Mark of the Demon

by Diana Rowland

  As if a switch had been thrown, Tessa was all seriousness. “Yes, it’s about time we had that talk, but I knew there was no point in doing so until you were ready.” She took my arm in a gentle but inexorable grasp and led me into the kitchen, pushing me onto a wrought-iron stool and then setting a cup of steaming tea in front of me as if it had been conjured. Don’t be silly, she can’t conjure. She just saw you on the step and got it ready.

  Tessa sat on the stool on the other side of the counter and folded her arms in front of her.

  I took a sip of the tea. Sweetened just the way I liked it, just the right temperature, and not one of those hideous fruity teas that Tessa usually favored. She’s worried about me, I realized. Knowing now what I did about the death of my grandmother, I found myself understanding—or, at least, willing to accept—a bit more about my aunt’s manner. Tessa had been seventeen and her sister, Ellyn—my mother—had been nineteen when Gracie Pazhel and the other summoners were killed. Michael Pazhel had dealt with his grief over the loss of his wife by examining the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. About a year later, Ellyn escaped by marrying my father, Marcus Gillian, leaving Tessa to figure out her own way in life.

  I’d never really thought about it before, but Tessa had probably felt terribly abandoned by her older sister. Add to that the stress of finding her way as a new summoner, and Tessa had basically decided not to give a rat’s ass what other people thought of her. Under “normal” circumstances, her mother would have become her mentor and trained her as a summoner. Instead, Tessa had been forced to go to Japan, to a summoner there who’d been willing to take on a student.

  I took another sip of my tea, stalling. No wonder she and my mother barely spoke. And no wonder she resented the fact that, before she was even thirty, she got saddled with raising a preteen kid and had to put her own life on hold. Those first few years together had been unpleasant in a variety of ways. Tessa hadn’t tried very hard to hide her displeasure at being forced to completely change her life to care for a niece she’d met only once before. And I’d responded like any preteen would to the enormous loss of everything I’d known—by developing discipline and attitude problems and being an overall pain in the ass. In fact, if it wasn’t for the fact that I had the ability to summon, I think we’d have each given up on the other. Through the summoning of demons, we’d found a common ground—and just in time too. I was barely into high school and I’d already gone considerably beyond “experimentation” with a variety of drugs. As soon as Tessa confirmed that I had the potential to become a summoner, she—finally—laid down the law, telling me that I could become an arcane practitioner, too, but I had to clean up my life first and prove that I was worth teaching.

  And I did. It took a couple of years, but this time she took an active interest in me and helped me kick the drugs and get my life back on track.

  “Okay,” I began, setting the cup down, “so here’s the thing. I know I called Rysehl. I’ve gone over it in my head a thousand times, and I just know that’s the name I said.”

  Tessa was silent for a breath, then gave a reluctant nod. “There have been other instances of someone else coming through during a call.”

  I hesitated, wanting badly to ask about the summoning that Greg had described. No, I need to figure this one out first. Then I can ask.

  “So, I called, and this other … demon came through. I mean, I thought it was a demon, and so I invoked the usual bindings and protections.” I spread my hands on the flecked black granite of the counter, not looking at my aunt. “He just laughed, and said that ‘this would prove interesting.’ Then he broke the bindings.” I shook my head. “No, that doesn’t even describe it. He just swept them aside like they weren’t even there.”

  “Yes,” my aunt said. “Those sort of bindings are completely useless against his sort.”

  I fiddled with a fingernail. “I tried to escape—I mean, just run away, but he made it seem like the stairs weren’t there anymore.”

  “An easy enough illusion for him.”

  “Yeah, and I even knew it was an illusion, but that still didn’t help me.”

  Tessa exhaled gustily. “A Demonic Lord would be too strong for simple denial to work.”

  “And so then he … um, came up to me, and …” I took a deep breath. “Okay, so I figured that I was totally screwed, y’know? I mean, I didn’t know who or what he was, but I knew he was bad, and powerful, so at first I figured it was just going to get really ugly and he’d throw me to his minions or something, but then he totally changed and got all sexy and I was—”

  “Kara!” My aunt’s voice was a verbal slap. “Just tell me what happened.”

