I took a sip from my Americano and nodded. “Go on.”
“I was raised to believe that my father had abandoned my mother when I was born. Which in a sense was true. Over the years, whenever I’d ask my mom who my father was, she’d go silent. Six months ago, I started having these vivid, horrific dreams; visions of demons dragging me into the burning rivers of Hell. At first I tried to keep it to myself. I’ve always had an overactive imagination and felt drawn to the weird and the strange. But these nightmares were different. They felt real.”
That’s because they’re more like movie trailers than dreams, I thought grimly. Demons love to give their victims a preview of what’s to come.
It was all beginning to add up. The date on which the demon planned to collect its price was approaching fast. Even as we spoke, the forces of darkness were gathering around Celeste in hungry anticipation.
“I still live with my mother, and she could tell I was having problems sleeping. When I opened up to her about my dreams, she came clean.”
Celeste chewed on her lip for a moment before continuing. “In my dreams I’m always strapped to an altar, and I can see a tall, bald man with a beard looking down on me. When I described this man to my mother, she showed me this.”
Celeste extricated a folded newspaper article from her studded leather jacket. I scanned the headline: DESMOND HORNE’S MEDIA EMPIRE EXPANDS. The man matched Celeste’s description to a T. The long beard, thick eyebrows and bald head all contributed to the man’s magnetic presence. He had to be in his mid-sixties now, his skin lined with wrinkles. Nevertheless, age had failed to temper the iron will smoldering in those eyes. There was a pugnacious confidence in his ascetic features that must’ve served him well in the business world.
“The man you’re looking at is my father. Desmond Horne, one of the richest, most influential men in the city.”
Horne was a celebrity of sorts, having appeared on the news on numerous occasions over the years. Horne was the CEO of one of the world’s biggest media conglomerates, which included publishing companies, newspapers, television networks and even a movie studio.
Celeste was struggling to keep it together. Telling me her story was like opening up an old wound. “My mother was Horne’s housekeeper a little over twenty years ago, and he brought her under his spell. Even though Horne was married with three children, my mother gave herself to him and got pregnant.” Celeste broke off, tears threatening to overwhelm her again. She took a deep breath and continued, “All my life I believed that my father was some loser who dumped us. The truth was different. He paid my mother to raise me on her own. Every year, she received a check with a lot of zeroes on it, in exchange for keeping her mouth shut.”
“I’m sorry,” I said because it seemed like the right thing to say. She acknowledged my words with a thin smile.
“Horne targeted my mom because he needed someone new to this country, someone who wouldn’t make waves, someone who would accept a payoff.” “Your mother must have been in the dark about Horne’s bargain.”
“Yes, thank God.”
I raised an eyebrow and asked, “Then how did you figure out the rest?”
“After I learned about Horne being my father, I tried to contact him. He steadfastly refused to return my emails and calls. I finally showed up one day at his mansion. His security forces tried to send me away, but his wife stopped them. She was the one who finally broke down and told me the rest of the story. There’s a temple in their mansion where Horne does… unspeakable things. She told me about the ritual my father used me in, twenty years ago. The guilt had consumed her for years.”
Her hands balled into fists, lips pressed into a thin line. “I did some more digging after that. Two decades ago, Desmond Horne was a reasonably successful businessman, but his career took off big-time after I was born. Now I know why.”
Tears gave way to anger as she added, “My father knocked up my mom so he could trade his own flesh and blood for money and power.”
It all made sense. Desmond Horne’s formidable business success was attributable to a demon’s help. The soul of an innocent child was valuable currency in Hell. Who cared if the bastard child of some poor, immigrant housekeeper ended up becoming collateral damage?
I did, for a start. And so did Skulick.
Celeste pulled up the arm of her leather jacket and revealed a fiery red scar not unlike the one on my chest. It was the signature of a demon. The beast had marked his future property when she was only an infant.
“After I found out about my father and the cult, I hit the library. Tried to read as many books on demons as I could get my hands on. I wanted to know everything, but especially why my father didn’t just sacrifice me on the day I was born.”