Compact with the Devil: A Novel Page 32

  “You’re still the same person,” said Nikki.

  “Yeah, I guess, but I just wish I’d known before. I feel like I would have done stuff differently. It’s a total shift of perspective on my own life.”

  “Well,” said Nikki, quoting him back to himself, “where you’re going can’t be half as hard as where you are now.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” he laughed, reaching for the bottle of cider. He barely had the wire cap and paper off when the plastic cork exploded from the bottle in a cider-propelled arc. They watched in awe as the cork went up and then ducked as it came down on a man a few feet in front of them. Still ducking, they shuffled to the left.

  “I think it’s OK,” she said, poking her head up cautiously.

  “That’s all we need tonight,” said Kit, popping up next to her like a prairie dog. “‘Kit Masters Blinds French Man with Cider Cork.’” He read off the imaginary headline; Nikki grinned.

  “You know, I take it back,” he said. “I think you’re the biggest surprise of the week. I didn’t know there was anyone like you. Actually, I don’t think there is anyone like you. You’re pretty amazing.”

  “I could say the same about you,” answered Nikki.

  Behind them the BONNE ANNÉE sign lit up, and the crowd began to cheer.

  “Happy New Year, Nikki,” said Kit warmly, and leaned in for a New Year’s kiss that became something more. Nikki was dimly aware of flashing lights, and when she looked around again the sky was awash in fireworks.

  “It’s not the same, is it?”

  Nikki looked at Kit, knowing that he was talking about Z’ev.

  “Cider,” he said, holding up the bottle and taking a drink. “It’s not the same as champagne.”

  “We can’t have champagne,” answered Nikki.

  “You could.”

  “I’m happy with cider.”

  “But you’re thinking of champagne.”

  Nikki opened her mouth to deny it but found she couldn’t. Kit shrugged and looked back up at the fireworks. Nikki sighed and took his hand, leaning against his shoulder.

  “Sorry,” she said, knowing it was inadequate.

  “I have an actual family for the first time in my life. I’m sober for the first time in ten years, and I’ve written a new song. I think maybe I can live without champagne.”

  “You’re going to be fine,” said Nikki, and Kit looked at her as if he were going to say something and then laughed instead.

  “Happy New Year!” he shouted to the passing crowd.

  “Bonne année!” shouted Nikki, not to be outdone, and the crowd roared back.

  PARIS XIX

  The World According to Brandt

  “I suppose we should go around back or something,” said Nikki as they reached the hotel. There were mobs of people in front, but Nikki couldn’t tell if they were fans or homeward-bound partiers.

  “Screw it,” said Kit. “I’m not in the mood. I want to go in the front for once.” He forged a path to the door, and the doorman opened it as they approached.

  “Mr. Masters,” murmured the doorman, identifying them with the superhuman skills of recognition that only doormen possess.

  “Maybe not the wisest choice,” whispered Nikki as the sound of Kit’s name brought a screech of identification from two fans on the sidewalk.

  “Since when has wisdom been on my résumé?” asked Kit, grinning. “I pay other people for that.” Nikki laughed again as the doorman hastily closed the doors behind them.

  “I don’t suppose you still have my room key?” asked Kit, and Nikki shook her head.

  “I left in a bit of a hurry,” she explained.

  “Front desk it is then,” he said with a shrug.

  “Ah, Monsieur Masters,” said the concierge, his face lighting up when he saw them. Nikki saw him take in their interlocked fingers with a flickering glance that betrayed no emotion. “I am glad to see you. There seems to have been some upset at the Bonne Année show?”

  “Er, yes,” said Kit with a glance at Nikki. “Lost my room key in the process. Don’t suppose you can give us a spare?”

  “Of course,” said the concierge, sliding a key-card across the desk. “But I believe your band is there, waiting for you.” He paused slightly and cleared his throat. “You may have known this already, but I did not wish you to be surprised.”

