Blood of the Demon kg-2

by Diana Rowland

  “I can shape arcane energy,” I explained.

  “Uh-huh. Magic to me,” she said, nose wrinkling as she smiled. “But then again, electricity is magic to me too. Flip switch, light comes on. So what about other supernatural stuff?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like vampires and werewolves and witches and that sort of thing.”

  I had to shrug. “I’ve never met any of those, as far as I know.” I shook my head. “I take that back. I’ve met witches, but they’re not the ride-the-broom, cast-spells kind of witches. But vampires and werewolves?” I shrugged again, but I thought instantly of the missing essences. Was that some form of vampirism? And what about that dog-thing? “I’m not going to say that they don’t exist, because who am I to say that, but I’ve never met a werewolf or vampire that I know of.”

  She laughed. “Well, I don’t know much about your magic woowoo stuff, but, man, Ryan sure has a raging case of the jealous going on over your demon lord, doesn’t he?”

  I made a sour face. “He’s not jealous, trust me. He just thinks I’ll forget who I am if I even look at Rhyzkahl.”

  Jill gave me a measuring look, then sighed and rolled her eyes. “Y’know, for a smart chick, you can be seriously fucking clueless.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes right back at her. She was the clueless one if she thought Ryan’s grouchiness meant anything.

  Fortunately, she didn’t seem to feel like arguing her point. “So do you think your aunt knew about that being there?” she asked, lifting her chin toward the corner of the library.

  I blew my breath out. “She had to know. It doesn’t feel new. And I think I screwed up colossally by having all the wards taken down.” But I felt a renewed flare of annoyance at my aunt. Why couldn’t she have fucking told me about this? Surely a weakness in the fabric between the spheres was something that I needed to know about.

  “Why didn’t your aunt tell you about this?” Jill asked in an echo of my thoughts.

  I gripped my hair, then shook my head. “Probably the same reason that so many people don’t have wills. They don’t want to consciously think that they won’t have time to put things in order. Nobody wants to think about how sudden and unfair death can be. Everyone thinks that they’ll have those last few minutes to gasp out their final instructions.” I sighed. “Now I need to redo the wards as best I can and then summon a demon who can put them back as soon as possible.” I scowled. It was nowhere near a full moon, which meant that it would be a bitch to summon anything decent. And more dangerous.

  “Well, let me get this crap over with,” I said. “Hopefully I can do enough to keep anything else from coming out.” Jill stepped back, and I focused on pulling enough potency to weave the protections I needed. It came to my control slowly, like taffy on a cold day, reminding me that I wasn’t exactly at my strongest. I hissed through my teeth as I shaped the sluggish energy, cautiously probing at the weak spot. I wasn’t sure I wanted any of my wards to actually touch the weakness, just in case it could be warped or shifted, so I compromised and made a little dome of energy over it. After finishing that, I backed out of the library and set another level of wards—both keep-out and keep-in wards.

  I sighed as I looked them over. I sucked at crafting wards, but I had a shred of confidence that they would hold until I could summon something that could place some more-robust protections. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked at my moon-phase calendar, even though I knew that it was only a week past the full. Another week until there was no moon. I’d have to give it a try then.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said to Jill, as I replaced the aversion on the front door. “I think we’ve done enough damage for one day.”

  Chapter 21

  It didn’t feel like a Sunday. I was used to my weekends flying by, over before I could even blink, but so much had happened in the past two days that I kept thinking it should be Wednesday at least. Or September.

  But now time had slowed back down to a non-frenetic pace, and I had a list of crap that I needed to get done, plus some stuff that I merely wanted to get done. I was pleasantly sore from my trip to the gym the other day—just enough achiness to remind me that I liked having a few muscles—and I really didn’t want to gain back the pudge. So before I could talk myself out of it, I headed to the gym, taking the risk that I’d be shocking the people who worked there by showing up twice in one week.

