Mark of the Demon

CHAPTER 13

I went home and scanned the sketches of the runes and sigils into my computer and emailed the scans to my aunt, but Tessa had no familiarity with any of them, to my disappointment. I need some expert advice. I need to summon a demon. A sliver of unease ran through me at the thought, which in turn angered me. I couldn’t be afraid to summon. I couldn’t just stop being a summoner. It was too important to everything that I was now.

The door to the basement beckoned to me, but I found myself hesitating. I still didn’t know how the last summoning had gone so badly awry. That one had been as close to a disaster as any summoner could get—and still survive. And I survived that only because… why? I got lucky? The question continued to plague me despite every effort to push it aside. I was more than willing to give myself a compliment or two, but I knew that I was no drop-dead beauty with the looks and charm to stop a Demonic Lord in his tracks.

I was stalling. If I was going to summon, tonight would be a decent night to do so. There was no moon, which lent a certain stability to the proceedings, though potency was low. It was easiest to summon during a full moon, especially for higher-level demons, but I had no intention of getting crazy with this. Maybe I could summon Kehlirik again? He owed me a favor, which meant that it would be fairly safe to summon him. And surely a reyza would be able to identify those runes.

I considered it for several minutes, but finally, reluctantly, discarded the idea. It was true that I wouldn’t have to expend as much energy for protections and bindings, but the mere act of summoning a twelfth-level demon would take more potency than would be available during the dark of the moon. I’d have to wait until the next full moon to summon Kehlirik.

Tonight I would make do with just a very low second- or third-level demon, hopefully one who could give me some clue about what was going on with these bodies and translate the runes and sigils for me. A very small and simple summoning.

In fact, it might be best that I’m doing this while the moon isn’t full, I decided. With luck, the lack of potency would prevent anything unexpected from happening again. Though it would be a lot easier to prevent something from happening if I knew just how the hell it had happened in the first place!

Before I could change my mind or chicken out, I marched over to the basement door and yanked it open.

Cold, stale air pillowed out of the door, and I realized with a guilty start that this was the first time I’d opened the door to the basement since that night with Rhyzkahl. The awareness sent a deep spear of chagrin through me. I couldn’t afford to be weak like that. I couldn’t lose my focus. And I certainly couldn’t be afraid. Not and be a successful summoner. Summoners had to be cautious, wary, and vigilant, but fear caused you to lose focus. The time for fear was afterward, when you could learn from it.

I flicked the lights on with the switch at the top of the stairs. With fluorescent lighting, the basement hardly looked like an arcane summoning chamber. My annoyance with myself grew as I looked around, seeing the implements still left out from last time—the candles on the floor, the knife on the carpet, the chalk and the oil near the smeared diagram.

“You suck,” I scolded myself, but I could still do this. It was early—barely seven p.m. — which gave me plenty of time to do the necessary cleaning and preparing.

It didn’t take me long to get into the rhythm of the cleaning. I wasn’t usually a neat and tidy sort, but, when my mind was scattered, it was one way that I could get my thoughts gathered.

My house was ready well before midnight, the chamber cleaned and my garments hanging on the hook at the bottom of the stairs. I took a shower, then wrapped my fuzzy bathrobe around me as I walked to the front door to check the lock and pull the curtains closed.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a knock sounded on the door just as I was turning the lock. I scowled, taking a breath to settle myself as I stood there with my hand on the lock. Who the hell would be coming by at this hour? No one ever came to visit, which was fine with me. I was too far from the road for it to be someone with an emergency.

Shit. I hadn’t placed any arcane protections around the house yet. I’d planned to save those for last, since they were such a pain in the ass. I stood quietly for a moment, waiting to see if the person would leave, but that hope was dashed when the knock came again, hard and heavy. Like a police knock. Shitfuckdamn.

I peered through the peephole, shocked to see Agent Kristoff standing outside my door. I frowned, trying to see if anyone was with him. I couldn’t see anyone else, but the peephole didn’t exactly give the best view of the porch.

