I hustled up the stone steps to the apartment. Like many buildings in the current era, an entrance that had once likely consisted of swinging glass doors now featured a steel monster. I tugged the handle. The door didn’t move, its bolt guarded by a thick metal plate.
I looked around. At this late hour, there was almost no chance of anyone showing up for me to pull the “hey, mind holding the door? forgot my keys” routine. Given my bloody state, I was far more likely to send them screaming in the other direction, anyway.
I dug through the spell items in my pockets until I found the vial of dragon sand. I sprinkled some into the palm of a hand, then used a licked finger to lift the dark granules and press them into the keyhole.
When I was done, I whispered, “Fuoco.”
Smoke curled from the keyhole followed by the hiss of white flames. Within seconds, the locking apparatus sagged in like a half-baked cookie. When I yanked the door, it swung open, the melted bolt plopping to the ground.
I stepped over the threshold and into an anteroom. A locked set of glass doors separated me from an empty lobby. A buzzer panel to my right listed the apartment numbers in two tall columns, with the punch-out of a speaker underneath. Almost immediately, the speaker began to crackle and buzz. Sometimes all these systems took was a little hexing, and for that I wouldn’t need a spell medium. As a wizard, I was that medium.
I pushed a little more energy into the metal panel, then tried the door. The magnetic lock gave up its failing hold, and I was inside.
I consulted my notepad before hitting the half-lit stairwell. Vega’s unit was on the third floor. Fatigue weighed down my legs as I climbed, making me think of the exhaustion I’d observed in Vega’s eyes the morning she drove me to the cathedral. Twice now, I had glimpsed something else in those eyes. Some deeper knowledge.
And then the obvious slapped me upside the head.
At her door, I pressed an ear to the cracked lacquer paint. No shrieking or sounds of struggle. I raised a fist, took a second to review what I was going to say, and knocked four times hard. When twenty seconds passed, I wiped the sweat from beneath my nose and knocked again, heart pounding in anticipation.
“Drop the cane, and lock your fingers behind your head.”
Not in anticipation of that, though.
I did as Detective Vega said and turned slowly. She was approaching from the staircase I’d arrived by, both hands on the grip of the nine millimeter she was aiming at my head.
“Will you at least let me talk this time?” I asked.
Though she was wearing dark jeans and an untucked white V-neck, Vega was all business. She eased beneath the dim lights of the corridor in a practiced approach, eyes level with her line of fire. Her bottom lip swelled out, and she blew a loose strand of hair from her left eye.
“Face the wall,” she said. “Get on your knees.”
I turned until I was looking cross-eyed at a pattern of cheap wallpaper. I thudded to one knee, and then the other.
“I imagine someone in Homicide sees a lot in this city,” I began, working out the epiphany that had hit me in the stairwell.
“I didn’t say you could talk.”
“And some of it, maybe a good amount of it, you can’t explain. Not to yourself, and certainly not to your higher ups—they want cases cleared, period. Start going to them with things that don’t conform to that goal, much less reality?” I gave a rueful laugh. “Next thing you know, you’re standing in traffic with a whistle between your teeth, right?”
Detective Vega, who had begun a search of my pockets, didn’t respond. I heard her set my wallet and keys on the carpeted floor behind me, the blackberry scent of her shampoo mingling with the sour smells of my sweat and blood.
“So you shut away the things you’ve seen,” I said, “the things you know to be out there. And it’s not because you’re a bad detective—far from it. It’s because you’re not given a choice. You believe in the mission on your shield, and you can only fulfill it from inside the system, blind and broken as it may be. Making the city safer. Protecting the vulnerable. Protecting your son.”
She had moved to my coat pockets, turning out the spell items, but now I thought I felt her slow.
“It’s why you listened to me tonight,” I said.
“The hell are you even talking about?” she growled.
“You took your son someplace safe, like I asked. That’s where you’re coming back from.” It was an educated guess. She could just as well have been staking out her apartment to see who might show.
“Or maybe I just want to keep him safe from you,” she shot back.
I gave a knowing chuckle as she resumed her rough excavation of my remaining pockets. “Why did you bring me in on the St. Martin’s investigation?”
“That was a mistake,” she muttered.
“I’m not the only authority on ancient languages in this city. You could have gone to any number of experts, none of them carrying the stain of probation. Care to hear my theory?”
“No.”
“You wanted to size me up. You knew I had no hand in that murder last year, because when you followed the evidence, it didn’t point to me. In fact, it didn’t point to anything explicable. But like a good soldier, you obeyed the orders of your higher ups. You went deeper, looking for any angle that would implicate me in the man’s death. What you found instead were strange rumors about who I was and what I could do. When you connected the dots, you realized I’d been trying to help the victim, even if it was in a way that didn’t make sense to you.”
She finished her search. I craned my neck around until our eyes met. And there was the look, the one that spoke to deeper knowledge. What I’d missed before was the angle of curiosity.
“The decision to arrest me for obstruction didn’t come from you. You followed orders—and felt bad about having to, I’m sure—but you didn’t forget what you’d found out. So when you needed an expert on ancient languages, you came looking for me. To see what I was all about.”
