Mark of the Demon
Page 15

I can’t photograph them, I thought with a growing realization, but maybe I can sneak Aunt Tessa in to look at them. If Doc wasn’t going to cut until tomorrow afternoon, that would give me the time to do it.
I chewed my lip as I mulled over the utter stupidity of such an idea. “Ah, screw it,” I muttered, grabbing my bag. “It’s only my career.”
Chapter 8
Breaking into the morgue was painfully easy. The coroner’s office suffered from a lack of funding more than any other agency, mostly due to the fact that people didn’t like to think about death and thus didn’t want to fund it any more than absolutely necessary.
“I’ve done my share of crazy things in my day, kiddo,” Aunt Tessa remarked dryly as she watched me work the lock, “but I don’t believe I’ve ever broken into a morgue in the middle of the night.”
“Yes, this would normally be far too tame for you,” I replied as I slipped the edge of my folding knife into the doorjamb, noting with wry amusement that the jamb was already scored a dozen times over, probably from people who worked for the coroner’s office. The door clicked open and I stepped inside, wrinkling my nose at the ever-present odors—the combination of cleaner and decomposition and bleach, each struggling to overpower the others.
I quickly flicked on my key-chain LED flashlight, then stepped inside and pulled Aunt Tessa in, closing the door behind her.
“Needs incense,” I heard her mutter from behind me.
I swung the tiny flashlight in an arc, blue light reflecting eerily off the metal table and stained walls. “Let’s just hope no one gets brought in while we’re doing our little bit of breaking and entering.”
The cooler was locked, but I knew that the key was oh-so-cleverly hidden in a drawer right next to it. A wave of cold dead air rolled out as I swung the door open, and once again I pulled my aunt inside, this time propping the door slightly ajar with an office chair. I panned my flashlight around the cooler, relieved to find that there was only one stretcher with a body bag atop it. I checked the tag on the outside of the bag to be sure. Yep, this was my victim, Mark Janson.
The bag was secured with a plastic zip tie, which I sliced through with my knife. I quickly tugged on latex gloves, then unzipped the bag, exhaling as the sight of the young man struck an emotional chord once again. Then I grimaced. The arcane smudges had faded drastically, as I’d feared.
“There’s not much left of them, Aunt Tessa. Can you see anything?”
Tessa leaned over the bag, slowly scanning the body, nose wrinkling at the faint odor of sweat and blood and death. “I see what you’re talking about.” She frowned. “Turn your flashlight off, please.”
I switched the flashlight off, suppressing a shudder at the near-absolute blackness inside the cooler, broken only by the faint illumination sneaking past the propped-open door. But I could see why my aunt wanted less light. The smudges were far more visible to othersight in the dark.
“There’s not much to see,” Tessa said, “but it’s definitely a male who left these.”
“The profiles that were done all indicated a white male in his thirties—”
“Lives alone, parents divorced, yeah yeah yeah,” my aunt cut in with a laugh. “Isn’t it funny how every profile is darn near the same?”
“No shit! But I was going to add that I also got the impression of a male.”
“Hmm … But that doesn’t mean he’s the killer.”
“Sure, but that’s some pretty damning evidence.” I shrugged. “I mean, if any of this were admissible in court.”
Tessa made a low noise in her throat. “They.”
It took a second for my aunt’s comment to register. “Wait, there’s more than one?”
“Yep. At least, there are two different sources on this body.” She sighed. “But I can’t really tell anything about the second one. Can’t even tell gender or species.”
“Species?” I said, startled. The dark shape of my aunt’s head turned toward me.
“Yes, dearie. Not necessarily human.”
I groaned. “Aw, crap. So this guy could be teaming up with a demon?”
“You weren’t listening,” she chided. “I said I couldn’t tell. It could still be a human, it could be a demon. It could be a squid person from Mars.”
I snorted softly and smiled. “Of course, Auntie Dearest.”
“Oh, please,” she groaned. “Enough of that. Now gimme some light, Darling Niece.”