I tugged my robe closer about me, snugged the belt tight, then unlocked the door and pulled it open about three inches. He was wearing a long-sleeved black oxford-style shirt and khaki dress pants—a really good look for him, I thought in an incredibly private part of my mind. The porch light did interesting things to his facial features as well. He had a fairly rugged face, like a man who wasn’t afraid to work outdoors and get his hands dirty, but the overhead lighting made him look positively craggy. I couldn’t help but mentally compare his face with the unearthly and perfect beauty of Rhyzkahl, and that same incredibly private part of my mind wasn’t sure which I found more appealing.

I gave myself a mental slap to get back to the here and now. “Agent Kristoff. Are you lost?”

“No, Detective Gillian,” he said. “I was wondering if you had a few minutes so that we could discuss some of the aspects of the case that we were, ah … unable to go into at the station?”

I stared at him. “Now?”

He gave a half shrug. “Well, yes. I’m sorry. I know it’s late, but there aren’t too many opportunities that I’m going to have to speak to you without the others around.”

Well, that was most likely the truth. I grimaced and glanced up at the sky out of habit. No, you’re not going to see a full moon, silly. You’re doing a full-dark summoning. I looked back at him. “Your timing is kinda awkward.”

He blinked, then his mouth twitched. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you might have company. I didn’t see another car in your driveway.”

I groaned. Yep, that’s exactly what it looked like, answering the door in my bathrobe and not wanting to let him in. “Oh, good grief, no! There’s no one else here.” I ran a hand through my still-damp hair. “No, I was just … uh … getting ready to do something.”

He gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I hope I wasn’t being insulting just now.”

“No.” I suppressed the sigh. “Heck, if you knew me any better, you’d know that it’s pretty damn rare for me to have any company here.”

“Now that’s just a damn shame,” he said, still smiling.

Was he flirting with me? “No, I mean, any company, not just male company. Though I don’t have any of that either. Crap! I mean … Crap.” I pulled the door all the way open. “Just come in,” I growled, turning away and stalking down the hall to the kitchen before I could humiliate myself any further, if that was even possible. Why didn’t I just tell him straight out that I hadn’t had a boyfriend in three years? And that I hadn’t gotten laid in—

I winced as I scooped coffee into the coffeemaker. No, I’d gotten laid just a couple of weeks ago. Though technically I could still claim that I hadn’t had a man in a while.

I dumped the water into the top of the machine and jammed the start button, then turned back to him. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the jamb with his hands in his pockets, watching me with an amused yet puzzled expression on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”

I shook my head. “No. It’s not like that.” I tugged the belt a little tighter. “I just don’t like people coming out here. I don’t really like having visitors.” I realized after the words left my mouth how rude that had sounded.

But he didn’t seem to be at all fazed. His gaze traveled around the kitchen, taking in the spotless white tile, the yellow flowers painted near the ceiling, the matching towels, the copper trivets hung on the wall. “Well, you keep a nice neat house, even if you aren’t expecting company.”

I crossed my arms. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but this isn’t how this place usually looks.”

“Oh?” He arched an eyebrow at me. “So you were expecting visitors tonight?”

I hesitated. He obviously had knowledge of the arcane, and he seemed to be accepting of the concept of “demon summoning,” but that didn’t mean he knew about the kind of demons I dealt with and the kind of summonings that I performed. Summoners—my kind—weren’t exactly a dime a dozen. I’d never asked any of the demonic ilk, but I didn’t think there were more than a hundred or so in the entire world. Supposedly there’d been more a few centuries ago, but as the world had changed and evolved, knowledge of the arcane had gradually faded.

Best to play it safe. “No visitors,” I said. “I just try to make a point of cleaning up at least once a month. You caught me on a good day.”

“Ah,” he said. “I thought that maybe …” He trailed off, looking oddly discomfited.

“Maybe what?”

