Mark of the Demon (24 page)

Ryan grinned. “I feel like I should be taking notes. This is great stuff to know.”

I shrugged. “But that’s one of the reasons summoners aren’t generally all-powerful people with demons at their beck and call. It’s fucking hard to summon a demon, and then it’s tough to keep control of a demon for more than a few hours. Especially higher-level demons. They don’t like being summoned in the first place.” It was certainly possible to keep a demon for longer than a few hours, but that was another skill I had yet to master.

He leaned back in the chair. “So how did you get into law enforcement?”

I curled my fingers around my mug. “My mom died of cancer when I was eight and my dad was killed by a drunk driver when I was eleven, so my aunt came to live with me.” Best not to mention the fact that my aunt was a summoner. Let Ryan figure that out on his own. “I turned into something of a wild child—acting out and all that stuff—but somehow I managed to graduate from high school with an adequate GPA.” I didn’t know him well enough to tell him how I’d nearly destroyed my life with drugs and how finding out I could summon demons brought me back from that edge.

“Anyway,” I continued, “when it came time for me to go off to college, my aunt sat me down and had a serious talk with me about how in this day and age education was a priority. I got my act together and went off and got a degree—art history.” I rolled my eyes. “Talk about a pointless degree. I found out that there aren’t too many jobs that use art history degrees, and after I whined for about three months about not being able to get a decent job, my aunt got fed up, threatened to kick me out, and told me to go apply to the Beaulac Police Department, since they were accepting applications.” I smiled. “Best thing she ever did for me. So at the ripe age of twenty-two, I became a street cop, though I think my aunt had something safe like ‘dispatcher’ in mind when she told me to go apply.”

“She sounds pretty no-nonsense.”

I let out a bark of laughter. “She doesn’t take shit from anyone, that’s for sure. I worked as a street cop for five years, then transferred over to Investigations. I’ve been a detective for two now.”

“Are there enough homicides here to keep you busy?”

“Well, before the Symbol Man, there really weren’t that many at all. We’d get three or four in a
bad
year. But we’re small enough that we don’t have detectives who work homicides exclusively. Actually, this is my first homicide case.” I fought the urge to squirm in embarrassment. “I worked in Property Crimes before this.”

“So you became a cop about the same time the Symbol Man started up?”

I nodded. “The first body was found the day after I got out of the police academy. Of course, as a rookie, I couldn’t get anywhere near it.” I swirled the dregs of coffee in my mug. “He was dumping the bodies in remote locations back then, too, so they were usually pretty decomposed by the time they were found. But I got the chance to be on the scene of a body dump about three years ago when I was still a street cop. The body had been there for only about two weeks, and I saw what I just
knew
were arcane traces.” I looked up at him. “And I’ve been fascinated with the case ever since.”

His expression grew serious. “And you think he’s gearing up for a major summoning.” He frowned and leaned forward. “Didn’t you say something about him possibly preparing to summon a lord?”

“Yeah. It would make sense.”

He was silent for a moment. “That’s pretty bizarre.”

I looked at him quizzically. “What is?”

“Well,” he said, voice oddly smooth, “the murders started happening more frequently right about the time that a lord came to visit you.”

I stared at him. The pleasant feeling I’d been having about his company began to fade rapidly. My throat felt dry. “No, a lord did not
come to visit
me. He came through without being called.”

“Still, it seems like a strange coincidence.” His expression was calm, his eyes steady on me.

“Yeah, it is,” I retorted. “A coincidence. I have no explanation for it. But Rhyzkahl is not the only Demonic Lord in the other plane,” I added, tone icy.

He looked at me levelly, and I got the distinct impression that this was 100 percent Special Agent Kristoff speaking to me now. “I’m just thinking that it’s pretty amazing that you’re a summoner, and it seems clear that the killer is either a summoner or someone else with strong ties to the arcane. Add that to the fact that the murders started right after you became a cop …”

I stood, a slow and hot anger building. “Are you accusing me?”

He remained perfectly calm, no doubt all that fed training in action. “Should I? Don’t you think those are strong coincidences?”

I took three deep, careful breaths, using every speck of control I had developed through my work as a summoner to not fly into a rage or burst into tears. Either was equally possible right now. “I think that you have no idea what you are talking about.” I was pleased to find that my voice was level and calm, even though I was raging inside. “The chances of having two people working the arcane in one area? Well, if you had the slightest damn clue about how the arcane works, you might know that this area happens to lie on a focal point of arcane power, and thus it’s very possible there are quite a few people in the area with arcane connections. And even though summoning is not a common skill, I promise you, I am not the only summoner in the world.” I took another breath, trying not to shake. “For that matter, have you considered that the reason I’m assigned to this case is the same reason you’re assigned to this case? Because we both have sensitivities to the arcane?”

He looked at me, then gave a slight shrug. “Of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking that I was a suspect,” I said flatly.

“Can you blame me?” he said, getting to his feet. “Can’t you see the coincidence?”

“Yes, I can, and it really
is
a fucking coincidence. And I
can
blame you. You don’t know me. I’ve been incredibly forthright with you, considering what and who I am. If I was the killer, why the fuck would I tell you that I thought the killer was a summoner and then tell you that I was a summoner too? You came to my house in the middle of the night completely uninvited, I answered all your questions, and then you accused me of being the Symbol Man. So, yes, I can certainly blame you. If this is your style of investigation, I don’t need your help. And you need to leave.”

His eyes narrowed. “Just remember, you don’t have the authority to kick me off the case. The FBI works with you, not under you.”

