CHAPTER THIRTY
A loud rapping at the guest bathroom door shattered the silence and her privacy. Kat put the red and black candles back into her tote.
“Just a minute.”
“Did you light a match or something?”
The edge in Bruce’s voice surprised Kat. She expected pouting from Bruce, and when things really went against him, whining. This time he sounded irritated, even angry. Maybe he had finally grown a pair.
“It’s only a candle, Bruce. A little ceremonial thing I do.”
Kat grabbed the tote and opened the door. Bruce stood there with that stupid, blinky-eyed look that he got when he was surprised, concerned, or simply did not know what to do. Kat squeezed her body around him, put her tote on the bed, and sat.
“What did you do, Kat?”
Bruce sounded more perplexed than angry.
“Why did the Highway Patrol want to see the Viper?” he asked.
Kat puckered her face into a little pout as Bruce moved in close. She reached out and slid her arms around his oversized middle and looked up at him.
“Don’t be mad, Bruce. I didn’t do anything wrong. Some guy in a Corvette was being an asshole when I was driving down to Naples. He scared me.”
Kat rested her cheek against Bruce’s chest. She glanced up at him and his face softened, but the blinking continued.
“I tried to outrun him. Get away from him. Your Viper is fast. I was afraid.”
“What happened?” Bruce asked, gentler this time.
“An old truck was poking down the slow lane. The Corvette went around on the right. He hit a trailer parked on the shoulder. I was scared, Bruce. I kept going.”
“Oh, shit, Kat. You killed that Briggs guy. Him and his girlfriend. For God’s sake, he was a friend of the fricken governor. No wonder that cop drove all the way up here.”
Kat squeezed Bruce and pressed her cheek farther into his chest.
“It wasn’t my fault, baby.”
She felt both his heartbeat and his breathing increase. She looked up at Bruce with pouty lips and puppy eyes. Bruce’s face looked paler than usual.
***
It was time for more control. Baalzaric melded his mind with Kat’s. His will became her will and she received him as if he were her lover. Take him to the bed.
“I didn’t do anything wrong, Bruce.”
Kat took him by the hands and stood.
Use the yellow candle.
Kat felt the bed against the back of her knees
“Keep me safe, Bruce. Take care of me.”
She let go of his hands and began removing his belt.
“Take care of me so I can take care of you,” she continued.
Bruce stood there blinking, watching Kat manipulate his clothes.
Kat stopped for a minute.
The infernal sex magick. Use it now.
“Bruce, let me light a candle.”
Night had embraced the world outside.
“You should have told me, you know,” Bruce said.
Baalzaric heard a pathetic man who lived a pathetic life.
Kat pulled the yellow candle out of her tote along with a small vial of oil. Bruce undressed while Kat dressed the candle with the oil. Bruce watched Kat use slow, careful strokes that covered every inch of the candle. Baalzaric watched Bruce’s arousal become obvious.
She put the oil away and lit the candle. She dripped wax on the nightstand beside the bed and placed the candle on top of it.
In one smooth motion, she pulled the yellow sundress over her head. Bruce had stripped to his shorts and socks. Kat reached up. Her hands explored his chest. Then they suddenly went south. She bent over as her mouth followed. Bruce’s pulse was racing now. Kat felt it. She paused and looked up at him. Her hands kept busy.
“Do you believe in magick, Bruce?”
“Oh, God, yes.” Bruce groaned, his voice thick, raspy. “What you’re doing is magic. Hell, right now, I’d believe in anything you asked me to. Magic, fairies, little green men, demons from hell. Just...don’t...stop.”
“I won’t stop, Bruce,” Kat told him. “I have something special for you. A gift.”
Kat could feel little jerks and spasms pulsing through his body.
“Do you want my gift, Bruce?” she asked. “It’s magick. You have to ask for it, open yourself to it.”
“Yes, please. I want it,” he begged. “Give it to me.”
