Mark of the Demon (25 page)

He sat gracefully on the floor, with one knee up and an arm draped across it. “I am intrigued, dear one. Tell me more.”

I leaned forward. “They were on the body of a young woman. She’d been tortured and murdered, and I could see arcane traces that had been left behind.”

Rhyzkahl
tsk
ed softly, shaking his head. “Such a pity.”

I looked at him sharply, oddly jarred by the tone of his response. His expression showed the proper sympathy, but his voice had been utterly devoid of it. “Yes. It is,” I said after several heartbeats. “She suffered an agonizing death, and I’m trying to find out who did it. So would you please look at these runes for me?”

His blue eyes glittered. “Of course, dear one. Run and get them for me.”

I leaped to my feet and ran for my notebook before I even realized I was moving. I seized my notebook off the table, though the thought occurred to me that I might not be able to read if this was really a dream. And would I be able to remember what he told me? This was getting complicated.

I returned to him and quickly flipped the notebook open to the pages with my drawings, then handed it to him. He stood, looking down at the notebook, running his fingers lightly over the paper. I watched, breathless, as he lifted his hand, pulling a rune from the page in a pattern of writhing crimson light, setting it to spin slowly above his palm. He no longer looked amused or complacent. He regarded the rotating rune with narrowed eyes, silent.

After what seemed like an eternity, I cautiously cleared my throat. “Lord Rhyzkahl, can you tell me what they are?”

“I can,” he said, voice suddenly dark and dangerous, all trace of laughter gone. I drew back from him, unaware at first that I had done so.

“They are sigils of control, of binding,” he continued.

“So, um, her killer used the runes to control her?”

He bared his teeth and I could feel his forming anger. “No. These are for control of another.” He flicked his hand and the rune shattered, fragments of light spinning off and dissipating like scattered droplets of blood.

My throat felt as dry as the Sahara. “Who?” I dared to ask.

He snarled, a wave of fury flowing from him that sent me backing to the wall. His aura swelled, choking me with its potency—an anger even more deep and horrifying than when he’d come through my portal. I slid down the wall, curling in on myself, mewling in terror as the consuming aura of rage and anger smothered me.

I could hear a distant pounding, but the menace and vehemence rolled over me, choking me. Hands grabbed at me and I struck blindly at them.

“Kara!”

I struggled to breathe through the suffocating mire of my fear. More hands clawed at me, pulling me deeper.

“Kara!”

I screamed, flailing against the grip on me. Then pain exploded in the side of my face, and in the span between one heartbeat and the next, the fury was gone.

I gasped for breath, blinking in the light. Someone was shaking me, shouting my name. I felt another stinging blow on my face, and I threw my arms up to defend myself.

“Goddammit, Kara, wake
up!”

I lowered my arms cautiously. Special Agent Kristoff stood over me, his hands gripping my upper shoulders, a baffled and worried expression on his face. “Jesus Christ, Kara! Are you all right?”

I gulped and sat up, looking furtively around the room, even though I knew that
he
would not still be there. I let out a ragged breath. “Holy crap.”

“Are you all right?” he asked, still holding my shoulders, face etched with concern. “I pulled up to the house and I could hear you screaming from outside. I had to break down your front door. I thought you were being eviscerated or something!”

I dragged a trembling hand across my face. “No. I mean, yes, I’m all right. It was just … just a nightmare.”

He slowly released me and straightened. “That must have been one hell of a nightmare.”

I shuddered. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
Not really a nightmare. I just had an unshielded taste of a furious Rhyzkahl
. My throat felt dry. I’d just had an intense reminder of what he was and what he was capable of.

I looked up at Ryan, suddenly wary. “What are you doing here? Are you serving a search warrant?”

An expression of utter confusion crossed his face. “A what? A search warrant? What are you talking about?”

I crossed my arms over my chest, beginning to feel slightly foolish. “Um, well, after our argument last night, I kinda thought you might come back with a search warrant.”

He stared at me for several heartbeats. “Detective Gillian, you are insane,” he declared at last. “I came back this morning to apologize for being an absolute ass last night. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.”

I smiled crookedly. “Really?”

He laughed. “Yes, really. Then I heard you screaming and busted my way in.”

I looked past him at my front door and could feel my jaw drop. The door hung twisted and broken, barely held by one hinge, and the frame was shattered, with wood fragments scattered throughout my foyer. “Holy
shit
, did you drive your car through the front door?”

He had the grace to look embarrassed. “I really did think something awful was happening to you.”

I laughed weakly. “Okay, that’s kinda sweet, in its own weird way. Even worth a destroyed door.” I stood, tugging my sweatshirt into place, then walked over to the remnants of the door. “But how did you
do
this?”

“I’m stronger than I look, okay?” he said, exasperation showing in his tone. “Kara?”

“Yes?”

He looked at me, head slightly tilted, eyes serious. “Did you summon last night after I left?”

“Not … exactly,” I said, after a brief consideration of how much to share with him. “But I did get some information about the runes. Come on, I need coffee, and I’ll explain.” I headed to the kitchen, trusting him to follow.

“Hold on, I’ll be right back,” he said instead, and exited out the ruined front door. He returned in a moment, carrying a white box, which he placed on the kitchen table. He gave a small shrug. “When you didn’t show up for the meeting this morning, I figured you were totally pissed at me, so I decided to bring by a peace offering.” He flipped open the lid to show a box full of chocolate doughnuts.

“How did you know?” I breathed, stomach growling in response as I picked one up.

His lips twitched. “I have ways.”

I grinned and bit in. “Whatever.”

“So what’s the deal with the runes?”

