Mark of the Demon

by Diana Rowland

  I ignored them and crouched about a foot from the body. Even as I watched, the strands were dissipating. Another twenty minutes and they would be just smudges. Definitely a fresh dump. And, unfortunately, not too difficult to believe that it could be dumped here unseen. “Who found the body?” I asked no one in particular, not taking my eyes off the arcane leavings.

  “Anonymous call,” Garner answered. “No luck tracing it.”

  He wanted us to find this body quickly. But why? I couldn’t wrap my mind around any answer that made sense. I could accept that the body at the treatment plant had been found quickly by accident, but the one at the ball field had been in plain sight. And now this one—with the phone call to make sure that we found it quickly. I was missing some key connection, some compelling reason for the change in method.

  I leaned closer, looking at the ground beside the body. A single strand of arcane energy was twisting, and I realized with a shock that it was forming and unforming a rune. Excited, I hurriedly pulled my notebook out and sketched the rune, shielding the page from the eyes of the others as best I could. As soon as I was done with that one, I focused on another, sketching it as well. I forgot about the men clustered behind me as I slowly crabbed my way around the body, sketching runes as I saw them. Finally, when all the runes had faded away, I stood and closed my notebook.

  Kristoff had taken his sunglasses off again, a frown creasing his forehead as he eyed me. Harris stood with his arms crossed and a dark scowl on his face. Crap, they think I’m totally crazy. Now I had to hope that the chief wouldn’t hear about this.

  Kristoff’s eyes slid away from me and went to the body on the ground. I followed his gaze and realized with a guilty start that I had yet to actually look at the body.

  She was nude, with dark hair that had been permed a few too many times. Bile rose in my throat as I looked at the girl’s eyes. At first glance I merely thought that the girl had died with her eyes wide open, but then I realized with a sick jolt that the eyelids had been cut away. Like the others, she had the deep ligature marks in her throat from strangulation, and she also had the hundreds of precise slices on her limbs and torso, just like the first girl. I looked for and found the nicks in the veins at her elbows, but when I looked to see if her ankle veins had been cut as well, I had another jolt: the girl’s achilles tendons had been cut.

  No chance to get away. Had she tried to escape? Had she fought back?

  “Jesus,” Agent Garner breathed. “He cut her eyelids off.”

  I glanced up at him and nodded, then went back to examining the body. I couldn’t see the symbol, but I knew it was there. This was my guy. I knew it.

  Kristoff frowned. “I don’t see that trademark symbol on her.”

  “It’s there,” I replied.

  Harris spoke up, tugging at his tie. “This could be a copycat. The details of the symbol have never been released to the public, correct?”

  I turned to look at him. “You’re right, it hasn’t, but just because you don’t see it right here doesn’t mean it’s not on her somewhere. A couple of times the pathologist has been the one to find it. Plus, the other two did have it.”

  Harris pursed his lips sourly. “These murders have never been so close together, either, or so easily found. It would make sense that these newer ones might be a copycat.”

  I shook my head. “No, there are—” I stopped. How the hell was I going to explain the arcane smudges? “There are other details that are similar.”

  “What other details?” Harris challenged. “We’ve read all your reports.”

  Crap. I hadn’t expected them to be up to speed so quickly. “All my reports? How?”

  Agent Garner spoke up with a smile. “Your captain forwarded everything to us after the body was found at the park. We were actually going over the details for getting the task force organized when this call came out, so we headed right on over here.”

  Okay, he was definitely a newbie. He hadn’t learned how to be a dick yet. “Ah, well, there are still some things in my notes, you know. I didn’t realize my captain had spoken to y’all.” I turned and glared at my captain, but he was too far away to feel my gaze.

  “What were you sketching, Detective Gillian?” It was Agent Kristoff again, watching me with a carefulness that was close to unnerving.

