Mark of the Demon (5 page)

I pulled my hand away and glanced up at Jill and Crawford, relieved to see that they were looking at the area surrounding the body and had apparently missed my faith-healer impression. Regardless, it would have been worth it. Whoever had killed this woman had been working deeply in the arcane at the same time. Was this the arcane touch that Kehlirik had felt? He’d said it had the taint of blood and death, and there was certainly plenty of that here.

I shifted my awareness back to normal sight. I could still feel the resonance, but at least now it didn’t feel as if my teeth were going to vibrate out of my head. “If it’s not the Symbol Man, then it’s one hell of a copycat,” I said for Jill’s and Crawford’s benefit, but I knew this wasn’t a copycat.
Not with the symbol and the arcane traces
and
the timing
that coincides so perfectly with the convergence of the two spheres. That’s just way too much coincidence
.

“Looks like we’re going to be busy for a while,” Crawford said as I stood. “Oh, by the way, the captain said he wanted to see you when you got here.”

I nodded. “Is he on the scene?”

Crawford snorted. “As if. No, he’s conferring with the chief and some of the other brass.”

I scanned the area beyond the tape for the distinctive silhouette of the head of the detective division. Captain Turnham seldom went inside the crime-scene tape unless his presence was vitally needed. He despised being subpoenaed simply because his name had been on a crime-scene sign-in sheet and also despised seeing extraneous people on a crime scene, refusing to be one of that number.
I guess he doesn’t consider me extraneous
, I realized, allowing myself a brief flush of satisfaction at the thought.

Taller than most of the others on the scene by nearly a head, the captain was easy to pick out. As expected, he was standing just beyond the perimeter of the crime-scene tape. With him were Boudreaux, Pellini, and Wetzer—the three Violent Crimes detectives other than Crawford.
And how are they going to handle hearing my input in this case? Will they even take me seriously?
Pretty doubtful, considering that lot. There’d been a few times when my white-collar crime cases had intersected with an armed robbery or a homicide, and they’d made it quite clear that I didn’t know dick about what they did and that any opinions I had were unwelcome and unnecessary. Crawford had a huge capacity for being an ass, but at least he was fairly good at his job and was usually willing to listen to input.

I left Crawford and Jill by the body and headed toward Captain Turnham. He stepped away from the other detectives as I approached, full attention focusing on me. A tall, thin black man with arms and legs that seemed too long for his body, he’d been a police officer in New Orleans for fifteen years before moving out to “the boonies.” He’d been with the Beaulac PD for almost ten years now. He seemed humorless and dour to those who didn’t know him, but the people who worked with and for him knew that he was merely relentlessly dedicated and overly meticulous. Even now, at three a.m., he was wearing a crisp white dress shirt and khaki pants with creases sharp enough to slice bread, while every other detective on the scene was in jeans and PD T-shirts.

“Morning, Gillian.” Captain Turnham looked down at me over his wire-frame glasses.

“Morning, Captain,” I said with a small nod. “Thanks for letting me come out on this.”

His lips twitched into something vaguely resembling a smile. “I’m going to give this one to you, since right now you know the most about the Symbol Man cases.”

I stared at him for several heartbeats, certain that I’d misheard him. “You want me to work with Crawford and the others on this?”

He shook his head. “No. I want you to take this case.”

I was suddenly insanely grateful that Crawford had remained by the body. I didn’t even want to think what his reaction would be to this. “Sir, you do remember that I have
no
experience with working homicides?”

“And you never will unless you work one,” he replied with calm logic.

“Well, yes, but—”

He held up his hand to cut me off. “Gillian, you’ll be fine. You’ve proven yourself with your white-collar crime cases, which is why your transfer to Violent Crimes was approved. And it’s not like you’re going to be on your own with this. Crawford and Boudreaux can help point you in the right direction, and I plan on pushing the chief about forming a task force.”

