Mark of the Demon

by Diana Rowland

  “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.

  “YOU 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.

  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 tsked 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?”