Secrets of the Demon

by Diana Rowland

I entered through the back door that led to the Investigations Division and continued on down the woodpaneled hall to my office, intentionally walking loudly in an effort to cover the annoying buzz of the fluorescents. Unlocking my door, I flicked on the lights to reveal the not-very-spacious glory that was my closet-sized office. I didn’t really mind the lack of space. It meant I didn’t have to share it with anyone. And I’d finally managed to put something up to break the monotony of the stark white walls: a “Magic Eye” poster that wasn’t really a “Magic Eye” poster at all. I’d quickly discovered that it was incredibly entertaining to watch people struggle to see a 3-D image that didn’t exist.

  I fired up my computer and started calling up basic background checks on everyone. The drummer, Roger Peeler, had been arrested for possession of steroids several years ago, but had avoided conviction. Trey Westin was clean as a whistle. Not even a parking ticket. I ran Michael Moran as well, for the sake of thoroughness. Who knows, maybe the whole brain damage thing is a fake, I thought with inappropriate and obnoxious humor. But, no, Michael Moran wasn’t even in the system—not a surprise if he didn’t have a driver’s license or state-issued ID.

  However, the manager, Adam Taylor, had several outstanding warrants for worthless checks. I allowed myself a feral smile as I pulled up more info on the warrants.

  I let out a low whistle. Now here was a guy who most assuredly had a stake in whether or not Ether Madhouse made it big. Seven different warrants sworn out by a variety of people, for a total of almost twenty thousand dollars. I wasn’t terribly surprised that he hadn’t been arrested yet. There were a ridiculous number of people with outstanding warrants for various offenses, and the warrants divisions of the PD and the Sheriff’s Office were both understaffed and overworked. And since check fraud was a decidedly nonviolent crime, offenders seldom had to worry about getting a knock on the door. Often they were only arrested after a traffic stop, and that was only if the officer happened to run them for warrants, which wasn’t always the case, though it was becoming more standard with the improvements in the computer systems.

  I leaned back in my chair, wincing as a spring dug its way into my hip. Well, if nothing else, I now have a hammer to use on Mr. Taylor to get dirt on others involved in the band. I smiled in satisfaction and sent the info to the printer. I ran checks on Lida and Ben Moran as well, but both were as clean as Trey.

  The printer seemed oddly loud in contrast to the deep hush of the rest of the office. I glanced at the clock and sighed. Almost five P.M. already. Way to spend the day off.

  I retrieved the stack of paper from the printer, then grabbed my bag and headed to my car, locking the door to the bureau behind me. The sky had clouded over in the short time I’d been inside and a damp wind tugged at the sheaf of paper in my hands. A deep roll of thunder seemed to vibrate the air around me and I looked to the west, gulping at the sight of a rapidly approaching wall of rain. Thumbing the remote unlock on the key, I sprinted the rest of the way to my car, barely managing to get inside and the door closed just as the rain reached me and swallowed the car in a deluge.

  I looked out at the pounding rain, unconsciously hunching my shoulders into a defensive posture. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, even though I hadn’t even put the key into the ignition yet. Lightning struck in a blinding flash, followed so closely by a smack of thunder that I was pretty sure it had struck the car—or damn close to it. It’s normal Louisiana weather, I reassured myself over the galloping of my pulse. I’m safe in the car.

  I yelped as a bolt of lightning struck a few feet in front of the car, leaving my ears ringing and my eyes burning with the afterimage. My heart slammed in uneven tempo, oddly out of sync with the peals of thunder. I’m safe in the car, I told myself again, though at this point I wasn’t so convinced that it was normal Louisiana weather.

  And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. I could see the wall of rain retreating to the east, sky still flickering with lightning. I let out a shaking breath and leaned my forehead against the steering wheel. The car still seemed to vibrate from the reverberations of the rapidly fading thunder, but I finally managed to slowly unpeel my fingers from the steering wheel. Just normal Louisiana weather. That’s all it was.