“Yes, sir.”
Holy shit. He really is throwing me a Symbol Man case!
I gave him my best effort at a confident smile, trying to avoid looking either cocky or nervous. I’d heard that Captain Turnham liked to throw new detectives into the deep end. I just hadn’t expected to be forced to swim so quickly.

“You’re a good detective,” he continued. “You’ll do just fine.” Then in the next breath he said, “But don’t relax too much. It’s in our jurisdiction, which means if we do get a task force, I’m going to make sure you’re the lead.”

Are you fucking serious?
I thought. “I appreciate the opportunity,” I said instead, keeping my voice even and calm. It was a damn good thing that he couldn’t hear the racing of my pulse.
Holy shit! I’m the fucking
lead
on a Symbol Man case!

Captain Turnham nodded toward the other detectives. “Tell Crawford to get you caught up. I need to go talk to the chief.”

“Sure thing, Captain.” Oh, yeah, this would be interesting.

Crawford and Jill walked up to me as soon as the captain left. “So, what’s his take on it?” Crawford asked.

I turned to him, making an extra effort to maintain a cool and professional demeanor, even though I wanted to jump up and down in excitement or do something else that would have been completely inappropriate on a murder scene. “Well, he thinks it looks enough like a Symbol Man case to treat it as such.”

He shrugged and nodded. “Okay, makes sense. I’ll need you to fill me in on details as soon as you can.”

“Yeah. About that.”

He looked at me expectantly.

“Captain Turnham said that the case is mine,” I added in a rush.

His eyes widened in shock. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Yeah, he wasn’t one to hide his emotions. “Actually, no, I’m
not
fucking kidding you.” I kept my tone cordial but firm. “He said I need the experience, and since I have the most knowledge of the Symbol Man cases—”

“You read through the case files a couple of weeks ago,” he exclaimed, face reddening. “That doesn’t make you a fucking expert!”

I blinked, briefly shocked by the force of his reaction. Then I recovered and narrowed my eyes. Screw
cordial
. I leaned forward, lowering my voice and drawing on my experience in dealing with demons to keep from losing my careful composure. “It’s not my fucking fault, Crawford,” I said, nearly snarling. “I didn’t ask for it, and if it bugs you that fucking much, then take it up with the fucking captain!”

He looked at me for several heartbeats, expression stony. “The security guard who found the body is ninety if he’s a day and is waiting to be interviewed at the front office,” he finally snapped. “You have no other witnesses. Have fun.” With that, he turned and stalked off.

I watched him go, clenching my hands to keep them from trembling.

“Okay, he’s a dick,” Jill said quietly from beside me.

“Yep,” I replied, seething.
Sure, Captain. They’re just bending over backward to help me out
.

Jill gave me a rueful smile. “You’ll be fine,” she continued. “If a moron like Crawford can be a reasonably competent Homicide detective, you should kick ass at this shit.”

I let out a weak laugh. “Thanks. Actually, I’m pretty excited.” I’d never in a million years imagined that the case would be handed to me, but now that the initial shock was starting to wear off, I wasn’t about to let anyone take it away. Three years ago I’d been just a road cop, working the perimeter of a body dump like this one, not knowing if I’d ever have a chance to dig into why there were arcane traces on that body. I’d even begun to doubt what I’d seen and wonder if it had been a fluke.

But now I knew. The Symbol Man was doing some sort of arcane work and, like it or not—ready or not—I really was the best person for the job.

Jill laughed. “I know that look. You’re hooked in now.”

“Yeah. I am,” I said with a grin. “I’m gonna get this fucker.”

“Good deal. You tell me if you need anything. Don’t be proud.”

“I will. I won’t.”

Jill gave me a thumbs-up, then walked off to speak to the coroner’s office personnel. I leaned against the metal building of the main office, watching as the body was carefully gathered up into a black plastic body bag.

