The Demon King and I (6 page)

She’d tried to stave off her attacker with the lamp, and it had been smashed against the wall.

I never understood how I knew these things, I just did. There was another room to the right and I could see a sink through the door. I couldn’t move in these dreams, but I tried anyway. Nothing happened. It was if I were a fly on the wall.

“Tell me your name.” Sometimes when I asked I could get a glimpse of letters or a whisper of sound.

“Soon, Guardian.” A disembodied voice penetrated the darkness, and the force of it made me jump.

I woke in a tangle of sheets, my body covered in sweat.
Well, that was different.
I’d never heard the killer’s voice before. Leaning across the pillows, I reached to the nightstand and grabbed my cell.

The clock on the phone read 4:00 a.m.

He would love me for this one.

I left a message on Private Detective Kyle Mendez’s
phone and was just about to dial our head of security, Jake, when mine rang.

“Kyle?”

“Do you know what time it is?” His voice was rough with sleep, and he sounded as if he’d hit the bottom of a whiskey bottle a few hours earlier.

“I had a dream.”

“Crap.” He grumbled. “Hold on, let me grab my notebook.” I heard him yawn. “Okay, shoot.”

“Blonde woman, sorry I couldn’t see her face. I’d guess about five five. She was facedown in a pool of blood.” I closed my eyes trying to remember the scene. “Something about her hair seemed familiar but I can’t figure out what.”

Kyle and I had been through this before. Sometimes the dreams were premonitions, like when our butler Mr. Peterson died. I saw him passed out in a chair with blood coming out of his eyes. I was five at the time and my parents wrote it off as a bad dream. Two weeks later Mr. Peterson died of a brain aneurysm. After that, they took the dreams more seriously.

As I grew older, the night terrors became more grisly. Sometimes I saw the murder as it happened, but from the killer’s perspective. I could only see the victims and the scene around them, never who perpetrated the crime. I taught myself to take in the details of the scenes.

I met Kyle through my sister Alex a few years ago. A former FBI agent turned private investigator, he taught criminology at the University of Texas. She told him about the dreams one night when they were out on a date. Their romantic relationship didn’t last long, but we all became friends. It was Kyle who encouraged me to look for clues in the dreams.

I pulled the sheets away from my legs and moved to the edge of the bed. “She’s at a hotel. Sorry, motel. It’s old, grungy. A-1 Motel. I saw it on a notepad on top of a busted lamp. Horrible bedspreads with diamond shapes. She’s in a pool of blood. Naked.”

I paused.

I could hear him scribbling on the notepad.

“I didn’t get a name.”

“Anything else?”

I closed my eyes again. “No. Uh, well, something weird happened at the end, but now I’m not so sure it was a part of the dream. It could have been something in my subconscious.”

“Just tell me. It may be important.”

“I heard a voice. It wasn’t the victim’s. It said, ‘Soon, Guardian.’ ”

“Are you okay?” I could hear the concern in his voice.

I sighed. “It was a tough one, but I’m good.”

He grunted. “I’ll run this and see what turns up.”

“Let me know. And I’ll contact Jake and run it past him, too.” The two men often worked cases together when our family was involved. Kyle never asked questions about how Jake was able to get into every government database that existed, and Jake never wanted to know how Kyle was always able to come up with evidence the police missed. They were excellent at their jobs, and they had both served with the Marines so there was a certain kind of toughness about them. They also never minced words.

“Later.” Kyle hung up.

I pushed the Off button. And rubbed my temples.

In addition to the nightmare, I had a killer migraine. That happened when I jumped more than once a day. I’d been all over the place last night, and now my body paid the price. The flulike symptoms meant electrolytes and enzymes were out of balance.

I’d only been asleep for three hours. As much as I wanted to roll over and pull the covers up, the real world beckoned. I needed to prepare for the meetings I had scheduled later in the day, and I had a feeling my demon problem was far from over.

My mother’s French bulldog, Mo, whined from the ottoman. “Hey, fella. I’m guessing you need to go outside.” I yawned. Whenever Mom was gone, Mo would stay with whoever was home. He didn’t like to be alone. Except for the occasional drool puddle he left on the furniture, he was a pretty cool guy. He didn’t lie and he didn’t talk back. My sisters and I had long ago deemed Mo the perfect man. Well, man dog.