  I gave him a bright, ingenuous smile. “Oh, you know. Doodling to get my thoughts in line.” Okay, so they were going to think I was crazy and incompetent. This was just great. “Look, guys, how about we meet up back at the station and go over all of this?” I really did want the resources of the task force. I just didn’t want them to think I was nuts.

  “That’s acceptable,” Harris huffed, glancing at his watch. “We’ll meet you back there in one hour.” It wasn’t a question.

  I plastered an accommodating smile onto my face. “One hour works for me.”

  “And bring all of your notes,” Harris said.

  “Oh, absolutely, guys. I’m eager to get y’all’s take on this stuff.” I even meant it. Sort of. But I realized that I was going to have to be careful to keep Harris from walking all over me.

  Just like keeping a demon in check.

  Harris and Garner turned to walk back to the cars. I began to follow them but stopped when Kristoff put his hand on my arm.

  I frowned and looked down at his hand on my arm, then back up at him. “Is there a problem?” I asked, tone icy, refraining from saying something equally nice like, Get your fucking hand off my arm, asshole.

  He didn’t release my arm. Instead, he glanced to see that the others were still walking away, then leaned in closer to me. “You saw something on the ground. What was it?”

  I clenched my jaw and pulled my arm away from him. “I didn’t see anything. I was just making notes.”

  His expression darkened. “Detective Gillian, we do not need to be withholding information from each other. If you saw something, you need to share it with me.”

  And have you order a commitment hearing? Fat chance, darlin. “If I had information that would benefit you in the slightest, I promise I would be sure to pass it on.”

  He made a noise of frustration in the back of his throat, then jammed his sunglasses on and stalked away. I watched him walk off. He’s going to put an eye out if he keeps this shit up, I thought, then followed after him and returned to my car.

  I WAS FEELING ornery, so I took my time getting my notes together, deliberately making the others wait a few extra minutes. I was also dawdling because I’d begged and pleaded and wheedled and promised Saints tickets to Dr. Lanza, and he’d relented and told me that he would go ahead and perform the autopsy on the latest victim that afternoon.

  “I’ll let you know the instant I find it, Kara,” he told me after I’d reminded him for the sixth time that I really needed to know where he finally found the symbol.

  That he would find it I didn’t doubt. But I wanted that info quickly, to prove to the Feds and Harris that I had a fucking clue.

  Now you just have to prove to them that you aren’t fucking crazy, I reminded myself, as I entered the room and plopped my notes onto the table. The others glanced up at me, then returned to their perusal of the photos spread before them. Each murder from both series had been separated into a section of the table, with the photos of the facial reconstructions or IDs at the top and the crime scene photos distributed below.

  I cleared my throat, and they all looked back up at me with a variety of expressions: Kristoff frowning, Harris glowering, and Garner smiling.

  “The, uh, old bodies were all too decomposed to make any sort of ID,” I began, gesturing to the pictures of the clay faces, “so the previous investigators had a forensic anthropologist work up some reconstructions, just to get a starting point.”

  “Any luck?” Agent Garner asked.

  “Four IDs were made, confirmed with DNA,” I said.

  “Not bad.”

  “I don’t know how much time y’all have had to read through the cas
e files,” I said as I began to sort through my notes. “One thing I did want to point out is that the symbol is not always in an obvious location.” I resisted the urge to look pointedly at Harris.

  Kristoff nodded, frown still on his rugged face. “The one where it’s on the tongue is particularly gruesome,” he said, as if he were describing an ice cream flavor.

  “Yeah, and they’re also all premortem injuries,” I continued. “In fact, the injuries on each of these victims show that they were inflicted over a period of several days, sometimes up to a week.”

  “All of the victims died of ligature strangulation?” Garner asked.

  I shook my head. “The first eleven victims were killed in a variety of ways—stabbing, shooting, drowning, you name it. Victims twelve and thirteen from before the three-year break were strangled with a ligature, as were these last three. On the first two of these latest deaths, the pathologist said that there was indication that the ligature had been tightened and released several times, judging by the bruising pattern on the strap muscles. He’s performing the autopsy on this latest one today, and he said he’d call with his findings.”

