Mark of the Demon (Kara Gillian 1)

I swiped a hand across my face, even more embarrassed when it came away damp. Great, now I’ve completed my impression of a needy and overly emotional idiot. I took a deep breath, forcing myself into a calmer state. “Oh, you know, the usual threats and show of dominance. Then …” A shiver ran through me. “He manipulated the dream. He made me think you ran in to defend me and that you shot him, and … and he retaliated and pretty much threw you through that wall with just a flick of his fingers.”

“Oh, come on,” Ryan said with a derisive snort. “And you believed that?”

I looked up in surprise and scowled at him. “He’s definitely powerful enough to do that. And I thought he was here in the flesh!”

Ryan laughed. “No, silly. You really thought I would come in to defend you against a Demonic Lord? Hell, I’d be halfway to the highway!”

“Oh, you ass,” I said, laughing and swinging at him with a pillow, painfully relieved that he’d lightened the mood.

He grinned and ducked. “All right, so he showed you who’s boss, killed me off, and then what?”

My laughter faded as I remembered the other blow that Rhyzkahl had dealt. “He said … something strange. Said I should be cautious, because not all were as gentle as he was.” I frowned. “And said something about how he had a use for me but that there were others who might find me of use as well. It was pretty weird.” I watched Ryan for his reaction.

“Huh,” he said, puzzled expression on his face. “Wonder what he meant by that?”

I shrugged and stood up from the bed, wishing I could shrug away the slight doubt that Rhyzkahl had instilled in me. Was he trying to warn me about something? Or someone? Now that the whole experience was over, I could—grudgingly—admit that I had been overstepping my bounds when it came to dealing with a creature of that level of power. Not that I had any experience with that sort of thing, but I’d been coming very close to thinking of Rhyzkahl in human terms. He was not a human. Not a mortal. He was a demon. They were different. The rules were different.

“Dunno,” I said as I pulled a sweatshirt on. Had he been trying to tell me something about Ryan? Was that why he’d attacked Ryan, or at least attacked a dream version of him? If so, then why wouldn’t he just come out and accuse him?

It didn’t matter. The seed of doubt was there now.

“So I guess this means that you didn’t get any info about the body?” Ryan asked.

“Oh, actually I did.” I laughed a bit shakily. “After all that, he took me to the morgue.”

“And?”

I spread my hands. “All he said was that he knew who it was and that he would deal with it.”

Ryan pondered this for a few seconds, brows drawn together. “I don’t understand. Does that mean it’s one of his own followers?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, feeling my frustration rise. “If so, it would mean that it’s a demon working against Rhyzkahl somehow. Or it could be that it’s another lord’s demon. Either way, he’s going to deal with it.”

Ryan scrubbed his hand through his hair. “And we’re to back off on that, no matter who it is.”

“Yeah. That’s pretty much the vibe I got. Not that there’s much we could do if it’s some sort of conflict between two lords.” I exhaled, suddenly feeling very tired. “And after that whole visit, I’m just fine with letting him deal with it.”

“But it doesn’t get us any closer to figuring out who the Symbol Man is.”

He’d struck to the heart of it. “No,” I agreed. “We’re still right where we were before.”

Chapter 23

Ryan was practically breaking his jaw with his yawns, so I finally bullied him into returning to the guest room to try to get some more sleep. I, however, had approximately zero desire to sleep again at this point. I made a pot of coffee in an attempt to battle my own attack of the yawns, then took another look through my notes to see if anything new would come to me. I was grasping for anything at this juncture that could point me in the right direction. I felt like I was running in place while the time until the next full moon rapidly slipped away.

My cell phone rang as soon as I’d poured my second cup. I glanced at the clock. Four a.m. Calls this early were seldom good news.

“Detective Gillian? This is Detective Powell in Narcotics. I’ve found one of your people.”

A surge of sick dread went through me. “Oh, shit. Another body?”

“Huh? Oh, no. Nothing like that. Her name’s Michelle Cleland, and I just arrested her for prostitution and possession of crack cocaine.”

I nearly swayed in relief. “Oh, that’s fantastic. Where is she now?”

“She’s in holding. I just finished booking her in.”

“Powell, I owe you. Thanks a million.”