I wanted a cup of coffee laced with some of Mira’s magic herbs. She’d prepared a mixture of herbs that eased the muscle aches and sent the migraines away.

Two cups of coffee and a blueberry muffin later, I was ready to face the world. My meetings were more than three hours away, which meant I had time to catch up on paperwork at the office. I poured another cup of coffee into a travel mug.

As I left the kitchen I bumped into Mrs. P. “Did you get a muffin? I baked them fresh this morning and put in extra berries just for you.”

I squeezed her shoulder. “I did and they were incredible, as always.”

She smiled. I loved the elderly woman. She reminded me of the church lady in those old
Saturday Night Live
sketches. I’d never eaten anything she’d cooked that I didn’t like.

My phone rang. “I’ll talk to you later.” I waved good-bye to her and answered.

“Do you want the bad news or the sucky news first?” It was funny to hear Kyle say “sucky.”

“Damn, that was fast. She’s really dead, isn’t she?” I knew the truth before he answered. Sometimes the dreams were premonitions, but lately I only saw the murders after the fact.

“Oh, yeah. ME says probably died around one this morning. Someone drugged her and then cut out her heart. They think it’s a ritual killing, but aren’t saying that on the record.”

“Why would I see someone I didn’t know? Doesn’t make any sense.” Most of the nightmares usually involved people I knew in some way. Or they might have been connected to my family, people who worked for us, or friends. Sometimes it took months to figure out how we knew them, but there was always some kind of connection.

“You did know her. It’s Markie Stewart.”

I stumbled and fell against the wall. “No. You have to be wrong. I was supposed to meet with her later this morning. It’s not her, Kyle.”

“I’m really sorry, Gillian. The police say she never made it home last night. She met friends after work at Le Vitrie for drinks and dinner. Looks like the assailant grabbed her in the parking lot. Her car is still at the restaurant. It’s still early in the investigation, but the murder scene is set up to look random. I don’t think it is. This isn’t the first time this guy has killed and it’s almost as if he staged the whole thing.”

I only half listened. Markie had been a friend for years. She’d taken over her father’s real estate company when he died. My family had been dealing with the Stewarts since long before she and I were even born.

We’d been chatting a lot the last month or so, and sort of renewed our friendship. Markie had a New York property that she thought might be good gallery space, and I’d been looking forward to seeing her.

Kyle’s words finally penetrated my brain. “Wait, why don’t you think it’s random?”

“Too staged. I don’t think she’s the one who smashed the lamp. There are no prints at all, and he couldn’t have wiped all the pieces clean. Nothing under her fingernails, even though they are broken, like she fought the attacker.

“Looks to me like he wanted us to think she struggled, but the drugs had been in her system for a while. My guess is he drugged her in the parking lot and then dumped her in a car or van. The motel is just outside the city off of Highway 35. Desk clerk says the guest paid by cash. Was wearing a hooded sweatshirt so not much on a description. Says the guy was tall, somewhere between thirty-five and fifty, and had light brown skin. That’s it. It’s a no-tell motel, so the people who work here don’t pay much attention to the clientele.”

I forced myself to walk to my room. I’d have to cancel the rest of my meetings. There was no way I could function. Death was a big part of my life, considering my job as a Guardian, but seldom did the subject involve my friends. The thought that it was Markie on that floor made my heart hurt, and I couldn’t keep the tears from falling to my cheeks.

I popped open my laptop to send an e-mail to Georgia so she could deal with the appointments. “Her family is wealthy—do you think maybe it was a kidnapping gone wrong?” I held the cell between my shoulder and face so I could type. I clicked Send, and reached for a tissue.

“Nah. The detectives are running the scene through their database. They think it may be linked to a case in Seattle. But the place was wiped clean. This guy knew what he was doing.”

I sat down in my desk chair and stared out the window. The sun brightened the landscape and the rich yellows and oranges of the changing leaves would have been a glorious sight, if I weren’t mourning the loss of a friend. “How did you explain why you were there?”