  At eight a.m. on a Sunday morning, the gym was practically deserted, unlike last time. With only a handful of people in the weights area, I was able to throw myself into my workout, welcoming the burn and the sweat as I attempted to drive away all of my uncertainties and insecurities.

  At this rate, I was going to end up with six-pack abs.

  “You’re making the rest of us look bad,” I heard from behind me as I waited for my pulse to slow between sets. I turned, reaching for my towel to wipe my sweaty face. A good-looking man gave me a friendly smile. I knew him, but my oxygen-starved brain refused to supply me with the information. “It’s a Sunday,” he said, smile widening. “Here we are talking about football and avoiding yard work, and you’re working up enough sweat for all of us.”

  I grinned, flattered at the mild flirtation, just as the lightbulb went off over my head: Holy shit, this is Judge Roth. I’d seen him only in court or at the funeral, and he looked far different—and far more approachable—in simple shorts and a T-shirt.

  “Sorry,” I said, still smiling. “But if y’all can’t keep up with me, that’s not my fault.”

  He laughed. “I should know better than to tangle with strong women. There’s no way to win!” Then he gave me a more appraising look. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before. I’m Harris Roth,” he said, extending his hand. “Are you new here?”

  I shook his hand. He had a nice, warm grip. “Kara Gillian.” I briefly debated mentioning that we’d met in passing in court, but then decided that would bring up too much other unpleasantness. “I’ve been a member here for a while, but my attendance is sporadic.”

  He gave my hand a squeeze and then released it. “Good to meet you, Kara. I won’t keep you from your workout any longer, but I do hope to see you here again.” With that, he gave me another charming smile and turned away. I finished the rest of my workout quickly, bemused and more than a little stunned that I’d been seen as someone worth flirting with. Especially since I didn’t dress in the Cardio Barbie spandex attire that most of the other women here favored. My workout clothing consisted of running shorts, a Jogbra, and a T-shirt. Sexy.

  I headed to the locker room and retrieved my gym bag. I’d just turned to head toward the shower area when a blond woman in perfect makeup sidled up to me—dressed in exactly the kind of spandex getup that I wouldn’t be caught dead in. To give the woman credit, though, it was obvious that she put in a lot of time and effort—and perhaps some surgical enhancement—to have the kind of body that looked damn good in spandex.

  “I know you don’t know me,” she said in a low voice, “but I wanted to give you a bit of warning about Harris Roth.”

  I looked at her expectantly. The expression on her face seemed sincere enough. “It’s none of my business, I know,” she continued, “but I’ve seen him charm his way into the pants of a lot of pretty girls. And he really doesn’t care what may happen to them afterward.”

  It took me a couple of seconds to find my voice. “Um, thanks. But I have no intention of sleeping with him.”

  She gave me a wry smile. “I’m glad you think so. But, trust me, he’s a charmer. Anyway, you seem sweet and I didn’t want to see someone else get screwed by Harris.”

  My cop sense lit up like a Christmas tree. “Who else has been screwed by him?”

  She hesitated, then shrugged. “Well, she’s not around anymore, so I guess it’s not too terrible to gossip.” The woman did a quick glance-around, then lowered her voice even further. “He had an affair with Elena Sharp, and then her husband kicked her out!”<
br />
  I blinked. This was a far cry from the story that Elena had spun for me. “Wow.” Now it was my turn to do the furtive glance around. “And didn’t Harris’s son kill his wife and then himself?”

  She sighed. “Yeah, that was awful. I mean, Harris is a bit of a sleazeball ‘playa,’ but that was a horrible thing to have happen.” I heard a bustle of women’s voices coming into the locker room, and the blonde stepped back. “Anyway,” she said, “I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting into.”

  I gave her a grave nod, hiding my bemusement. “I appreciate that. I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

  “Becky. Becky Prejean.” She gave me a wink and then scuttled off in a flash of spandex and artificial breasts.

