Mark of the Demon (Kara Gillian 1)

“Protect and serve and all that shit,” he said, giving me a mock salute, then he rolled up his window and drove back down my winding driveway.

My smile died as soon as he was out of sight. I returned to the porch, mincing over the gravel in my bare feet as quickly as possible, then snatched up my cell phone and scrolled through my stored numbers.

“Turnham here,” my captain answered crisply on the first ring. I breathed a mental sigh of relief that I hadn’t woken him up. I’d taken a chance in assuming that, if there was any suspicion at all that this was a Symbol Man case, he’d be on the scene.

“Captain, it’s Kara Gillian. I heard you might have a Symbol Man case at the wastewater plant?” I was trying to keep my voice level and calm and professional, but I had a feeling that my eagerness leaked through.

“How the hell did you hear that? Do you keep your radio on twenty-four/seven?”

I couldn’t help but smile. There were plenty of cops who lived and breathed police work and who did keep their police radio on at all times. In fact, I’d been one of them when I was first hired, listening obsessively to every call and keeping mental tabs on what was going on in the world outside my house. I loved being a cop, and it had been like a deep breath of fresh air for me to be a part of something special after more than a decade of what was often bitter loneliness. It had taken nearly a year for me to finally accept that I could, in fact, occasionally turn my radio off and still be just as much of a cop. “No, sir,” I said. “I had a 62R at my house, and Deputy Sanchez clued me in when he picked up my perp.”>The demon ticked his claws against his leg, a thoughtful expression on his monstrous face. “And you were forced to anchor and close when I left your control to apprehend your intruder. Forgive me. I should have waited to know your wishes first.”

“No, it’s all right,” I said, more than a little shocked by the apology. “Trust me, I’m very pleased that you caught the guy, especially before he did any real harm.”

“Still, I should have waited to know your will first.” He gave me a small bow, moonlight glinting off the curved horns on his head. “When next you summon me, I will school you in the technique to allay my shame in failing you.”

I controlled my expression, with effort. I knew that matters of honor were deathly serious among the demonkind, but this was my first experience at being owed a debt of honor. “You have not failed me,” I said, carefully choosing my words and trying not to show my glee, “but I would be honored to learn this and would consider any debt between us null.”

Kehlirik abruptly went still, hissing softly.

I took a cautious step back. “Is something wrong?” Crap. What had I done now?

The demon gave a low growl. “Something touches the arcane in this sphere.”

I started to relax, then frowned. “What do you mean? Another summoning?” There weren’t many other summoners in the region. In fact, I didn’t know of any in all of southeast Louisiana except for my aunt, though I figured New Orleans probably boasted a couple. Of course, people who made a practice of summoning demons didn’t usually hang signs on their door advertising the fact, and summoning itself was not exactly a common skill. You had to have someone mentor you in the art for several years, plus you had to be willing to shed some blood now and then.

I’d been mentored by my aunt Tessa, of course. By the time I hit my teenage years, I realized that there was more to the world—and my aunt—than met the eye. The day after I received my driver’s license, my aunt “introduced” me to my first demon, who confirmed her suspicion that I had the ability to be a summoner. After beginning my training, I discovered that here, finally, was something I excelled at. The rituals, the forms—all felt as natural as breathing. Training under my aunt had not always gone smoothly, but I’d never regretted starting down that path to become a summoner.

Maybe Tessa had summoned tonight as well? The spheres were in excellent alignment for the higher-level summonings, and with the moon at full it couldn’t get much better.

The demon settled his wings, as if uneasy. “I cannot tell, but it has a taint to it.”

“What sort of taint?”

Kehlirik growled again, a deep, throbbing sound that made the hair on my arms stand on end, even as used to demons as I was. “Blood and death.” His eyes narrowed. “More I cannot determine. I am not versed in such. You would need to call another to learn more.”

Crap. There was no way to summon again tonight. Two summonings in one night was far too draining and dangerous. I glanced up at the moon again. It would still be full enough tomorrow. That would work.

Kehlirik gave a heavy snort. “A vehicle approaches this place. Do you require more service of me?”

“No,” I said, after a brief hesitation. “My thanks again, reyza. Your help has been invaluable this night.” My original reason for summoning the demon had been blown, but it had been more than made up for by his promise to school me in the more-advanced forms. I would definitely summon him again on the next full moon.

Kehlirik folded his wings in close and bowed his head before me. I took a deep breath, finding my focus, then lifted my arms and began to speak the words of dismissal as I pulled potency to me. A sharp wind rose from nowhere, sending dust into my face and bringing with it an acrid, sulfurous smell that burned my nose. I squinted against the wind at the massive form of the demon, carefully holding my focus as I finished the chant. Kehlirik rose up with a bellow, spreading his wings and throwing his head back. A blinding sliver of light formed behind him, and in the span between one heartbeat and the next he disappeared, with a sharp crack like a breaking glacier. The light dissipated and faded, spinning off sparklets that danced briefly in my peripheral vision before disappearing.

The wind died instantly and I dragged my hands through my shoulder-length mud-brown hair, finger-combing it as best I could. Just in time too; I could see headlights coming up my long driveway and hear the crunch of tires on gravel. My legs wobbled and I sat heavily on my front step again, taking deep breaths to get rid of the black spots that briefly pirouetted through my vision. Dismissals were nearly as draining as summonings, though nowhere near as dangerous.

The sheriff’s unit stopped just a few feet from my front porch and out stepped Justin Sanchez—a short and skinny deputy with uneven teeth and dark hair that looked unkempt no matter how short he cut it. He sported a scraggly mustache that looked like a balding caterpillar beneath a nose that had a slight bend to the right. He’d been with the PD before he transferred to the sheriff’s office and had been one of my teammates back when I first became a cop, teaching me early on that size wasn’t everything in a fight. More importantly, he taught me how to snap my gum—an annoying trick I used to harass my aunt until she threatened to cease teaching me if she ever saw gum in my mouth again.

He gave me a grin. “Looks like this moron picked the wrong house, huh?”

I batted my eyelashes and put on an innocent expression. “Why, Officer, I’m jest a helpless li’l gal. I was skeert to death!”

He laughed. “Yeah, right. For some reason I feel sorry for this guy.”

If you only knew.

“By the way, nice jammies,” he said with a sly smile.

I hurriedly crossed my arms over my chest. The “jammies” were just the silk shirt and pants that I wore to summon, but it hadn’t occurred to me to throw on different clothes. Or even a bra. Not that I was so well-endowed that it was instantly obvious, but Justin was a cop and a guy. And it was chilly out. He had noticed.