Vega narrowed her gaze, though whether because I’d made her feel transparent again or that I was way off the mark, I couldn’t tell. “Stand up,” she ordered in a voice that could have suggested either.
“None of this changes the fact that you’re in danger,” I said.
“You want to tell me what you were doing at Mr. Chin’s?” The pistol she held on me drifted from my head to my midsection as I rose. “Or up in Hamilton Heights, for that matter?”
“Trying to help,” I said, looking directly into her eyes. “And you know that.”
Her gaze moved to the torn and bloody shoulder of my coat. I could see her trying to work up her anger again, and it wasn’t because she thought I was a degenerate. No, her anger originated from a struggle between her wanting and not wanting to understand a world that challenged the more rational, order-based parts of her mind, which was most of it.
“Who killed them?” she asked.
“What killed them,” I amended, “are the same creatures that came after me tonight—and that could show up here any second.”
The spell items arrayed across the floor between us seemed a boundary between the rational and the irrational, the mundane and the magical. I imagined the struggle behind Vega’s hardened face. To trust me meant throwing a radical switch in her head, altering her thinking, her language.
“If you’re fucking with me, Croft, so help me God…”
“I’m not.”
She assessed me for another moment. An urgent timer ticked down in my head, but gaining her trust was the more immediate need. If I failed, she would arrest me, and my warning would go unheeded.
“You can lower your arms,” she said at last, giving a small nod.
Relief swam through me as I unlaced my hands and let them down.
“On whose order were those people killed?” she asked, holstering her pistol into her pants in back.
“The same person who murdered the rector.”
Her hands froze at
her back, and she blinked up at me. “Come again?”
“I’ll explain, but we should probably go inside. I’m going to need to demonstrate some of what I’m about to tell you.” She didn’t stop me when I started scooping the spell items from the floor and returning them to my pockets. When I retrieved the vial of copper filings, I assessed its weight. I should have topped it off, but there was enough inside to protect Vega.
She wasn’t going to like it, though.
42
“A spirit is behind all of this?” Detective Vega watched dubiously as I sprinkled the last of the copper filings from the vial.
To her credit, she’d remained mostly silent during my explanation.
“A demonic entity,” I reminded her. “I know how that sounds, but think about the evisceration cases, all the evidence you’ve had to explain away. The summoning circles, for example.” I stood up from the one I’d just completed. “They were in the same room as every one of the victims, contained the same casting elements. You concluded the slayings were ritualistic, but how do you explain the absence of forced entries—just forced exits?”
“We have some theories,” she said in a defensive voice.
“Yeah, and I bet they require feats of mental gymnastics. But do they have the explanatory power of what I’ve just told you?”
Instead of answering, she glanced around her two-bedroom unit. The apartment was simple and functional, with a few potted plants. Framed photos of her son and what I guessed to be extended family lined the walls, infusing the space with color and warmth. I had chosen a spot in the corner of the living room for the circle, scooting out a small table and standing lamp. Now I followed her gaze across the room to the lone couch, one end littered with toy trucks.
When she looked back at the circle, I could see her mind working. She still didn’t want to believe me, but could she afford not to? “All right,” she said at last, sighing through her nose. “Show me.”
I was very limited with what I could demonstrate, not only for time’s sake but that my powers remained in a slow state of recharge. I reached into a pocket and pulled out a bag of clematis buds.
“The creatures we’ve been talking about were summoned from a place humans should never attempt to access.” I crushed the bag and emptied its contents into the casting circle. “An evil place.” I spread the fragrant buds around with the tip of my cane. “Rest assured, I won’t be summoning from there, but this will at least give you an idea of how it’s done.”
Detective Vega crossed her arms and cocked a hip.
I returned the crumpled bag to my pocket and stood back. I appraised the circle, which would need to do two jobs tonight. Deciding it looked up to the task, I pushed enough energy into the circle to close it. I trained the cane on the crushed buds next, focusing until they rustled, as though a light breeze had passed over them. With the strong scent of vanilla drifting up, I began to chant the name of something that inhabited a plane very close to our own.
“Susurle,” I repeated.
“Can’t believe I’m standing here watching this,” Vega muttered after a minute.
In the next moment, her breath caught. A twist of light, and there it was: a small creature with a magnificent butterfly’s body but intelligent blinking eyes. It fluttered around the casting column with thin orchid-colored wings before descending to the buds and picking over them.
“How in the hell did you do that?” Vega whispered, arms fallen to her sides.
“That’s what a summoning looks like,” I said, unable to suppress the triumph I felt.
“And it’s not an illusion? That thing is real?”
“For our purposes, yes.” I waited another minute. “Seen enough?” I didn’t want to rush her, but I couldn’t afford to expend any more of my power than necessary—especially since I still had her to protect.
Vega stared for another moment, then straightened and nodded.
I called back the energy from the buds and spoke another incantation, this time banishing the creature. With no particular designs on our world, it dissipated without a fuss. Its orchid wings glimmered out last.
