Mark of the Demon (Kara Gillian 1)

I zipped up the bag, then pulled a fresh zip tie out of my pocket and resealed the bag. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s go.”

We left the cooler and I relocked it, but Tessa paused before following me out of the morgue. “I’m not your enemy here, Kara. I know I’ve screwed up in the past, but I’m really trying here.”

My shoulders slumped. I was being a jerk and letting my own stress spill onto her. “You haven’t screwed up.”

She shook her head. “You and I both know that’s not true. That month while I dithered in Japan and left you in that awful foster home—”

“You made that right,” I cut in, voice a bit rough. I looked at her, seeing the guilt on her face again. “Aunt Tessa, that’s in the past. You … did the right thing. You made it right,” I repeated.

She exhaled, nodded. “Well, I should have made sure you had more friends in high school. Made you get out more—”

“Okay, are we just going to stand here and flail around in guilt all night long?” I gave her a mock glare. “Because if that’s really your plan, I’d like to do it someplace that doesn’t stink so damn much.”

She laughed and gave me a quick, bony hug. “Impudent little bitch. I don’t know why I bother with you at all.”

“I don’t either, but you’re fucking stuck with me.” I gave her a squeeze, then released her. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Chapter 9

The next several days were spent doing the most exciting police work I ever thought I would be involved with.

Not.

I sighed and popped another VHS tape into the VCR and settled back onto my bed, hitting the play button on the remote. They never showed this stuff on TV, the endless hours of searching through surveillance video on the mere hope that maybe possibly hopefully some glimpse of something that might occasionally point the investigator to a lead could be found. The day after breaking into the morgue with Tessa, I’d gone to every business and convenience store and gas station within a mile of either crime scene and collected surveillance videos for the times between sundown and a few hours after the bodies were discovered.

Then I’d brought the box of videotapes home, settled in, and watched. And watched. Watched until my eyes crossed, searching for anything that could help, any consistencies between the time frames surrounding the two murders. Hoping to see someone walk into one of the gas stations wearing a T-shirt that proclaimed, I AM THE SYMBOL MAN!

I scrubbed at my eyes. I’d been at this for nearly a week. I’d seen seventeen instances of shoplifting, four instances of employee theft, nine drug deals, twenty-one gas drive-offs, and one instance of a couple having sex by the beer cooler, but nothing at all that leaped out as being relevant to the murders.

I finally turned off the TV and flopped back onto my pillows, looking up at the shifting shadows cast by the waning moon filtering through the trees. I hated to think that these murders were unsolvable. This killer had to have slipped up somewhere, left some clue. Or maybe he had, and I was just missing it? With zero leads, I knew that I wouldn’t be allowed to keep working this case exclusively forever. I was spinning my wheels chasing down nebulous possibilities, while others were picking up the slack with my other cases—the assaults and robberies that continued despite the Symbol Man. Beaulac’s police force wasn’t large enough to have detectives dedicated solely to homicides, and I knew that there was resentment simmering among other detectives about the shift in caseload. Boudreaux and Pellini had made it crystal clear that they weren’t content with the fact that I’d snagged a primo case.

I sighed and pushed the pillow into a more comfortable position. Of course, I still had the arcane angle to pursue. But I’d feel a lot more comfortable performing another summoning if I had even the slightest idea of what had gone wrong with the Rysehl summoning. “I screwed up,” I said aloud, hating the sound of it. It still felt terribly jarring. I wasn’t an anal perfectionist, and I’d certainly made mistakes in summonings in the past, but I’d always known what the mistake was. What if I summoned again and accidentally pulled another powerful creature through—one who was perfectly fine with killing me in spectacular fashion instead of merely fucking my brains out?

I smiled wryly. Yeah, I’d definitely gotten off light, though the question of why Rhyzkahl had chosen to seduce me instead of kill me would probably haunt me for the rest of my life.

And I’ve angsted over my choice to sleep with him long enough, I decided firmly. Yeah, so I had no love life. Okay, so I’d had the equivalent of a one-night stand. It was over and in the past, and at least the sex had been pretty damn worth it.

With that small aspect of my psyche dealt with, I punched my pillow into a more comfortable position and settled in to sleep.

I woke to a soft sound—a scrape of a shoe on the floor, or the brush of clothing against a piece of furniture. I was instantly wide awake but I didn’t move, kept my breathing as regular as possible, though I could feel my heart slamming in my chest. My gun is in the nightstand drawer, I reminded myself, breathing shallowly and listening for a repetition of the sound that had woken me.

Nothing. Just the sounds of the night, the muted rush of the air conditioner, a faraway car passing on the highway. I waited and listened, counting silently to fifty before reaching out slowly and pulling the drawer open. My disquiet eased tremendously as soon as my hand curled around the rough butt of the gun, and I flicked on the bedside light with one hand while pointing the gun at the foot of the bed.

Rhyzkahl stood at the foot of my bed, still as carved marble and emanating the power and strength that I remembered so vividly from that night a week ago. The ivory fall of his hair rippled in an unfelt wind, and his beautiful eyes bored into mine. He wore robes of pale silk, and a sensuous smile curved his lips.

I stared at him in shock as a frisson of sudden terror coursed through me. He’s here. How is he here? My thoughts careened wildly as I kept the gun pointed at him. It’s not even a full moon. How the fuck can he be here?

He finally spoke.

“You have not called me.”

I blinked, disoriented for a heartbeat as I remembered vague snatches from the dream I’d had at my desk. “Wh-what? Call you? What are you talking about?”

He moved for the first time, shifting with inhuman grace to sit on the bed beside me. “You have not called me.” His smile turned dazzling.

I looked at the gun in my hand, then slowly lowered it. It wouldn’t do me any good against a Demonic Lord anyway. Shit. I have a Demonic Lord in my bedroom! “You said that already.” I swept a glance throughout the room in a vain hope that I would see something that could explain his presence here. “How can you be here? What the fuck is going on?”

He reached out and stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. “I wished to see you,” he said. “You interest me.”