I sat down, dabbing at spilled crumbs. “They’re runes of binding and control. I think that my suspicions are right—this guy is planning a major summoning and is building an arcane prison, using these victims for the energy.” Some unpleasant theories were beginning to take shape in the back of my mind. Rhyzkahl’s fury had erupted at seeing the rune of binding. Had he been furious at the thought of any Demonic Lord being bound and controlled, or was it more personal?

Ryan sat across from me, his expression dark and brooding. “You mean it’s some kind of death magic?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes, though it’s more complex than that.”

“No need to go into details. It would probably take too long for me to understand it, and I don’t really need to. So,” he said, looking at me levelly again, “how did you get this information?”

“That’s incredibly complicated. I just need you to trust me that I’m pretty sure my information is accurate.”

“Pretty sure?” His brow creased.

“Um, well, this is going to sound weird, but I kinda got the information in a dream.”

He blinked, then fell silent for a moment. Finally he shrugged. “Well, I figure there’s a whole lot here that I don’t understand, so I’m just going to have to trust you on this one.”

“Thanks. Like I said, I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I’m about ninety-eight percent, at least.”

“So, are you going to try again tonight to summon?”

“Well, it’s not as urgent now that I have the information about the runes.” I fought the desire to wince at the sudden realization that I was deliberately finding a reason to avoid summoning.
That won’t do at all
. But there wasn’t time right now to deal with this new neurosis of mine.

He looked at me for several heartbeats, then stood. “All right. Well, I need to be getting back to the office. We’re going to try to meet up again this afternoon at three.”

I nodded. “I’ll be there.”

He hesitated, as if wanting to say something else. Then he shook his head, gave me a smile, and departed through the gaping hole in the front of my house.

A
FTER
R
YAN LEFT
, I
SWEPT UP THE SHATTERED WOOD IN
my foyer, then wrestled what was left of the door back into position—or at least close enough to drive a few nails into some of the longer pieces of its shattered frame as rudimentary braces.

I stepped back and looked at the door, totally baffled.
A flying side kick? Up the stairs and across the porch?
How the fuck had he done this much damage? But at least he’d woken me from that nightmare. Still, I’d have to scrounge some plywood later to do a better job of securing it. Hurricane season wasn’t for another month yet, so I could probably borrow one of the sheets of plywood that Tessa used to protect her store during storms.

My cell phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize just as I was putting my tools away in a kitchen drawer.

“Detective Gillian,” I answered.

“Detective? This is Greg Cerise.”

I straightened unconsciously. “Hello, Mr. Cerise. What can I do for you?”

He laughed, with a trace of what might have been uncertainty. “You can call me Greg. Look, I don’t know how this is going to sound, but, uh … I … I was just wondering if you’d had a chance to read the comic. I mean, if you wanted to, I have extra copies.” He sounded eager now, the ingenuous puppy.

“Actually, my aunt loaned me a copy of the series. I definitely want to read them, as soon as I get a chance.”

“Cool. That’s cool.” He was silent for a few seconds. “So, um, I saw an article in the paper about these murders. The Symbol Man stuff.”

“Uh-huh?”

“And … I saw that you’re the detective on the case. Right?”

“Yes, I am. Do you have some information for me?”

“Um, no. I-I was just wondering if you’d come to talk to me the other day because of something to do with those murders. I even came by the station, just in case, but you weren’t there.”

“Nope. I was just curious about the picture of Rhyzkahl.” I glanced at the clock.
Shit. I’m gonna be late again
. I started gathering all of the files and notes that were strewn across the kitchen table into a stack. “Why? Do you know something that I need to know?”

“No! Oh, no … nothing like that. I was just wondering, y’know, and then wanted to see what you thought of the comic.”

“Well, I’ve been a bit busy, but I promise I’ll give you a call as soon as I get the chance to read them,” I said, frowning as I tried to unearth my notebook from all of the crap on the table.

“Oh. Okay. All right. Well … thanks.” With that he hung up. I stared at my phone for a second, frown deepening. What was that all about? Was he trying to tell me something? Or was that his way of trying to hit on me?

“I can see why you’re a single man, Greg,” I muttered as I headed to my bedroom to change clothes.

I
CAME TO
the office laden with
stuff
—all the case notes and photos and clippings that I had at the house, which was quite a bit. I’d just tossed everything into a box when I realized that I was going to be late. Bad enough that I’d missed the morning meeting. I’d look like a complete flake if I missed another.

To my relief, the conference room was empty. I grabbed a seat, then started going through my notes, looking for anything new that could possibly leap out at me. A short while later, the door opened and the agents trooped in, followed by the sour-faced Detective Harris. I took a few minutes and showed them my notes and photos, then we each briefed the others on our progress—which wasn’t much. After the briefings, we took turns going over different sections of the case, occasionally making observations or comments.

After about an hour, Agent Garner stood, groaning and stretching his arms over his head, his back popping audibly. “My eyes feel like they’re about to fall out of my head.” His gaze fell on the box. “Hey, what’s this?” he said, pulling out the stack of comics. “Is this part of the case?”

“Oh, crap, I didn’t realize that I’d thrown those in there.” But even as I said it, I could feel a mental
click
, as if something had been stewing in the back of my mind and was now ready to be examined.
Who is that rune of binding for? Is it coincidence that Greg Cerise is so familiar with this particular Demonic Lord?
“To be honest, though, I think that maybe there
is
a connection, but I’m not really sure how to articulate it just yet.”

Harris glanced at me. “A hunch?”

I gave a slightly embarrassed shrug. “Well, sort of.”