  I took my shower and dressed, thankfully unaccosted, but my mind kept turning over the tidbits of information. Elena and Harris, huh? Well, she did say she was attracted to powerful men. Yet another interesting twist.

  But was it true? I headed out to my car and cranked the AC up, then called the dispatcher and asked for a local address for a Becky or Rebecca Prejean, white female, approximately mid-thirties.

  A few minutes later I thanked the dispatcher and hung up. Becky Prejean lived in Ruby Estates. Davis Sharp’s maid had said that a blonde came to see him after Elena left.

  Coincidence? Probably. But Becky Prejean had raised my suspicions about a number of things, and I had a feeling I’d be driving to Mandeville again before all this was over.

  The rest of my afternoon was an ambitious—and hideously necessary—combination of doing laundry, cleaning my kitchen, and scrubbing my bathroom. Usually, housework had a relaxing effect on me, but a simmering guilt plagued me throughout the day—railing at me that I wasn’t making any progress on finding what was consuming essence, and reminding me that time was running out for Tessa. I’d hoped for a relaxing Sunday and a desperately needed recharge of my mental resources, but the various worries continued to pick at me.

  Four times I picked up my phone to call Ryan—twice even going so far as to start dialing his number before I stabbed at the disconnect button in frustration. I had no idea what the hell I would say. Wanna hang out? Wanna see a movie? I’m stressed out and need someone to vent to?

  Right. Like Ryan needed any more proof that I was completely neurotic.

  I gave up and fired up my computer. Bury myself in work … As long as I had some free time, I could check one other thing that I’d almost forgotten about—Judge Laurent had mentioned campaign contributions, with a strong implication that there was something significant to be seen there.

  Campaign contributions were public record and, thanks to the marvels of modern technology, were also available online. It took me a few tries to find the right website, but once I did I was rewarded with more information than I knew what to do with on every election and every candidate.

  Narrowing my search to only the contributions made by Davis Sharp was far more enlightening. Stunning, in fact. Davis Sharp had contributed significantly to Judge Roth’s campaign fund—giving the maximum allowed by law, going at least ten years back. I quickly scanned through the rest of Sharp’s contributions. He’d supported various other candidates in other elections but none as much as Harris Roth.

  I shifted my search parameters to look at all of Roth’s contributors. That list was impressively long, but Sharp’s name clearly stood out as Roth’s biggest contributor.

  I bookmarked the page and shut my computer down. I had an extensive financial connection between Davis Sharp and Judge Roth now. But what did it mean? Judge Laurent had implied that Sharp wanted favors in return for contributions, so I could only assume that he’d expected—and received—the same from Roth. Especially considering how much money he’d given to his campaign fund.

  I was out of ideas, and it was with a nearly visceral relief that I watched the sun slip below the trees. Now I could at least assuage the part of the guilt that nagged at me about Tessa, even if the rest of my psyche remained in hopeless shambles.

  I showered and changed, then headed down to my basement. This was the last stage of the call to her essence—the “arcane transponder” that would hopefully draw her back to this plane and to her body. I knew that a great deal depended on to what extent her essence had been drained during the summoning, and I knew that at some point I would have to accept the possibility that I might never get her back.

  But now isn’t the time to think like that, I told myself sternly. Now was the time for confidence in the ritual, total faith that it would be simply a matter of time before Tessa was back to normal. And then get her to explain about the damn portal. And get her to give me some damn guidance.

  I sketched the final portion, cautiously crabbing around the complex diagram. I winced as I stood up, and it wasn’t all from the creak of my knees from crouching for so long. Was I depending too much on my aunt? But where else was I going to get the training I still needed?

  Rhyzkahl, my thoughts whispered to me, sending an odd ripple of gooseflesh across my skin. I shuddered, rubbing my arms at the thought of being tied to him any more than I already was. I didn’t—couldn’t trust him. He was ancient and powerful and well skilled at lying without ever saying an untrue word.

  Worry about that shit later, I railed at my psyche. Focus!