  But it was several minutes before I felt settled enough to drive away.

  Chapter 8

  A mile away from the station the ground went from soggy to bone dry, and even though it was dusk, I could see that the sky was cloudless. This is Louisiana, I repeated to myself. Crazy weather is the norm.

  Somehow, I remained unconvinced.

  I made it home before six, which normally would have given me time for a quick nap, but I was still stupidly unnerved by the freak thunderstorm. After twenty minutes of staring at the ceiling I gave up and started my preparations for the summoning. “Well rested” was the preferred state to be in when dealing with a demonic lord, but I reminded myself that I had slept until one this afternoon.

  Actually, not dealing with a demonic lord at all was best, but that wasn’t possible for me anymore. I’d first encountered the demonic lord Rhyzkahl by accident. I’d been attempting to summon a relatively tame fourth-level demon for help with finding the Symbol Man, and had instead produced a demonic lord—not a welcome state of affairs, since demonic lords were so averse to being summoned that they tended to slaughter anyone silly enough to make the attempt. However, I hadn’t been slaughtered and had been seduced instead—a complete shock, and one that I didn’t understand until much later. Almost half a year had gone by since then, and I was still trying to make heads or tails of my relationship with the demonic lord.

  I’d summoned him three times since I’d sworn an oath to become his summoner, sticking to the terms of our agreement. The first time, he asked me what my two questions were, and I responded with a poorly phrased question about Ryan that Rhyzkahl managed to answer without actually telling me anything. Frustrated, I changed the subject and made my second question one about arcane techniques. Rhyzkahl was more than willing to teach me how to anchor a portal without closing it, and as soon as I mastered that, we did the hot and crazy sex thing in front of the fireplace.

  And then he’d left. The second time he walked around my yard and my house for several hours, not saying much of anything at all, while I grew bored with watching him and dozed off in the swing on my back porch. He woke me up by doing interesting things to me, and we did the hot and nasty right there outside—a first for me. And I didn’t ask about Ryan, because I had a more pressing need to find out a detail about the warding structure in my storage diagram.

  But last month’s had been the strangest and most surreal. I’d summoned him almost as soon as the sun set—as he’d requested. And then? We watched TV.

  For two hours I flipped through channels, while he said almost nothing. Occasionally he’d lift his hand to indicate he wanted to see more of whatever was on. Everything from the local news and CNN to reality shows and HBO.

  “You do realize,” I finally said, “that all of this isn’t really an accurate depiction of this world?”

  He turned to me with a frown. “Truly? You are not forced to spend weeks on a remote island and engage in absurd competitions?”

  I opened my mouth to explain, then I saw the amused gleam in his eye. Without thinking I grabbed a throw pillow and whacked him with it. “You ass!” I said with a laugh, then froze as shock coiled through me. Oh, fuck. I did not just hit a demonic lord . . .

  The air in the room seemed to grow heavy as he lowered his head and regarded me. My mouth went dry as I dropped the pillow. But before I could stammer out an apology his hand shot out and seized the pillow.

  And he whacked me right back.

  I burst out laughing in a combination of surprise and relief. A slight smile curved his mouth and he carefully set the pillow back on the couch.

  “Do not fear, dear one,” he said. “I am able to discern entertainment from information.”

  I sat back and tucked
my legs up beside me. “Okay, so why do you want to know all this?”

  “Is this one of your questions?” he asked, eyes intent upon me.

  I almost nodded, then I caught myself. “No,” I said. “There’s something else I want to know more.”

  He smiled and took hold of my ankles, then pulled so that I was abruptly lying with my lower half across his lap. He released my ankles then slipped his hand to the waistband of my silk pants and began to tug them lower. “You wish to know how many times I can make you release before I return to my demesne?”

  A wonderful shudder raced through me. Yes! “No! I mean, well . . . that’s not my question.” I dropped my head back as his hand parted my legs, then couldn’t speak for a few minutes.

  “Ah,” he said while I tried to catch my breath. “I will have to keep guessing since you refuse to speak it.”