  “Uh, OK, thanks,” said Kit, taking the key with a shrug. “That’s fine. We probably need to talk to the band anyway,” he said, turning to Nikki, who nodded. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the primly mustached concierge watching them with a kind of paternal glow. She wondered if Kit really failed to notice such things or if he was just used to it.

  “After we talk to the band, let’s go to the hospital and find Mum and Duncan,” he said as they got in the elevator. “Or my uncle, or whatever.” She watched his eyebrow twitch as he tried to come to grips with the idea of family.

  “You’ll get used to it,” she said, and he looked over, surprised.

  “Will I?”

  “Reality shifts, and it takes the mind a day or two to catch up, but it does eventually. It’s like jet lag for your brain.”

  “You sound like you speak from experience.”

  “My reality seems normal to you?”

  “No,” he answered. “Not if this is an average week for you.”

  “I wouldn’t say average, but let’s just say it’s not the weirdest week of my life.”

  “I don’t think I like brain lag,” he said as the elevator doors folded back on themselves.

  “Well, if you can survive being a rock star, I expect you can survive having a family.” He laughed and reached out with the key-card, but the door was yanked open before he could slide it into the slot.

  “Where have you been?” demanded Burg.

  “We have been worried sick about you,” said Richie.

  “I wasn’t,” said Holly, not rising from the couch.

  “We came back and found this place in utter shambles, with Nikki’s clothes all over the floor, and you weren’t here! You said you were going to meet us back here!”

  “I told them he was with you,” said Jane, lounging in the bathroom doorway, “but that didn’t seem to stop them from worrying.” Ellen was sitting just outside the bedroom door, filing her nails, and when she caught Nikki’s eye, she jerked her head subtly toward the bedroom.

  “They didn’t really get the full import of that statement,” said Svenka, smiling from the wing chair next to Holly.

  “And I admit that I did not find it all that illuminating either,” said a tall police detective in the trench coat from his position in the bedroom doorway.

  “Nikki, Monsieur Masters, I’d like you to meet Inspector Javier of the Paris police,” said Svenka with a social smile. “I’m afraid he’s very insistent about taking Monsieur Masters’s statement tonight.”

  “I don’t have much of a statement to make,” said Kit, giving Nikki a worried glance.

  “Well, if you could just answer a few of my questions,” said Inspector Javier, stepping forward, “I’m sure that things could be cleared up in a matter of minutes.”

  “Questions?” repeated Kit. “Didn’t the band answer all of your questions?”

  “There were a few blanks that the band and your new assistant could not fill in,” answered Javier, and Kit frowned slightly, trying to puzzle out who his “new assistant” was.

  “And there’s another thing,” said Burg, sounding aggrieved. “You might have mentioned hiring Svenka. I really think hiring hot Swedish chicks deserves a mention.”

  “Sorry,” said Kit, flashing a brilliant smile, “but it was a bit of a last-minute decision. Nikki only introduced me to Svenka the other day.” Javier’s eyes narrowed as he watched Kit improvise. Nikki didn’t think they were fooling him.

  “Well, Mademoiselle Nicole,” said Javier, turning the glittering beam of suspicion on Nikki. “You must be the makeup lady,” he said with notable disbelief.<
br />
  “Well, yes, and then again no,” said Nikki. “My name is Nicole, but I am not a makeup lady.”

  She saw Svenka stiffen and heard Jane make a small, quickly smothered gasp.

  “I told you she was a spy!” hissed Richie to Burg.

  “I work for a private security agency hired by Kit’s mother, Camille Masters. Camille was concerned about the recent behavior of Kit’s manager, Brandt Dettling, and asked that my agency provide added protection as well as investigate any peculiarities I might come across.”

  “And did you come across any of these … peculiarities?” asked Javier, still looking skeptical. Behind him, Svenka and Jane were texting furiously, probably setting up her new identity as she invented it.

  “I’d say nearly being killed by a group of terrorists counts as pretty damn peculiar, wouldn’t you?” said Kit.

