He’s Catholic? The insanely out-of-place thought came to me even as I renewed my struggles against the grip on me. “Ryan! Run!” I cried out. “You can’t hurt him!”
Ryan’s eyes flicked to me, then came back to Rhyzkahl. He lifted his gun, holding it with both hands and sighting carefully. “Let her go, asshole,” he said, voice quavering only barely.
Rhyzkahl’s eyes narrowed to azure slits as he regarded Ryan. “You have not the means to stop me.”
“Ryan,” I gasped, “the gun won’t do you any good. Just fucking run!”
Rhyzkahl laughed, then began to slowly tighten his grip on me, his eyes on Ryan. I coughed, scrabbling frantically at the hand as my breath was constricted.
“Let her go!” Ryan shouted, stepping farther into the room, gun trained on Rhyzkahl.
No, damn it, Ryan, I thought frantically. Just run!
Rhyzkahl merely smiled and tightened his grip.
Ryan shot a quick glance to me, then looked back to the Demonic Lord. “You were warned,” he said, voice steady now.
The sound of the gunshot slammed through the small room, and a picture on the far side of the room exploded into fragments. But I knew the bullet had passed through Rhyzkahl’s head.
And left no damage in its wake.
“Ah, fuck,” Ryan breathed, taking a step back.
Rhyzkahl tilted his head back, inhaling and lifting a hand. I froze as I saw the power coiling swiftly into his control, a blue-black arcane maelstrom in the palm of his hand. Ryan could see it, too, and his eyes went wide. But there was no time for him to do anything about it. Rhyzkahl unleashed the force, casting it into the flesh of the one who had attacked him, lifting Ryan off his feet and sending him crashing into the wall.
I let out a choked cry as Ryan crumpled beneath the gaping hole in the wall, blood trickling from his mouth. I stared in horror, silently screaming at him to move. No … not you. You can’t be dead! Oh, please … !
Rhyzkahl released his grip on me and straightened, eyes flashing in satisfaction.
I scrabbled to get off the bed, hideous thick sobs welling in my throat as I tried to get to Ryan, but Rhyzkahl seized me by my hair before I could escape his reach. He yanked me close, twining the hair in his grasp savagely, wringing a new cry of pain from me.
“He is not worth your attention, dear one. A piteous creature who does not even know himself.”
“He’s not piteous!” I flailed at his hand, gaining small satisfaction in striking out at him even though I knew it didn’t hurt him.
His expression hardened. “You should be cautious. Not all are as gentle as I.”
“He’s my partner! He’s watching out for me. You didn’t have to hurt him!”
His expression didn’t change. “I have use of you, Kara. Just remember that there may be others who find you of use as well.”
That didn’t make any sense to me. Was he talking about Ryan?
He abruptly pulled me off the bed and to my knees by his feet, but before I could cry out in protest, the scene shifted suddenly to a place other than my bedroom, a place painfully cold and pitch-dark.
My breath caught in my chest. Had he somehow brought me to his own realm? Or were we in some nether region? The cold burrowed into me, and the darkness was absolute. Shivers racked me, and not just because of the cold. But there was a stench to the place, a mustiness and odor that tugged at my memory.
Before my own memory could assert itself, a pale-blue light flared above us, revealing the metal interior of the morgue cooler. Rhyzkahl kept his grip on my hair, holding me firmly on my knees as I inhaled in surprise. In front of us was a stretcher that held a black body bag. Before I could speak, he made a gesture and the body bag disappeared, leaving just the body of the mutilated young girl, faint flickers of arcane energy barely visible on the body.
A low growl emanated from Rhyzkahl’s throat. “I know the one who laid these,” he said, in a voice that did not welcome response. Then, before I could react, the scene shifted again and we were back in my bedroom, with the crumpled form of Ryan still against the far wall.
Rhyzkahl tilted my head back to look up at him, then reached and stroked my hair, smiling down at me as I shook. Like a dog, I thought, with anger and a measure of shame. I’m like a pet to him.
He released me and turned away. “Do not concern yourself with the one who laid those markings, Kara. He is mine to discipline.”