“Didn’t have to. Someone else called it in. Told them I heard it on the scanner and stopped by to see if they needed some help.” That wasn’t unusual. Kyle was a good profiler, as well as a detective, and consulted with several law enforcement agencies. It helped us that he was so well respected, because they never questioned why he always seemed to know so many details about the scenes. “So do you have any idea who might have wanted her dead?”

I bit my lip. “Not a clue. They have real estate holdings all over the world. Markie looked the part of a bubbleheaded blonde, but she had a wicked sense for business. Since she took over the company it’s grown, but people love her. Kyle, I really hate this.”

“I know.” His voice was soft. He did understand. I never wanted these dreams, and they seemed to happen more often now.

I couldn’t get the killer’s voice out of my head. “Kyle?”

“Yeah?”

“The voice in my dream had an accent. I don’t know what kind but it was European. He rolled his
r
’s. I’m usually good with that sort of thing, but I can’t place it. Could have been Italian, French, or Spanish.”

“Don’t worry, Gillian. We’ll find the guy. We always do.” He hung up the phone.

I hugged my arms around my body and took a deep breath. The killer wanted me to know he had the power to kill one of my friends. My heart ached for Markie and her family, but I was also worried about what this maniac might do next. He wasn’t finished, I was certain about that.

I opened my cell phone. I needed my sisters and Bailey, and I needed them now.

CHAPTER 6

Alex arranged it so we could all meet at Club Zonk,
one of the many nightclubs she owns. Our first pet was a lazy hound dog given to my dad by one of his friends, and we called him Zonk, because he never stayed awake for long. Years after he died we still used phrases like “I’m zonked.” Or my favorite, “I’m zonkered.”

The laid-back vibe of the place worked well in Austin. Every night the club was open there was a long line of patrons wanting to curl up on the large round leather sofas or dance on the dimly lit floor. Friends of Alex’s showed up all the time to practice new songs in front of an audience. Blues, rock, country, it didn’t matter. Club Zonk played a mixture of everything. Some of her clubs around the world were loud and wild discos, but Zonk lived up to its name. It was a quiet place to dance, drink, and hang out with friends.

The VIP area was upstairs behind what looked like a mirrored wall. On the other side of the glass was a comfy lounge with well-placed sofas, and curtained booths for privacy.

After letting the paparazzi snap a few photos I moved through the crowd at the door and into the VIP entrance. The area at the top of the stairs had been cordoned off with black rope and a “Private Party” sign.

Appetizer trays were tastefully displayed on a small buffet, and Alex sat in one of the large round booths talking on her cell. She motioned me toward her.

“Tell them I want them in cobalt or not at all, and if it’s delayed one more day, I’ll go to another supplier.” She snapped the phone shut and reached up to grab my hand. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry about Markie.”

I leaned down and kissed her cheek. “It’s just wrong.”

She nodded. “Patrick is bringing up a couple of pitchers of Matadors.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, a little alcohol always helps the grieving process, and God knows we all need to relax a little. We’ve been under a lot of stress with the jobs, and
the jobs.
” She rolled her eyes. “Now Markie. The universe is trying to tell us something, but I’m not sure what.” She squeezed my hand. “Sit, Gilly. I’ll grab us some food. Pele made us some of those stuffed mushrooms and some delectable crab bites.”

She jumped up and walked to the buffet. With her long black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, and wearing a halter top, rock star jeans, and Chloe boots, she looked like a young starlet. I was proud of her. Not only did she own some of the most successful clubs in the world, she fought some of the most difficult beings in the universe—dragons. She had the burns on her lower back and hip to prove it. The fire breathers had harder heads than demons and that was saying something.

The thought of demons made me wonder what Arath was doing.
Crap, that’s totally random. Why the hell would I think about him?

“Ohhh, who are you thinking about?” Alex put a platter of goodies in front of me. Before I could answer, Patrick, who managed the club when Alex was away, brought in the drinks.

“Hey, Gils, we haven’t seen you in forever.” I genuinely liked the guy. A former college football star, he had a tattooed head and bulging muscles. His Hell’s Angel biker look was deceiving. The man had a good mind for business, and kept things running smoothly so Alex could concentrate on opening new clubs. Patrick was also one hell of a bartender. She had a knack for finding the right people for the right job.