  “Perhaps, but I’m not sure what one has to do with the other,” answered Javier, turning his head slightly to point his mouth at Kit but not taking his eyes off Nikki. “Do you have any proof of your employment?” he asked, turning back to Nikki. “Or of your charges against Mr. Dettling?”

  “My identification was unfortunately mislaid during the attack. However, you may ask Camille Masters, and I can have papers sent from the home office within the hour,” said Nikki steadily. Jane glared at her, probably for offering to have paperwork within the hour. Some poor tech-support girl back at the office would be working overtime.

  “Well, finally!” said Burg. “That makes so much more sense than being a makeup girl.”

  “I told you,” said Holly smugly.

  Nikki continued ignoring the band. “As for Mr. Dettling …”

  “Yes, what about Mr. Dettling?” asked a smooth voice from the doorway of the suite. “What’s all this nonsense? Christ, Kit, can’t I leave you alone for two minutes?”

  Brandt Dettling came out of the bedroom and into the already crowded living room. Brandt’s sleek blond head turned, surveying the room and its occupants. The band shuffled sideways, almost as if not wanting to breathe the same air as the manager.

  “Perhaps you did not know that Monsieur Dettling was here?” asked the detective smugly, clearly hoping to surprise Nikki.

  “Absolutely shocked,” said Nikki. No reason to let them know that she’d had Ellen following Brandt.

  “Kit, what sort of nonsense is this girl filling your head with?” asked Brandt. His hands busied themselves with the business of taking a cigar out of the case, but his eyes were sweeping the room. “I’ve seen it a hundred times. Kit will hit on anything in a size two and heels. Sorry, pal, but you know it’s true. And these girls think it’s true love; they don’t realize they’re only going to be around till Kit gets bored.”

  “That isn’t true,” said Kit fiercely.

  “Kit, come on. It’s no big thing. You’re a rock star. People expect you to have a few flings; it gives them something to read when they’re in line at the grocery store. You just can’t get tied up with people like her.” He gestured at Nikki with his cigar. “You have to remember who really matters in your life. You have to remember who your real friends are.” His voice slipped through the air, sliding like poison into the ear of a sleeping king. Nikki watched Kit’s eyes dull, turning inward, doubting.

  “Faustus is in financial difficulties,” said Nikki. “Originally, he wanted Kit back in the studio to create a hit record, and he tried to tempt Kit into relapsing to make him easier to control. When that didn’t work, he decided to kill Kit to gain control of all of Kit’s unreleased material and back catalog.”

  “Oh my. What shocking accusations! I suppose you think I should be fleeing the country?” asked Brandt, leisurely snipping off the tip of a cigar.

  “Antonio Cano had been sending Kit hate mail. Which is how Brandt contacted him. And when Brandt offered Cano the chance to kill Kit, Cano broke out of prison to take Brandt up on his offer.”

  “Interesting. Would you care to respond, Mr. Dettling?” asked the inspector, eyeing them both suspiciously.

  Brandt took out his lighter and snapped the fire into being with a flick of his wrist. “What are you, nuts?” he asked through teeth clenched around his cigar, the flame of his lighter still flickering in his eyes.

  “You sent Cano to kill Kit,” said Nikki.

  “Says who?” He grinned around his cigar. “You?” he asked, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Do you really think he’s going to believe you over me? Trust me, Kit,” said Brandt, waving away the words in a trail of smoke. “What is she? Nothing. I’m the one you count on. You and I, we’ve been through everything together. We have things all arranged between us, don’t we? I make the decisions and you do what you do best: you get to be a star.” The room held its breath. Kit started to turn to Nikki. “Don’t look at her,” snapped Brandt. “I’m the one who matters!” He stood up and walked across the room to Kit, dropping heavy hands onto Kit’s shoulders.

  “I’m your brother. I’m your family. Who else would take you, if it wasn’t for me?”

  Kit looked up into Brandt’s face.

  “I have a family,” he said crisply, and straightened his spine. “And I make my own decisions.”

  “Since when?” asked Brandt, straightening Kit’s collar, smiling all the while.

