by J E McDonald
Again, he remained silent.
“There were two sets of fresh tire prints too, both well away from the garage.” Martinez let out a slow breath. “When you found the body, was there someone with you? And I hope to God you don’t say it was Aubrey.”
There was no point in lying if they knew about her car and foot prints. “It was her.”
Martinez swore. “Did she see it?”
He nodded.
“What the hell, Milone?”
“Wasn’t my choice.” If he could take that image out of Aubrey’s head, he would. And why did the agent care so much? “What relationship do you have with her besides the best friend of your brother’s girlfriend?”
Martinez shook his head. “That’s it.” Facing forward, he gripped the steering wheel, his face grim as he concentrated on the road. “But no matter the relationship, I always protect my own.”
Roman chose to ignore the veiled threat under the words. Even if the agent was as annoying as a bug bite between the shoulder blades, at least Aubrey had people in her corner who cared. Roman couldn’t condemn that.
Luckily, the parking lot wasn’t full, and he was able to point at his truck right off. Martinez parked beside it, shifted into park, and turned his body toward him. “My boss in the Special Investigations unit has been talking to some Church officials, and they’ve been cooperating with our investigation, especially since it’s now become a murder investigation.”
Roman stiffened. What had the Church disclosed about him?
“Congratulations,” Martinez went on. “I’ve managed to convince my superiors you’re an asset and not a murdering psychopath. You’re officially considered an FBI consultant.”
“I work alone.”
The agent kept going like he hadn’t spoken. “Here’s what we’re going to do right now. I’m going to follow you back to the crime scene. We’re going to do a walk through. You’re going to tell me everything that happened leading up to you finding that body. Understand?”
His tone of voice didn’t leave any room for negotiation. Roman only hesitated a moment before nodding. When Martinez unlocked the doors, he hopped out.
The whole drive out to the estate house, the agent remained a steady two car lengths behind him, an unchanging presence in his rearview mirror. They pulled up to the burned-down house to find the place crawling with FBI agents. Crime scene tape surrounded the perimeter of the entire estate. Agents sifted through the remains of the house and car. They were in the garage and the shed. They combed through the woods.
As soon as he stepped out of his truck, Martinez was beside him. “Let me introduce you to my partner.” He gave Roman a hard slap on the shoulder, making him grunt, then led the way across the yard.
A big dude strode out of the garage, his hands clad in black latex gloves. At least seven feet tall, the man was built like a tree. Roman wasn’t used to looking up at people, but as this guy walked up to him, he had to tip his head back.
“This is my partner, Agent Stone,” Martinez said when the tower of a man stopped in front of him.
“Stone, meet our resident demonologist consultant, Roman Milone.”
The giant. Moe had said he was from the Fey, but besides the man’s size, he looked human. Even without his size, he stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the other agents on the property. Dressed in all black, he’d discarded his FBI jacket somewhere, his gun holster visible over a snug-fitting T-shirt.
“I thought you’d be taller,” Roman said.
Stone raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t respond.
Martinez grabbed his attention by saying, “There are a lot of symbols in that shack. Do you know what they mean?”
“Some.”
“You’re going to walk me through it.”
Roman needed to get back to Aubrey, but the look on Martinez’s face had him nodding instead. “Sure. Not a problem.”
Neither spoke as they made their way past the garage and into the woods. Stone came along too, keeping a couple steps behind but close enough Roman felt corralled.
The sulfur smell was a bit stronger this time, probably from having so many agents walking through it, stirring it up. His scar didn’t burn, so he wasn’t worried about demons being close by. Everything was how he remembered it, still and calm and peaceful—until they arrived at the shack.
Agents were taking pictures and searching the surrounding area. A gurney with a black body bag sat to the side, its zipper closed.
Two people broke off from the main group, a man and a woman. Besides the black FBI vests they wore over their clothes, they didn’t seem to fit the generic look of the other agents around them had.
The woman’s demeanor screamed ex-military—the way she walked and sized him up in under two seconds, the way she took in their surroundings. Her straight black hair was pulled back into severe pony tail, the all-black clothing she wore snug fitting. She even had a knife strapped to her thigh. Lara Croft. Moe would be beside himself with excitement if he could meet her.
And the man had to be the professor. Horn-rimmed glasses, cable knit sweater, and a goatee made Roman realize how Moe had come up with the moniker. The man looked more suited to a classroom than a bulletproof vest.
“This is Agent Ridon,” Martinez said when the pair stopped in front of them and the woman nodded her greeting, her eyes resting where he wore his knives under his jacket before meeting his gaze again.
“And this is Agent Wiley,” Martinez said, tipping his head at the professor. “They round out my team.”
“A team for what?” Roman asked, turning to him.
The agent wore a bland expression. “Guess.”
Roman didn’t need to. From Martinez’s reactions to some of the things he’d disclosed, he’d come to the conclusion that he’d seen a lot of shit in his line of work—supernatural shit, where mentioning the scent of demons didn’t faze him. Special Investigations. That’s what the agent had called it earlier. Roman bet the word “paranormal” was squeezed into Martinez’s title somewhere. He shook his head at the agent, not rising to the bait.