I flicked the flashlight on again, only to have Tessa pluck it from my fingers and shine it directly on the symbol on the man’s lower abdomen. She stared at it, mumbling softly under her breath, then finally sighed and shook her head. “I can’t figure that thing out at all.” She handed the light back to me. “We’ll have to ask one of the demonic ilk for advice on that one. I wish we knew how you muffed up the Rysehl summoning.”
My jaw tightened. “I didn’t muff it up.”
She winced. “Sorry, that came out harsher than I meant. But something went wrong, and I’d be a lot happier if I knew what it was.” She smiled and patted my cheek. “Don’t worry, sweetie, we’ll figure it out.”
I zipped up the bag, then pulled a fresh zip tie out of my pocket and resealed the bag. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s go.”
We left the cooler and I relocked it, but Tessa paused before following me out of the morgue. “I’m not your enemy here, Kara. I know I’ve screwed up in the past, but I’m really trying here.”
My shoulders slumped. I was being a jerk and letting my own stress spill onto her. “You haven’t screwed up.”
She shook her head. “You and I both know that’s not true. That month while I dithered in Japan and left you in that awful foster home—”
“You made that right,” I cut in, voice a bit rough. I looked at her, seeing the guilt on her face again. “Aunt Tessa, that’s in the past. You … did the right thing. You made it right,” I repeated.
She exhaled, nodded. “Well, I should have made sure you had more friends in high school. Made you get out more—”
“Okay, are we just going to stand here and flail around in guilt all night long?” I gave her a mock glare. “Because if that’s really your plan, I’d like to do it someplace that doesn’t stink so damn much.”
She laughed and gave me a quick, bony hug. “Impudent little bitch. I don’t know why I bother with you at all.”
“I don’t either, but you’re fucking stuck with me.” I gave her a squeeze, then released her. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Chapter 9
The next several days were spent doing the most exciting police work I ever thought I would be involved with.
Not.
I sighed and popped another VHS tape into the VCR and settled back onto my bed, hitting the play button on the remote. They never showed this stuff on TV, the endless hours of searching through surveillance video on the mere hope that maybe possibly hopefully some glimpse of something that might occasionally point the investigator to a lead could be found. The day after breaking into the morgue with Tessa, I’d gone to every business and convenience store and gas station within a mile of either crime scene and collected surveillance videos for the times between sundown and a few hours after the bodies were discovered.
Then I’d brought the box of videotapes home, settled in, and watched. And watched. Watched until my eyes crossed, searching for anything that could help, any consistencies between the time frames surrounding the two murders. Hoping to see someone walk into one of the gas stations wearing a T-shirt that proclaimed, I AM THE SYMBOL MAN!
I scrubbed at my eyes. I’d been at this for nearly a week. I’d seen seventeen instances of shoplifting, four instances of employee theft, nine drug deals, twenty-one gas drive-offs, and one instance of a couple having sex by the beer cooler, but nothing at all that leaped out as being relevant to the murders.
I finally turned off the TV and flopped back onto my pillows, looking up at the shifting shadows cast by the waning moon filtering through the trees. I hated to think that these murders were unsolvable. This killer had to have slipped up somewhere, left some clue. Or maybe he had, and I was just missing it? With zero leads, I knew that I wouldn’t be allowed to keep working this case exclusively forever. I was spinning my wheels chasing down nebulous possibilities, while others were picking up the slack with my other cases—the assaults and robberies that continued despite the Symbol Man. Beaulac’s police force wasn’t large enough to have detectives dedicated solely to homicides, and I knew that there was resentment simmering among other detectives about the shift in caseload. Boudreaux and Pellini had made it crystal clear that they weren’t content with the fact that I’d snagged a primo case.
I sighed and pushed the pillow into a more comfortable position. Of course, I still had the arcane angle to pursue. But I’d feel a lot more comfortable performing another summoning if I had even the slightest idea of what had gone wrong with the Rysehl summoning. “I screwed up,” I said aloud, hating the sound of it. It still felt terribly jarring. I wasn’t an anal perfectionist, and I’d certainly made mistakes in summonings in the past, but I’d always known what the mistake was. What if I summoned again and accidentally pulled another powerful creature through—one who was perfectly fine with killing me in spectacular fashion instead of merely fucking my brains out?
