yes. On two different occasions. The first time was nearly six months ago. I tied a rope around a cat I’d found on the grounds and lowered him in. I felt a powerful tugging on the rope and nearly lost my grip on it. After a moment, the pressure on the other end vanished and I reeled it back in. The cat was still there, but it was howling in agony. All the fur and flesh from its body was gone. It had been flayed while still alive. I killed it with a strong kick to the head. It was a mercy slaying.”

Crowley seemed to be pleased by these comments. He nodded and smiled. “And the second time, Doctor Main?”

“The second time was just last week.” Main shifted his weight from foot to foot, hesitating. “We had a troublesome guard here at the institute. He found fault with some of our methods for treating schizophrenia. When he threatened to expose our secrets, I had him drugged and brought down here. I rolled his body in.”

Burkard, standing quite far from the Hellmouth, was the one who asked the obvious. “‘What happened?”

“At first, nothing. I was terribly disappointed. After nearly ten minutes, I prepared to head back upstairs. That’s when I heard an odd sound behind me. I turned towards the Hellmouth and saw three tentacles rising up from below. They weren’t quite like those of an octopus or squid… they were different in some unholy way that’s hard to describe. The tentacles felt along the edge of the mouth, as if they were searching for more scraps to eat. Finally, they dipped back below.”

Burkard moved a few steps closer. He caught Crowley’s eye. “I say we take The Damned Thing from her now. We toss her and her friends into this pit and then get the hell away from here.”

Crowley rose to his full height and regarded Burkard with open contempt. “I would expect nothing less from you, Johann. You’re a coward at heart. We have a wonderful opportunity here, my boy. Yes, we will take The Damned Thing from her. But we also have the ability to commune with the dukes of hell! How can you turn away from that?”

“Because it does not sound like the dukes of hell are down in there! It sounds to me like there is some hungry demon that would just as soon flay you as grant you terrible power! But if you want to go crawling down in there, be my guest. I’ll take the statue and you can have the Hellmouth. A fair trade?”

“I think it far more likely — and deserving — that I get both.”

Burkard drew a handgun, cocking it before uttering a small chuckle. “I have a better idea. How about you take a flying leap into the Hellmouth right now? You can get a firsthand look at your dukes of hell.”

“Gentlemen, please!” Main held up his hands, obviously seeking a peaceful resolution. “I don’t know what object you’re talking about but if our visitors today have brought something to this island, they won’t leave with it! I’ll procure it for the two of you and you can sort out its ownership later.”

Crowley kept his eyes on the pistol pointed in his direction. “What do you say, Johann? Shall we take the good doctor’s advice?”

Burkard seemed unmoved. “Not sure I see why that would be an advantage to me. I can remove you now and be assured of getting The Damned Thing for myself. Leave you alive and I’ll just have to watch out for you betraying me later.”

Crowley spread his arms and lowered his head. “Then by all means, get it over with, Johann. Your logic is inescapable.”

Burkard whirled about when Main lunged for him. The asylum’s director grabbed hold of Burkard’s wrist and the two men began wrestling for control of the weapon. Crowley wisely chose to stay out of the fracas, though he began creeping towards the door. If Burkard came away with the gun, Crowley would simply step out of the basement and lock his rival inside.

Main hissed like a cat and Burkard was shocked at the strength of the other man. Only one of them had fought and killed multiple enemies, however, and that was Johann Burkard. The occult collector had earned his wealth not just through savvy business dealings but also through a violently ferocious nature. The German managed to twist the gun barrel until it was wedged against the underside of Main’s chin.

Burkard smiled, leaning close so that his lips brushed against the director’s ear. “Take two and call me in the morning, doctor.” Burkard squeezed the trigger twice, though only one shot was necessary to blow off the top of Main’s head. A bloody spray consisting of bone fragments, blood and brain matter rained down a moment later, soaking Burkard’s hair and shoulders. Main’s corpse toppled backwards, landing a few feet away from the Hellmouth.

Crowley was now on the other side of the doorway, ready to slam the barrier shut. “There is no need for this, Johann. We had an agreement and I was willing to fulfill it.”

Burkard reached up to wipe a bit of gore out of the corner of his eye. Without answering Crowley, he put away his gun and moved towards Main’s body. “Help me, will you?” he asked. He bent over and began rolling Main’s remains towards the Hellmouth.

Crowley hesitated but finally moved to offer a hand. He was much too curious to see the Hellmouth in operation to refuse. Together, they shoved the corpse into the hole and it vanished without a trace. Another noxious burst of gas emanated from the hole as it welcomed in its new prize.

The two men stood up and moved away from the Hellmouth. “Not planning to dump me into the pit any longer?” Crowley asked, panting a bit.

“You would just give whatever is down there indigestion,” Burkard replied. “I don’t trust you, Crowley…. And I meant what I said. It makes more sense to be rid of you than it does to keep you around.”

