“Uh-huh?”
“And … I saw that you’re the detective on the case. Right?”
“Yes, I am. Do you have some information for me?”
“Um, no. I–I was just wondering if you’d come to talk to me the other day because of something to do with those murders. I even came by the station, just in case, but you weren’t there.”
“Nope. I was just curious about the picture of Rhyzkahl.” I glanced at the clock. Shit. I’m gonna be late again. I started gathering all of the files and notes that were strewn across the kitchen table into a stack. “Why? Do you know something that I need to know?”
“No! Oh, no … nothing like that. I was just wondering, y’know, and then wanted to see what you thought of the comic.”
“Well, I’ve been a bit busy, but I promise I’ll give you a call as soon as I get the chance to read them,” I said, frowning as I tried to unearth my notebook from all of the crap on the table.
“Oh. Okay. All right. Well … thanks.” With that he hung up. I stared at my phone for a second, frown deepening. What was that all about? Was he trying to tell me something? Or was that his way of trying to hit on me?
“I can see why you’re a single man, Greg,” I muttered as I headed to my bedroom to change clothes.
I came to the office laden with stuff—all the case notes and photos and clippings that I had at the house, which was quite a bit. I’d just tossed everything into a box when I realized that I was going to be late. Bad enough that I’d missed the morning meeting. I’d look like a complete flake if I missed another.
To my relief, the conference room was empty. I grabbed a seat, then started going through my notes, looking for anything new that could possibly leap out at me. A short while later, the door opened and the agents trooped in, followed by the sour-faced Detective Harris. I took a few minutes and showed them my notes and photos, then we each briefed the others on our progress—which wasn’t much. After the briefings, we took turns going over different sections of the case, occasionally making observations or comments.
After about an hour, Agent Garner stood, groaning and stretching his arms over his head, his back popping audibly. “My eyes feel like they’re about to fall out of my head.” His gaze fell on the box. “Hey, what’s this?” he said, pulling out the stack of comics. “Is this part of the case?”
“Oh, crap, I didn’t realize that I’d thrown those in there.” But even as I said it, I could feel a mental click, as if something had been stewing in the back of my mind and was now ready to be examined. Who is that rune of binding for? Is it coincidence that Greg Cerise is so familiar with this particular Demonic Lord? “To be honest, though, I think that maybe there is a connection, but I’m not really sure how to articulate it just yet.”
Harris glanced at me. “A hunch?”
I gave a slightly embarrassed shrug. “Well, sort of.”
To my surprise he gave an approving nod. “Hunches are important. It’s the way your subconscious tells you something needs to be looked at.” He reached over and took the top copy and began to page through it. Following his lead, Garner snagged one as well.>He laughed. “I have much knowledge, my darling Kara. What could you possibly desire to know?”
“I saw some runes today on a body, and I was wondering if you could tell me what they are.” I watched him carefully.
He sat gracefully on the floor, with one knee up and an arm draped across it. “I am intrigued, dear one. Tell me more.”
I leaned forward. “They were on the body of a young woman. She’d been tortured and murdered, and I could see arcane traces that had been left behind.”
Rhyzkahl tsked softly, shaking his head. “Such a pity.”
I looked at him sharply, oddly jarred by the tone of his response. His expression showed the proper sympathy, but his voice had been utterly devoid of it. “Yes. It is,” I said after several heartbeats. “She suffered an agonizing death, and I’m trying to find out who did it. So would you please look at these runes for me?”
His blue eyes glittered. “Of course, dear one. Run and get them for me.”
I leaped to my feet and ran for my notebook before I even realized I was moving. I seized my notebook off the table, though the thought occurred to me that I might not be able to read if this was really a dream. And would I be able to remember what he told me? This was getting complicated.
I returned to him and quickly flipped the notebook open to the pages with my drawings, then handed it to him. He stood, looking down at the notebook, running his fingers lightly over the paper. I watched, breathless, as he lifted his hand, pulling a rune from the page in a pattern of writhing crimson light, setting it to spin slowly above his palm. He no longer looked amused or complacent. He regarded the rotating rune with narrowed eyes, silent.
After what seemed like an eternity, I cautiously cleared my throat. “Lord Rhyzkahl, can you tell me what they are?”
“I can,” he said, voice suddenly dark and dangerous, all trace of laughter gone. I drew back from him, unaware at first that I had done so.
“They are sigils of control, of binding,” he continued.
“So, um, her killer used the runes to control her?”
He bared his teeth and I could feel his forming anger. “No. These are for control of another.” He flicked his hand and the rune shattered, fragments of light spinning off and dissipating like scattered droplets of blood.
My throat felt as dry as the Sahara. “Who?” I dared to ask.