  I groaned and dropped my head to the counter with a thunk. “I fucked him. Or, rather, he fucked me. Okay, we fucked each other. Fuck.”

  My aunt was silent, and after a moment I dared to lift my head slightly and peer up at her through my bangs. Tessa was looking off into space, chewing her bottom lip.

  “What did he say?” Tessa said after a moment.

  “When—before, during, or after?”

  Tessa gave a bark of laughter. “I can only imagine what was said during. ‘Oh, baby, yes yes yes!’ or something to that effect.”

  I smiled ruefully. “Not quite, but I suppose it’s not that important.”

  “So what did he say afterward, you impudent girl?”

  I sat up again. “He said that he knew that my call had not been for him.”

  Tessa’s frown deepened. “And then what?”

  “Then he got dressed and said, ‘Kara Gillian, you may call me whenever you need me.’ And then he was gone.”

  Tessa stood and took her cup to the sink and ran water in it, standing with her back to me. “I don’t know, sweet-ling. That sounds very … odd.”

  I watched my aunt wash the cup. I could see her hands shaking as she dried it and set it in the drainer, and I realized with an abrupt shock that Tessa was deeply upset. That was why she was facing away, so that I wouldn’t see it.

  “Yeah, it’s kinda freaky,” I said casually, giving my aunt time to recover. “I thought I was dead meat, then he seemed to change his mind. But it doesn’t make any difference now. I mean, well, obviously I’m not going to summon him again.” But he can come to my dreams….

  Tessa turned, gripping the towel. “No, silly girl, you don’t get it. You don’t need to summon him now. You can just call him to you.”

  I blinked at Tessa, dream visit forgotten. “Okay, yeah, I understand that, but …” I paused, then shook my head. “Okay, maybe I don’t understand. I can call him without doing a formal summoning ritual?” Is that what he was talking about? What was the big deal about that?

  Tessa dried her hands briskly. “That’s what he said. Call him. Just call him, with intent. Saying his name like normal isn’t going to do it, which is a damn good thing, the way you’ve been throwing it around.” There was a touch of asperity in her voice, which was a curious relief. She was getting back to her regular self. “But he’s set some sort of connection to you now. I’ve heard of these things before, but only in the ancient literature.” She busied herself with hanging the towel back on its rack for a few seconds. “The only problem is, if you call him, you still don’t have any control over him. All that does is let him through.” She turned and gave me a look of deathly seriousness. “He’d be here in this sphere without restraint, without terms, without any bonds of honor controlling his actions. Don’t you even think of calling him, Kara.”

  “I’m not!” I held up my hands. “Do you think I’m a moron?”

  Tessa frowned at me. “Gimme a break, Kara. Of course I don’t. I just want to be sure you understand the danger.”

  “I’m not going to call him,” I repeated with a sigh.

  Tessa gave a short nod. “Good to hear, because the last thing this place needs is an unrestrained Rhyzkahl seeking to expand his power base. That would be worse than a Rhyzkahl summoned and controlled by an unscrupulous summo
ner.”

  I frowned. “Wait. So he can be summoned—and controlled?”

  Tessa plopped back onto the stool. “It’s possible, I suppose. But the amount of power and preparation needed would be incredible.”

  An icky feeling began to form in the back of my head. But now wasn’t the time to tease it out and examine it. Instead, I picked up my cup and took it to the sink.

  “Hey, do you think I could borrow that graphic novel that you showed me the other day?” I said as I washed and dried the cup. “I’m curious to see what kind of story it is.” And I wanted to see more of what this Greg person was like.

  Tessa smiled, obviously relieved by the change in subject. “Sure thing, sweetling. I’ll go get them.”

  Them? I didn’t have too much time to think on that, because in about ten seconds Tessa was back, with a stack of what looked like a dozen volumes.

  “All right, this is the entire series, and please do take care of them because these are in good condition. That means don’t crack the spine, don’t spill anything on them, and don’t read them in the bathtub!”

