WITH A SHARP, THROBBING PAIN in his left calf, LaVey slowed down and pulled the car up against the curb. His breathing was short and uneven, and every pulse seemed to force more blood out of the wound.
The dashboard cast a bluish glow across his sweat-covered forehead. He checked the map on the onboard computer:
Covent Garden...
A warm, viscous liquid slid down inside his pants, sticking to the fabric and brushing against his skin like a cruel reminder of his own vulnerability. With trembling fingers, he lifted the soaked pant leg and coldly examined the mangled flesh.
The cut was deep. Almost to the bone.
It needed stitches immediately, but he knew he could not show up at any emergency room. No records. No names. No identity.
That was the price of living in the shadows.
For emergency situations, there was a protocol: contact the Order's surgeon, a man who cared for its members like a silent confessor. He hadn't sought him out in two years, not since the incident in which he had been attacked by a woman — a madwoman who had nearly killed him with a ritualistic blade.
He remembered the woman's eyes, the blood on the wooden floor, the smell of iron and fear.
He smiled with contempt.
May the American meet the same fate she did. May he be disemboweled alive...
LaVey glanced at his watch. The hands moved mercilessly forward.
There would be no time for Dr. Walton.
He would have to improvise.
He opened the glove compartment, pulled out a grease-stained rag, and tightly wrapped it around his leg. The cloth quickly turned dark red. He clenched his teeth, suffocating the groan that almost escaped him.
That was when the phone vibrated on the dashboard.
A familiar number.
What does this idiot want from me now? he thought as he answered.
"...Where are you?..." the cold voice on the other side asked.
— In Covent Garden — he replied with effort.
"...I hope the priest won't trouble us anymore..."
— I warned you someone could intervene between the priest and the journalist — LaVey shot back, wiping blood from his ankle.
"...I vaguely remember that..."
— The intruder was inside the church during the meeting. It's the American — that Scotland Yard lecturer.
"...And what did he do? Anything suspicious?..."
— More than that. He showed up in the priest's room to protect him.
"...Did he succeed?..."
— He got beaten too, if that comforts you... but he managed to stick a knife in my leg.
His voice carried rage and humiliation.
Then came the cutting reply:
"...That's your problem. But if this American continues crossing our path, he becomes my problem. Get rid of him..."
LaVey clenched his fists.
— Understood.
"...And don't fail again..."
The line went dead.
That arrogant Englishman has no idea what's coming... he snarled through gritted teeth.
He turned off the engine and remained still for a few seconds, breathing deeply, trying to control the fury eating away at him. A fine rain had begun to fall, transforming the neighborhood lights into golden, ghostlike reflections across the asphalt.
FOUR TEENAGERS EXITED the Rock Garden a short distance away. The muffled sound of amplifiers still vibrated through the walls. The band had finished their soundcheck and planned to grab dinner before the show.
— I bet a producer's going to be in the audience tonight — the drummer said excitedly.
— And tomorrow we'll get invited to record an album — the bassist added with a laugh.
— We're gonna blow up, man! — the guitarist shouted enthusiastically, tall and lean, blond hair falling over his ears. — Girls are gonna be dying to hang around us.
— Just don't forget who got us this opportunity — the vocalist teased while adjusting his leather jacket.
— Your father, right? If he weren't important, we wouldn't even be here — the drummer replied, laughing.
— True. — The blond boy lifted his chin with fake modesty. — He promised to put us on top of the world... and he's delivering.
They laughed together, overflowing with dreams and youthful arrogance, when they noticed LaVey approaching from the opposite direction.
— Dude, that guy's bleeding — one of them muttered, discreetly pointing.
LaVey was visibly limping.
— Could you help me? — he asked politely, his voice rough.
— What happened? — asked the blond boy, whose name was Will.
— I was attacked by a dog. I need to get to an emergency room.
The bassist pulled out his phone.
— I'll call a taxi.
— No need — LaVey interrupted. — My car is parked nearby. If you could just help me get there, I'd appreciate it.
— How are you gonna drive with your leg like that? — Will asked suspiciously. — We've got a show in a little while...
— I only need to grab my documents from the glove compartment. I promise I won't waste your time.
The others hesitated.
— Leave it to me — Will said. — I'll catch up with you guys in a bit.
— Fine, but don't take forever! — the drummer shouted while walking away.
Will nodded and offered his shoulder.
— Lean on me.
— Thank you very much — LaVey replied with a strained smile. — It's rare to find kind people in London.
— Don't worry. Everything's gonna be fine.
They walked about fifty meters. With every step, LaVey concealed his agony behind slow, controlled breaths.
— This is the one — he said, pointing the remote toward a gray Mercedes, whose lights flashed twice.
— Does it hurt a lot? — the boy asked.
— Enough to make me curse in Latin — the man replied with forced humor. — Could you grab my wallet from the glove compartment? I can't bend down.
— Sure — Will answered, opening the door and leaning over the seat.
— Did you find it? — LaVey asked, tension thick in his voice.
— No... — the boy began while searching through the interior of the car.
He never finished the sentence.
A brutal blow to the back of his neck sent the world spinning. He tried to react, but his body lost all strength. His hands slipped across the dashboard as consciousness faded away.
He collapsed onto the passenger seat, motionless.
LaVey stared at the unconscious body for several seconds, breathing heavily. Blood still dripped from his leg, mixing with the rain striking the pavement.
— The price of kindness is being unprepared for evil... — he murmured before shutting the door and disappearing into the night.