Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian) (8 page)

“I feel like I touched a live wire, but I’m good,” he said, concern easing somewhat.

I pygahed again so I could deal with people who didn’t know about demons and lords and nefarious otherworldly plots. “Okay, let’s finish this and get out of here.” I willed myself to focus on the mundane aspects, moved to the open door of the semi. “Pellini,” I called. “Can we turn her?”

“Let Baxter get his pics,” Pellini said, giving a jerk of his head at the tech. “Boudreaux and I need to see too.”

I stepped back as the lanky crime scene tech swung easily into the truck, followed by Pellini and scrawny Boudreaux.

“Already got my pics of all this,” the tech said with an easy smile. “Just waitin’ for y’all to finish your looksee.”

“We’ve lookseed the front,” I told him. “Now we want to looksee the rest of her.”

His smile didn’t flicker at my acerbic tone. “Not a prob! C’mon, detective,” he said to Boudreaux. “Turn the princess here so I can do my shots.”

Boudreaux and Zack turned the woman over and settled her onto her stomach. Zack gently pulled her hair aside, showing the sigils that spread over her upper arms, back and buttocks, and down her legs to her calves. Beautiful and horrible. And only the barest trace of arcane residue now. Everything had coalesced for the trap and then dissipated.

Zack gave me a nod, confirming that it was safe for me to approach. I hated to do it but I pulled on gloves, crouched and carefully eased her legs apart, then shone a flashlight at her vagina and anus. “God damn it,” I breathed. The plastic of the flashlight creaked as my grip spasmed on it. It was hideously obvious she’d been raped and sodomized.

I closed her legs, stood. Pellini cursed under his breath, and when I glanced back at him I saw his eyes on the body, outrage and anger naked on his face.

“I will see these motherfuckers
fry
,” he muttered to himself. I gave him a slight nod. That was one thing we could totally agree on.

Pellini’s phone rang. He looked at the ID and headed out again.

My gaze skimmed over her as I looked beyond the sigils. No ligature marks. Bruising at her wrists, thighs, and breasts. Held down, not tied for the rape. Immobilized with either drugs or arcane power for the sigil cuts. No obvious sign of what killed her. Possibly blood loss, though I had a feeling the cause of death was arcane in nature.

Exhaling, I stepped back, tugged my gloves off. “Thanks for letting us have a look,” I told Boudreaux.

“Sure thing,” he said. “You’ll tell me or Pellini if you get anything, right?” His voice held an almost desperate edge. I actually felt a little sorry for him. He knew in his gut that this was way out of their league.

“Damn straight I will,” I replied with a firm nod as I lied through my teeth.
Sorry, Boudreaux, but I don’t think you want most of what I might get.

I stepped out into the sunlight and hopped down from the trailer bed, feeling as if darkness sloughed away from me as I left the confines of the semi. Ryan and Zack climbed down, each giving sighs of relief that echoed my sentiments.

I disposed of my gloves in a biohazard bag, then walked over to Pellini as he tucked his phone away. “Thought we had an ID, but it didn’t pan out,” he told me then nodded toward the trailer. “Related to the Symbol Man?”

“It
might
be a copycat,” I told him honestly, “but I think you have a brand new flavor of sicko on your hands.”

“Lovely,” he muttered.

“Any other leads on the ID?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No match on prints. I’m checking missing persons and other channels. Still no clue where she was killed.”

“All right, we’ll work our angles as well. Thanks.” I moved to leave but the expectant look on Pellini’s face halted me.

“So, did you, uh, come up with . . . anything?” he asked, and I had the strangest impression he really did mean
anything.
That was a first. Pellini had never sought my input before. And especially not for anything with even a whiff of strange.

I gave him a guarded look. “Um. Well, we’re going to follow up on the—” I stopped short of saying sigils, “—patterns carved into her skin. I think those are significant.”

He surprised me by listening intently, giving a nod, and then
writing down what I said
in his notebook. No lie. I could read his oddly neat handwriting from where I stood.
Gillian: patterns of cuts may be significant, will follow up.