  I took the stack of comics from my aunt, resisting the urge to scowl. So much for my bathtub reading plans. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

  My aunt gave me a brisk nod. “You’ll love them.”

  I sure hoped so, because I had a nagging feeling that these were somehow important. “I’ll let you know, Aunt Tessa. Okay, gotta go!” I said, hefting the stack of graphic novels and heading toward the door.

  It wasn’t until I got to my car that I took a look at the cover of the one on top. The Shattered Realm Saga, Vol. 1—Visits and Dreams. And that’s when I realized that I’d neglected to tell my aunt about the dream visit. I turned around to go back inside, then stopped at a trill from my pager. Shifting the books in my hand, I pulled the pager off my belt clip and read the message with a rising feeling of dread. Another body. A woman, found in an alley behind the outlet shopping center.

  Telling my aunt about the dream visit was going to have to wait.

  ANOTHER VICTIM. I DUG MY FINGERS INTO THE CUSHIONING on the steering wheel as I drove, the sick feeling increasing. That made three murders in less than two weeks. They’d never been this close together before. He’s building up to something, and it’s going to be soon. Why take the risk otherwise? The previous murders had been at the rate of one every two to three months, not more than one a week.

  But with three in two weeks, the heat was definitely going to rise on this shit.

  I wonder if I’ll be allowed to stay on the case? A small pang of dismay went through me at the thought of being removed, but I knew that with three murders it was pretty likely, considering my inexperience. I’d understand, though I sure as hell wouldn’t be happy about it. Think positive; maybe they’ll form a task force now. I suddenly realized that my feelings on that were mixed. It would be terrific to get more manpower and more resources, but how the hell was I going to explain the arcane aspects of the case without looking like a complete nutjob? Plus, would I have to work with Agent Obnoxious?

  I sighed. I was being stupid. I needed all the help I could get. And I also had to accept that there was a very real chance I’d get pulled off the case completely so it could be handled by someone with more experience. Which was pretty much anybody in Investigations.

  I pulled up to the mouth of the alley that ran behind the stores, joining the throng of other police vehicles. The area where the body had been found was known as the outlet mall, but that was a poor description for what it was now. Ten years ago it had been an outlet mall, but it had lasted as such for less than a year, the victim of a very poor layout, a lousy location, and greedy local politicians. In its second year, the stores had begun to pull out in desperate acts of self-preservation. Eventually it was a run-down strip of empty storefronts, interrupted occasionally by a struggling entrepreneur who had been lured in by the low rent. Unfortunately, even the folks who tried to tough it out ended up going out of business, since the rest of the mall was so trashy no one wanted to go there to shop, simply out of fear for the safety of themselves and their vehicles.

  I walked past the other cars, taking stock of the vicinity before getting to the actual scene. About half a dozen battered yellow Dumpsters were spaced along the alley, each surrounded by scattered trash that had missed its mark. I didn’t think that the Dumpsters had been emptied in several months, and the aroma of old garbage clung to the area like mildew in a shower. There was enough room to drive a car down the alley, but not many people would be willing to risk their cars passing over all of the debris back here.

  I also knew I wouldn’t be looking through any surveillance video of this scene. Even though there were a few cameras left on the corners of buildings in places where people couldn’t get to them and steal them, there hadn’t been film in them in many years.

  I looked ahead and saw my captain talking to three men by the crime-scene tape that had been stretched across a section of the alley. My steps slowed. I’d been right; I was finally getting some help. Be careful what you wish for, right? I thought with a grimace. But hopefully this means I’ll be staying on the case. After all, I’d been paged to report to the scene. That had to be a good sign.

  Special Agent Kristoff, aka Obnoxious, was one of the men speaking to Captain Turnham. Another of the men was much shorter than Kristoff, and when he turned I bit back a groan. Detective James Harris was with the St. Long Parish Sheriff’s Office, a supercilious man who was very full of his own importance and thus difficult to get along with. A couple of inches shorter than me, he had a thick build with a paunch that stretched his dress shirts to their limits and a fleshy, ruddy face that tended to get even redder whenever he was annoyed. Unfortunately, he was fairly good at his job, had experience with ritual and cult murders, and was no doubt more than eager to get on a task force for this sort of case.

