Devil Face turned away from the mirror, reaching up to peel away his mask. He hated to look at the face he showed the world on a regular basis. It was so ugly, with every crease and line containing a litany of sins. It was only when his true face was on display that he felt truly confident.
After placing the devil mask in a box under his bed, he headed downstairs to have a drink. Killing those men hadn’t left him as ecstatic as cleansing the whores usually did. Normally he would have been humming a song to himself and feeling like he was on top of the world: instead, he felt tense and paranoid. How long before Smithson’s body was discovered? Would they find the gun he’d discarded in the trash bin outside the hotel? Could it be linked back to him? And what about Hansome? His body was still in one of Devil Face’s many safe houses but with Assistance Unlimited on the prowl, who could say that it wouldn’t be discovered?
He paused as the phone in the study began to ring. He looked up at the clock and realized that it was nearly dawn. Where had the night gone?
Walking quickly to pluck up the receiver, the killer took a moment to make sure he used the proper voice. His day-to-day voice was deeper than the one he used when wearing the Devil Face mask. "Hello?"
Theodore Groseclose sounded on edge. "You need to come over to my house. Immediately."
"What’s wrong?" he asked, though he knew what the answer would be. How could he not?
"Smithson and Hansome… they’re both dead. Melvin’s already here and I’m about to call Max. We could all be in danger — what if the killer’s planning to kill everyone associated with Schuller?"
"Calm down," he soothed. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and paused. His hair and beard looked unkempt and his eyes were wild. He didn’t look much like Robert Phillips at the moment: he’d have to clean himself up before he went over to Groseclose’s. "I’ll be there soon."
Devil Face hung up the phone and reached up to smooth his hair. Had Smithson told Melvin about what he’d learned? If he had, then the old man would have to die, too… and then there was Groseclose. The man was a journalist and he might start digging on his own. If he found out that Phillips had moved to Sovereign and adopted a new identity for himself with Hansome’s help, then all the dirty secrets might come out.
Phillips hurriedly bathed and dressed in fresh clothing, creeping down the stairs to the locked basement door before leaving for Groseclose’s. He entered the finished basement, the coppery smell of blood filling his nostrils as he opened the door. Inside were 13 canisters filled with the blood of the women he’d killed over the years, dating back to before he’d come to Sovereign and adopted his current identity. He needed to kill only one more and then he’d be ready to leave this prison of flesh behind.
"Something troubles you, my love?"
The soft, purring voice of Lady Death echoed in his head. The temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees or more and his breath suddenly became visible in tiny cloudbursts that escaped his mouth. He turned to face the woman of his dreams, the only one who was pure in all things. He was the only one who could see her, the only one who heard her voice.
She was a few inches over five feet in height, her lush curves shifting beneath a hooded black robe. Her skin was a milky white that always reminded him of moonlight on water. Her ruby red lips and the lower half of her face was all that could be seen beneath the darkness of her hood, but he had seen her naked beauty before. The upper half of her skull was exposed, her eyes nothing more than two deep sockets of shadow that seemed to suck him right into their depths.
"My enemies are closing in on us," Devil Face answered, using the higher-pitched voice he normally saved for when he was masked. "I’m worried that they might stop me before I’ve accomplished my goal."
Lady Death reached out and touched his face, her icy grip making him shiver. "I am proud of you. You have done so much in my name… and now you only have to find one more whore, one more woman who needs to have her sins washed away. And then you’ll be mine, in body and soul."
Devil Face leaned into her hand, his face lighting up like an excited puppy’s. "I can go find another girl tonight!"
"No. You’ll know her when you see her. There are only certain ones who fit our needs."
Lady Death pulled away, vanishing into the dark shadows of the basement. Devil Face reached after her, desperate to touch her skin once more but there was nothing there any longer.
Chapter V
But For the Grace of God
Max Davies woke up at six in the morning and immediately indulged in his daily ritual. He had a cup of warm tea followed by an hour-long session of yoga and Tai chi chuan. When he was done with his exercises, he dressed in a casual suit and placed the beak-like mask of The Peregrine over the bridge of his nose. He’d spent the night in the headquarters of Assistance Unlimited, enjoying the comforts that the former hotel offered. He felt a bit silly continuing to hide his identity — Lazarus knew who he was and he trusted the man implicitly. The fact that Lazarus in turn trusted his aides should have meant that Max did as well… but it wasn’t quite that simple. The dark stares The Peregrine continued to receive from Eun were evidence that he wasn’t fully accepted by all.
The Peregrine wandered downstairs to the team’s meeting room and found that everyone else was already there. Morgan and Samantha were seated beside each other, their voices lowered to mere whispers. Morgan said something that Samantha found funny and she coyly covered her mouth as she laughed. Eun was leaning against the wall, looking as surly as ever. Lazarus himself was standing with his hands clasped behind his mask. His impassive face was pointed toward the window and the ray of sunlight that fell upon it accentuated his strong chin.
"Any breaks in the case?" The Peregrine asked, ignoring the way Eun muttered under his breath in response.
Lazarus looked toward him and gave a brief nod. "Perhaps. Groseclose is holding a private meeting at this hour with Phillips and Melvin. I understand they attempted to get in contact with Max Davies, but he’s not at his hotel."
The Peregrine paused, a smile on his lips. "I might be able to reach Max and convince him to go to this little party. It would help us to know what was going on."
"That would be quite useful," Lazarus admitted. "We’ll be waiting to hear back from you."
Michael Groseclose was pulling out of the driveway just as the taxicab carrying Max Davies was coming to a stop in front of the house. Michael and Max locked eyes for a brief second before their travels carried them away from each other and Max was struck once more by how intelligent the young man seemed. They’d only met briefly at the party thrown by the elder Groseclose, but Max had felt a kinship to the youth.
Max was led into the house by a taciturn butler who looked almost as harried as Max felt. He wore on his lapel a miniscule listening device that would allow Lazarus to overhear every word that was said. Max was more impressed with Assistance Unlimited at every turn. The various skills of the aides were impressive enough, but combined with the various inventions and designs of their leader, they had become one of the most formidable organizations on earth.
Max found Groseclose in the sitting room, seated with his head hanging between his knees. Phillips, looking like an angry bear that had been roused from his winter’s nap, was pacing in front of the fireplace. Melvin, looking older and frailer than Max could ever remember, sat pensively on a small couch, his eyes staring off into unfocused space.