And then he was gone in a flash of white light.
For a heartbeat, I stared at the place where he’d been, then frantically stumbled over to the still form of Ryan.
“Ryan!” Was he breathing? Had the force of it killed him? “Ryan!”
“Kara?”
“Ryan? Ryan, wake up! Please!”
“Jesus Christ, Kara, would you please wake the fuck up? Don’t make me slap you!”
I blinked up at him, disoriented and breathing raggedly. He stood over me, frowning, still exceedingly in one piece, with no blood on him.
“Oh, holy shit, you’re all right!” I sat up and threw my arms around him before I could think. “I thought you were dead,” I gasped out. “Holy shit, I thought you were dead.” Just a dream. I took deep gulps of air, struggling to dispel the horror of it. Just a dream.
Ryan gave a startled laugh and gave me a squeeze. “Hey, you. I’m not dead. What the hell happened?”
I released him abruptly, suddenly embarrassed by the display of emotion. I ducked my head to hide the hot flush, then brought a hand up to my throat. No bruising, no marks. All still a dream. “H-he taught me a lesson.” I didn’t want to look at Ryan. I hadn’t realized until just this instant how much I’d come to value our friendship, and I was terrified that he’d see it in my face. And not share the sentiment.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice taking on a darker timbre. “What kind of lesson?”
I tried to laugh, but it was a pitiful effort. “A lesson about who he is. A Demonic Lord. Not a creature who gets summoned to perform tasks for a mere mortal.”
“What did he do to you?” Ryan gripped me by my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “Why did you think I was dead?”
I swiped a hand across my face, even more embarrassed when it came away damp. Great, now I’ve completed my impression of a needy and overly emotional idiot. I took a deep breath, forcing myself into a calmer state. “Oh, you know, the usual threats and show of dominance. Then …” A shiver ran through me. “He manipulated the dream. He made me think you ran in to defend me and that you shot him, and … and he retaliated and pretty much threw you through that wall with just a flick of his fingers.”
“Oh, come on,” Ryan said with a derisive snort. “And you believed that?”
I looked up in surprise and scowled at him. “He’s definitely powerful enough to do that. And I thought he was here in the flesh!”
Ryan laughed. “No, silly. You really thought I would come in to defend you against a Demonic Lord? Hell, I’d be halfway to the highway!”
“Oh, you ass,” I said, laughing and swinging at him with a pillow, painfully relieved that he’d lightened the mood.
He grinned and ducked. “All right, so he showed you who’s boss, killed me off, and then what?”
My laughter faded as I remembered the other blow that Rhyzkahl had dealt. “He said … something strange. Said I should be cautious, because not all were as gentle as he was.” I frowned. “And said something about how he had a use for me but that there were others who might find me of use as well. It was pretty weird.” I watched Ryan for his reaction.
“Huh,” he said, puzzled expression on his face. “Wonder what he meant by that?”
I shrugged and stood up from the bed, wishing I could shrug away the slight doubt that Rhyzkahl had instilled in me. Was he trying to warn me about something? Or someone? Now that the whole experience was over, I could—grudgingly—admit that I had been overstepping my bounds when it came to dealing with a creature of that level of power. Not tha
t I had any experience with that sort of thing, but I’d been coming very close to thinking of Rhyzkahl in human terms. He was not a human. Not a mortal. He was a demon. They were different. The rules were different.
“Dunno,” I said as I pulled a sweatshirt on. Had he been trying to tell me something about Ryan? Was that why he’d attacked Ryan, or at least attacked a dream version of him? If so, then why wouldn’t he just come out and accuse him?
It didn’t matter. The seed of doubt was there now.
“So I guess this means that you didn’t get any info about the body?” Ryan asked.
“Oh, actually I did.” I laughed a bit shakily. “After all that, he took me to the morgue.”
“And?”
I spread my hands. “All he said was that he knew who it was and that he would deal with it.”
Ryan pondered this for a few seconds, brows drawn together. “I don’t understand. Does that mean it’s one of his own followers?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, feeling my frustration rise. “If so, it would mean that it’s a demon working against Rhyzkahl somehow. Or it could be that it’s another lord’s demon. Either way, he’s going to deal with it.”