“But?”

“But this entire affair has featured more twists and turns than I care to keep track of. You might still be useful to—”

A green-tinged tentacle rose up from the Hellmouth, dancing teasingly in the air before slowly retreating. Burkard cast a glance at Crowley, whose eyes were open wide. The older man looked like a sailor given his first look at prime female flesh in several years. Burkard half believed that Crowley was going to jump into the Hellmouth of his own accord, so obviously entranced was he. Then the lustful look faded and Crowley cleared his throat, once more in control of himself.

“The Damned Thing,” he said in a husky voice. “We must retrieve it.”

Burkard nodded. It was time to end this long, strange chase.

“IT’S NOT HERE.”

Armitage stared at the black-garbed Violet, his eyes narrowed. The girl was holding an empty box, staring at its open interior with an expression of disbelief. “What the fuck do you mean?”

“I meant what I said. I’ve been carrying it in this box and now it’s not here.” Violet threw the box down and looked around her room. Nothing else had been disturbed but that meant little. Anyone who had come looking for The Damned Thing would have found it easily enough. The statue wanted to be found, after all, and would have gladly snaked its voice into the mind of almost anyone.

“Maybe your friends took it for safekeeping.”

Violet nodded, hurrying towards McKenzie’s room. She didn’t think that Will would have done that but she couldn’t be sure. He might have thought he was protecting her. After several loud knocks, the police chief opened the door, his eyes widening as he saw Armitage standing behind Violet. “The Damned Thing… do you have it?” Violet asked, pushing past him into his room.

“Of course not. You were keeping it. What’s he doing here?”

“I’m on your side, officer.” Armitage showed his teeth as he smiled. “Ask your girl.”

“I’m not his girl,” Violet muttered under her breath. She put a hand to her forehead, rubbing it to try and soothe away the headache that was building. “Will, they’re here. Crowley and Burkard. Armitage and I just killed Bane and hid his body. And now The Damned Thing is missing. If they’ve already gotten it…”

Will looked thoughtful. “What about Clint? Have you asked him yet? He was interested in looking at it.”

“He wouldn’t have done that,” Violet said, but her words lacked conviction. She was out the door again in a flash, the two men at her heels. “Besides, he was locked in his room. The patients can’t get out from the inside.”

“We were the last ones to see him,” Will pointed out. “Did you lock his room when we left?”

“No. But I assumed they locked automatically.”

“Shouldn’t make assumptions, girlie.” When Armitage received a withering stare from Violet, he shut up.

Violet opened the door to Clint’s room without knocking. What she found left her even more disturbed. The room was empty: no Clint Jacobs, no Damned Thing. His bags were left on the floor and a small ledger that belonged to him lay open on the nightstand. Otherwise, there was no sign of him. Violet moved to the ledger and noticed that several sentences were scrawled there in Clint’s precise script: It sounds so much like my own voice. I can’t fathom how she can just lock it up like that. It knows so much… it says it can tell me not just what investments to make, but also all my lover’s secrets. She’s so much stronger willed than I am. Temptation has always been my weakness. I give in too easily. I don’t see how one look could be so bad… Damn my soul? My soul was damned a long time ago! Hah!

“What’s it say?” Will asked, though from the tone in his voice, it was obvious that he knew what had happened.

“He took it,” Violet confirmed. “Damn it!”

“It’s going to be okay,” Will said.

“Stop trying to coddle me,” Violet snapped. “Clint’s cursed by that thing now. And if Burkard or Crowley find him before we do, he’s going to be killed.”

“Where do you think the fruit would have gone?” Armitage lit a cigar as he spoke.

“I don’t know.” The sound of rainfall outside grew louder and the lights flickered off for a second before the generator kicked in. “The gates are probably locked on the fence outside. That means he’s got to be the on the grounds somewhere. The way the storm’s raging, I can’t imagine he’d be outside… so we just need to look for him in the hospital itself. Let’s split up and meet back here.”

McKenzie nodded. “I’ll head to the orderly station first. I met a guy named Jasper Williams. He says this hospital is tainted by the supernatural. A girl named Eloise Green is here and she had some dealings with The Damned Thing before. He’d be willing to help, I’m sure of it.”

“I ain’t going nowhere by myself. Not in this madhouse.” Armitage chomped on his cigar, looking very much afraid.

“Then stay here,” Violet said dismissively. “If Clint comes back or if Main comes looking for us, you think of something to say and make sure nothing gets out of control.”

“Can we trust him?” McKenzie asked, gesturing towards Armitage.

“No. But what choice do we have?”

Will impulsively kissed her and Violet allowed him to, though she’d didn’t return it with much ardor. He didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he simply attributed it to the stress she was under. They parted in the hallway, striding away in different directions. Though she hadn’t told him so, she recognized the name Eloise Green. She’d seen it on the nameplate of a door on the second floor during her wanderings. It had been one of a dozen or so names that had stuck out in her head for seemingly no reason. Now she wondered if something in the back of her mind hadn’t been called to her name.