“And the demonic entity talked to the victims through their mirrors?” Vega asked, still studying the spot where the delicate creature had been. She affected a hardened, professional tone, even as I sensed her mind trying to shift blocks around to accommodate this new reality. I had to hand it to her, though. She had taken it better than most people would have.
“Yes,” I replied. “He would have used what’s called a scrying mirror.”
She repeated the word quietly. “And he had the evil creatures summoned to escape the church?”
“No, he killed the rector for that. He plans to do the same to the vicar and bishop when the moon reaches its zenith in…” My heart sped up when I checked my watch. “In less than an hour. The shriekers are to help him once he’s free. The phalanx of his demon legion. He’ll summon more beings, I’m sure, once he’s no longer confined by the power of the church.”
“Assuming this is all true, how do you deal with a spirit like that?” She gave a small snort. “Ghostbusters?”
“The only person you’re gonna call is whoever’s in charge of the search at the cathedral. I need you to suspend it, terminate it—whatever. Just get everyone the hell out of there.”
“Call it off? You’re asking a lot, Croft.”
“They’re not going to find anything,” I said. “And if they do, they’ll be massacred.”
“So who’s—?”
“Me,” I said, anticipating the rest of her question. “Alone.”
She shook her head, loose hair flipping over her shoulders. “Forget it, Croft. I’ve already given you the benefit of the doubt tonight. No way am I letting you go to a major crime scene unescorted. And with the perp and hostages on the premises? Unh-uh. I’m going with you.”
No, you’re not, I thought, but I do need your authority.
“Fine, first call off the search.”
She frowned at my order even as she fished a smartphone from a back pocket. “If I find out you’re playing me for a fool,” she said, her collapsing brows promising more violence than her voice, which was promising plenty, “I’m taking you down, Croft. Hard.”
“They’ll be no need,” I assured her.
She relented, scrolled for the number, and tapped it. I backed away so her phone wouldn’t go funny, and listened to her tell whomever was in charge at St. Martin’s to order everyone out of the cathedral. She was bringing in a “specialist,” she explained. A definite upgrade from “probationer,” I thought—as short lived as that upgrade was going to be.
She hung up and disappeared into her bedroom. “What’s your plan?” she asked from beyond the closed door. I heard metal hangers screech and clothes landing on a bedspread.
“It depends on what kind of entity I’m dealing with,” I called back. That was the one thing I hadn’t been able to determine, and yeah, it mattered. Certain demons were susceptible to religious artifacts and scripture, which I was sort of counting on. There would be plenty of both at the church.
“So that message on the rector’s back,” Vega said. “ ‘Black Earth.’ You weren’t lying about not being able to connect it to anything?”
I thought about the fanatical cult in Central Park and started to open my mouth to reiterate what I’d said earlier—no connection—then stopped. An ice floe slid into my stomach. What if the message hadn’t been meant as a threat or a red herring, but as a warning?
“Christ,” I whispered.
“Croft?” she called when I didn’t answer.
“You interviewed everyone at St. Martin’s, right?”
“Yeah.” I could hear her questioning frown.
“All of them over at Police Plaza?”
“Yeah—” She stopped. “Well, all except one. Gave some weak excuse, but then got frantic when we pressed the issue. We ended up doing his interview at the cathedral, which was no biggie.”
; I swallowed dryly. “Who?”
“Your buddy,” she replied. “Father Vick.”
The name horse-kicked me in the chest. For a moment, the apartment tilted. I clasped my cane in both hands, as though to anchor myself. But it made sense, didn’t it? The illness, the bleeding, and now this revelation of Father Vick’s unwillingness—or more likely, inability—to leave the cathedral.
The demon hadn’t reanimated the long-dead rector. The demon had found a new host.
Vega emerged in her professional attire, hair stretched back and banded off.
“Ready?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, Detective,” I said, then whispered a Word. The force from my cane shoved Vega into the corner of the living room. A second force straightened the scuff her shoes had made in the copper circle.
“Croft, what—!”
I closed the circle with a more powerful incantation. When Vega lunged forward, she rammed shoulder-first into an invisible force and rebounded. What the fuck? she mouthed, looking up and down the field that bent her image slightly. She slapped the field twice, then drew her pistol. The shots sounded like distant fireworks, flattened bullets falling to her feet.
“I’m really, really sorry,” I said so she could read my lips.
You son of a bitch, she mouthed, murder in her dark eyes. She drew her smartphone, but the circle’s energy had killed it.
Confident she’d be safe, I wheeled and jogged toward the door. The field was strong, but temporary. Two hours, tops. If the demon went down—no, when the demon went down, I amended—so would the phalanx of shriekers, who were bound to him. One more reason to not fail.
My gaze moved over the framed photos and scattered toys.
Actually, two reasons, when I considered a young boy would be without a mother.
I stopped at the kitchen to collect the keys Vega had dropped on the counter. Now it was a matter of seeing if what I had observed Meredith doing in the police cruiser would translate into my being able to drive the detective’s sedan. I could only imagine the knives Vega was staring into my back. Hopefully, she would forgive me when this was all over.
Demon Moon (Prof Croft Book 1) Page 19
