THEY ALWAYS SAY that in case of an emergency, you should use the stairs. I tore down the back stairs of Gabriel Horne’s building three at a time. This pack of hellhounds was smart enough to mess with the elevator if I tried to use it, and the thought of hurtling down twenty stories in a metal coffin was more than enough motivation to hoof it to the lobby.
As soon as I reached the street, I looked up toward the penthouse. The thick clouds had fully enveloped the building and now drifted with malevolent intent down the sidewalk.
Toward me.
High time to get my ass in gear.
I surged back to my car and made it inside without any further surprises. The cloud picked up speed, and started to roll toward the Equus Bass. I cranked up the engine and punched the gas, and soon the supernatural bank of condensation receded in my rear-view mirror.
I considered my next move. Celeste clearly intended to trade Gabriel Horne’s soul for her own, but would the demon accept her counter-offer? I doubted it. Celeste’s soul was more valuable to the demon than her half-brother’s. If only a fraction of the tabloid stories were true, the scion of the Horne family was a bad boy on steroids. His soul was probably hellbound already.
If this exchange was going to work, Celeste would have to sweeten the deal somehow. Hell would only let her go if they received something of greater value than her soul. In other words, she’d have to make them an offer they couldn’t refuse. If she couldn’t deal in quality, she would have to settle for quantity. That suggested the soul blade would need to seek out more victims before the day was over.
It was all beginning to make sense in my mind. Celeste had the worst daddy issues I’d ever encountered. Killing off his legitimate heirs was an unmistakable plea for attention from the father who had abandoned her—and it just might get her out of the devil’s bargain, too.
With Gabriel dead, only two Horne kids remained. Eric was the older of the two, while Robert was closer to Celeste’s age. That was where my knowledge of the Horne clan ended. It was time to call Skulick.
He answered on the first ring. “How did it go? Is Detective Archer giving you a hard time?”
I’d never told Skulick about what had happened between Archer and me, but I didn’t have to. Skulick, sly and perceptive bastard that he was, had a sixth sense about that kind of stuff.
“Can we please talk about the case and not my personal life? The hellhounds immediately picked up my scent. I barely avoided an incident at the crime scene.”
“Where are you now?”
“Just driving, trying to stay mobile while I figure out my next move. My guess is Celeste is going to go after another one of Horne’s children.”
“My thoughts exactly. According to the news, Eric Horne cut his Toronto business trip short and is on a flight back to the States. As long as he is on a plane, he should be safe.”
“What about Robert Horne?” I said. “Does he work for their father’s company, too?”
“No, he’s the black sheep of the family. An up-and-coming artist who has gone on record denouncing his father’s media empire but doesn’t seem to have any problems accepting cash from daddy when he needs it.”
“Any idea how I can find him?” I wanted to know.
“Looks like he rents a space downtown where he lives and works.”
“Sounds familiar.” I guess Skulick and I weren’t the only one whose work was their life.
“A local art magazine apparently considers his art to be both challenging and transformative, whatever that means. Bet it looks like a kid painted it.”
The words put a smile on my face. There was no pretense or fake affectation when it came to my partner.
“Okay, I’m going to pay him a visit—hopefully before Celeste does,” I said.
“Sounds good. I’m sending you his address now.”
My cell chimed, and juggling the phone in one hand, I plugged the address into my navigation app.
“On a related note,” I said, “Do you have any intel on how Desmond Horne is taking the news of his oldest son’s murder?”
“No comments from his camp yet. He’s has been ill for weeks now and hasn’t been seen around his midtown office building. Scuttlebutt is that he’s sequestered in his estate about fifty miles outside the city, which also happens to be surrounded by an army of trigger-happy bodyguards.”
In other words, good luck getting within a hundred yards of the Horne patriarch. “Okay, I’m on my way to Robert’s now. Keep me posted if anything else should come up.”
“You got it, kid.”
I smiled. “Thanks, boss.”