  Kristoff leaned back and crossed his arms. “Repeated strangulation. More torture.”

  I nodded and sat down. “None of these victims died nicely or quickly. It’s as if he wanted them to be in as much agony as possible.”

  “Or as much fear as possible,” he said quietly.

  I looked at him. “Or both.” We locked eyes for a moment and then I broke first, pulling my gaze away and clearing my throat. “Anyway, the previous detective wasn’t able to find a link between the victims, other than the fact that they’re all the type who aren’t missed.” I grimaced. “But I’m not sure how hard he tried.”

  “You haven’t found a link either,” Harris interjected, and I couldn’t tell if it was a question or a challenge.

  “No,” I replied as evenly as I could. “But I’ve had the case for only two weeks.”

  “I’m sure you’re doing your best,” he replied, and once again I wasn’t sure if he was being understanding or condescending.

  I decided not to take issue with it. The rest of the meeting was uneventful and, to my relief, actually worthwhile. The agents had the potential to be patronizing and annoying, but they also had significant training and access to greater resources than did my dinky little department. Even Harris had some useful input, once he stopped being obnoxious and belittling.

  This is cool, I thought, even though I didn’t hold out a lot of hope for success in a mundane route. But, then again, with the murders coming so quickly now, maybe he would slip up and make a mistake. If we have that time. I rubbed my temples. I couldn’t shake the growing certainty that he was preparing for something big.

  “Detective Gillian?” Agent Kristoff’s voice broke through my train of thought. I sighed and looked up at him. To my surprise, I saw that the others had already left. I’d been so absorbed that I hadn’t even noticed. “You know this murderer better than any of us,” he continued. “Do you think this increase in murders is going to continue?”

  I blinked, somewhat surprised at the admission that I could possibly have insight into the killer’s mind-set. I ran my fingers through my hair. “I …” I grimaced. “I think he’s gearing up to something. Something big.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’m … not sure,” I said, truthfully enough. I had my suspicions, but I sure as hell couldn’t voice them.

  He leaned toward me across the table, green-gold eyes on mine. “But you have suspicions?”

  Jeez, could he read my mind? “Well, yeah,” I said, doing my best to not squirm uncomfortably. “But they’re all pretty nebulous, y’know?”

  He leaned back and gave me what looked suspiciously like a friendly smile. “Well, why don’t you air them out? Sometimes these kinds of brainstorming sessions can really open up some new avenues of thinking.”

  That was Fed-speak for, Tell me everything you know.

  Like hell, darlin, I thought. But maybe I could air out a few allusions. “Well, I think he’s … um, attempting to do something arcane. Or what he thinks would be arcane.”

  He gave a grave nod. “So, some sort of death magic? A ritual of some sort?”

  I watched him carefully. “Yeah. Something along those lines.”

  “Perhaps some way to gain some sort of influence or power?”

  I could feel my eyes narrowing, and I had to force my face to relax. “Sure. Why make the effort otherwise? It has to be worth doing all of the torture and murder.”

  He nodded again. “Perhaps to summon some kind of arcane creature.” He flicked a glance at me. “I mean, he could be operating under the belief that he could do that sort of thing.”

  “Right.” This was getting strange. “An arcane creature that would require a great deal of death magic to hold and control.”

  “Maybe some sort of demon?” He tilted his head and shrugged.

  An odd buzz of excitement ran through me. “Yes. That makes a lot of sense. I think he’s … I mean, I think he thinks he’s going to try to summon a demon.” I watched him closely for his reaction. To my surprise, he didn’t flinch or twitch.

  “I’m inclined to agree,” he said instead.

  “You do?”

  “Yes. He could be planning to summon a demon.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully.