  I took a deep breath and began to channel potency. After what was probably half an hour, I finally released the power, feeling it slide away into the diagram. I watched the diagram, nearly weeping in relief as it began to resonate. A heartbeat later, the resonance abruptly shifted into a hum—inaudible and powerful at the same time. I held my breath as the hum settled into a soft pulse, a sensation tickling over me that reminded me of everything that was Tessa.

  It’s calling and reminding her who she is. Reminding her where she belongs.

  I made my way over to the cold fireplace and collapsed into the chair. There was nothing more I could do now. Rhyzkahl had warned me that it could take a long time, but I had no idea how much time Tessa had. She was already declining. A knot of grief threatened to twist my insides. It was doubtful that her body would last more than a few weeks longer.

  I tipped my head back, staring up at the rafters of the basement. It was only slightly more than a week ago that I’d summoned Rhyzkahl—but it felt like a year. I still had no idea whether I would summon him again. I turned my head with a sigh and looked over at the little circle with the remnants of my aunt’s items. I knew what she would say—that I’d be a complete fool to even consider it. But I had almost three weeks to make up my mind—and that was only if I decided to call him this next full moon.

  The access to knowledge was unspeakably tempting, though I could well guess that there’d be limits on it. He would dole out his information as he saw fit in order to keep me wanting more.

  I pushed up from the chair. At this point, anything was better than nothing. I had a feeling I’d be needing answers for a long time.

  I looked over at the diagram containing the “beacon” for Tessa’s essence, feeling and seeing the thrum of power even without shifting fully into othersight. My eyes traveled over the twined wards. Now that they were active and complete, it wasn’t as confusing, and I could begin to see how they worked. I had basically channeled potency into the first diagram, and now the wards were slowly releasing it into the other circle to create this beacon.

  My heart skipped a beat as I looked at the diagram, an odd new thought skimming through my head. If this diagram was actually storing potency, could that be done at other times as well? I could feel my breath quicken as I considered the implications of that possibility. Holy shit. This would mean that it’s possible to store potency without resorting to death magic. The Symbol Man had tortured and murdered his victims in order to amass enormous amounts of power—enough to summon and bind a demonic lord. The restrictions of the phase of the moon had always chafed at me but never enough to be willing to resort to such hideous methods. Summonings required a smooth and c
onsistent flow of potency, and fluctuations or hiccups could prove disastrous when opening a portal. But if there was a way to gradually bleed power off into a diagram and then pull it back out for use … I reached for the back of the chair, the unspeakable elation nearly overwhelming.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered. Could it really work without the blood of innocent victims? I wouldn’t have to worry about the phase of the moon at all. I could store potency in dribs and drabs throughout the month and then use that stored power at any time. Day, night, half-moon, no moon. Not only that, but it would be easier to summon the higher-level demons. Summonings were exhausting. The creation of the diagram was taxing enough, plus the effort of forming the wards, and then adding summoning on top required a huge amount of effort and concentration. The main reason higher-level demons were summoned only by very experienced summoners was that you had to be highly skilled in the forming of the portal to have strength left over to control the demon.

  I scrubbed at my face, trying to keep everything in perspective. There would still be drawbacks. The convergence of the spheres was always a limiting factor, and I’d still have to negotiate terms in any summoning I performed, which in itself would limit how often I could summon.

  I dug a piece of chalk out of the box where I kept my implements, then I moved to an open space on the basement floor, well away from Tessa’s diagram. I didn’t want to do anything that could interfere with that one. I crouched and began slowly sketching, thinking carefully about how to adjust the ward structure of Tessa’s diagram for what I wanted.

  It took well over an hour, and my back and knees were aching when I finally closed the diagram. I set the chalk down and brushed my hands off, then stood stiffly. I’d had to redo parts of it several times, going by pure I-think-this-makes-sense instinct. I could only hope that my instinct was on track. I scrutinized the diagram meticulously, looking for any remaining flaws.