Despite himself — and despite the warmth of the room, which lacked even a ceiling fan to moderate the temperature — Jack could feel a thin trickle of cold move down his back. He’d been trained in defensive magic, some of which by necessity included dispelling the otherworldly beings commonly referred to as demons, but his training hadn’t involved itself with their natures, only the best means of getting rid of them. For some reason, the thought of them as entities outside of time, rather than fallen angels banished to hell, was more unsettling than he wanted to acknowledge.
“What was the purpose of this summoning?” he asked, trying to sound cool and disinterested.
From the knowing glance Consuelo just sent him, he hadn’t sounded too convincing. “To draw power, I think. Someone is doing their best to gather dark energy around them, but as for their final goal?” A lift of her chubby shoulders. The silver crucifix around her neck glinted in the half-hearted sunlight that made it past the brown open-weave curtains hanging at the window. “I can’t say for sure. Not without more information. What you see here” — she touched a finger to one of the photographs, then quickly withdrew it, as if she feared she would somehow become tainted by the contact — “these are all spells of summoning, to bring forth those whose true names I will not utter. The lord of chaos, the great changer, the destroyer, the lord of cunning…all of their sigils have been painted here.”
“How many?” Jack inquired. His voice was steady, even though the list of epithets unnerved him more than he wanted to admit. It sounded like the murderer — whoever he or she was — had summoned everything except the kitchen sink.
“Twelve in all,” she said. “Twelve to mock the natural order of things — the months of the year, the great turning that none of us can ignore.”
“Twelve demons is a lot.”
“It is,” Consuelo agreed. Incongruously, she smiled. “The person who summoned them must have a great deal of confidence, to seek to control so many.”
“You mean they’re still here?” That was a prospect he really didn’t want to contemplate. Bad enough when his niece Zoe had accidentally summoned a single creature, who then proceeded to wreak havoc all over Scottsdale until his transformation was complete and he morphed into the man she’d been expecting when she first cast the spell. In that case, it was all’s well that ends well, although Jack couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for Levi, the erstwhile creature, who was now living in Jerome because it turned out the true match of her spirit wasn’t Levi at all, but a McAllister warlock.
Anyway, Levi, even in his previous monstrous form, didn’t constitute quite the same threat as twelve demons wreaking havoc across the greater Phoenix metropolitan area.
Again, Consuelo didn’t immediately answer him. She closed her eyes, one hand clutched around her crucifix. Jack waited, hoping all this wasn’t theatrics on her part. His cousin didn’t have any real reason to inflate the seriousness of the situation, but maybe she wanted to feel just a little more important than she was.
When her eyes opened, they fixed on him immediately. “No, they are not here,” she said. “I can sense the evil they left behind, like an oil slick on water, but whatever it was that they were summoned for, it appears they have served their purpose. For now, at least.”
“What do you mean, ‘for now’? The murderer might summon them again?”
“Possibly. Or I should say, probably. The summoner was successful, and so will most likely want to repeat that success by having another need or wish fulfilled by these demons. Once someone gets a taste for power such as that, they generally don’t want to give it up.”
Of course they wouldn’t. “What happens if the summoner isn’t successful?”
“The entities summoned would take his life in exchange for being bothered in such a way. Demons — I’ll use the term, because it’s a convenient shorthand — tend to have quick tempers. I can’t say I blame them. After all, how would you feel if you were going about your business and kept getting summoned to a different plane of existence to fulfill some mortal’s wishes?”
“Well, I — ”
To his surprise, Consuelo chuckled. “It’s all right, Jack. I may be teasing you a little. I can’t really ascribe human emotions or reactions to demons, because of course they aren’t human, are entirely other. But they’re also notoriously irritable. Sooner or later, the summoner will run afoul of them.”
That would have been reassuring, except that Jack didn’t want to depend on “sooner or later.” The person behind Jeff Nichols’ killing needed to be caught before he had a chance to strike again. A thought occurred to him, and Jack inquired, “You said the full moon was important. Does that mean there won’t be another summoning until the next full moon?”
“That would make life easier, wouldn’t it?” She shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. Each phase of the moon has its own power. The request does have to be tailored to the spell of summoning, though. The full moon is strongest, of course, but the dark of the moon….” Consuelo trailed off then, her round, dried-apple face grim. “The dark of the moon has a power that is nearly as strong. That, I think, is when you will need to be most on your guard.”
“And that’s two weeks from now.”
“Yes.”
Two weeks. He could work with that. Yes, there was the possibility that the killer might decide a waning third-quarter moon was adequate for his needs, but this was strong magic…dark magic. The sort of thing that probably flourished when the moon was hiding its face, and the world was bathed in darkness.
“The man killed was distantly related by marriage to the McAllister clan,” Jack went on. “Coincidence, or is there some significance here that I’m missing?”