That was all Baalzaric had to hear. His mind radiated a power that oozed out of Kat, through the walls and the ceiling, and into the atmosphere. Mere seconds later, while Bruce sighed and moaned, a dark shape congealed below the vaulted ceiling. It began a slow orbit above Bruce’s head.
Kat kissed her way back up Bruce’s torso. She kissed Bruce on the mouth with wet, full lips. Her tongue forced its way past his teeth and took ownership. She cut off the lingering kiss, spun him around, and pushed him back on the bed. He wiggled backwards at an angle until his head was on the pillow while Kat pulled off his shorts. His pasty-white skin had turned pink, the capillaries flush with blood, his flesh hot to the touch.
Another shape appeared above the bed, even darker than the first. Kat held on to Bruce and positioned herself above him. His eyes were squeezed shut, his breathing rapid and shallow, his pulse close to his aerobic maximum.
Kat let herself slide down onto him. She began a low chant, almost a long, continuous moan. The two dark shapes went around and around above Bruce’s head. A third shape appeared, even darker than the first two. Some kind of living, black hole swirled between Bruce and the ceiling.
Bruce began to grunt and moan, his face painted with impending ecstasy. Kat’s chanting got louder and she reached over for the well-oiled, yellow candle. His eyes still closed, Bruce’s hands held her by her waist as she pinched out the flame. She arched her back and reached around behind her, forcing the candle between Bruce’s legs. His eyes popped open, surprised, questioning. Kat rode Bruce harder and faster while inching the candle toward its target. Bruce’s eyes squeezed shut and his face told her that he was close to sweet release.
Do it.
Baalzaric felt every sensation flowing through Kat’s body. This was what he lived for — physical ecstasy.
Do it, do it now.
Kat shoved the oiled candle home. Bruce’s eyes popped wide open. His mouth formed a pink circle.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.”
Not God, you fool.
The demons above Bruce’s head spun around in frenzied anticipation so strong that Baalzaric felt it.
Kat’s body stiffened and the waves began crashing over her, one after another. She pushed herself down on Bruce. As hard as she could. He exploded inside of her. Her own body jerked and thrust itself against him, frantic to complete its own release. Baalzaric was awash in a flood of pure, ecstatic, almost celestial pleasure.
Now. Take him, now!
The demons broke out of their orbit and plunged, one by one, into Bruce’s skull — the blackest demon penetrating last. Bruce’s head thrashed from side to side. His eyes rolled back in their sockets with only the whites showing.
Baalzaric let the waves of Kat’s pleasure crash over him. At the same time, he absorbed as much of her psyche and her being as he dared, without pushing her into a psychotic episode. He released the connection between them enough to let Kat regain control of her body. She jerked a few times, spending herself in the last spasms of her climax. She fell to her right side, breaking her connection with Bruce. She rolled onto her back, sweating and breathing hard. Baalzaric backed off more, letting Kat’s mind float away from his control. For the moment, he was satisfied.
***
Kat looked over at Bruce. He appeared paralyzed, his chubby body wet with sweat and his pubic hair sticky with their fluids. His eyes remained tucked back into his head. She watched his chest. It rose and fell with a regular rhythm. Still breathing. Good. It would suck if I killed him before getting everything I want.
She
sat up, pushing her sweat-drenched hair back from her face. She retrieved the yellow candle. Bruce did not move. Not even a twitch. Just the in and out, in and out of his breath.
Kat grabbed her tote and went into the bathroom. She carefully wrapped the candle in a tissue and placed it into a sealable freezer bag that she retrieved from her tote. She hid the candle behind the toilet. If Bruce ever failed to cooperate, she would only have to unwrap the candle, burn it, and return it to its hiding place. With the powerful magick contained in the candle, now smeared with his body’s excretions, she would either guarantee Bruce’s good behavior, or end his miserable existence.
It was time to get clean. She opened the frosted glass shower door and stepped inside. She turned the faucet handle to the hot side and then pulled it. The flexible shower head, attached to a six-foot hose, allowed her to quickly, and completely, clean away the mess that Bruce had left in her. The steamy hot water even washed away the dirt she couldn’t see. She had realized the importance of washing off the invisible dirt, the dirt that polluted her mind and soul, from the first time Robert Greer had taken her into the bathroom, after raping her.