Good grief. Had I come back to an alternate world version of Beaulac? I hid a smile at the thought.

“Doc will probably get right on this,” he said, referring to Dr. Lanza, the coroner’s office pathologist. “I’ll let you know as soon as he does.”

“I appreciate that.” I paused, gathering my thoughts. “This is a weird one, that’s for sure.”

He remained quiet for several seconds, then nodded. “Yeah.” For an instant it looked as if he wanted to ask me something. His face displayed an odd struggle as he grappled with some problem or issue, but then he shook his head and it was gone. “Yeah, weird,” he simply said, apparently deciding that, whatever the question, it was best left unasked.

“I’ll keep you posted on my end,” I said in an effort to cover the slightly awkward moment.

“Sure,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Thanks. You, uh, got the same cell number?”

“Yep, same number,” I said.

He fidgeted with his pen. “Hell, maybe we can grab a beer or something . . . sometime.”

I stared, stunned for a second before I managed to regain a semblance of composure. “Uh, my schedule’s pretty tight right now with the task force,” I lied. “But I’ll definitely keep it in mind.” I’d never grabbed a beer or done anything remotely resembling a casual-social-friendly thing with Pellini or Boudreaux. There’d been a shift of some sort in him, but with everything else going on, now wasn’t the time to start exploring it.

I abruptly realized it might have been a set up line for some insulting joke, and mentally braced myself for him to laugh it off with a not-so-veiled nasty remark or snide comment.

“Okay. Good,” he replied quickly, almost eagerly, which only increased my feeling of
what the hell?
“I’m always up for a beer,” he added. Then he coughed, shuffled his feet a bit as if abruptly embarrassed. “Anyway, uh, keep in touch.”

“Will do,” I managed, then forced a smile, turned, and walked quickly away, weirded out by more than just the dead body and Kara-trap.
A friendly Pellini?

The fire had faded from my scars, but an annoying itch remained that no amount of physical scratching would relieve. I headed to Ryan’s car and waited for him and Zack to conclude whatever FBI stuff they needed to finish up. After a few minutes they joined me.

Ryan’s demeanor was somber. “That shit,” he jerked his head toward the truck trailer, “is so wrong.”

“On too many levels,” I agreed. The trap had been targeted at me, and it was a no-brainer to figure that the Mraztur knew I was back on Earth. After all, Kadir had been involved in sending me here. But how the hell had they sent word to Katashi’s people in time to have a trap set so quickly? I hadn’t left my property until this morning, so even surveillance on my house couldn’t explain it. Maybe one of Katashi’s people summoned a demon last night who told them? Certainly possible, though a lucky coincidence for them.

I scowled. Or not a lucky coincidence. While I was in the demon realm, Tessa and I had mailed letters back and forth via demon-messenger once a week or so. However, Katashi had lots of people working for him, including plenty of summoners, which meant the Mraztur could have a minor demon summoned every day to exchange messages. Anger rose again, but this time at myself. I should have anticipated something like this. Of course they’d have some means of frequent communication.

Score one for their team for setting the trap. Score one for me and my posse for foiling it. But score another for them for apparently having a better carrier-demon message system than us. Damn it.

“Game on, assholes” I muttered to myself. I gave Ryan a determined and humorless smile. “Thanks again for the save,” I said. “I’m heading home. I have work to do.”

The drive home left me wrung out and bleak as both the nature of the murder and its purpose gnawed at me. And how the hell had the Mraztur managed to get an elaborate trap set for me so quickly? The body had most likely been planted in that semi-trailer mere hours after I arrived on Earth.

As I drove, I considered the possible explanations. Okay, so Katashi’s people could easily summon a demon to pass messages on a daily basis. Perhaps they really were lucky enough to get a demon-memo about my trip to Earth immediately after my arrival? That was the only explanation I could come up with for how they had enough time to set a complex
rakkuhr
trap for me—one that required ritualistic murder and skills far beyond my own.