  I didn’t recognize the third man—though judging by his suit and his haircut, I figured him for a Fed as well. He looked like he was barely eighteen, with short blond hair and a healthy tan that made him look more like a surfer. I knew he had to be older to be an agent, but I did have to wonder just how long he’d been with the bureau.

  “Oh, yay, now everybody gets to think I’m a nutjob,” I muttered, resisting the urge to go back to my car and do a quick makeup check. Since I’d visited Tessa on my way to work, I was at least dressed like a detective today, in a red tailored shirt with dark-blue dress slacks and matching jacket. I’d even remembered to accessorize, which in my world meant that I’d stuck little pearl stud earrings into the holes in my earlobes.

  Captain Turnham gave me a nod as I approached. “Gentlemen, this is Detective Kara Gillian. She’s been the primary on these cases. And,” he said with a quick glance at me, “as I said before, I intend to keep her on as the detective in charge.”

  I struggled to keep the professional smile on my face. My captain had been serious about having a rookie detective on the lead! Unbelievable. And I had the distinct impression that there’d been some discussion about this already. Kristoff wore a stony expression, while Harris was actively frowning, face red. The only one who looked at me with a smile was Surfer Boy.

  “Gillian, this is Agent Zachary Garner,” Captain Turnham said, indicating the blond agent. “I believe you’ve already met Agent Ryan Kristoff, and I’m sure you know Detective Harris, with the sheriff’s office.”

  I shook their hands in turn, but my attention was already on the body that I could see beyond the tape. I smiled and murmured something appropriate, then turned away and ducked under the tape, distantly realizing though not caring that the three had followed me. The arcane energy practically crackled on this one, and it nearly took my breath away.

  I stopped several feet from the body, and when Agent Kristoff continued forward, I threw up my arm to stop him, only realizing that I’d done so afterward. I looked up at him and gave a grimace of apology. “Sorry … uh, just thought that there was something on th
e ground there.”

  He frowned and peered down at the ground, taking off his sunglasses to do so. Damn, he has pretty eyes, I thought again, then gave myself a mental slap to get my focus back.

  Cautiously stepping forward, I watched the arcane flickers crawl and twine about the body. This is freshly dumped, I realized. This is what the shit looks like unfaded. I let out a sound of frustration. There was absolutely no way that I’d be able to get my aunt here, not with the Feds present.

  “Are you all right, Detective Gillian?” Agent Kristoff asked.

  I realized I was standing with one foot off the ground. I quickly put it down, avoiding a strand of energy that had wiggled off the body and was already beginning to fade. “I’m fine. There’s just evidence here that I don’t want to lose.”

  Kristoff narrowed his eyes and replaced his sunglasses on his face. Harris cleared his throat and stuck his thumbs behind his belt. “We realize that, darlin’. That’s why our crime scene people and yours are going to cover every inch of this area and process the body as well.”

  I forgot to hide the scowl as I looked at Harris, obscurely pleased that he was short enough for me to look down at him. “Can I at least have a few minutes to look before your folks come swooping in to save the day?” Darlin? It’s “Detective,” asshole, I wanted to add.

  Harris’s face reddened again. Crap, there goes your Tact and Diplomacy merit badge again, Kara.

  “Detective Gillian,” Kristoff said, voice unbearably cool and even, “our greatest desire is to work together with local law enforcement in order to accomplish the apprehension and conviction of the perpetrator of this series of criminal acts.”

  I blinked. Then I gave him a bright smile. “Cool! Thanks, darlin’!” I smacked him lightly on the arm and turned back toward the body. “I’ll just be a minute, then.”

  I heard someone stifle a laugh behind me. I knew it couldn’t have come from Kristoff or Harris, so I figured it had to be Garner. Could Feds even laugh? I’d always thought that the ability had been burned out of them in their training.