He shrugged. “Well, you seemed to be pretty familiar with the concept of demons, and Demonic Lords. I thought that you might be, well …” He gave a self-conscious laugh. “I thought that maybe you were a summoner.”

Holy shit. He does know! “Umm.” Oh, what the hell. “Okay, I am,” I said, before I could change my mind. “I’m a summoner. And … I was going to try to summon tonight.”

His face lit up and he pushed off the doorway. “Seriously? You are? You’re a summoner? Of demons? That’s too cool!” Then he grimaced deeply, shaking his head. “Shit. I can’t believe I just said that. Sorry. I sound like a teenager.”

I blinked, then grinned. “No, it’s okay. I’m pretty surprised you even know about summoners.”

He smiled ruefully. “I can understand that. It’s not a very common skill, or so I’ve heard. But with the kind of work I do and the cases I’ve seen, I’ve learned a bit about it.” Then his smile turned boyish. “And of course my grandmother used to tell me stories.”

“Was she a summoner?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. I have a private theory that one of her parents was, and that’s where she got some of her ability to sense the arcane. But however she got it, by the time the ability trickled down to me it was pretty well watered down.” He shrugged, not seeming to be at all upset by the admission. “So you’re really going to summon a demon tonight?”

It was my turn to shrug. I busied myself with pouring coffee and setting out mugs. “I was thinking about it. I was going to see if I could get those runes identified. Cream and sugar?”

“One Equal, if you have it. I thought you could summon only on full moons.”

I handed him his mug. He knew more than I’d given him credit for. “Traditionally, yes. And the reason is that there’s just more arcane energy available. But if the convergence is high—as it is right now—summoning on the dark is possible if you’re only trying to hold a minor creature. And even though it’s not as potent, there’s more stability.”

He held his mug in both hands. “That’s what you’re going to summon? A minor demon?” He was trying to be calm and cool, but I could see the tightening of his hands on the mug and hear the edge of excitement in his voice.

“Yes … but I don’t think I’m going to now.”

His disappointment was palpable. “Oh. Why not?”

I couldn’t help but smile. He was being so very un-Fedlike—a radical departure from his demeanor when we first met. “Summonings require a great deal of preparation, even for a minor demon. And a lot of that preparation is mental.”

He winced. “And I’ve totally blown that out of the water. I’m very sorry. Now I understand why you discourage visitors.”

“It’s all right,” I said as I sat down at the table. “I can still summon tomorrow night. I had a … strange experience during my last summoning, so I’d rather not take any chances this time.”

He sat down opposite me. “What happened?”

I propped my chin on my hand and regarded him. “Is this Special Agent Kristoff asking?”

He laughed. “No. No, this is Ryan asking.”

Damn, but he did have some really nice eyes. And he was a lot cuter when he wasn’t being all FBI-ish. “I was attempting a summoning of a fairly ‘popular’ demon. He’s a lower demon, he’s summoned quite often, rarely if ever causes any trouble, and is pretty easy to bring through.”

“And he decided to act up this time?” he asked.

“Nope. He didn’t come through at all. Something else came through. Something incredibly powerful and a thousand times more dangerous. He destroyed my bindings and protections with a gesture.” I rubbed my arms, still chilled at the memory of that moment of terror. “And I still don’t know why he came through instead of Rysehl.”

He was quiet for a moment, brow slightly furrowed. “But you’re still alive,” he said finally. “How did you defeat him?”

I leaned back in the chair, rubbing my eyes. “I didn’t. It’s complicated, but he left without … um, harming me.” I certainly couldn’t say without touching me.

He ran a finger around the top of his mug, watching me. “What was it?”

“A Demonic Lord.”

His eyes narrowed. “I thought you said that they couldn’t be summoned.”

“Well, normally they can’t. And I didn’t summon him. He came through instead of the demon I did summon. And I don’t know how or why.” I made a face. “The ‘not knowing’ kinda bugs me.”