Not that it really mattered
how
they accomplished it. They’d damn near succeeded, and would have if not for Ryan. I missed Mzatal, wanted him here—not to tell me everything was okay when we both knew it wasn’t, but to share this with him, get his perspective, his support, and simply feel his arms around me. This whole having a partner thing was damn nice, but I felt his absence keenly right now.

As I parked near the house, I glanced in the rear view mirror and caught sight of Ryan’s car rounding the first curve of the driveway. I didn’t wait for him but trudged into the house and then to the kitchen, determined to do whatever it took to shake the numb, sick horror that threatened to swamp me. I opened and closed cabinets, stared into the fridge looking for something besides fresh fruit or leftovers. Something . . . perfect.

Ryan came in and set his laptop bag on a chair by the table. I didn’t look over at him but I felt his eyes on me. “Isn’t there any plain ordinary squidgy white bread in the house?” I demanded.

“Uh, no,” Ryan said, a hint of apology his voice. “Zack gets a sprouted grain and a really good multigrain bread. On the top shelf of the fridge.”

Sprouted grain? Why would any sane person want plants growing in their sandwich? Did nobody realize what happened when you swallowed a watermelon seed? I didn’t want a friggin’ bread garden growing in my gut.

My scowl deepened until it felt as if my face would break. I pulled out the multigrain, laid two slices on a paper towel and squirted liberal amounts of honey on each one. “It’s a funny thing,” I said tightly. “Seeing a girl who’d been horribly raped, tortured by cutting sigils into her body, then murdered so she could be a lure to trap and subvert me, kind of kills my mood.”

“It sucks. I’m really sorry.” He let out a heavy breath. “Is there anything I can help with to follow up on the arcane part?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest.” I dumped a layer of brown sugar on the honey and pressed the two pieces of bread together. “I have no idea how to track that shit.” I directed my scowl at the newly made honey and brown sugar sandwich, then flicked a burner on and set a skillet on it. I rummaged in the fridge, found the butter, dropped a quarter stick in the skillet.

“It needs bacon on it,” Ryan offered.

I turned a scathing look on him. “That’s a
completely
different unhealthy comfort food sandwich,” I said with a curl of my lip. “It’s like when you add olives instead of little onions to vodka. Totally different drink.” I plopped the sandwich to fry in the butter.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” he said, his voice laden with concern. “I’m going downstairs to get started on my report. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Smart boy to retreat. He knew me well enough to know I needed a little space but not abandonment. “I will.”

He picked up his laptop case, turned to go.

“Hey, Ryan?” I looked over at him as he glanced back. “Thanks.” A faint smile shifted my scowl. “This whole thing would be worse if I didn’t have a friend like you.”

He smiled and gave me a wink. “I’m one in a million, baby, and don’t you forget it.” And with that he left.

I finished frying my multigrain sugar fest, dismally aware that it would have been far better on good old reliable squidgy white bread. That was going at the top of the grocery list.

Still, even multigrain bread fried in butter and covered with honey and sugar wasn’t bad at all, and while I felt a teensy bit ill upon finishing it, I didn’t mind one bit, and my mood was somewhat improved.

After cleaning up my mess, I looked at the clock and exhaled. Over six hours before Mzatal would be ready to be summoned. I wanted him here
now
, wanted to feel his strong reassurance that we would get through this—
all
of this—together. I put the clean skillet away, then headed down to the basement to check the storage diagram. It brought him one step closer, plus Ryan was down there, and I was ready for the company of a friend.

Ryan glanced up from his laptop and gave me a smile which I managed to return.

“I’m going to check the storage diagram,” I told him. “Nothing fancy, so it shouldn’t disturb you.”

“No problem,” he said. “Do what you need to do.”

I crouched beside the diagram, assessed it. Ryan sat with his laptop in a pretense of industry, but I felt his eyes on me. I gathered wisps of potency, funneled as much as I could into the diagram, then sealed it. It would take a while for more potency to be available for collection, sort of like water seeping slowly in through concrete. One more session would likely fill it enough for my needs.

I let out a long soft breath. The routine focus of the work had eased the trauma of the morning a bit more.

