Page 72 of Speak of the Devil

It turned out she was right, because their server appeared right then, a guy with extremely bleached hair who looked like he was probably a student at UNLV or one of the other local colleges.

They both ordered iced tea, although Caleb would have rather had a beer. Still, he took his lead from Delia — and was glad she’d already decided on something, because then he could do a quick survey of the menu and choose something for himself while she was still talking to their waiter.

A beef dip sounded good and he asked for that, along with extra French fries. He had no idea what awaited them in the next couple of hours, so he figured a little carb loading couldn’t hurt.

Once the waiter had left, Delia said, “I’m still trying to unpack what Marva told us.”

Caleb, on the other hand, thought it had all been fairly straightforward, now that he’d had a little time to ponder the reading the psychic had done for them. “I thought it was pretty obvious.”

One russet eyebrow lifted slightly. “How so?”

“Well, the King of Pentacles totally must be Robert Hendricks.”

She crossed her arms, settling against the back of her chair. “I doubt it’s that simple.”

“Why not?” he argued, then had to pause because their server returned with their iced teas and told them their sandwiches should be out in about ten minutes or so. After he’d gone, though, Caleb thought it safe to resume the conversation. “It makes total sense that he’s the King of Pentacles — ‘a person of intelligence and cunning.’”

“He doesn’t seem that cunning to me,” Delia returned, then reached for her iced tea so she could take a sip. “Successful, sure, but it’s not like he’s some kind of criminal mastermind.”

Now it was Caleb’s turn to lift an eyebrow. “Do you really think criminal masterminds go around advertising that they’re criminals?”

She chuckled and sipped some more iced tea. “All right, you have a point there. But even if Robert Hendricks has engaged in some kind of underhanded behavior that we don’t know about, do you really think he’s the type to be summoning demons? He’s a casino exec, for God’s sake.”

“Okay, on the surface, it might seem crazy,” Caleb said. “But not every person who dabbles in that kind of stuff goes around dressed in all black with pentacles around their neck or whatever. I’m sure most of them do what they can to pretend they’re good little Christians like their friends and neighbors.”

Or at least, that was what he assumed. It wasn’t as if he hung out with Satanists — they’d been pretty thin on the ground in Greencastle, Indiana — but he had the example of Jeffrey Whitcomb, the man whose identity Belial had subsumed, to prove that someone could dabble in the very darkest magic…and get possessed for his efforts…without anyone around them knowing what that person was involved with.

And all right, Whitcomb hadn’t come to a very good end, but he’d lived a life of wealth and success before then, all fueled by the dark forces he’d summoned.

“Why would Mr. Hendricks even take such a huge risk, anyway? I mean, isn’t there always a chance that any demon you call will eventually turn on you?”

“Oh, it’s more than a chance,” Caleb replied with a grin. “Demons are always out for themselves, and harder to control than a classroom full of kindergartners. Anyone who summons a demon and doesn’t think there’s going to be some blowback doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

Delia seemed satisfied with that response, because she inclined her head toward him before saying, “Then I can’t see how Robert Hendricks would be mixed up in something like that. You don’t get to his position in life by taking those sorts of dangerous risks.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Caleb said. “Usually when you have someone that successful, it’s because they stepped on a few heads along the way.”

Her lips curved in a wry smile. “Speaking from personal experience?”

“No,” he replied easily. “I was going to inherit all my money, so I didn’t need to waste my time stepping on heads.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, then went on, “I mean, with your father in Hell these past two years, wouldn’t your mother have had him declared dead?”

“I’m sure she did,” Caleb said. “But when I dropped in back home before coming here, we didn’t go into a lot of details. She just gave me some seed money and sent me on my way.”

Delia’s expression shifted to one of equal parts sympathy and shock. “After thinking you were dead all that time? She didn’t try to get you to stay in Greencastle?”

He really didn’t want to reflect on that brittle little convo. Brooke Lockwood had had two years to come to terms with her new existence, and he’d been an interruption, nothing more.While she’d certainly passed on some good genes to him, she’d never been much of a mother.

“We weren’t exactly your Hallmark holiday special kind of happy family,” he replied. “So no, she didn’t ask me to stick around. It’s fine. I wouldn’t have stayed even if she’d wanted me to.”

Definitely not. One thing he’d enjoyed about the time he’d spent in California — even though he’d gone there at his father’s behest — was the freedom the experience had given him. Sure, he was there looking for theProject Demon Huntersfootage, but at least Daniel Lockwood had stayed back in Indiana, and therefore couldn’t supervise every moment of his son’s day.

It had been a welcome change of pace.

And when he escaped from Hell, he’d known there was no way in the goddamn world he’d go back to that same life, even with his father gone. He’d wanted something different.

Las Vegas was about as different from Greencastle, Indiana, as you could possibly get and still remain on the same continent.

---