“I have the authority to tell you to get the fuck out of my house, Agent Kristoff!” I said, anger definitely showing in my voice and volume.

“Yes, you certainly do, Detective Gillian,” he replied, drawling out my title in insulting fashion. “Since I am here as a guest. This time.” And with that he turned and stalked out of the kitchen and down the hall. A few seconds later I heard the front door open and close heavily, just short of a slam.

I
LEANED BACK AGAINST THE SINK, HEART HAMMERING
as I heard the sound of his car engine revving and then gravel crunching. What the
fuck
just happened? In less than a minute, the conversation had gone from being pleasant and friendly to a shouting match full of accusations. And I had a sick feeling that I knew what “this time” insinuated. If he truly considered me to be a suspect, the next time he visited would be with a search warrant.

You were an idiot to trust him!
I berated myself. Had any of his manner toward me been real? Or had the whole thing been some kind of game to get me to reveal what I knew?

I groaned and scrubbed at my face with both hands. I’d actually been starting to kind of like him. The nice him—Ryan. What a mess.

So much for summoning
. If there was even the slightest chance that he would return with a search warrant—and I knew all too well that, if he was determined, he would find enough probable cause to get one—I needed to get moving on some serious cleanup and hiding of my implements. There was no way I’d be able to explain away the summoning chamber. I’d be labeled a “satanist” for sure, probably lose my job, and definitely ruin what little standing I had in the community.

Muttering expletives under my breath, I went to the door to lock and secure it, peeking out first to make sure that he had really left. I changed out of my robe and into sweats, then hurried down into the basement. There were hiding places that I was fairly confident would pass a mundane search, but there was a chance that Agent Kristoff might be able to see any little arcane “touches” I put out.

It took me nearly three hours to clean up the basement and remove all evidence of arcane activity, scrubbing down the concrete floor to erase any traces of diagrams and hiding away my implements. It took me another hour to gather together the potencies to lay a few false trails and place some small protections—all the time certain that the knock on the door would be coming at any minute. Of course, it did occur to me that, if he never came back with a warrant, this whole fiasco had been a good exercise in concealment and use of potency. And, I had to admit to myself, one that I probably should have done a while back.

I stepped back and surveyed the room. To any mundane eye, it looked just like a basement library—a comfortable little quiet study, with smooth concrete floor and wood-paneled walls. To the arcanely trained eye, there was far more to see, but most of it was false trails and muddled signs.
Yep, I definitely need to have a quicker method for hiding and cleaning up
. In fact, I realized guiltily, I really needed to make it a habit to clean up and hide my implements after every summoning, just to be on the safe side. I’d become far too lazy and complacent. A drawback to having hardly any visitors.

The sun was just beginning to poke through the curtains in the foyer as I emerged from the basement, but at least I was ready for him to come with a search warrant now. I sighed heavily and flopped onto the couch in the living room. The clock on the mantel read five a.m. He probably wouldn’t be able to get a judge to sign a warrant before eight a.m., unless he wanted to go wake one up. And then it would take at least an hour to get a team together. Enough time for a nap, I decided, eyes already closing. I curled up on the couch, tugging an afghan throw over me. Screw him. I was ready.

“Y
OU ARE ENTERTAINING
men in your house? Should I be jealous?”

I opened my eyes, blinking in the sunlight shining onto the couch. Someone stood in front of the window, and all I could see was the silhouette of someone tall. “Huh?” I squinted and shaded my eyes. “Ryan?”

The figure laughed, and I went cold. Not Ryan. He stepped forward and now I could see the heavy fall of white-blond hair, the angelic features, the exquisite beauty. He was dressed in shirt and breeches, much like the first time I encountered him, except that this time the breeches were black leather and the shirt was a shimmering green that seemed to catch the light and toss it back into the air. Trepidation stabbed through me as I sat up. “Rhyzkahl. This is another dream, right?”

He smiled brilliantly. “Can you not tell?” He stepped closer and then dropped fluidly to one knee, reaching and stroking the back of his fingers across my cheek, sending a hot thrill of sensation through me. “Do I feel like a dream?”

My breath shuddered in my chest. “You … you felt real the last time, but that was only a dream.”

His eyes flashed in amusement. “Was it? Perhaps that was real and everything after has been a dream.” He leaned into me, breathing against my neck. “The line blurs, does it not?”

I pulled back. “Don’t fuck with me like that,” I said. “I didn’t summon you, so this must be a dream. You’re not really here.”

“Does it matter if I am here or not?” His voice was soft and silky. “You still can find pleasure from my touch.” “Pleasure isn’t everything.”

He sat back slowly, regarding me. “An existence without pleasure would be difficult to bear.”

I found myself smiling. “True enough. Perhaps I should have said that sexual pleasure isn’t everything.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgment of my point. “There are infinite pleasures in this existence.” He stroked a finger along my jawline. “I would share many such experiences with you, if you would allow me.”

I took a careful breath. “If I call you to me.”

“Yes. There is little that can be done in this dream state.”

But I knew now what such a call entailed. I struggled to change the subject quickly, before he could press me further. “Actually, there is something you might be able to help me with.”

One perfect eyebrow arched silkily. “Go on.”

I felt suddenly giddy. “I was going to do a summoning tonight—of a low-level demon. But since that didn’t work out, maybe you could share a measure of your knowledge with me?”

He laughed. “I have much knowledge, my darling Kara. What could you possibly desire to know?”

“I saw some runes today on a body, and I was wondering if you could tell me what they are.” I watched him carefully.