His gaze seemed to sharpen on me. “I think you should do it.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re not the one who will get the chance to look at the pretty patterns your blood makes on the stone when it goes wrong.”

“Will you put it off again tomorrow?” His tone was challenging. “Knowing what those runes say could be vital to solving this case.”

I scowled, stung. “You think I don’t know that? I know we need to identify those runes, and I know that asking a demon is probably the best way to go about it. But I’m going to do it when I’m prepared, physically and mentally, and right now you’re not helping.”

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s not my place to tell you to do something that’s so dangerous. I wouldn’t ask a fellow agent to run after an armed man into a blind alley with no weapons or backup. And asking you to summon when you’re not prepared is no different. I guess it’s just the excitement of being so close to a summoning.” He hesitated. “Look, I don’t quite know how the protocols for these things work, but, er, is there any way I could be present for a summoning?” He looked at me hopefully.

“No.” My reply was flat, firm, and fast.

He gave a short laugh. “Okay, well, since you’ve had time to think about it and all …”

I shook my head. “Agent Kristoff—”

“Ryan, please.”

I took a deep breath. “Ryan, it’s not that I want to keep evidence or information from you. But it’s just too dangerous. And I have enough uncertainty right now with the botched summoning. The last thing I need is to have you—or anyone—as a distraction in the room. I’ve also never attempted to keep protections on myself and another person. The only times that I’ve summoned with another person in the room, the other person was a summoner and didn’t need me to provide protection.”

“It was worth a try,” he said with a smile. “You don’t get anywhere if you don’t try.”

I returned the smile. “I know what you mean.”

My hallway clock chimed midnight, and he cocked his head. “It is true that summonings have to be done by midnight?”

“No,” I said, “not at all. But it helps if they’re completed before sunrise, because everything gets a bit unstable when the potencies shift from lunar to solar. There are some rare summoners who work in the daytime, and they always try to finish before sunset. Same principle.”

Ryan grinned. “I feel like I should be taking notes. This is great stuff to know.”

I shrugged. “But that’s one of the reasons summoners aren’t generally all-powerful people with demons at their beck and call. It’s fucking hard to summon a demon, and then it’s tough to keep control of a demon for more than a few hours. Especially higher-level demons. They don’t like being summoned in the first place.” It was certainly possible to keep a demon for longer than a few hours, but that was another skill I had yet to master.

He leaned back in the chair. “So how did you get into law enforcement?”

I curled my fingers around my mug. “My mom died of cancer when I was eight and my dad was killed by a drunk driver when I was eleven, so my aunt came to live with me.” Best not to mention the fact that my aunt was a summoner. Let Ryan figure that out on his own. “I turned into something of a wild child—acting out and all that stuff—but somehow I managed to graduate from high school with an adequate GPA.” I didn’t know him well enough to tell him how I’d nearly destroyed my life with drugs and how finding out I could summon demons brought me back from that edge.

“Anyway,” I continued, “when it came time for me to go off to college, my aunt sat me down and had a serious talk with me about how in this day and age education was a priority. I got my act together and went off and got a degree—art history.” I rolled my eyes. “Talk about a pointless degree. I found out that there aren’t too many jobs that use art history degrees, and after I whined for about three months about not being able to get a decent job, my aunt got fed up, threatened to kick me out, and told me to go apply to the Beaulac Police Department, since they were accepting applications.” I smiled. “Best thing she ever did for me. So at the ripe age of twenty-two, I became a street cop, though I think my aunt had something safe like ‘dispatcher’ in mind when she told me to go apply.”

“She sounds pretty no-nonsense.”

I let out a bark of laughter. “She doesn’t take shit from anyone, that’s for sure. I worked as a street cop for five years, then transferred over to Investigations. I’ve been a detective for two now.”

“Are there enough homicides here to keep you busy?”