I would definitely summon tomorrow night. There were a number of demons who could probably help me. Perhaps Rysehl? He was just a fourth-level demon, a
luhrek
, resembling a cross between a goat and a dog with the hindquarters of a lion. He was also a much weaker demon than Kehlirik, which meant that he would be considerably easier to summon. But Rysehl was usually a very cooperative creature and a good resource for esoteric information, despite being merely a
luhrek
. I could think of several questions to ask him about the kinds of arcane activities that could leave those types of traces on a body.

I pushed off the building.
Screw Crawford
, I thought.
I
am
the best detective for this case, and I’m gonna prove it
.

T
HE DEAD BOLT ON THE FRONT DOOR SLID HOME WITH
a soft
click
, the last step in my preparations for the summoning.

I’d nearly changed my mind about going through with it. After leaving the wastewater plant, I’d gone to the station for several hours to do preliminary legwork and write up my initial report, but by early afternoon I could hardly keep my eyes open—not that surprising once I realized I was operating on zero sleep.

I’d finally given up on coherent thought and headed home to grab a nap, staying awake on the drive home only by keeping the window open and singing along loudly to bad country music. By the time I’d crawled into my bed, I was seriously doubting my ability to summon again, even a minor demon. But six hours of sleeping like the dead did wonders for my energy level, and by midnight I felt ready to go.

I wandered through my house, the usual excitement twining with the usual nerves as I made certain that the house was secure. All of the various mundane tasks were complete. I’d closed the gate at the end of my driveway, checked and secured all the windows—which included nailing several boards over the broken window—then locked all the doors, double-checking everything compulsively. I’d learned the hard way last night that a locked door wouldn’t do much to keep an intruder out, so for tonight I’d added just a tweak of power around my house.

Arcane work could be pretty tiring, which was why I seldom did much outside of summonings. But, after last night’s near disaster, I had to grudgingly admit that I needed to expend the energy. I wasn’t exactly highly skilled at crafting arcane wardings, which meant that it took me nearly an hour to pull together a small protection that would cause anyone approaching the house to experience feelings ranging from mild fear to terror—an arcane version of a subsonic frequency, and hopefully just enough to make a person think twice about trying to get inside.

The house was still spotless from top to bottom from the deep scouring I’d given it before my summoning of the
reyza
. I wasn’t in the regular habit of keeping my house in pristine condition, but the messes and piles of clutter could harbor unwelcome pockets of energy, or so my aunt Tessa always said—though I suspected that was probably just a way for her to get me to clean the place up at least once a month. It was tough to motivate myself to tame the clutter, since I didn’t exactly encourage visitors. I kept it
clean
—after all, this was the South, and I’d be neck deep in bugs if I didn’t—but my dirty laundry usually ended up on the floor, and my bed got made only once a week when I changed the sheets.

I owned just over ten acres out here, and most of it remained woods. My house was smack in the middle of the property, with only about a hundred-foot radius around the structure cleared of thick forest and underbrush, though there were still plenty of trees around the house to shade it beautifully all year long. The house itself was a single-story Acadian with a steeply pitched roof, high ceilings, and a broad porch that extended across the entire front. The high ceilings also made it hard as shit to heat in the winter, but I had long ago accepted that electric blankets were made for just that reason. Besides, in south Louisiana it didn’t get all
that
cold. The house was close to one hundred years old, with walls and ceilings that had been made with precise tongue-and-groove construction. The exterior was supposed to be a dusky blue, but it was also unfortunately in dire need of a new paint job and had a rather mottled appearance where the white of the old paint showed through.

But the best feature of the house was its elevation. It sat on enough of a hill that I was able to have a basement, though not so high up that it could be seen above the surrounding trees from the highway. Houses with basements were practically nonexistent in this region, and the large basement of this house was absolutely perfect for the kind of arcane activities that my aunt and I dealt in. Aunt Tessa had converted the attic in her own house into a summoning chamber, but she frequently moaned that it wasn’t as good as a basement. It was a lot harder to make an attic noiseproof and lightproof, and the earth that surrounded a basement helped soak up excess arcane resonance. Plus, the heat in any attic in the South was damn near unbearable in the summer.