  “Nice try,” I managed as I pushed myself to sit. “I want to know if Ryan—” An instant later my words were cut off by his mouth on mine and his hand on my breast. I wanted to be angry, but I found myself laughing against his mouth instead. He was so clearly enjoying toying with me, plus I didn’t exactly hate kissing him. He answered my laugh with a low chuckle, but didn’t release my mouth for several marvelous minutes. And, when he suggested something else with which to occupy my mouth, I eagerly complied.

  For a few precious seconds he was the breathless one, but I wasted time grinning smugly. As soon as I began to speak he was on his feet with me slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I let out a shriek of protest, and he gave me a light smack on my naked rear as he walked me to the kitchen. He was openly grinning when he set me on my feet, then he turned me to bend me over the kitchen table.

  “This isn’t fair,” I protested as he proceeded to demonstrate the quick recovery time of a demonic lord.

  “You have only to say the word and I will stop,” he said as he thrust deeply.

  I groaned and wiggled my hips. “Maybe in a bit.”

  “Good. Because I intend to fuck you in every room of your house.” He stated it completely matter-of-factly and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I won’t be able to walk tomorrow!”

  But I didn’t tell him to stop.

  He lived up to his word, too. For the rest of the night we moved from room to room, always playful and laughing. My bedroom was the last to be christened, but instead of using the bed, he chose to press me against the wall, holding my wrists above my head while I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist as he drove into me. I twisted against his grasp and he tightened his grip, his azure eyes locked onto mine and a triumphant smile curving his mouth. But I wasn’t afraid. Excited, aroused, and extremely well-fucked, yes, but not afraid.

  “I will take you back to my realm someday,” he murmured, eyes still intent on mine. “And I will fuck you in every room of my palace. A different position in each room.” His grip tightened very slightly and I let out a low moan. “And there are many many rooms in my palace,” he added with a low chuckle.

  “Yes,” I gasped without thinking. But before I could say anything else his hand was over my mouth, and his eyes had gone dark and dangerous. Panic surged through me, and I struggled against him. Then I was coming, and screaming my release into his hand.

  After it was done he carried me back to the living room and cradled me in his lap on the couch. I didn’t know what to think about what he’d said. And what I’d said. After several moments of silence he spoke, voice low.

  “Ask your questions, dearest.”

  I tipped my head up to look at him. For hours we’d been . . . lovers, and within the laughter and play I’d discovered a new dimension to the powerful lord.

  I desperately wanted to know more about Ryan. I wanted to know why the demons called him a kiraknikahl, and how he could change people’s memories.

  But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t ask about another man. Not after the incredible night we’d just enjoyed.

  I gave Rhyzkahl a small smile. “Tell me of the demon realm . . . and your palace. Please?”

  He closed his eyes briefly, then kissed me lightly and began to speak.

  I still had no idea why Rhyzkahl wanted to be summoned to this sphere, but if his goal was to confuse the ever-living hell out of me, he was succeeding admirably. And that was one of the reasons why I was waiting until practically the last minute this time. However, it had been twenty-seven days since I’d last summoned him, and I did not want to break my oath.

  I descended into my basement as soon as the sun dropped below the horizon. As large as my house, the basement had more than enough room for any arcane ritual I might ever want to perform. The southernmost third of the basement had long ago been converted into what I called a mini-office, but in reality was more of a relaxing/lounging area, with deep-red shag carpet, a large oak table, and a wingback chair. Somehow it managed to not look classy in the slightest, but since I had no intention of the general public ever seeing it, I didn’t really care. There was even a fireplace set into the wall, complete with a fire that I’d lit earlier, since the basement had a tendency to get seriously chilly. The rest of the basement was smooth concrete floor, upon which was chalked a large and complicated design of circles and glyphs. Off to the side of the larger diagram was a much smaller and far more complex one.