Ryan scrubbed his hand through his hair. “And we’re to back off on that, no matter who it is.”
“Yeah. That’s pretty much the vibe I got. Not that there’s much we could do if it’s some sort of conflict between two lords.” I exhaled, suddenly feeling very tired. “And after that whole visit, I’m just fine with letting him deal with it.”
“But it doesn’t get us any closer to figuring out who the Symbol Man is.”
He’d struck to the heart of it. “No,” I agreed. “We’re still right where we were before.”
RYAN WAS PRACTICALLY BREAKING HIS JAW WITH HIS yawns, so I finally bullied him into returning to the guest room to try to get some more sleep. I, however, had approximately zero desire to sleep again at this point. I made a pot of coffee in an attempt to battle my own attack of the yawns, then took another look through my notes to see if anything new would come to me. I was grasping for anything at this juncture that could point me in the right direction. I felt like I was running in place while the time until the next full moon rapidly slipped away.
My cell phone rang as soon as I’d poured my second cup. I glanced at the clock. Four a.m. Calls this early were seldom good news.
“Detective Gillian? This is Detective Powell in Narcotics. I’ve found one of your people.”
A surge of sick dread went through me. “Oh, shit. Another body?”
“Huh? Oh, no. Nothing like that. Her name’s Michelle Cleland, and I just arrested her for prostitution and possession of crack cocaine.”
I nearly swayed in relief. “Oh, that’s fantastic. Where is she now?”
“She’s in holding. I just finished booking her in.”
“Powell, I owe you. Thanks a million.”
“No prob, Kara. I hope it helps you guys out.”
I hurriedly changed into jeans and a T-shirt with the Glock emblem on the front while slugging down as much coffee as I could without burning my mouth. Twenty minutes later, I was at the jail, waiting for the girl to be brought into an interview room.
Michelle Cleland had the ultraskinny frame, sunken cheeks, and beaten-down cast to her eyes that told me that she’d been on crack or some other highly addictive substance for a while. I glanced quickly at her booking sheet for her age. Twenty-three. Damn hard to tell by just her appearance.
She looked at me sullenly as she sat down, though there was a flicker of bravado about her as well. I could see by her driver’s license photo that at one time she’d been pretty. Nice smile, long brown hair, and big brown eyes with a scattering of freckles across her nose. Not anymore. She’d probably be dead in a few years from an overdose.
“Hi, Michelle,” I began. “I’m Detective Kara Gillian.”
Michelle slumped down in the chair. “I already talked to the narc guy and told him who I bought the shit from.”
“That’s not what I want to know.”
Michelle looked up at me uncertainly. I kept my expression serious. “I’m going to go ahead and read you your Miranda warnings, but I’ll tell you right now I’m not looking for any information that’s going to get you into any more trouble.” I quickly ran through the required rights and Michelle dutifully signed the form.
“All right,” I said, as I put the form away. “Now that that’s out of the way, I have some questions to ask you about these.” I pulled out the pictures and the drawings from Greg Cerise’s house and spread them on the table.
Michelle leaned forward, breath catching in surprise. “Oh, my God. That’s me!” She touched a drawing that depicted a woman drawing water from a well. In the picture, the woman was dressed in a simple clinging shift, with her hair pulled back into a loose braid. She was beautiful and smiling, looking over her shoulder at something or someone not depicted in the drawing. Another picture showed the same woman, but this time she was belting on a sword and the expression on her face was harder, determined, but by no means defeated.
“Oh, wow. Wow. I almost look good.” Michelle slumped back down in the chair, clearly saddened by the reminder of how far she’d fallen.
“Yeah. You’re a pretty girl. And these are incredible drawings. What do you know about the artist?”
The girl shrugged. “Dunno. He was just this guy who hung out at the park and would give people like ten bucks or so to let him take their picture. He was always drawing or taking pictures.”
“Was there anyone else with him?”
Michelle shook her head. “Nah, not really. I mean, he talked to the people who hung out there, but he didn’t have anyone with him or anything.”