I smiled wryly. Yeah, I’d definitely gotten off light, though the question of why Rhyzkahl had chosen to seduce me instead of kill me would probably haunt me for the rest of my life.
And I’ve angsted over my choice to sleep with him long enough, I decided firmly. Yeah, so I had no love life. Okay, so I’d had the equivalent of a one-night stand. It was over and in the past, and at least the sex had been pretty damn worth it.
With that small aspect of my psyche dealt with, I punched my pillow into a more comfortable position and settled in to sleep.
I woke to a soft sound—a scrape of a shoe on the floor, or the brush of clothing against a piece of furniture. I was instantly wide awake but I didn’t move, kept my breathing as regular as possible, though I could feel my heart slamming in my chest. My gun is in the nightstand drawer, I reminded myself, breathing shallowly and listening for a repetition of the sound that had woken me.
Nothing. Just the sounds of the night, the muted rush of the air conditioner, a faraway car passing on the highway. I waited and listened, counting silently to fifty before reaching out slowly and pulling the drawer open. My disquiet eased tremendously as soon as my hand curled around the rough butt of the gun, and I flicked on the bedside light with one hand while pointing the gun at the foot of the bed.
Rhyzkahl stood at the foot of my bed, still as carved marble and emanating the power and strength that I remembered so vividly from that night a week ago. The ivory fall of his hair rippled in an unfelt wind, and his beautiful eyes bored into mine. He wore robes of pale silk, and a sensuous smile curved his lips.
I stared at him in shock as a frisson of sudden terror coursed through me. He’s here. How is he here? My thoughts careened wildly as I kept the gun pointed at him. It’s not even a full moon. How the fuck can he be here?
He finally spoke.
“You have not called me.”
I blinked, disoriented for a heartbeat as I remembered vague snatches from the dream I’d had at my desk. “Wh-what? Call you? What are you talking about?”
He moved for the first time, shifting with inhuman grace to sit on the bed beside me. “You have not called me.” His smile turned dazzling.
I looked at the gun in my hand, then slowly lowered it. It wouldn’t do me any good against a Demonic Lord anyway. Shit. I have a Demonic Lord in my bedroom! “You said that already.” I swept a glance throughout the room in a vain hope that I would see something that could explain his presence here. “How can you be here? What the fuck is going on?”
He reached out and stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. “I wished to see you,” he said. “You interest me.”
“So, what—you just popped over to this sphere to look me up?” My voice was a bit shriller than I would have liked, but I figured I was entitled to a small amount of freak-out after waking up to a Demonic Lord in my bedroom.
He laughed, a sound like crystal in water. It delighted me and at the same time sent shivers through me. “Not so simple as that.” His fingers lingered on my chin, brushing my lips ever so lightly. “I am not truly here. I am merely touching your dreams.”
“My … dreams.” I couldn’t decide if that was reassuring or not.
“It is not an easy feat, even for one such as myself.”
I regarded him with narrowed eyes, initial shock and terror giving way to confusion and distrust. “So why are you doing it?”
He tilted his head, a smile playing on his angelic face. “You are not pleased to see me again? You did not enjoy our … tryst?”
I had to privately admit that there was a small portion of me that was pleased to see him again. Even knowing what he was now, I couldn’t deny that he was awfully damn good to look at, and I sure as shit couldn’t deny that our “tryst” had been awfully damn nice. “You didn’t answer my question,” I said instead.
He gave a slight nod. “As I said: You interest me. I have not encountered another like you in centuries. And the brief time we had together was … enjoyable.” Without warning, he slid his hand to the back of my neck and leaned in to kiss me. I didn’t stiffen or resist—I was too surprised to do either, and by the time it occurred to me that I should make some sort of reaction, he had deepened it into a sensuous kiss that promised pleasure and heat and pulse-throbbing passion. After a moment, he released me and pulled back, regarding me with a smile.