  The smaller circle was the one I was most proud of. I’d discovered the means to store potency somewhat by accident, but that discovery made summonings about a thousand times easier for me. I’d been funneling arcane potency into the storage diagram for the past week, which meant I now had plenty of power to draw from to complete my summoning—far preferable to when I’d been forced to limit my summonings to the full moon, when available power was most abundant and stable.

  So why haven’t I told Tessa about this? It was a question I’d asked myself before. She’d taught me how to summon and had frequently pointed out that the major limitation to summoning was the reliance on the phase of the moon.Yet that wasn’t the case for me anymore. True, summonings were still insanely easier on the full moon, but I wasn’t completely restricted because of a lack of available potency, as I’d been before.

  I’m simply waiting for her to recover fully, I told myself, though it still felt like a hollow excuse.

  I tried to avoid thinking about Tessa as I made the needed changes to the large diagram—the one that would serve as the actual summoning circle. Each level of demon required a slightly different ritual and means of crafting the protections, and the last demon I’d summoned had been the zhurn Skalz. In some ways the summoning of Rhyzkahl would be easier, even though he was a far more powerful creature. Since I had an existing arrangement with him, I didn’t have to maintain the wards and bindings that would normally keep me from being torn into ugly pieces by the demon before the terms were set. But the forming of the portal itself was trickier, and even though it didn’t necessarily require more potency, my concentration had to be spot-on.

  I pulled the arcane power to me, shaping it and feeding it into the diagram with the ease of far too much practice. It didn’t feel natural to be so adept at summoning a demonic lord. Then again, this is a demonic lord who wants to be summoned. A summoning of an unwilling demonic lord would require several summoners and a helluva lot more power. I was insanely proud of my storage diagram, but I had serious doubts that it could hold enough power to summon an unwilling demonic lord. Maybe have several diagrams? But then the summoning would become even more complicated by the need to draw power smoothly and evenly from multiple sources . . .

  I scowled and shook my head, returning my full focus to what I doing. Now was not the time to allow my attention to wander. I could feel the portal as it formed, joining the two spheres, creating the slit in the universe. An icy wind rose from nowhere, whipping through the basement as the sigils in the diagram began to glow in arcane brilliance. The power surged through me with intoxicating surety as I spoke the demon’s name.

  “Rhyzkahl.”
r />   A heartbeat later the portal snapped closed, the wind and light gone as if they’d never been. My eyes adjusted to the sudden dark enough to see the crouched figure in the circle. As he straightened I dropped the wardings and protections around the diagram. They weren’t meant to keep him contained anyway. I didn’t have the means or power to create arcane bindings that could hold him.

  He shook his white blond hair back to send it rippling in a perfect silken fall down his back. Holy shit, he was gorgeous. The sight of him took my breath away. Every. Single. Time. Angelic features—the kick-butt guardian angel kind, not the dorky cherub sort—coupled with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Everything perfectly taut and muscled. His eyes were a sharp blue, full of carefully controlled power, deep and ancient. He was wearing a black silk shirt, unbuttoned and untucked, and black breeches and boots as well. And somehow he managed to still look like a complete badass instead of a romance novel cover model. No, the dangerous air about him wasn’t a “bad boy” vibe. It was more of a “I have the power and the willingness to destroy you with the flick of my little finger” vibe.

  “You grow more adept at handling the portal,” he said with an approving nod, and I couldn’t help but feel a smug pride. He had no problem giving me shit when I screwed something up, so a compliment from him about matters of the arcane was a legitimate reason to feel good.

  He stepped to me and kissed me lightly—almost tenderly, then stroked the back of his fingers over my cheek. “You look well. Rested.” He bent and kissed me again, and this time it wasn’t tender at all. This was a “you’re mine” kiss that sent my pulse slamming and heat surging down to my toes. His arms came around me as I molded myself against him. It was so much of a habit I hardly even thought about it anymore. Good thing, since rational thought was barely possible. His hands slipped under my shirt and within seconds he’d pulled it off. A heartbeat later I was on my back on the carpet as he deftly tugged my silk pants off and cast them aside.