Violet smiled at an orderly who passed her on the stairs. The man eyed her crudely, his gaze traveling from her breasts down to her hips. He never once glanced at her face. As soon as he was out of sight, Violet’s expression changed. She was growing to hate this place. The men who worked here, the medicinal smells that mingled with human waste, and the general ambience of the dimly lit hallways all combined to make it seem like something from a Gothic horror novel.

The second floor looked much like the first, though a pair of locked steel doors at the end of the hall was very unsettling. A small plaque next to the doors read “Electro-Shock Therapy” and Violet could easily conjure images of the sort of torture that went on in there. She slowly moved down the hall, ignoring the whisperings and moans that came from each of the doors. When she finally found the one marked Eloise Green, she paused for a moment, examining the lock. It wasn’t a particularly difficult one. Kneeling in the hallway, she pulled a lockpick from her purse and set to work. In less than thirty seconds, she heard the tumbler slide into position and the door swung open with a creak.

The interior of the room was very dark and Violet noticed that the only light came from a small lamp set on a nightstand next to the bed. The room stank of unwashed flesh. The girl who sat up on the bed, staring at her with wide, fearful eyes, might have once been considered beautiful but that would have been long ago. She was thin to the point of emaciation and her eyes were sunken hollows in the gaunt skeleton of her face. She wore only oversized brown trousers and a loose-fitting button-down shirt. She had on no shoes or socks. Her hair was matted with tangles and Violet saw tiny black flies buzzing around the room.

“Who are you?” the girl asked and her voice sounded so hoarse with dryness that Violet’s heart nearly broke. A closer examination revealed that Eloise’s lips were cracked and bleeding.

Violet moved into the room, pushing the door shut behind her. “My name is Violet. Don’t worry. I’m going to get you out of here.” Even as she said it, Violet knew she meant it, too. She’d come here thinking the girl might have something useful to say about The Damned Thing…but now that she’d seen her, she knew she could never leave anyone in these conditions.

Eloise swung her legs over the side of the bed and struggled to her feet. The smell was overwhelming as she staggered towards Violet. She collapsed into the older woman’s arms, making a strange sound that Violet quickly realized was a cry of some kind. The poor girl was so moisture deprived that she couldn’t even sob properly. “Please be real. Please don’t be a dream. Did Jasper really go get help? He said he would. He told me I’d be okay.”

Violet recognized the name Jasper from Will’s earlier comments. She stroked the girl’s hair and spoke soothingly in her ear. “Eloise, please listen to me. Before I can get you out of here, there’s something I have to do first.”

Eloise pulled back and looked into Violet’s eyes. “You’ve been touched by it, too, haven’t you? I can… smell it on you.”

“The Damned Thing? Yes. It’s here, on the island.” Violet’s words set off a round of thrashing from Eloise, who began moaning and shaking her head. Violet gripped the girl hard by the forearms and restrained her. “I’m going to destroy it!”

Eloise stopped, panting from her exertions. “How?”

“I’m going to send it back to hell.”

Eloise laughed at that and it was a chilling sound, full of madness. “That’s good,” she said. “I like that… Back to hell.”

“You know about the pit that’s in the basement? The Hellmouth?”

Eloise stopped laughing and the corners of her lips seemed to tremble. Violet wasn’t sure if the girl was going to start laughing again or break down into tears. “Yes. It lets out evil… gets into everybody’s minds. I’ve had things… done to me by Doctor Main and his men… it makes me glad I’m not pretty anymore. I… I was passed around like a party favor and it made me so sick…”

“Well, it won’t happen anymore. Listen, do you know of anything that might throw off my plans? I’m going to throw the statue down into that hole, where nobody will ever find it.”

“I’m not sure that will be enough. It’ll just find its way back to the world.”

“Maybe. But it seems like the best idea I’ve come across.”

“Wh-where is it?” Eloise was obviously terrified, as if The Damned Thing was about to appear over Violet’s shoulder.

“A friend of mine has it. I’m not sure where he’s at, actually. I think the statue has been… talking to him.”

“I know where he is.”

“You do?” Violet narrowed her eyes, wondering if perhaps Eloise was so far gone that it would be a detriment to try and take her along. “How would you know that?”

“Because I heard its voice. The Damned Thing. I heard it in the hallway earlier. It… recognized me. I thought I was imagining it… I do that, sometimes. But if it’s really here, that must have been it.”

“So Clint brought it past your door?”

“Yes. He was going into the electro-shock room. I heard the door clang shut and lock.”

Violet released the girl and stepped back into the hall. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Eloise nodded. “Be careful.”