“Well, before the Symbol Man, there really weren’t that many at all. We’d get three or four in a bad year. But we’re small enough that we don’t have detectives who work homicides exclusively. Actually, this is my first homicide case.” I fought the urge to squirm in embarrassment. “I worked in Property Crimes before this.”

“So you became a cop about the same time the Symbol Man started up?”

I nodded. “The first body was found the day after I got out of the police academy. Of course, as a rookie, I couldn’t get anywhere near it.” I swirled the dregs of coffee in my mug. “He was dumping the bodies in remote locations back then, too, so they were usually pretty decomposed by the time they were found. But I got the chance to be on the scene of a body dump about three years ago when I was still a street cop. The body had been there for only about two weeks, and I saw what I just knew were arcane traces.” I looked up at him. “And I’ve been fascinated with the case ever since.”

His expression grew serious. “And you think he’s gearing up for a major summoning.” He frowned and leaned forward. “Didn’t you say something about him possibly preparing to summon a lord?”

“Yeah. It would make sense.”

He was silent for a moment. “That’s pretty bizarre.”

I looked at him quizzically. “What is?”

“Well,” he said, voice oddly smooth, “the murders started happening more frequently right about the time that a lord came to visit you.”

I stared at him. The pleasant feeling I’d been having about his company began to fade rapidly. My throat felt dry. “No, a lord did not come to visit me. He came through without being called.”

“Still, it seems like a strange coincidence.” His expression was calm, his eyes steady on me.

“Yeah, it is,” I retorted. “A coincidence. I have no explanation for it. But Rhyzkahl is not the only Demonic Lord in the other plane,” I added, tone icy.

He looked at me levelly, and I got the distinct impression that this was 100 percent Special Agent Kristoff speaking to me now. “I’m just thinking that it’s pretty amazing that you’re a summoner, and it seems clear that the killer is either a summoner or someone else with strong ties to the arcane. Add that to the fact that the murders started right after you became a cop …”

I stood, a slow and hot anger building. “Are you accusing me?”

He remained perfectly calm, no doubt all that fed training in action. “Should I? Don’t you think those are strong coincidences?”

I took three deep, careful breaths, using every speck of control I had developed through my work as a summoner to not fly into a rage or burst into tears. Either was equally possible right now. “I think that you have no idea what you are talking about.” I was pleased to find that my voice was level and calm, even though I was raging inside. “The chances of having two people working the arcane in one area? Well, if you had the slightest damn clue about how the arcane works, you might know that this area happens to lie on a focal point of arcane power, and thus it’s very possible there are quite a few people in the area with arcane connections. And even though summoning is not a common skill, I promise you, I am not the only summoner in the world.” I took another breath, trying not to shake. “For that matter, have you considered that the reason I’m assigned to this case is the same reason you’re assigned to this case? Because we both have sensitivities to the arcane?”

He looked at me, then gave a slight shrug. “Of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking that I was a suspect,” I said flatly.

“Can you blame me?” he said, getting to his feet. “Can’t you see the coincidence?”

“Yes, I can, and it really is a fucking coincidence. And I can blame you. You don’t know me. I’ve been incredibly forthright with you, considering what and who I am. If I was the killer, why the fuck would I tell you that I thought the killer was a summoner and then tell you that I was a summoner too? You came to my house in the middle of the night completely uninvited, I answered all your questions, and then you accused me of being the Symbol Man. So, yes, I can certainly blame you. If this is your style of investigation, I don’t need your help. And you need to leave.”

His eyes narrowed. “Just remember, you don’t have the authority to kick me off the case. The FBI works with you, not under you.”

“I have the authority to tell you to get the fuck out of my house, Agent Kristoff!” I said, anger definitely showing in my voice and volume.

“Yes, you certainly do, Detective Gillian,” he replied, drawling out my title in insulting fashion. “Since I am here as a guest. This time.” And with that he turned and stalked out of the kitchen and down the hall. A few seconds later I heard the front door open and close heavily, just short of a slam.