Consuelo offered him another one of her enigmatic smiles. “There are no coincidences, Jack, only patterns we cannot yet see. I would say that the killer was trying to send a message. If this person is working alone — except for the demonic assistance he has summoned — then even he might think twice about attacking a member of the McAllister clan directly, because they live surrounded by so many of their own kind. Strength in numbers, and especially if their prima and primus are there with them.”
Which was only a fifty-fifty proposition, since Jack knew that Angela and Connor divided their time between Flagstaff and Jerome, depending on the season and whichever particular events might be taking place in a given locale. However, they did tend to stay in Jerome through the end of April, which meant they were probably there now. Even a warlock with a bunch of demons in tow might think twice about going up against the combined power of those two clan leaders.
So maybe Jeff Nichols had simply been an easy target. However, wouldn’t Kate Campbell have made just as good a target, especially when her own brother was married to a McAllister witch?
Jack found he really didn’t want to think about that. In the eyes of the law, all were supposed to be seen as equal, and yet somehow he couldn’t prevent the uncharitable thought from crossing his mind that the world could much more easily spare Jeff Nichols than it could Kate Campbell.
Consuelo watched him, shrewd dark eyes missing very little. Jack had never heard any family stories to indicate that she was psychic, and yet he had the distinct feeling that she could somehow guess at what he was thinking, could tell that his interest in the young widow was something a little more than professional. Crazy, of course. He knew better than to get involved with anyone even remotely connected to a case. Besides, she was a civilian, and nearly eight years younger than he, according to her records.
A civilian, true, he thought then. But since her brother is married to Jenny McAllister, Kate already knows all about the witch clans. Obviously, she knows how to keep a secret.
Maybe so, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still off-limits.
“The dead man’s estranged wife,” he said, the words coming out too harsh as he hardened his tone to make it sound as if he didn’t care all that much, one way or another. “Is she in danger?”
> “I can’t say,” Consuelo replied. “That is, it would be logical to assume that she must be in some kind of danger, if the killer is using civilian relatives of the McAllisters to strike at the clan. But all of this is conjecture. There might have been an entirely different reason why this victim was selected — he had offended the killer in some way, or owed him money. Without more information, it’s very hard to even make an educated guess.”
Jack knew that feeling all too well. This early in an investigation, a lot of what he ended up doing was making educated guesses, going with his gut and his intuition. Later, as more evidence began to accumulate, then he could put intuition aside and rely on good old deductive logic. Now, though….
Now he was starting to get a bad feeling. He’d sent Kate home with police escort, and though he knew she had a friend staying with her overnight, there was no guarantee that friend would stick around throughout the day. People had lives, had jobs and school, couldn’t just drop everything to play babysitter.
Abruptly, he got up from his chair. “Thanks, Consuelo. You’ve been very helpful. If I have any other information come up that I need help with, may I contact you?”
“Of course,” she said. She pushed herself to her feet, with considerably less agility than he had. Her eyes narrowed. “You are worried for this woman.”
“Yes. It’s probably nothing, but I feel as if I need to get back to Scottsdale.”
“Then follow your feelings.” Another smile and a sideways glance. “Even when you don’t want to believe what they’re telling you.”
6
The ride down to Tempe was quiet, tense. Kate stared out the car window and watched the businesses that lined the freeway pass by — big-box stores, furniture stores, bland office parks that all looked the same. In her opinion, the planners hadn’t done that great a job in this part of the Valley of the Sun. They should have planted native vegetation along the edges of the highway, thus providing some visual relief along with some privacy for the businesses that bordered the freeway. They’d done better in other, newer parts of town, but this area was older, not nearly as scenic.
She hadn’t told her mother about the reporters. Thank God they’d decamped by the time Lynda Campbell showed up in Scottsdale, and no one else had appeared to take their place. Maybe they’d decided that chasing after the dead man’s wife was a non-story.
“It’s almost noon,” Kate’s mother said, out of the blue. “Do you want to stop for lunch somewhere?”
At any other time, Kate wouldn’t have passed up the chance for a free meal. Right then, though, she just wanted to get to her parents’ house and hole up inside…and hope that no one would be able to track her down there. “No, I’m okay,” she replied.
“Kate, you need to eat.”
“I had breakfast.”
“Hours ago.”
“I’m really not that hungry.”
Her mother’s fingers tapped on the steering wheel. She was a pretty woman who looked younger than her fifty-nine years, hair expertly highlighted, fingernails with a neat French manicure. “It’s not like you not to talk about things.”
Valid point. While she and her mother were never best-buddy chums the way some of Kate’s high school friends had been with their mothers, the two of them usually got along well enough. In fact, instead of being disapproving the way Kate had feared, Lynda had actually been quite supportive of the separation from Jeff, saying she’d worried the two of them had gotten married too young, and that she was sure Kate would find the right man in no time.
Which, translated from Lynda-speak, meant she was glad her daughter had left while she was still young and therefore had plenty of time to find a new husband and start a family with him. Kate couldn’t even really argue with her mother over that assumption, because it wasn’t as if she wanted to spend her life alone. Kids could wait — she was too focused on her career right now to even start thinking about having a family — but she did hope she could learn from her mistakes and find someone this time who was a far better match for her.