“I will.” Violet reloaded her pistol and kept it in hand as she approached the electro-shock therapy room. She left her purse behind in Eloise’s room, not wanting to be distracted by it. A quick pull at the handle of the door revealed that it was locked, which wasn’t surprising. Unlike Eloise’s door, this one didn’t look like it would be easy to break. Violet knocked on the door, pressing her face close to the surface. “Clint! If you’re in there, please open up! If someone finds me here, it’s going to be hard to explain…”

To her surprise, the door unlatched almost immediately and sprang open. Violet stepped inside and saw Clint Jacobs on the far side of the room, holding a pair of electrodes against his forehead with one hand. His free hand was resting on the controls of the electricity machine. He looked like he’d been crying. Violet looked around, wondering who had opened the door but saw no one. “Clint? What’s going on? Where’s the statue?”

“It’s on the floor next to my feet,” Clint said, taking a deep breath. “You should see it, Violet. It’s so… hard to describe. It looks like nothing I’ve ever seen… but at the same time, it was so familiar. It’s like something… so familiar you had totally forgotten.”

“It’s time to give it back, Clint.”

“Why do you have a gun, Violet?”

“In case I ran into Main or his men… or Crowley. He’s here, along with Burkard. Our plan’s kind of fallen to pieces.”

“I think the gun’s for me.”

“Don’t be silly.” Violet lowered the gun, keeping it at her side. She began to approach, moving around the side of the long white table. The straps on the table looked like they’d been used many times. Clint’s fingers twitched on the dial that would start the machine running.

“Don’t come any closer,” he warned.

“Or what? You’re going to zap yourself? Why would you do that?”

“Because I don’t want to keep living in this world. It’s awful, Violet. The things it told me… I didn’t want to believe them but I knew they were true. Every horrible word of them.”

“What could it have possibly said to you, Clint? You have to know that thing’s evil. It lies. It wants to hurt you. It wants to upset you. So what could it have said to make you forget all that?”

Jacobs looked like he was about to share what he’d heard but then he shook his head. “No. I won’t do that to you.”

“Tell me. Please.” Violet didn’t have any real desire to hear what awful things had set her friend on this path but she wanted to keep him talking until she could get close enough to pull him away from the electro-shock device.

“I asked him what the purpose of life was.”

Violet was almost within reach. If she lunged for him…

“We’re nothing but meat, Violet. Nothing but meat. You know how you beat a piece of meat with a hammer to soften it up? That’s what life does to us… it tenderizes us, through pain and suffering. That’s all we are to the Great Old Ones — toys and meat.”

Violet tensed, ready to jump. Jacobs saw what she was doing, however, and he twisted the knob, flooding his body with electricity. Sparks flew from the electrodes attached to his skin and his hair immediately stood on end. His eyes bulged sickeningly and then burst, the awful stench of burning flesh searing Violet’s nostrils. He’d turned it far past the accepted safety levels but Violet was still shocked at the damage being done in just a matter of seconds. Had Main made some modifications to the unit?

Violet found where the machine was plugged into a small generator and yanked out the cord. The lights in the room flickered and briefly went out. When they returned, Violet crept over to where Jacob’s smoldering body lay on the floor. His mouth was open and his bloated, blackened tongue hung out past his lips. It looked like a hot dog that had been left too long in a campfire.

“Oh, Clint. I’m so sorry. I swore I wouldn’t get you involved in this but I did, anyway…” Violet reached out and touched his face, yanking her hand back in surprise when she felt how hot he was.

He would have died anyway. He had syphilis. Better to go out by your own hand than to slowly lose your mind with pain.

Violet froze in place, hearing the voice of The Damned Thing. She took several deep breaths before closing her eyes. Blindly, she reached out and felt along the floor until her fingers brushed against the base of the statue. It felt like touching an ice cube. Without even intending to do so, Violet let her hands drift up, moving over the contours of the statue. Her mind filled in the details: the fat, stubby legs that led up to a bloated belly. A forked tail was curled along the hip, extending from just above the buttocks on the back. Bat-like wings were extended out from between the shoulder blades and the face felt like an artist’s nightmare: elephantine and inhuman. As her fingers moved past the thing’s carved mouth, something sharp pricked her skin and she cried out, almost opening her eyes as well. She sucked on her injured finger, tasting blood. Had the statue bitten her? Was that even possible?

She thought then about The Damned Thing’s words about Clint. Was he really carrying syphilis? Or was that just one of its awful lies?

I don’t need to lie, Violet. The truth is always a greater weapon.

“Fuck you,” she hissed. She grabbed the statue roughly by the base and stood up, yanking off the sheet that been covering the restraining bed. She wrapped the statue up tightly in the sheet and then opened her eyes, secure that she wouldn’t be forced to see the thing’s awful visage.

