Mark of the Demon

by Diana Rowland

  Jill patted my shoulder. “You’ve been gone, that’s for sure.”

  I could hear sirens approaching. “Gone? Just a coupla minutes. I died for just a little while.”

  Jill gave me a shaky smile. “Girlfriend, there was enough of your blood on the scene for you to be dead three times over. But no body. No one knew what happened to you. But we knew that you were … that you couldn’t have survived.”

  I made a valiant attempt to sit up, which was phenomenally unsuccessful. I might have managed to tremble slightly. “I don’t understand. I came right back.”

  “Darlin’, you’ve been gone for a couple of weeks. We had your funeral and everything.”

  I decided that was as good a time as any to go back to being unconscious.

  THE NEXT TIME I OPENED MY EYES, I WAS IN A HOSPITAL room. A monitor beeped softly beside the bed, and an IV ran down to a needle in my arm. Dozens of flower arrangements crowded the room, and the incongruous thought struck me that it was a good thing I didn’t have allergies. My vision was clear now, I noted with relief, and I took a careful deep breath, relieved again to find that the strange searing pain was gone. Was that because it was the first breath that my lungs had taken?

  I gave an involuntary shudder. I’d died. Holy fucking shit. And I’d seen the demon realm. Another shudder went through me at the memory of that beauty, the turquoise sea, the demons in flight. I’d never seen so many demons at one time. I probably never would again, and the realization sent a curious ache of grief through me.

  I lifted a hand to rub my eyes, dismayed at how much effort it took. I guess all my muscles will have to learn how to work again.

  A man I hadn’t noticed before stood abruptly from a chair by the window. It took me a couple of seconds to process who it was, simply because of the deep lines of fatigue and stress etched into his face.

  “Ryan,” I said, voice cracking annoyingly.

  “About fucking time you woke up.”

  I gave a breathy laugh. “Sorry. I was busy being dead.”

  An agonized expression flitted across his face. “You … God almighty. Everyone thought you were dead. I mean, really dead. I saw you disappear with the lord.” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “I thought he’d taken your body just to fuck with us. Michelle disappeared, too, but there’s been no sign of her.”

  Michelle was the payment for giving me the chance to return, I realized with a guilty ache. I dropped my head back and stared up at the ceiling. “I was dying. I mean, seriously. I had only a couple of minutes, if that. And he took me with him, back to his realm, when he returned.” There was a tightness in my throat that I was having difficulty speaking around. “I did die. I mean, I died in the other sphere, so I was just dismissed back to this one.” I gulped. “He gave me the chance to re-form here.”

  Ryan looked confused, then his expression cleared. “Like the demons? When they’re killed on this plane they’re dismissed back to their own plane?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. I don’t know everything about it, but I guess it was the best chance I had.” A shiver ran down my back. “I got the impression that it doesn’t always work.”

  He let out his breath, then gave me that crooked smile that I’d always found so charming. “You know you’ve managed to confuse the crap out of everyone?”

  “By not being dead?”

  He snorted. “And by being gone for a couple of weeks. And by appearing out of nowhere in the middle of the Beaulac PD patrol room. And by not having a scratch or mark or scar or anything else—including clothing—on you.”

  I gave a weak laugh. “Great, so everyone’s seen me naked.”

  “Except me, damn it,” he said, eyes crinkling. “I was in Quantico, still trying to explain what had happened.” He shook his head. “Well, I guess I’m grateful to the demonic bastard for giving you a chance to live.”

  “My aunt. Is she …”

  The pained expression returned to his face. “She’s in a coma. No one knows why. There’s no sign of trauma….”

  My throat tightened. “He took her essence, drained her to form his circle. She’s … empty.” My voice sounded distant. Later. I’ll cry later.

  Ryan blew out his breath. “Damn,” he said. “Is there any way to get it back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We were both silent for a moment. “You stopped him, though,” Ryan said finally. “At least that’s over. You missed the shitstorm when it was revealed who the Symbol Man was. We searched his house and found a hidden room—full-out torture chamber, with all sorts of ‘satanic’ diagrams on the floor.” He grinned at my eye roll. “Good thing we found the room, since the age-progressed photo turned out to be pretty useless. Fucking Quantico. So much for asking for a rush on it. We got it back three days after you—” He grimaced.