Ryan shifted and cleared his throat. I stood and turned to him, amused to see him looking a little guilty for watching me instead of working.

“All done?” he asked.

“For now,” I said, keeping my humor well hidden. “I’ll come back in a couple of hours and top it off.”

Ryan nodded, his eyes still on me. “God, I’ve missed you.”

I moved to the futon and sat beside him then leaned my head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you too.”

He set the laptop aside. “Like I said, it’s been a weird few months. Sometimes when I think of you being off with
him
, I get so pissed I do stupid shit like hit the wall.” He winced. “Or kick a concrete barricade. Not one of my brighter moments.” He dropped his head back. “Most of the time it’s not like that, though. I can think of you with him, and I’m . . . happy for you.”

I had no doubt Szerain maintained the calm as best he could, which supported my suspicion that
he
didn’t have a problem with my relationship with Mzatal even if Ryan did. And those times when Szerain couldn’t resist the submersion enough to influence Ryan were the times when the Ryan aspect lashed out in jealous frustration.

Submersion
. Revulsion shuddered through me at the reminder. A few months ago I’d talked Mzatal into submerging me so that I could understand Ryan/Szerain better. It was a nightmare—like being placed in a shoulder-width vertical tube with cold, viscous gel up to your chin, then having a grate pushed down until you had to press your face against it to keep from drowning. To add to the torment, you were forced to witness yourself living and interacting, but with little direct control over it. Never sleeping. Never knowing the relief of oblivion.

Szerain had existed thus for the past decade and a half. Horrific. I had no idea how he remained sane. I doubted I’d have lasted more than a week.

I slid my arm around him. “Mzatal’s very good to me. And
for
me.” I let out a low sigh. “I’m still a bit of a mess from what Rhyzkahl did to me, and I really believe Mzatal wants me to be, well, whole again.”

Ryan continued to stare up at the ceiling. “Yeah. That’s good. Can’t deny you look and sound better.”

“I’m getting there,” I said, then winced. “Sure wish I’d listened to you earlier though. About Rhyzkahl.”

He swiveled his head to look at me. “Yeah. What the hell is that all about?” he asked. “I know how I was,
am
, about you being around Rhyzkahl. But I don’t get that with Mzatal.” A perplexed look crossed his face. “Sure, I get my fits of jealousy, but it’s not the same at all. Makes no sense. I don’t know either one of the bastards.”

Ryan didn’t know them, but Szerain sure did since he’d spent millennia with them. Ryan was Szerain and Szerain was Ryan, but in an unhealthy, cruel imbalance. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell Ryan that was why he had fervent opinions he didn’t understand. “I think it must be part of your talent or whatever,” I said with a diffident shrug. “You’ve met them both, and maybe you got a shitty vibe from Rhyzkahl and a not so shitty one from Mzatal.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But I’m pretty sure I had it in for Rhyzkahl long before I had the so-called pleasure of meeting him.” He gave me a wry smile. “Must be my impeccable instinct. You’ll listen to me from now on.”

“I absolutely will,” I said and snuggled up against him a bit. “It’s nice to be back home.”

Ryan went still for a second then shifted to drape his arm over my shoulders. “I wonder what I can think up to tell you.”

I laughed. “Behave, or I won’t believe you when it’s important.”

“The Fed who cried wolf?” he said with a smile, though I sensed something more brewed within him.

“Something like that,” I said.

He went quiet. The smile faded and his body tensed as the
something more
revealed itself. “I saw you two when you left—you and Mzatal,” he said. “I
felt
what there was between you. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I did. I know.” With each word, his voice grew more strained, more intense. “What does that mean for you and me?”

What the hell was I supposed to say to
Ryan
? Szerain wouldn’t have an issue with this, but Ryan was in control right now. Maybe something to pacify him without lying?

“The lords don’t really do the monogamy-jealousy thing,” I said carefully. “And I do care for Mzatal, love him even.” There was zero use denying it. Ryan had felt it before, and if anything, it was stronger now. Besides, it sure wouldn’t be hidden once I summoned Mzatal.

