Sins of the Demon (Kara Gillian 4)

“And they are seldom disappointed, I am sure,” she said. “I could only remain and partake of the gaming for an hour, but I am hoping the monies within the envelope will help your situation. And the original forty dollars are in there as well.”

Pulling the bills out of the envelope, I counted off five hundred and then handed the rest back to her. “Thank you for worrying about me, but you’re really not a very expensive roommate. However, you do need your own money.”

She paused before taking the envelope back. “Are you certain? If you need more funds, you need only ask.”

“I’m sure,” I said.

A smile spread across her face as she tucked the envelope into her backpack. “My thanks. I do indeed have some purchases I wish to make.”

Somehow I had the feeling that it wouldn’t be long before Fuzzykins was the proud owner of a shiny new Kitty Kondo.

Chapter 8

“I can’t think of a better way to start the day,” my aunt’s boyfriend said as he looked down at the corpse before him.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “You really need a life.”

A smile ghosted across his lips, which on him was equivalent to a full-belly laugh. Carl was the morgue assistant to Dr. Jonathan Lanza, the parish pathologist. Tall and lean, with short, almost colorless hair and hazel-brown eyes, he managed to avoid looking like the archetypical morgue worker by having a semblance of a tan and a fairly athletic build. However, he was reserved to the point of appearing emotionless, which tended to swing him right back into the stereotype. In the past few months I’d had the chance to get to know him some, and I’d come to learn that he was anything but emotionless. He was a keen observer and tended to think carefully before speaking, but moreover, he was my aunt’s boyfriend—and that right there told me there was something very special about him. My aunt was…odd. But he seemed to understand her. Better than I did, to be honest.

We were in the cutting room of the St. Long Parish Morgue. On the metal table before us was the naked body of Barry Landrieu. The scent of formalin and Pine-Sol mingled, and my stomach gave off an unfamiliar twinge of queasiness. I’d only been wearing the cuff for a few hours, and I was already feeling the effects. As long as I don’t puke during the autopsy I’ll be all right, I tried to reassure myself. I would never live it down if I lost my breakfast.

“You don’t normally come to autopsies of natural deaths,” Carl said as he readied instruments on a side table. Scalpels, scissors, syringes, a bone saw. And one that always made me wince—long-handled pruning shears, used to cut through the ribs so that the pathologist could better examine the internal organs.

“Two deaths with nosebleeds in the same day?” I said. “I tend to be suspicious of coincidences.” Out of habit I tried to shift into othersight to give the body a once-over and silently cursed as it proved impossible with the stupid cuff on.

He gave a mild nod. “It does seem odd,” he agreed. “And you sometimes have more reason than most to dislike what appears to be coincidence to others.”

I was silent for several heartbeats. “I knew them both. Barry here was the one who gave me heroin.” Carl knew about that incident already. “And the other one, Evelyn Stark, was the drunk driver who killed my dad.”

“Ah,” he said, and in that one syllable was a paragraph’s worth of meaning.

“Plus, Eilahn and I encountered a graa early yesterday morning,” I added. Carl knew a great deal about the arcane and demons, but I didn’t know if that was because of his relationship with my aunt or if he had prior knowledge. I knew that wards didn’t seem to have any effect on him, and he’d once been attacked by an assailant with the ability to suck out a person’s essence, yet he’d been completely unaffected. But despite not knowing a damn thing about him, I trusted him.

But should I? I was suddenly suspicious of any sort of blind trust. Yet, Tessa cared deeply for him and clearly, she trusted him. And I’d never seen the barest whisper or hint that Carl had anything but fond adoration for my aunt in return. Maybe there were times when blind trust was necessary. I sure as hell needed to be better about trusting people.

His hazel brown eyes flicked to me. “Should I assume it was not a pleasant encounter?”

“You could say that,” I replied with a dry laugh, “though Eilahn’s convinced it wasn’t trying to kill me.” I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “Obviously, I need even more weird shit in my life.”

A smile touched the corners of his mouth. “And yet you weather it well.”

“I’d hate to see what my life would be like if I weathered it badly!”

“And you don’t think your aunt summoned this demon?”

That hadn’t even occurred to me. Why the hell hadn’t it? She was a strong summoner. She was the one who had trained me. “I’m pretty confident that she wouldn’t send a demon to attack me,” I told him. Still, I should have asked her. What if the attack had been some sort of misunderstanding? “Did she summon it?”

His eyes held mine briefly before he looked back down at the instruments. “No.”

Carl was a hard man to read, but I could have sworn I’d seen relief, or something awfully close to it, in that brief look. I let out a breath and resisted the urge to ask him why the hell he’d implied that she had. Carl usually had good stuff to say, but he didn’t always come right out and say it—usually preferring for me to come around to it on my own. “I don’t know if it had anything to do with the deaths of these two people,” I said, “but it sure as hell got my attention.”

“Interesting,” he murmured, then turned back to the body and began a meticulous search for scars, tattoos, or injuries. “If the graa wasn’t there in connection with the two victims, why would it be there? Do you think your aunt can give you advice or counsel about that?” He didn’t look up at me, but I still felt pinned down by his attention. I resisted the urge to squirm.

“I don’t want to worry her,” I finally said. “She’s been through a lot of shit lately…most of it my fault.”

“It is the role of parents—and guardians—to worry about their loved ones,” he pointed out.

My throat felt tight. Was I keeping things from my aunt to protect her or to protect me from her ire? My relationship with her had been a tempestuous one for most of our time together. She was acerbic, and odd, and generally didn’t care what people thought of her. And while I could appreciate that mentality more now that I was older, back when I was young it was yet another hurdle to overcome. It was bad enough that both my parents had died, but now I had to live with my crazy aunt who did weird shit and didn’t seem to care that the other kids at school laughed at her—and me. Tessa hadn’t cared about fads—in fact she tended to hold anything that was fashionable in complete disdain, and had subtly, and not-so-subtly, pushed me to be “unique” and to “forge my own path.”