Martinez inclined his head to the shack, and they all advanced toward it. The dead animals had been removed and flood lights were on the floor, illuminating the symbols on the walls. Roman followed Martinez inside.
“We’ve seen these types of circles before,” he said, gesturing to the black circle on the ceiling and floor. “But some of the symbols are new. Which ones can you translate?”
“Why doesn’t your partner translate them?” He looked over his shoulder at the large agent behind him. “He should know, considering where he comes from.”
Stone tipped his head to the side. “Seattle?” His deep voice shot through the quiet.
There didn’t seem to be any deceit in his words or his expression. Maybe Moe had been wrong about him being from another realm. Maybe he was just a tall guy. Or maybe he was really good at pretending to be something he wasn’t.
“Wiley is the one with the hunches.” Martinez opened the door wider. “But if you know more, we’d like to hear your thoughts.”
Glancing at the three of them, Roman stepped forward and examined the symbols more thoroughly than he’d been able to the first time.
“That’s the invitation to our world,” Roman said, pointing to the back wall. “That’s the symbol for sacrifice,” he said pointed to the right. “And that’s the one for promise.” He pointed to the left. Other smaller symbols were drawn around those three bigger ones. “I don’t know the others.”
“What about the one on the back of the door? It’s the one Wiley hasn’t seen before.” Martinez stepped to the side and closed the door so he could see.
As soon as saw the marking, all the air left Roman’s lungs. “Fuck.” He couldn’t stop the wave of nausea that rolled through his body. A triangle with a swirl inside, then other, smaller, looping circles around it. Aym’s personal mark.
Aubrey’s brother hadn’t summoned a common demon. No. He’d s
ummoned one of the worst, a general in Lucifer’s army—the one who Jude insisted still had some claim over Roman for what had happened to him when he was six years old.
You’ve taken my son away from me, and I have claimed yours. Those are the words Aym spoke to his father before the demon stabbed him.
The scar on Roman’s wrist burned like he was in the demon’s presence, making him gasp and throw open the door to the shack. He couldn’t get out fast enough. Several paces away, he braced his hands on his knees and took gulping breaths, using every technique he had to conquer the panic attack threatening to overtake him.
It had been so long since he’d had one. Once he’d stopped caring about living, the attacks had slowly ebbed away. But there was Aubrey to think about now. He cared. And her brother was after her and delving into things that could rip the world in two.
The words of the prophecy aligned in his mind.
Aym was around here somewhere, in their world. He’d finally come to settle his debt with Roman and would take all of Wickwood with him in the process.
Footsteps crunched the leaves on the ground behind him, signaling someone’s approach. He straightened, trying to pull himself together, and turned to find Martinez staring at him, his expression softer. The rest of his team stood back at a distance, trying to act casual.
“Care to explain that reaction?” Martinez asked, his hands tucked in his front pockets.
Roman turned away and headed back toward the house, away from the shack and the tainted air around it.
“Milone. Stop.”
He ignored Martinez, crashing through the woods without caring where he stepped or how much noise he made. Martinez swore and ran to catch up.
Roman kept going.
“Milone.”
This time there wasn’t only demand in his voice but entreaty, and Roman stopped. His eyes focused on the shed at the edge of the property.
“Don’t leave us blind when you know something,” Martinez said, stopping behind him. “You might want to work alone, but we’re on the same side.”
Turning around, Roman looked Agent Martinez in the eyes, saw the plea for honesty, and clenched his jaw. “It’s the symbol for a specific demon. Aym.”
Martinez digested that, his face expressionless. “And you’ve had experience with this demon,” he said, his voice flat.
“He killed my father.” Roman resisted the urge to touch the scar on his wrist. It still burned, but less now that he pushed the memory of that night to the back of his mind. “He’s one of the worst, and if he’s been let loose on this world, there’s hell coming for all of us.” He turned and continued toward the house.
Martinez kept pace beside him, and he felt the agent’s heavy gaze as he stopped beside his truck.
“Are we done here?” he asked, meeting that gaze.
Martinez nodded once. “I’ll probably have more questions.”
“I’m sure you know where to find me by now,” he said, opening the door to climb inside. For a while he sat and stared at the remains of the house and the agents sifting through the debris. Then, without knowing where he headed, he shifted into reverse and left the property.
He couldn’t head straight to Relics. Not when his mind wouldn’t settle or accept what was happening. He took back roads, maybe with the intent of losing himself, but his sense of direction was too good for that.
Aym was here, and he needed to stay away from Aubrey so she wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire. But her brother had already put her there. How was he supposed to keep her safe? He drove and drove until the light of his fuel gauge blinked at him and he’d somehow managed to end up back on the outskirts of Wickwood.
Pulling over on the side of the freeway, he took out his phone and stared at it. What was the right choice? Staying or leaving? He swallowed and shook his head, realizing there wasn’t one. He found Aubrey’s number and sent a quick text. Heading back now. He’d already spent enough time away from her.
She texted back a thank you and happy-face emoji.
Something like that shouldn’t have had any effect on him, but his chest warmed, banishing some of the dread that had settled into his bones since the shack.
A second text came a moment later. I’m wrapping up here and heading home. Are you still going to spend the night?