  “Died. Yeah.” I gave a shrug that I didn’t feel. “He’d had some work done on his face. So you really are with the FBI?”

  “Really am,” he said, smiling. “Full-blown Fed.”

  I exhaled. “At least I know what the symbol is now.”

  “You do?”

  “It’s Rhyzkahl’s. I saw it on his throne when he brought me to his realm. Cerise marked the victims with it to focus the potency toward binding Rhyzkahl. And he knew the symbol because Rhyzkahl had marked him with it during that first summoning.”

  “The Mark of Rhyzkahl,” he murmured, an odd shadow rippling over his face as if he was trying to remember something. Then he blinked and it was gone. “Well, that’s one more mystery solved.”

  I peered up at him. “So how did the chief get you?”

  A chagrined expression crossed his face. “The chief called me up and told me that Michelle Cleland had stated that she had information about the Symbol Man but she wanted out of jail first.” He grimaced. “Easiest way to handle it was to go and sign her out on a PR.” I groaned and he nodded. “Yep. I was a total chump. We were barely out of the jail when that big fucking demon managed to grab us both.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Fortunately, demons don’t know shit about cell phones, so I managed to dial Garner and leave it on long enough for him to figure out where the demon was taking us. And, very fortunately, he didn’t show up until after it was all over.”

  I understood perfectly. “He and anyone he brought with him would have been slaughtered.”

  “God, yes. That demon was unbelievable!” He reached out and touched the side of my jaw briefly before withdrawing his hand, sending a curious little flutter through me. “You had one hell of a bruise working when I saw you there.”

  I was quiet for a moment. “What did he mean, Ryan?” I said finally. “What did Rhyzkahl mean when he said that you weren’t fully aware of yourself?” I watched his face carefully.

  He shrugged and spread his hands. “Kara, I have no idea,” he said, expression showing nothing but bafflement. “But I guess if I did know, then I would be aware of myself?” He shrugged again. “Your guess is as good as mine. I’m just glad it’s over and you’re okay.” Then he grinned. “But I can’t wait to see how you write your report.”

  I groaned. “I should be exempt. I died.” Then I cringed. “What are people saying? I mean, about me being gone and then coming back?”

  He gave a bark of laughter. “There are so many rumors and wild theories floating around that I couldn’t even begin to go through them all. The official word is that there is no official word.” He grinned. “The Beaulac PD is refusing to offer any official explanation for your disappearance and subsequent reappearance, though there’s an ‘unofficial’ explanation that is being carefully spread around that you were on a top-secret task force for the FBI.” He laughed. “Probably the smartest thing they could do, considering that there were a few gallons of your blood at the scene and that about twenty officers saw you appear at the station from nowhere in a flash of white lightning.” His grin widened. “Naked as a jaybird, I might add.”

  “And you missed it,” I teased.

&nb
sp; He sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, but it’s okay.”

  “It is?”

  He leaned closer. “Oh, yes. I think I’ll have the chance to see for myself quite soon.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him, unable to keep from smiling. “Oh, you do?”

  His grin turned wicked. “I do. Because I’m sure that the pictures are all over the Internet by now.”

  My shriek of dismay let everyone in the hospital know that I was definitely alive, if not necessarily well.

  About the Author

  DIANA ROWLAND has lived her entire life below the Mason-Dixon Line, uses “y’all” for second person plural, and otherwise has no southern accent (in her opinion).

  She has worked as a bartender, a blackjack dealer, a pit boss, a street cop, a detective, a computer forensics specialist, a crime scene investigator, and a morgue assistant, which means that she’s seen more than her share of what humans can do to each other and to themselves. She won the marksmanship award in her police academy class, has a black belt in Hapkido, has handled numerous dead bodies in various states of decomposition, and can’t Rollerblade to save her life.

  She presently lives with her husband and daughter in south Louisiana, where she is deeply grateful for the existence of air-conditioning.

  MARK OF THE DEMON is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  A Bantam Books Mass Market Original

  Copyright © 2009 by Diana Rowland

  All rights reserved

  Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  BANTAM BOOKS and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  eISBN: 978-0-553-90670-7

  www.bantamdell.com

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