Kat came back into the guest room and dressed. Bruce was still breathing, with little tremors pulsing through his hands and feet. As Bruce’s extremities twitched and jerked, Kat saw the first shadow. It rose out of his torso, phantom-like. A second and a third shadow appeared. The three shadows dipped in her direction. She had seen the same thing in Kevin Williams at the Candle and Wind store in Ft. Myers. Somehow, during the sex act, the shadow spirits had taken up residence in Bruce.
Kat turned and went back into the bathroom. She stared at her reflection in the floor-length mirror. Nothing. She watched for a few minutes longer. No shadows. Nothing but her own reflection staring back at her. Not a single shadow. Ok, whatever got into Bruce, isn’t in me.
She smiled at her reflection. For a woman who had suffered what she had suffered, had done the things that she had done, she had to admit to herself that she looked good. She went back into the guest room and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Bruce. What a big, ugly toad he was. Kat cupped her hand around his chin and shook his head gently.
“Bruce, wake up.”
Nothing.
A thought startled her. Words in an unknown language. Kat spoke them aloud.
“Ex abyssus. Excito. Nunc.”
Surprisingly, she understood the words. Out of hell. Rise up. Now.
Bruce’s eyes rolled back down. He blinked, blinked again. A look of terror crossed his face, then confusion.
“It’s okay,” Kat told him. “I’m here.”
“We were making love,” Bruce said, his voice weak, tenuous. “Everything went dark. Dark and hot. Hot the way my mother told me hell would be hot. Everything burned.” Bruce paused. “My ass still burns.”
His voice trailed off as fresh beads of sweat erupted from his forehead. He rose up on his elbows.
“It was a bad place. Was I dreaming?”
“Were you Bruce?”
“I don’t want to go back there, Kat. It was a bad place.”
“Do you love me, Bruce?”
Bruce nodded his head. No words, just his eyes telling Kat that he would love and obey.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Saffi Stefansen’s body was in class. Her mind, however, had drifted off to another place. Somewhere in the distance, the professor droned on about crime scene integrity and evidence patterns. Normally, Saffi didn’t let anything distract her from her studies, but Jim Demore was in this class, and Jim Demore was the epitome of what Saffi used to describe to her girlfriends as “the total package.” Tonight the total package had her totally distracted.
Way back when her mother took her to the first day of kindergarten, her mom explained that Saffi meant “wise,” so she should listen wisely to everything the teacher taught her. Saffi had always listened carefully to her mother; she also listened carefully to every word the kindergarten teacher said, and to every teacher since. But she was not listening tonight. She was not being wise. Not about Jim Demore anyway.
“Ms. Stefansen?”
Busted.
“I’m sorry, professor. I was daydreaming.”
Saffi may not have always been wise, but she was always honest. It was a trait some people found unsettling.
“Well, it’s nice to have you back with us.”
The heat of embarrassment rose up from her neck. She was glad she had taken the time to apply a little foundation while getting ready for class. It would be the only thing keeping her from looking like a well-cooked lobster.
Everyone in the class was looking at her. Almost involuntarily, Saffi glanced over at Jim Demore who sat across from her at the table they shared with two other students. He smiled at her and the heat in her cheeks got a little hotter. Saffi forced her full attention back toward the professor. God, how embarrassing.
“Ms. Stefansen, give us the definition of pattern evidence.”
Despite her embarrassment, without hesitation, she spit out the definition.
“Pattern evidence is defined as any forensic evidence that can be read and analyzed from a specific kind of pattern left by the physical contact between different people, persons and objects, or different objects.”
The professor looked impressed.
“Excellent. Can you give us some examples of pattern evidence?”
“Blood splatters, burn marks near the origin of a fire, broken glass, shoe prints, skid marks from vehicles.”
Saffi saw the other students taking notes. Her face cooled.