She was about to leave the room when the door abruptly swung open and Eloise Green stood there, staring at her. The girl’s eyes flickered down to Clint’s dead body and for a second Violet was terrified that she would scream and bring attention on them. But the girl simply stared in silence… as if she saw worse things on a daily basis. She looked back at Violet and wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sorry. When the lights blinked on and off, I got scared.”

“It’s okay. We need to get to the basement.” Violet hurried out, letting Eloise fall in step. “If we don’t get rid of this thing soon, I’m afraid none of us are getting out alive.”

The two women hurried back downstairs and came to a sudden stop. Will and a tall black man that Violet guessed to be Jasper Williams were standing facing them, hands raised in the air. Standing behind them were Johann Burkard and Aleister Crowley. Burkard had a pistol shoved into Will’s back.

“Sorry, Violet. They took me by surprise.” Will looked incredibly chagrined and under other circumstances Violet would have laughed at the expression on his face. He was obviously terribly embarrassed by this turn of events.

Burkard was staring at Eloise with interest. “That does not look much like Mr. Jacobs, Violet. Did you trade him in for a real woman?”

Violet was aware that she was still holding her gun in her right hand. Unfortunately, she’d left her purse in Eloise’s room and the girl hadn’t thought to bring it with her. That meant that she had only one clip of ammunition… more than enough to take care of two men under normal circumstances. But both Burkard and Crowley were far from the usual goons she had to kill. “This is Eloise Green. She has a history with The Damned Thing.”

Burkard’s eyes widened. “She is the one who stole the statuette from the professor, isn’t she? Lazlo told me she was here.”

Eloise took a step back, moving behind Violet. The girl had wide, frightened eyes and Violet thought she looked a bit like a rabbit. She wasn’t sure if Eloise was about to bolt, freeze in panic or take up arms against her enemies.

Crowley stepped around the prisoners, his eyes riveted to the object held tightly in Violet’s grip. “Hand it here, child. There’s no reason you have to die for it. It was simple chance that led to your possession of it.”

“My husband died for it. So did my partner. And one of my best friends just killed himself because of it!” Violet tightened her grip on The Damned Thing and raised her gun, leveling it at Crowley’s head. “So it looks to me like we’ve got a Mexican standoff.”

Burkard moved closer, placing the barrel of his pistol against the back of McKenzie’s head. “Not really. You are certainly welcome to kill Crowley if you want. Hell, I almost did it myself a few minutes ago. But I am betting you would prefer not to have your boyfriend’s brains sprayed all over the floor.”

Violet hesitated. Crowley didn’t look very afraid, either. But with steely determination, she cocked her pistol. “Go ahead and kill him, Burkard. I’ll have shot Crowley and turned my gun on you before his body hits the floor.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“No. I’m not. Will’s a wonderful guy but this is more important. I can’t let you two get hold of this. If we all have to die together, that’s fine.”

McKenzie turned his head slightly, addressing Burkard. “She’s right. She knows I’d understand.”

Crowley was ignoring the conversation, even though his life might depend on its outcome. He was staring at Eloise Green, using his hypnotic gaze to take hold of her. It was a skill he’d learned in the Orient and he’d put it to good use over the years. He could bend the wills of almost anyone, especially if they were as broken as this girl appeared to be. He saw Eloise relax, her gaze locked on his. Slowly, he began to whisper to her. Her eyes dropped to his lips, reading his nearly soundless words.

Eloise nodded, suddenly jerking into motion, grabbing Violet by the throat and squeezing hard. The unexpected attack caused Violet to drop The Damned Thing and it hit the floor with a loud cracking sound. Crowley rushed forward to scoop it up, even as Violet was trying to extricate herself.

“I have it!” Crowley roared.

Burkard raised the butt of his gun and brought it down hard against the back of McKenzie’s head. The police chief groaned and swayed on his feet, landing hard. Burkard then pointed the gun at Jasper and motioned towards a nearby patient’s room. “Unlock the door and get inside.”

Jasper fumbled for his keys, using one to open the door. He looked over at Violet, who had freed herself but who was now staring with concern at the two villains, both of whom possessed broad smiles. Eloise was standing there, looking confused. The thought of her suffering more indignities roused a sense of fury in Jasper’s chest and with a growl the big man suddenly whirled about, swinging a beefy fist that caught Johann Burkard flat on the nose. A crunching sound was audible as the bone splintered. Blood spurted from each nostril and Burkard stumbled back. A shard of his nose had been driven up into his brain and he was suddenly confused as his thoughts became disjointed. He blinked as darkness encroached upon his consciousness and he slipped to his knees, gibbering nonsense.

Violet seized that moment to brush aside Eloise. She pointed her gun at Crowley once more and this time she squeezed off two shots. The magician had already begun ducking and turning so the bullet wounds weren’t fatal. One of the shells caught him in the back of his shoulder and the other nicked the top of his ear, creasing his skull but doing no permanent damage.

Violet strode towards him and yanked The Damned Thing away. She looked at Jasper. “Thanks for that. Listen, can you take care of Eloise and Will?”

