Vengeance of the Demon (Kara Gillian 7)

“I was out of town for a while and haven’t been updated,” I said. It wasn’t even a lie as long as the demon realm counted as “out-of-town.” I didn’t bother to mention that Zack and Ryan were both as neck-deep in the plantation fiasco as I was. Or that Zack was totally out of commission, and Ryan hadn’t bothered to answer his phone or reply to any of my messages since I’d arrived back on Earth a couple of weeks ago.

“Boudreaux and I went out to the plantation the day after all the shit went down,” Pellini said. “Kristoff got us in before Boudreaux got banned because of his stepdad.” He pulled a file folder from his briefcase and placed it on the table beside the photos. “You think you might have time to go out there with me tomorrow?”

What was his game? Had he recognized me in the photograph after all? And did he think I’d break down and confess if I returned to the scene of the crime? Out of habit I mentally reached for Mzatal, like turning to share with a friend, but only felt the barest hint of him. He’d walled off his emotions after he wreaked havoc at the plantation. While I understood the necessity, I still ached with the muting of our connection. Beneath the table, I ran my fingers over my ring—Mzatal’s Christmas gift to me. Though the stone had been destroyed, I couldn’t bring myself to stop wearing it.

“I saw that you left messages for me while I was away,” I said. “Were they about this plantation incident?”

Damned if Pellini didn’t look guilty. Or maybe ashamed? “Yeah,” he said then paused. “And a few other matters.”

Other matters? Yeah, that wasn’t at all ominous. But my thoughts derailed as Detective Marco Knight of the New Orleans Police Department stepped into the East Shore Diner and headed straight for us.

Why in blazes was he in Beaulac? I’d known him for close to a year, ever since he helped out with one of our task force investigations in New Orleans. He was clairvoyant—at least as far as I could tell—which made him a perfect fit for the strange shit we dealt with. On the other hand, his talent for knowing more than he should unnerved most people. In fact, Pellini had once pulled me aside to warn me that secrets didn’t always stay secret around Knight. At the time, I was more shocked that the typically abrasive and unpleasant Pellini had my back than worried that he thought I had secrets that I wanted kept secret. Later, the NOPD detective admitted that many years ago he’d shared one of his revelations with Pellini and hurt him in a way he didn’t deserve.

By the time Knight reached our table I’d recovered from my surprise at seeing him. “Hey, Marco,” I said with a friendly lift of my hand. “What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

Knight gave me a quick smile and a “Hey, Kara” but then turned to Pellini. “Need to talk to you. Now. Outside.”

My bafflement increased. “Is something wrong?”

Knight shook his head and hooked a thumb at Pellini. “Nothing this ugly sack can’t handle.”

“Kara, I’ll be back in a few,” Pellini said. He pulled himself out of the booth and headed toward the door with Knight following, leaving me to stare after them in disbelief. Why on earth would Pellini jump to do Knight’s bidding when he distrusted the man so much?

Knight slowed and stopped, then he pivoted back to me. “Twelve,” he murmured, eyes unfocused. “The twelfth is a radical game changer.” He drew a deep breath and took a step closer. “Spawned of fierce cunning. Beauty and power exemplified. Beware the twelfth.”

Time stopped as the echoes of his words reverberated in the air. In the next heartbeat he staggered and blinked, shattering the moment. His face paled as he met my eyes, then he muttered an apology and hurried after Pellini.

The lunchtime din of the restaurant rushed back in his wake. My heart pounded as I pulled my notepad out of my bag and wrote the words exactly as he’d said. The small of my back tingled as I reread the seemingly prophetic warning, and I had a feeling I knew exactly what “twelfth” he’d referred to.

Whether by design or dumb luck, I’d spent my first decade as a demon summoner naïve in my worldview and ignorant of the machinations of the demonic lords. The last couple of years had changed all of that. I now sported eleven complex and hideously beautiful scars—sigils carved into my torso by the demonic lord Rhyzkahl during a failed ritual intended to strip my identity and make me his tool. Only a few weeks past, Ryan—a.k.a. Lord Szerain—completed and activated the twelft

h sigil in a risky bid to save me from being enslaved by Rhyzkahl.

But was that his only purpose? Knight’s warning rekindled simmering doubts, and the sigil pulsed warm on my skin as though it knew my thoughts. With a shudder I dragged my attention back to the immediate issue: my freaking picture at a murder.

I tweaked the faded green curtain aside to peer out at the back parking lot. Beyond it, sun shimmered off Lake Pearl, silhouetting the two men in deep conversation while also making it annoyingly impossible to read facial expressions. Then again, Knight’s arrival gave me the perfect opportunity to give the other photographs a more careful perusal. To my relief, other than the one with me in it, I didn’t see anything damning to me or my posse.

Casually, I flipped open the folder Pellini had left on the table. More photos. Five pictures of the ravaged plantation, likely taken by Pellini when he visited.

A copy of Jerry Steiner’s driver’s license. I bared my teeth in automatic response at the sight of the hard-faced man. Steiner was the sadistic piece of shit who’d done wet work for Farouche and liked it.

A photo of Leo Carter, Farouche’s head of plantation security. I didn’t know much about him, but he’d obviously piqued Pellini’s interest.

And finally, several photos of the eighteen wheeler where the body of Amber Palatino Gavin had been dumped. The sister of fellow summoner Idris Palatino, she’d been raped, tortured and murdered to create an arcane trap for me. I glanced back at the driver’s license with unmasked venom. Jerry Steiner had been one of her attackers.

The waitress approached with a pitcher of tea, and I quickly closed the folder before she could see the contents. I spotted Knight leaning against his car and puffing on a cigarette. A second later Pellini came back inside and returned to the table, but didn’t sit.

“Everything cool?” I asked.

“Something came up,” he said tersely, then gathered the photos and stuffed them into the folder. “I’ve got to go, but I want to head out to the plantation with you tomorrow,” he continued, snatching up his briefcase. “I’ll call.”

“No problem,” I replied, acting nonchalant and not at all completely perplexed.

Pellini fumbled a ten from his wallet and dropped it on the table. “If that doesn’t cover it, you’re shit out of luck.” With that he hurried out.

At least that hadn’t changed. Pellini still knew how to act like a dick. I peered out the window again and watched the two men get into their cars. A few seconds later Knight pulled out with Pellini following right behind him.

What. The. Fuck.