  I blinked at him, thoughts churning until I remembered what my captain had said about Agent Kristoff being involved in a ritual-murder task force. Okay, so this line of thinking isn’t totally bizarre to him, I thought, oddly relieved. He’s probably thinking a demon-from-hell kind of demon, but at least he’s open to the general idea. “Right. He … um, believes that he’s gathering power, using the torture and the prolonged deaths, and especially the blood. I think he’s going to try to summon a—” I stopped. I’d been about to say, “higher demon,” but I suddenly knew that wasn’t right. Even an unwilling reyza wouldn’t explain the need for murders, the gathering of that much potency. A chill crept through me. “He’s planning to summon a lord,” I breathed. “A Demonic Lord. That makes perfect sense. This has been going on for almost a decade, and that’s probably how long a preparation for that kind of summoning would take if the summoner wanted to avoid being ripped to shreds….” I trailed off and looked up at Agent Kristoff. Had I really just said all that? Out loud? Shit. “I mean, that’s what he thinks. I think. I mean, you know, that he thinks he can call up a Demonic Lord.” Shit.

  “That makes sense,” he said, voice intense and quiet. I stared at him in shock, but for the life of me I couldn’t see anything in his expression or demeanor that indicated he was toying with me or teasing me.

  “Excuse me?”

  His eyes were steady on mine. “You were sketching runes, weren’t you? By the body.”

  My throat felt oddly dry. “Are you really an agent?”

  “Could I see your sketches, please? I wasn’t able to see them very well at the scene.”

  I just stared at him. “No, really. Who are you?”

  His mouth twitched. “I’m really an agent. I swear. I just have … well, my grandmother always called it ‘othersight.’ It’s not very strong, but it’s helped me out on a few cases. And that’s why I tend to get assigned to anything that they think might be ‘satanic’ or the like.” He rolled his eyes and I smiled, surprised and pleased.

  I hesitated several more heartbeats, then opened my notebook to the page with my sketches and pushed it over to him. He examined them carefully, chewing his bottom lip in a fashion that was very un-Fedlike. After several moments he looked up at me. “I think your othersight is a lot stronger than mine,” he said, without a hint of rancor or jealousy.

  I shrugged. Don’t relax too much, I reminded myself. just because he understands you doesn’t mean he won’t screw you over later.

  “So, what are these runes? I don’t recognize them,” he said with a touch of chagrin in his voice.

  “
I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I’m going to have to ask someone who knows more than I do.”

  He gave me a crisp nod. “I’d appreciate it if you could let me know as soon as you learn anything.” He handed my notebook back to me. “And thank you for trusting me,” he said as I took the notebook back. His smile was genuine as far as I could tell.

  I gave him a careful smile in return. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

  MY CELL PHONE rang as I was walking out to my car, with Dr. Lanza’s name on the caller ID. “Hiya, Doc,” I said as I answered the phone. “Where’d ya find it? You did find it, right?”

  “Kara,” Doc said, voice strangely rough, “I’ve been a forensic pathologist for almost fifteen years, I’ve done over five thousand autopsies, but I’ve never ever seen anything like this.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I found the symbol.” “Okay. Where was it?”

  Silence.

  “Doc?” I prompted. “Where was it?”

  “Jesus, Kara. You’re not going to believe this, and I have absolutely no explanation for how the symbol got there. I mean, there are no entry wounds to explain it…. I suppose it’s possible, but—”

  “Doc! Where the hell did you find it?”

  “It was … on the inside of her uterus, Kara. Just, for the love of God, please don’t ask me to explain how it got there.”

  After I hung up, I sat in my car and stared at the phone. If I’d ever wanted physical confirmation that these murders were arcane in nature, I’d just gotten it. Could a demon have placed that symbol? Tessa had said that there were two sources of the traces. Could the killer be summoning and using a demon to help? Once again, I was way out of my depth.

  Explain that one, Harris.

  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.