“I can do that.” Jasper looked down at Crowley, who was groaning. “What about him?”

Violet knew she should put a bullet into the man’s head and leave it at that. Killing certainly wasn’t something she minded doing… but generally she killed in self-defense. Maybe she should be more proactive this time? She’d be doing the world a favor by removing a piece of trash like Crowley…

Do it, Violet! You’re right — as long as he’s alive, he’s a risk to you and everyone else! How many innocent lives will he ruin just because you felt guilty for killing him?

That cinched it. Violet delivered as strong a kick as she could muster, driving the point of her shoe against the side of Crowley’s head. The magician rolled on his back, eyes tightly closed. He looked very old like that and Violet almost felt sorry for him.

Almost but not quite.

“I thought you were gonna kill him,” Jasper said.

Violet held up The Damned Thing, which was still covered by its sheet. “I’m not doing anything this thing tells me to.”

“Where are you going?” Eloise asked. She looked shaken and confused, continually blinking her eyes as if to ward away troublesome thoughts. Violet didn’t know why she’d attacked her but assumed that Eloise had succumbed to a desire to claim The Damned Thing again.

“I’m going to end this,” Violet said. Without another word she began walking down the hall, heading towards the basement. She’d rounded the corner and begun approaching the basement door when she heard someone clear their throat behind her. She froze, grip tightening on her pistol. She tried to remember how many bullets she had left…

“Just me, doll.” Violet relaxed only slightly. Armitage walked up beside her, a cigar dangling from between his lips. He held up one of Violet’s cigarettes. “Want one?”

“Where’d you get that?”

“Found it on the floor back there. Must have fallen while you were fighting. I watched the whole thing but stayed out of it.”

“How brave of you. You should go wait with Jasper and the others. I don’t need any help.”

“You say that now… but you don’t know. Maybe old Lucifer’s gonna jump out of that pit and try to rip you open.”

“And you’re going to help me then? Or just stand back like you did back there and see who comes out on top?”

Armitage shrugged, chewing on his cigar. “You don’t want the help, you don’t get the help. I was just trying to get this thing over with, just like you. I’m ready to go back to Atlanta and get back to the old routine. I’ve had my fill of demons, hauntings and creepy old magicians.”

In that regard, Violet believed him. She felt the same way, in fact. “Fine. Come on. But stay out of the way and don’t get any bright ideas about grabbing the statue for yourself.”

“Never even crossed my mind, doll.”

Together, they descended into the Hellmouth’s home.

Violet felt her mouth go dry as she looked upon the Hellmouth. The stench from it was almost overpowering and she thought she heard something deep below slithering somewhat wet and sticky. The floor seemed to rumble at its movement. The Damned Thing had gone quiet, but she didn’t know if that was out of fear for what was to come or anticipation. She hoped that old Sinclair Watson was right and that this would end the horrible affair.

Of course, it doesn’t mean that I’m going to be safe. I haven’t looked at The Damned Thing yet but I’ve had it in my possession long enough for the curse to affect me, I’m sure of that. Violet took a deep breath and moved towards the pit.

“Wait a second, doll.” Armitage took his cigar out of his mouth and tossed it towards the Hellmouth. It vanished into the pit, dropping out of sight. “Let’s see how deep that thing is.”

They waited but never heard the sound of it hitting bottom. A few seconds after it disappeared, a plume of smoke rose up from below, bringing with it more of the foul stench. Armitage began to cough, burying his face in the sleeve of his coat.

Violet squinted through the smoke but took a few steps towards the Hellmouth. The Damned Thing no longer felt cold. In fact, it was growing increasingly warm. Not only that, but its shape seemed to be changing. It shifted in her grip, moving like a living thing. She was about to hurl it with all her might towards the pit when a tentacle emerged from the rift in the floor. It felt along the edge of the Hellmouth and then was joined by three more that looked identical to the first. The four limbs flattened their tips on the ground and pushed upwards, pulling a massive form up from below. Through the smoky haze, Violet could see that it had the basic body of a man, including its genitals. But where the arms should have been were two tentacles on each side. Its face came into view, a horrible distortion of normalcy. Its nose was elongated and twitched like an elephant’s trunk while its eyes were glittering crystals. The tentacles held it aloft for a moment before settling the flabby bulk of its body down on the floor.

Violet took an involuntary step backwards before remembering why she was there. She jumped to the side and threw the statue past the creature from the pit. The monster made no move to stop her and The Damned Thing was gone a moment later, falling into the shadowy depths of the Hellmouth. Violet thought she heard a plaintive scream that sounded like her own, echoing up from the passageway to Hell.

Armitage swore under his breath. Violet couldn’t make out what expletive he’d chosen for this moment but she was sure it was a choice one.

“Violet Cambridge,” the creature said. Strangely, its mouth did not move as it spoke but the words were not simply in her head. “You have come to our attention.”