Spend the night. When she said it like that, it sounded like she wanted more from him than him being her bodyguard, or for him to sleep on the couch and make sure she survived. But that was all he should be focused on—making sure she lived to see another morning and not one hair on her head was harmed.
He texted back. Yes. There was no way he’d leave Aubrey on her own, no matter what he’d seen in that shack, or more to the point, because of what he’d seen in that shack. Merging back into the traffic of the freeway, he hoped to hell he wasn’t making the wrong decision.
31
Aubrey tried to get work done, she really did, but with Moe skittering himself all around her store, she couldn’t concentrate. The exhaustion in her limbs wasn’t helping. She couldn’t shake off the effects of the past two days, and anytime she thought of what had happened that morning, she went numb.
Stella texted her before heading over, asking if she needed anything. At first, she was going to say no, but then said a large jar of peanut butter. Otherwise she didn’t have any snacks. And snacks seemed important to Moe.
What would Stella sense from Moe? Roman had said Moe’s soul was bright, so Aubrey didn’t fear that Stella would be hurt by his energy. But what would her friend feel from him?
All the chandeliers Finn had thrown to the ground yesterday lay in a heap in the corner, damaged and unsellable, but Moe had managed to hang one up and now swung on it like a monkey. She watched, her arms crossed over her chest, and wondered for the fiftieth time if she should feel bitter or amused about it.
“While you’re up there, the least you could do is dust,” she muttered, exhaustion making her terse.
Moe dropped to the ground with a soft splat, then skittered his way over to her. “Yes. Moe is very helpful. Moe can dust. Yes.” He jumped up on the front counter and met her eyes straight on. “What is dust?”
Blinking once, she went into the supply closet and took out a rag and a bottle of wood polish. “Dusting is when you use this rag.” She poured a little polish onto the rag and rubbed it in. “And you wipe all the dirt off the wood, making it shine. But I can never reach up there,” she said, pointing to the beams in the ceiling.
“Moe can do this. Yes,” he said, taking the rag from her.
With enough speed to make her gasp, Moe climbed up the wall. Somehow his claws kept him connected to the ceiling as he rubbed the rag up and down the first beam.
It had never been shinier.
A knock on the front door tore her gaze away from the demon. Stella stood on the other side, waving a coffee cup in front of the window like a sacrificial offering.
Aubrey’s eyes went back to the ceiling. Moe had disappeared. No, not entirely. She might not be able to see him, but she could see the rag he held as it went back and forth along the ceiling. Now she understood what Roman meant when he said the air shifted around him. Without the rag, she might not have seen it, but now that she had it as a visual cue, the demon’s faint outline shifted against the backdrop of the darker ceiling.
“Aubrey!” Stella shouted through the door, her voice exasperated.
“Coming!” she called back, trying to ignore the floating rag.
Unlocking the door, she stepped aside for Stella to enter. Her friend breezed in with a coffee in each hand and a brown paper bag tucked under her arm.
Stella didn’t make it three feet inside before she froze. “Whaaaat?” she asked, her gaze darting everywhere.
Aubrey locked the door behind her.
Looking this way and that, Stella spun around, searching. Aubrey knew as soon as her friend arrived, Moe would be unable to hide from her.
Unsuccessful in locating the source,
Stella turned to her. “Where is that coming from?”
Taking both the coffees and the paper bag from her, Aubrey walked to the front counter, set them all down, then pointed to the corner of the ceiling where the rag hovered.
“Shit.” Stella took a step back, her foot crunching on a piece of missed glass. “Is that Finn? No, it doesn’t feel like Finn at all,” she whispered, answering her own question. She peered upward, her eyes squinting. “What is that?”
Aubrey cleared her throat. “Oh, that’s Moe. Roman’s demon.”
“His what?” Stella spun around to her, eyes wide, horrified. “You didn’t just say what I thought you said.”
“He’s a good demon,” Aubrey said quickly.
Her eyes went back to the rag on the ceiling. “I didn’t know there could be good demons.” She swallowed, her hand going to the locket that hung at her heart. “But he definitely doesn’t feel like any other demonic entity I’ve been in contact with.” Her face pale, she took a deep breath through her nose, then whispered a spell.
“Are you okay around him? Do you need to leave?”
“I’m okay.” She took another breath, the color returning to her face. “He just surprised me.” Squinting, she took a step forward. “How is he hiding like that?”
“He’s got some camouflage capabilities,” she murmured, not really knowing how much Roman would want Stella to know. “Moe, why don’t you come down from there and meet Stella?” Aubrey called.
“No,” came his small voice. “Moe cannot do that. Ro said to stay out of sight. Yes.”
“But Stella’s my best friend, and she’d like to meet you. Don’t worry. She’s nice. And she’ll keep your existence secret. Right Stella?”
“Sure,” Stella replied, her voice hesitant and her brow furrowed.
After a moment, the rag moved itself across the ceiling, then fell to the floor with a soft plop. It hovered for a moment before Moe shifted to visible. Stella gasped and hopped backward.
So did Moe, shrinking away from her with the rag clutched in his claws, his skin darkening to a deeper purple.