I twined my fingers through his. “Ryan, I
do
love you. And not just as a friend.” Okay, maybe this wasn’t as pacifying as I’d intended it to be, but a big part of me wanted
Ryan
, not Szerain, to accept me for me. And at the same time a part of me wondered what the hell I was doing. Ryan wasn’t
real
. At the most he might be a distorted shadow of Szerain.

“You’re more than just friends with Mzatal, too!” he retorted, voice sharp and tinged with frustration. “What do you want me to say? It’s okay, I’ll share? That’s not happening.”

“No, no! It’s not that,” I protested, aching for him and for me. Or maybe it was
exactly
that. Shit. Why the hell hadn’t I kept my big mouth shut and played the I-don’t-know-and-I’m-confused game to let this blow over? “Never mind,” I said. “Forget everything I just said. You asked what my relationship with Mzatal means for you and me, and I don’t
know
what it means.”

Ryan pulled his hand from mine. “Yeah. Right. Forget what you said. Like that’s going to happen.” He shot to his feet, stalked several steps away and stood with his back to me, right hand opening and closing repeatedly. “
He
might not be into monogamy and all that, but what about
you
?” he demanded. “You’re from here. Are you throwing all that away because
he
doesn’t have the same values? Oh, wait. Maybe those aren’t your values?”

The ache blossomed to agony with the vehemence in his tone. All perspective on the Ryan-Szerain quandary evaporated, and I stood. “Fuck you, Ryan,” I said to his back, using my pain to fuel my anger. “Fuck you and your
values
. You think I’m some kind of slut now?” I took a shaking breath. “In the past year and a half, I’ve slept with exactly two men—Rhyzkahl and Mzatal. TWO,” I repeated loudly. “And I’ve loved two:
you
and Mzatal. It’s not like I fucked my way through the demon realm or jumped straight into Mzatal’s bed! I was trying to tell you that I still had—
have
—you in my heart, that there was room for you there in whatever way you’re willing to have me.” I realized I was crying, realized that the pain was real and that this was fucked. “I went through HELL, and Mzatal put me back together,” I continued, voice rising to a shout, “and I don’t need you or anyone else judging me for the relationship that followed.”

I didn’t wait to hear what he came up with next. I turned, fled up the stairs and to my room, pursued by a stream of loud and mostly unintelligible curses. Channeling all the fury and pain that boiled through me, I slammed my door, threw myself on the bed and sobbed like a heartbroken teenager.

A few minutes later I heard a knock on the door. I sat up, snarled, “Go away, Ryan! I don’t need more of your shit!”

Jill answered. “Nope, it’s me.”

Relief swept through me. Exactly who I needed. I wiped my eyes. “Come in.”

She opened the door, and I did a double take. When I’d left, her pregnancy had been showing, but now, at about eight months along, it was
showing
and even more prominent due to her petite frame. “Damn. You’re preggers.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” she said as she moved to sit beside me on the bed. “Glad to see you still have those awesome detective skills. I came over for a visit and walked in on a major throwdown. Now, tell me. What the hell did Ryan do to you?”

As though on cue, the basement door slammed with violent force.

I wiped my eyes again. “Shit. We were talking. It was nice. And then he said he knew Mzatal and I were
together
and asked what that meant for him and me.” She offered a tissue, and I paused to blow my nose. “And shit,” I continued, “I didn’t even know what to say, so I said something dumb about how I loved Mzatal but loved Ryan too, and not just as a friend. As soon as I said it, I knew it was the wrong thing to say, but by then it was too late, y’know? He got all pissy and ‘what, you expect me to share?’” I sighed, still feeling the sting of his response. “I told him that wasn’t what I meant but later thought maybe it was. And I told him I didn’t know what any of it meant for him and me.” I looked over at her. “I was floundering, but doing okay up to that point. Then he got really assholeish and started going on about how I’d thrown away my values. Fucking shit! My goddamn
values
.” I exhaled a shuddering breath as some of the tension melted. Simply being able to vent my frustration helped. “And that’s about the time I told him, ‘Fuck you and your values’ and some other stuff and came up here.”