Violet was sure that this was not a good thing. She raised her hands, keeping her gun pointed skyward. “It’s over. I came here to throw that statue into the pit and I’ve done that. I just want to turn around and leave now.”

The strange beast turned its head sideways, studying her as if she were a peculiar life form that it had never encountered before. “We would have uses for you.”

“I don’t want to know what that means. I don’t want to know who or what you are. I just want to go home.”

The creature threw back its head and laughed. The sound echoed through the basement and chilled the blood of both Violet and Armitage. Something about it seemed to particularly unnerve Armitage, who began whispering a litany of curse words and fumbling with something in his coat.

When the Hellmouth beast ceased its mocking of her, it leaned close enough for her to smell the rancid odor from its nostrils and lips. Still, the mouth did not move but the sounds were crystal clear. “The Damned Thing is the just smallest representation of me. It contains a sliver of my soul. Do you understand what that means? Your enemy, Crowley, he sought to release the demon within. I tell you that I am that demon. I am The Damned Thing. I stand before you as a pale shadow of my former power. Long ago, a group of men and women trapped me on this plane of existence. They carved my soul into pieces and hid them in those accursed statues. Every time one is opened via the rituals, my power grows and I come closer to being able to leave this world.”

Violet’s eyes widened. “So there are more of those statues?”

“There are nine more. Two have been opened and you have just tossed one into the pit. I will reclaim it and open it myself. But I am limited in how far I can travel. I can influence mortals through the statues but I cannot travel far from the Hellmouths. I need human agents to find them.”

“So it was your voice that I was hearing all along, mimicking my own.” This realization made Violet all the more afraid. That meant that The Damned Thing — the real one, the one standing in front of her now — had been watching her all this time. “And what does all that have to do with me?” she asked, though she was afraid she knew the answer.

“You have shown yourself to be a human of rare perseverance. I can promise you many things in exchange for you being my agent in this mission. Locate the other statues and either return them to me or open them yourself. I can teach you how. Just tell me what you would like as your reward… eternal life; immunity from the ravages of aging; the power over the minds of others; incredible wealth. The possibilities are endless and all are within my grasp to offer!”

Violet jumped as a bullet whizzed past her head. It struck The Damned Thing in its trunk-like nose and bright yellow blood spurted from the wound. The creature howled in shock and Violet dove to the floor as Armitage emptied his pistol. All of the bullets hit home, though most ended up in the monster’s fleshy torso. The Damned Thing’s tentacles flailed in the air and its entire body rippled from the projectiles’ impact.

As The Damned Thing slumped to its knees, Armitage moved towards it, now brandishing his gun like a club. “Violet, you got any more bullets? If you do, now’s the time to use them.”

Violet didn’t think there was much chance of this attack finishing off something like The Damned Thing but she figured she had nothing to lose at this point. She rolled onto her side, took aim, and unleashed her own assault. Her aim was far superior to Armitage’s and she emptied her entire clip straight into The Damned Thing’s head. It was reduced to a bloody mass, bits of flesh and yellow-tinged blood splattering the walls and floor. The creature swayed and tipped over, falling back into the pit.

“Jesus on a stick,” Armitage whispered. “We fucking did it.” He punched the air like a star pitcher who had just struck out the other’s team best player.

Violet rose to her feet, tossing aside her gun. It had suddenly felt very heavy in her hand. “We need to collect the others and get the hell off this island. Somebody’s supposed to be coming tomorrow, storm or no storm. They’ll take us back to Atlanta.” Violet looked down at her dress, which was spotted with yellow blood. It was ruined but she suddenly had no desire to replace it with another one in black. She was ready for a change: new city, new clothes, new vocation. She’d had enough shooting and running to last her a lifetime. Now that she’d avenged her husband’s death, she felt vindicated… but mostly she just felt tired.

Armitage nodded, still grinning like an idiot. “Sure thing, sister. I’d get your gun back, though. I wouldn’t be surprised if we still had some trouble from Main’s boys overnight.”

“You’re right,” she said with a sigh. She bent down to retrieve her pistol and just as her fingers closed around it, she heard a strange sound, followed by a more familiar gurgling noise. Straightening quickly, Violet saw that The Damned Thing was perched on the edge of the Hellmouth. One of its tentacles was elongated out from the body, wrapped around Armitage’s throat. The crime boss’s eyes were bulging madly and he was gripping the tentacle with all his might, unable to pull it away from him. Before Violet could even think about what to do, blood began to gush from the man’s mouth and she knew his throat had been mangled beyond repair.

Seeing him die spurred her into action. Violet sprinted towards the stairs, planning to lock The Damned Thing within. If he’d told her the truth, there was only so far he could go from the Hellmouth. If she outran him, she’d be safe.