  “Since now. You’ve had Angela sending booze to my greenrooms. And that groupie in Stuttgart—you gave her the drugs. It’s been you the whole time. I just didn’t know why.”

  “You didn’t know why?” Brandt’s smile relaxed into reality, and he laughed lightheartedly.

  “Faustus is failing,” said Nikki. “And you’re his cash cow.”

  “Shut up!” said Brandt, turning on her savagely. “Faustus is not failing! I do not fail!” He screamed the last words, his face flushing and then going pale. He stood in the center of the room quivering with rage. “If it’s me, Kit, then it’s always been you. You would be dead in a gutter somewhere, forgotten, a drunken has-been—no, a drunken never-was, if it weren’t for me. And now suddenly you think you can run your life, make your own decisions? You don’t exist without me!”

  Kit opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again and shook his head.

  “I can’t be what you want me to be anymore,” he said at last. “I’m sorry, Brandt.” Kit seemed close to tears. “I can’t live that way anymore. I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to disappoint you. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. I’ll help with Faustus. At least, I’ll try, but I can’t be what you tell me anymore. I need more than that.”

  Brandt stared at Kit, mouth agape, then with a wordless howl he lunged for Kit. Nikki reached forward, intercepting him, seizing him by his collar and one outstretched wrist. Pivoting on the ball of her foot, she let the momentum of his lunge carry them to the floor. Keeping hold of his arm, she wrenched it around until all his fingers were pointing back down at his head and her weight was driving his arm into the floor. Brandt screamed in pain.

  “Yes, well, mademoiselle, if you will just hold him there …” Inspector Javier walked forward, casually snapping out a pair of handcuffs.

  “Not a problem,” said Nikki through gritted teeth. “I’ve got things under control.”

  “Apparently so,” said Javier.

  PARIS XX

  Home Again

  January 1

  “I thought we’d have more time,” said Kit, looking vaguely around the first-class lounge, which was mostly empty save for the few travelers foolhardy enough to fly with a hangover. Jenny, Ellen, and Jane were staring out the window and giving them the pretense of privacy. Svenka and a Carrie Mae–supplied bodyguard were waiting outside the lounge.

  “I guess the holidays are all we get,” said Nikki with a weak smile.

  “The paparazzi were crazy this morning, huh? You’d think everyone would have something better to do on New Year’s Day.”

  “Guess not.”

  “I told Svenka to track down those poor kids we stole the motorcycles from, and
I sent those tickets to those girls you said I should.”

  “Oh good,” said Nikki. “They were really helpful, and tickets and a note from you will blow them away.”

  “You’re really good at taking care of your team,” said Kit.

  “I’m not sure teenage groupies who give me clothes count as a team,” said Nikki.

  “You have lots of teams,” said Kit. “You’re just a natural leader. You find people and make them into a team. Makes us all feel safe.”

  “Oh dear,” said Nikki. “You do know I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, right?”

  “From where I was sitting you looked like you had it all under control,” said Kit, smiling.

  “Well, if it comes down to under control, then you should try looking in the mirror. Your band and crew would follow you anywhere.”

  “That’s just …,” said Kit, shrugging uncomfortably.

  “That’s just because you’re their leader. Remember after the bus crash? You were the man with the plan.”

  “I don’t feel like I have a plan,” said Kit plaintively.

  “You think I do?” retorted Nikki, and Kit laughed ruefully.

  “You don’t think you can stay?” he asked, changing subjects and picking at the seam on her carry-on luggage.

  “Well, the French branch is kind of pissed at me in general. And my company doesn’t really like publicity.”

  “And I’m all about publicity.”

  He studied their feet for a long moment.

  “I think I actually am going to offer Svenka a job,” said Kit reflectively, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. “She’s so efficient. Do you think your company will mind that?”

  “No, they’re pretty flexible, just private.”

  “I like having you around,” he said at last.

  “You do keep me on my toes,” said Nikki.

  “Yes, but you know you had fun, too,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Of course,” said Nikki. “I was with you.”