The professor seemed satisfied.
“All right, let’s look at how forensic experts examine pattern evidence to eliminate any natural or accidental causes from the pattern.”
For the last forty minutes of the class, Saffi paid attention, took notes, and acted very wisely.
***
Jim Demore smiled at the cute blonde. He caught her eye briefly before she looked away, her attention snapping back to the professor. He thought she was pretty. Cheerleader, all-American girl pretty. Even with her shorter, contemporary, haircut.
The rest of the class remained reasonably interesting. Jim had several pages of notes by the time the professor dismissed the class. Gathering up his textbook, notes, and other miscellaneous crap needed for a college class, he followed the other students out of the classroom. He dodged his way out of the science building and headed across the park setting of the campus, which was crowded with students.
The Southwest Florida Institute of Technology was one of the state’s newest campuses. It had been the vision of the current governor during his first term. He wanted Florida to lead the nation in technology education. More than half of the students were working adults, and the campus offered an extensive night program for which Jim was grateful.
As he walked, he felt the weight of fatigue from the extra shifts, the hours spent investigating the death of Briggs, the demands of school, and the battles with Linda. His knee ached, reminding him to call his doctor. Just one more damned thing to do.
When he reached the edge of the student parking lot, he decided he needed coffee for the drive home. He turned around and cut back toward the student union building. Students of all ages were entering and leaving. Night classes didn’t end until ten thirty, and it was only a few minutes after nine. He would grab some coffee and relax a little before heading back.
By the time Jim reached the snack bar counter, the line had shortened. He took his coffee and moved over to the condiment stand, where he poured the contents of three artificial sweetener packets and a splash of half-and-half into the cup. He put the lid on, and looked around for a seat where he could let his knee rest for a few minutes. Three students from his forensics class were still in the student union. One of those students, Saffi Stefansen, sat at a table alone. Jim made his way to her table and stood next to her. She tapped away on a laptop, oblivious.
“That was a nice recovery in class. Sound
s like you have forensics theory nailed.”
***
Saffi recognized the voice, but was still surprised to see Jim Demore standing next to her table. When she looked up, her first thought was that he had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Deep ocean blue eyes. Oh Lord, what am I supposed to say? Something clever? Be wise, Saffi.
“I embarrassed myself.”
Might as well tell the truth.
“I try not to do that too often,” she continued.
Saffi smiled weakly.
“My brain is out the window during half of these classes,” Jim replied. His smile was warm and friendly.
“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked.
Oh God, no, not at all.
“Please,” she said.
That one word was all Saffi could manage and still retain some semblance of cool. Jim sat across from her.
“I’m Jim. Jim Demore. I guess the uniform tells you who I work for.”
His eyes are SO blue.
“Saffi Stefansen.”
Saffi extended her palm. This is so weird.
They shook hands. She was a little upset with herself. Good Lord, I feel...what was the word the wise old owl in Bambi used...twitterpated...I feel twitterpated. This is silly. Be wise, Saffi.
Jim released her hand.
He’s just a guy, OK? Yeah, but a tall, handsome guy in uniform, with the bluest eyes I have ever seen. Deep-Atlantic, ocean-blue eyes.
Jim repeated her name.
“Saffi. That’s different. Is it short for something?”
“No, it’s Danish. It means wisdom.”
But, dear God, right now I don’t feel so wise.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Kevin Williams waited in the main parking lot for more than two hours, watching the co-eds come and go. Most of them were dressed for the unseasonably warm weather in shorts or short skirts with various styles of halter and tank tops. A handful wore the ubiquitous Florida sundress. Flip-flops or sandals seemed to be the standard footwear. Watching the girls with their bare legs and form-fitting outfits caused him to stiffen. He reached down and adjusted himself. His hand stayed in his lap. He knew he would have to do something soon to satisfy the cravings that were building up again. He knew that the voices, as well as his body, would demand it. Demore came outside with a pretty, girl-next-door blonde, walked with her to her car, and then made his way to his cop car.
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