Just as her foot touched the bottom stair, a tentacle wrapped itself around her heel and tripped her up. She fell, her chin striking one of the stairs so hard that she nearly bit through her tongue. Blood filled her mouth and she saw stars but she kept moving, crawling up the stairs.

Behind her, The Damned Thing spoke again. It sounded angry, as if it were growing tired of this sport. “Violet Cambridge. Again I give you this chance… become my agent or face death.”

Violet groaned, feeling the strength ebbing from her arms. She was spent, emotionally and physically. She rolled over onto her back, looking up as The Damned Thing waited three steps below her, towering over her body. “Leave me alone,” she said and to her embarrassment it came out as a whine.

“You fight so hard,” The Damned Thing observed. “Why not accept my offer? You have done what you set out to do… you have destroyed those who brought harm to your life. Your husband and your friends have been avenged. Now it is time to think of you. People may die along the way if you work for me but that is because of their greed and evil, not my own. All I desire is to be free of your wretched world! I have grown so weary of it that I no longer seek to have human followers. All I desire is freedom! Find my icons and free me so that your world shall never have to be darkened by me again!”

Violet had to admit that a part of her was very tempted. She’d wanted a new life and this would certainly bring it. She’d travel the world, never having to stop in one place again. She could live forever, with all the money she could ever dream of.

And all it would cost her was her soul.

She looked at The Damned Thing, seeing that it was still watching her, impatient desire in its eyes. Glancing down at her foot, she saw that it was now free. Through a mouthful of blood, she suddenly smiled. “You’ve reached the end of your chain, haven’t you? You can’t go past that bottom stair!”

The Damned Thing shifted uneasily. “Make the choice of your own free will, Violet Cambridge. Do not gamble your life on such assumptions.”

Violet swallowed hard, a clot of blood heading on its way to her stomach. She then spat out the rest, trying to clear her mouth for what she was about to say. “I’ve always hated it when men try to put me on the spot. It pisses me off.”

The Damned Thing watched her quietly.

“Most people don’t know this but I proposed to Walter. He’d asked me twice before and both times I’d blown him off, all because I hated to feel like a man was exerting his will over me. But in the end, I realized I loved him and he didn’t want to dominate me, he wanted me to be his partner. It was the same with Miles, even if he did keep secrets from me. We were partners in that business. I wasn’t his damned secretary or errand girl. I don’t fetch coffee for a man… and I don’t fetch statues, either.” She stood up and tossed her Smith & Wesson Hand Ejector II at The Damned Thing’s feet. “So here’s my answer: Go suck an egg.”

She slowly turned around and took a step up the stairs. She was tensed, expecting to feel a tentacle wrap around her throat and pull her down below. What if she’d gambled wrong, like The Damned Thing had said? What if he could go a lot further from the Hellmouth than that bottom stair?

Another step and then another. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, she let out a long breath and smiled. She turned to look below and she saw The Damned Thing looking up at her. The creature was panting, its elephantine trunk fluttering in the air. She could feel its anger. Never losing her smile, she slowly shut the door to the basement and locked her demons inside.

THE STORM HAD passed but the waters were still quite choppy. Violet stood on the deck of the police boat, a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The boat wasn’t large and it felt very cramped with so many people onboard: there were the three officers who had come looking for McKenzie; McKenzie himself; Jasper Williams; Eloise Green; a still groggy Aleister Crowley; and, of course, Violet. The rest of the patients would be liberated soon enough — Will had used the radio onboard the boat to send back word of what was going on at the hospital. From what he’d said, Violet thought it quite likely that the entire building would not only be shut off to the public but also razed to the ground.

McKenzie moved up to stand beside her. He looked very dashing this morning, with his dark hair blowing in the breeze. He really did look like someone from one of those adventure movies, the types where the hero rushes in at the last moment to save the damsel from the clutches of the dastardly villain. The thought made her chuckle and Will raised an eyebrow. “It’s nice to see you happy again,” he commented.

“It’s nice to be happy,” she agreed.

“So,” he said, looking back out over the water.

“So,” she agreed.

McKenzie cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets. “About us, Violet—”

Violet reached out and put her arm around him, allowing him to share her blanket. “Not now, Will. Please?”

McKenzie glanced down at her. She seemed very calm. He wondered what had transpired in that basement. So far, she’d been very reticent about sharing information about that aspect of things. She’d simply said that the basement should be blocked off to all access and he’d agreed that he’d make that stipulation known to the authorities. “Okay, Violet. Not now.”

“Good.”

Silently, they stood together facing the wind. In the distance behind them, Wolf Island grew ever smaller. Violet knew that even now, in some forgotten corner of the globe, another man or woman could very well be getting involved in some dangerous scheme to acquire another of the hellish statues. The threat remained for the rest of the world… but she had a feeling that she had escaped the curse. She had faced the demon and won her gamble.

For Violet Cambridge, The Damned Thing was over and done with.