Assuming you don’t scare them off the first time you tell them what happened to your former husband, she thought then, and grimaced.
“I can’t talk about some of it, because of the investigation,” she told her mother. “And there’s a lot I just don’t know. At this point, I’ll be happy to get my car back anytime in the near future.”
“Have you heard from the police?”
“Not yet.” And it wasn’t because she hadn’t been checking her phone, thinking that she must have missed a call while in the bathroom, or that somehow those calls simply weren’t getting through and were going straight to voicemail. So far, though, nothing. Did it really take that long to sweep a car for fingerprints or fiber evidence, or whatever else they might be doing? Maybe they had a backlog at the police department or something.
“It was on the news again this morning,” Lynda said. “Still not a lot of details, although they gave a name, whereas last night they just said ‘a Scottsdale man.’ I assume that means they must have notified Nancy.”
Her mother’s tone was too neutral; she didn’t have any more use for Nancy Nichols than Kate herself did. At the same time, though, she was probably trying to be sympathetic, trying to put herself in the shoes of a woman who’d lost her only child.
“I guess so,” Kate said. “I certainly didn’t call her. I suppose Detective Sandoval contacted her.”
“He’s the lead investigator?”
“Yes. I haven’t heard anything from him, though, which I guess must mean that he doesn’t have any new information for me. I suppose I should be glad he didn’t have me locked up.”
Lynda took her eyes off the road briefly to send her daughter a worried glance. “Surely they couldn’t think you were a suspect.”
“Maybe they did for a few minutes, but then it became pretty clear that I couldn’t have been responsible for Jeff’s death. The detective didn’t even tell me I couldn’t leave town, or whatever the standard line is in these situations.”
No, Jack Sandoval had been kind to her, if somewhat distracted. She couldn’t blame him; he had more important matters to attend to, once he’d determined that she wasn’t a suspect. Still, she wished she could have talked to him a bit more. He was…
…outrageously hot, an entirely inappropriate part of her brain thought then, and she wanted to shake her head at herself. Yes, the guy was attractive, but come on. She should not be paying any attention to Detective Sandoval’s looks. Not right now.
Her mother guided her Subaru Outback off the freeway and through a commercial area with shopping centers and medium-rise offices, and on into the residential neighborhood where their house was located. Her parents had lived here for more than five years, and yet Kate still experienced a weird cognitive dissonance every time she came down this street, as though her mind still expected to see the cul-de-sac down in Tucson where she’d grown up, rather than this newer and — although she didn’t want to admit it to herself — nicer suburb of Phoenix.
The garage was empty as they pulled in, since her father was at work. Oh, he’d asked if he should take the day off to be with her, but Kate had told him she’d be fine, that she didn’t want to throw off his schedule. Since her mother was semi-retired and had gone part-time after her fifty-fifth birthday, rearranging her day had been a much simpler proposition.
Kate had brought a weekender bag and toiletries case with her, figuring that would be enough to see her through the next little while. She’d packed for two days, even though she planned to get back to work tomorrow. Her department was in the final stages of submitting a traffic plan for a new shopping center, and she didn’t want to be away at that crucial time, even though she knew the other people on her team — Tom and Jennifer and Ben — could manage to cover for her if circumstances should prevent her from going into the office.
The guest room at her parents’ house was a neat, prim space, with a daybed covered in a quilt in typical S
outhwest colors, an armoire, and a side table. Who exactly they’d intended to have stay there, she didn’t know, because the room could really only house one person. However, it suited her current solo status just fine — in fact, she’d slept in here when she’d visited at Christmas, since by then she and Jeff had already been separated for months.
Kate set down her luggage and her purse on the bed, looked around, and tried not to sigh. This was only temporary, after all. Sooner or later the reporters would find another story to chase down, and the detectives would catch the murderer, and life would go on. For now, though, she had to figure out the best way to keep deflecting her mother’s questions. There really wasn’t much to say, and Kate was reticent to reveal the more gruesome details of Jeff’s death, fearing that doing so would only intensify Lynda’s attempt to keep her daughter safely here in Tempe for as long as possible.
Her phone rang, and Kate hurried to take it out of her purse. With any luck, the caller would be someone from the Scottsdale police department, contacting her to let her know she could come get her car. If nothing else, the errand would kill at least an hour, even though she had to reflect on the irony of them calling just as she arrived here in Tempe.
When she looked down at the screen, she saw that the call had come from Jack Sandoval. She didn’t know why he’d be handling that piece of routine office business, but she didn’t mind too much. Actually, it was silly the way her heartbeat quickened slightly as she touched the screen to accept the call.
“Ms. Campbell, this is Detective Sandoval.”
“Hi, detective,” she replied. “Can I get my car now?”
A brief pause, and then he said, “Oh, to tell the truth, I don’t know if they’re finished with it yet. I’m on my way back from Tucson and was hoping I could speak with you.”
Defender (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 11) Page 7