“Did you ever see any of the pictures he drew?”
“Yeah, it was some wild stuff. Comic book or something, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Yeah. It was cool. I talked to him once, y’know? He was nice. He told me that he was a lot better at drawing people with a picture to start from, not real good at drawing from just his imagination. He gave me twenty bucks and he took a bunch of pictures.” She looked down at the drawings. “Why are you asking me about him? Did he do something wrong by paying us? I never fucked him, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“No. I’m the lead investigator on the Symbol Man investigation.” I waited for it to process through the girl’s head.
“Oh, wow,” she breathed. “He’s the Symbol Man?”
“No. He was killed by the Symbol Man.” I put the drawings back in the folder, noting that the girl looked at them wistfully.
“Oh, my God. He’s dead?” To my surprise, tears began to well up in her eyes. “Oh, man, he was nice. That’s horrible.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Michelle sniffled and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. “So why are you asking me all of this stuff about him if he’s dead?”
“Well, when we went into his house, we found a bunch of pictures and drawings—people he’d taken pictures of around town.” I kept my gaze on her. “It turns out that all the victims of the Symbol Man had been photographed and drawn by Greg already.”
The girl paled. “Wait. You mean—”
“Yes,” I said. “You’re at risk of being a victim.”
Her eyes went wide. “Oh, my God, you can’t let him get me!”
I reached out and put my hand on top of Michelle’s. “I won’t. That’s why I’m talking to you now. I know you don’t want to hear this, but jail is the safest place for you right now.”
Michelle stared at me, then shook her head. “I can’t stay here. It’s cold, and the food is awful, and all the other women in the holding cell are nasty.”
“Would you rather be slit open from throat to twat?” I said, forcefully blunt.
Michelle seemed to deflate. Her eyes filled with tears again. “This just sucks. Jail sucks.”
“I know,” I said, softening my tone
. “I know, but give me just a bit more time. We’re close to this guy. Once we catch him, then you’re out of here.” I gave Michelle a wry smile. “And I’ll do my best to make sure that any time you spend in here will apply to your sentence.”
Her lip quivered. “Okay. But this still sucks.”
I stood and pressed the button to call the guard back. “I know, Michelle. But it beats being dead.”
I DIDN’T HEAD back home or to the office. There was a conversation I’d been meaning to have for a while now, and time was running out to get all the answers.
I walked up the steps to my aunt’s house and rang the doorbell. It was barely six a.m., but I knew she would already be up and about. True to form, the door opened before the echoes of the bell had faded away.
“Hiya, sweets. You know you don’t have to ring the bell.”
“Aunt Tessa,” I said without preamble, “we need to talk.”
Tessa’s smile faded and she gave a nod, as if she’d been expecting this visit. She turned and headed down the hall to the kitchen and then sat at the counter, pushing a cup of tea toward me.
I couldn’t help but smile a bit as I lifted the cup. Perfect, as always.
“Aunt Tessa, I need you to tell me about the time you saw Rhyzkahl.”
Tessa sighed and set her hands on the counter as if to examine her nails. “I knew you’d be coming to me at some point about that whole thing.” She lifted her eyes to mine. “It’s all connected, isn’t it?”
“I’m almost positive,” I said. “But I need some more information, and you’re the only one who can give it to me.”
Tessa squeezed her eyes shut briefly. “I can still see the whole thing. Even almost thirty years later.”
“Greg told me that you two were in the basement when his father attempted to summon Rhyzkahl,” I said, gently prompting.
Tessa shook her head firmly. “No, he wasn’t attempting to summon Rhyzkahl. Only someone with a death wish would do that. He was trying to summon another lord, Szerain, who was much lower in stature than Rhyzkahl and supposedly willing to negotiate terms. It was a ridiculous and doomed attempt to heal his wife of breast cancer, which had gone undiagnosed and untreated because of his insane aversion to the medical community.” Her voice was filled with bitterness. Then she sighed again. “Not that there was much that could have been done back then. They just didn’t have the treatments they do today, but she might have had a few more years.” An expression of regret flickered across her face. “We’ll never know now.”
Mark of the Demon Page 26
