I’d been here before in dreams—once, no, twice on the roof with Rhyzkahl, and other times somewhere nearby—though they’d never been as vivid, as real as this. I didn’t know what exactly this place was—a keep, or fortress…something like that, nor did I have any idea where it was.
Only this time I’m completely aware that I’m dreaming. That’s a first.
Maybe I’d been thinking of Rhyzkahl as I fell asleep? Had I unwittingly called him to my dreams? Considering the various revelations of the day, it would be understandable. Yet if that was the case, where was the demonic lord?
I put my hand out to the wall. I am dreaming…right? Frowning, I lightly scraped my knuckles against the stone—not enough to draw blood, but enough to scratch the skin and send a light twinge of pain through my hand. Fear tightened my chest. Maybe I’ve been summoned…â??? But surely I’d be aware of that. It’s just a dream, I fought to reassure myself. I’d been in other sendings from the demonic lord that were indistinguishable from reality.
But why is this all so screamingly familiar?
The silence seemed to press down on me, but I wasn’t quite brave enough to shout, Hello, or anything like that. Even though I felt a deep certainty that I was the only living creature in this keep, and that I wasn’t really here, I’d seen enough horror movies to know that I could be quite wrong about both.
The corridor ended abruptly, opening into a vast hall lit only by dust-filled spears of sunlight coming from windows high on the walls. Surprised, I stood in the entrance to the corridor and took in the sight. Heavy tables and benches of dark wood filled the center of the hall. A higher table, that could easily seat forty, ran along a wall opposite an archway. Two chairs at the center of the table were intricately carved with scroll work and patterns I couldn’t quite make out, though both bore harsh slashes that revealed the lighter wood beneath the varnish—deep gouges that had to have been made by an ax or a seriously heavy sword. I tasted mildew in the air, and a pungent scent of rodent droppings made my nose twitch.
I’ve been here. Through the archway on the right were the kitchens, and the entrance to the left led to a corridor that would take me to the great doors of the keep. And the stairs in front of me.…I balled my hands into fists as memory surged through me—this hall filled with people and scurrying servants. Laughter and song. Meat and wine. Fighting and blood.
Then it was gone, leaving only the echoes of shrieks and raucous calls skittering through my mind.
I breathed in shallow pants, turning slowly. If this was a dream, it had to be one sent by Rhyzkahl, since he had a link to my dreams. In which case he was…what? Wanting me to find something? Figure something out?
Screw horror movies. “Rhyzkahl?” I called out. Goosebumps skimmed over my skin as the walls took my call and flung it around in scattered echoes. Gulping, I held my breath, waiting for the demonic lord to make an appearance.
Nothing. He wanted me to figure this out. Or I was completely wrong about this sending being from him. Either way, I had no idea what I was supposed to do or how to wake myself up.
Fine. I had some sort of inexplicable shadow memory of this place. Time to use it. Turning, I made my way back up the corridor at a jog. I stumbled once on the stupid skirts I was wearing, and I grabbed them with both hands, feeling absurdly like Cinderella running down the stairs at the stroke of midnight—if Cinderella had been in a weird abandoned castle-thing, sent here by a demonic lord with an agenda.
Snarling, I ran up a broad flight of stone stairs—or rather I ran about halfway up, then had to slow down and catch my breath. Great, even in my dreams I needed to be in better shape. But I don’t have far to go. I think.
The stairs took me to another hallway. No windows here. Shadows swam along the floor and walls, but at the end of the hallway were a set of double doors, where whispers of light seeped from the cracks. I broke into a jog again, seized the handles and pulled. The doors were giant, heavy things of metal and black wood. They opened grudgingly, but once I had them moving they swung open wide.
“Holy shit,” I breathed.
I thought at first that the room was round, then I realized it had about twenty sides—facets of polished grey stone that should have reflected my image back at me but didn’t. Every other wall held a lit lantern, which made the room seem unusually bright after the gloom of the hallway. But I took that in almost as an afterthought.
It was a summoning chamber. There was no doubt about it. A diagram similar to the one I used had been precisely etched into the darker grey stone of the floor, though it was easily twice as large as mine, and it had certain differences that I couldn’t quite make out. But the most remarkable thing about the room was the sculpture in the middle of the diagram—or rather what remained of it. On a broad circular base nearly three feet across was a statue carved out of a black stone with flecks within of something that sparkled. Like obsidian crossed with granite. I assumed it was a woman—though it was difficult to be certain, since it stopped at the waist. Long skirts swirled around her bare feet, and a hand clutched the fabric, broken off above the elbow.>“Maybe someone thinks they’re doing you a favor?” she suggested in an unconscious echo of my earlier remark, though it was clear that even she didn’t really believe it could be true.
“Yeah, well if they think that, I sure wish they’d come forward so that I could thank them with a really hard punch in the neck,” I said with a dark scowl.
Jill let out a peal of laughter. “Oh, good lord, you’ve been spending way too much time with that demon bodyguard of yours.”
I grinned. “Careful. I’m sure she’s around here somehow. She probably heard that.”
“How does this killer know that all these people fucked with your life?” she asked, sobering.
I rubbed my eyes. “Dunno. Damn near everyone knows about my history with Thomas, and I guess it wouldn’t be too hard to find out about my dad’s death. But Barry Landrieu? Only a few people know about that.”
Jill opened her mouth to speak then closed it as Pellini approached.
“Betcha it’s a drug overdose,” he said as he did his best to hoist his pants a little higher under his gut. “Fucking loser. What the fuck did you ever see in that dickhead, Gillian?”
Spreading my hands, I said, “Dude. I plead temporary insanity.” I knew the answer, though. I was lonely and desperate, and Thomas acted like he understood the lifestyle of a cop. After all, he’d been a fireman. Of course, later I found out that he’d been fired for a laundry list of infractions—everything from insubordination to violations of safety protocols that put his coworkers at risk.
Pellini huffed out a breath under his mustache. “He was a fucking whiny bitch, too. I was booking a prisoner into the jail same time he got brought in, and he was crying like a little kid who’d lost his puppy. What a dumbfuck.”
“You won’t get any argument from me,” I said.
He waddled off. Jill watched him go, then shot her attention back to me. “The jail,” she said. “These people all went through the jail here.”
I blinked. “That’s right.” I thought furiously for a moment. “And…my name would be in the records, in the victim impact statements.”