Blood of the Demon (18 page)

The light turned just as my phone pinged again. The next three lights were green, so I finally gave up and pulled into a parking lot to read his reply.

I knew it. Those fuckers. Explains why no one comes to my Star Trek themed xmas parties. But you still love me forever and ever?

I couldn’t help grinning like an idiot as I read it, even though I knew he was joking around.

Only out of pity. And only when you bring me donuts.

I replied. I waited, and half a minute later it pinged.

Donut love. I’m cool with that. If you’re not busy, come by our office. Zack is pining for you.

“What a dork,” I muttered as I pulled back onto the road. But I was smiling.

I’D NEVER BEEN TO THE LOCAL FBI OFFICE BEFORE, AND upon entering I realized that I hadn’t been missing much. There was no reception area, or secretary, or phones—in fact, it was pretty much just a white room about the size of my kitchen, with two metal desks, a black filing cabinet, and some chairs that looked like they’d been purchased at a thrift store. And I had the distinct feeling that Ryan and Zack had been forced to beg, borrow, and bribe to get what little they had.

An older couple stood inside near the door, but there was no sign of Zack or Ryan.

“They’re in the back,” the woman said before I could ask, jerking a thumb toward the opposite wall. I looked where she’d indicated and saw the outline of a door that I’d missed seeing at first. “Agent Kristoff is looking for an umbrella.” She looked out sourly at the sky. The rain had slacked off considerably on my way over here, and I personally didn’t think an umbrella was necessary for the twenty-foot walk to what I assumed was their car—the
only car in the lot that wasn’t obviously some sort of official vehicle. But since I wasn’t the one who had to go hunting up an umbrella, I kept my opinion to myself.

“Thanks,” I said instead. The sour look remained on her face, though the man with her gave me a gentle smile. I figured them both to be in their late fifties or so, but there was a pallor about the man that made me suspect he was sick—and not with something that would soon pass.

The door in the back wall opened and Ryan emerged, carrying a large black umbrella. “Here you go, Mr. and Mrs. Galloway. I’ll walk you out to your car.” He gave me a smile and a slight nod of acknowledgment, then held the door open and the umbrella ready for the couple. He escorted them to their car, carefully shielding them from the few drops of rain that still fell, then jogged back to the office as they pulled out of the small parking lot.

He wasn’t smiling when he returned.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He made a rude noise in the back of his throat. “Would be better if I had victims who could understand that if they aren’t willing to testify, then there’s not much I can do for them.”

I gave a sympathetic grimace. “Who are they? Or can’t you tell me?”

“Sam and Sara Galloway. They used to own a popular—and profitable—restaurant on the lakefront called Sam and Sara’s.”

I had a vague recollection of a restaurant by that name. I didn’t eat out much, so I wasn’t exactly up on the local cuisine. “They went out of business some time ago, right?”

“About ten years ago. They were forced out of business, but I can’t really go into more detail right now.”

I shook my head. “Then don’t. Where’s Zack?”

Ryan nodded toward the back door just as Zack emerged. Blond and tan, Agent Zachary Garner resembled a lifeguard more than a federal agent. It didn’t help that he looked like he was barely twenty, though I knew he surely had to be older to be a federal agent.

“Good to see you again, Detective Gillian,” he said with a broad smile.

“Likewise, Agent Garner,” I replied, then grinned as he came forward and gave me a hug. “Good grief, Zack, what did you do to your hair? Did you try to highlight it?”

He ran a hand over his head and gave me a sheepish smile. “Yeah. I was trying for blond tips, but it didn’t quite work out.”

I eyed him. “Your hair was already blond. Now you have …”

“Orange,” Ryan stated. “You can dance around it all you want, but the truth is that his hair is Oompa Loompa orange.”

“Well, just the tips,” I said, “but, yeah. Wow. You need to get someone to fix that.”

“I’ve already made the appointment,” Zack assured me with a smile. “You look quite dressed up. Court?”

“Funeral.” I made a face. “Victim from a case I had over the weekend—parish councilman who was ass end up in the shower. At first we thought it was an accidental positional asphyxiation, but now it’s looking like a homicide.” I took a deep breath and looked over at Ryan. “He was like Brian Roth. I mean, he had no essence left either.”

Ryan frowned. “Missing? Or consumed?”

I fought the urge to shiver. “Consumed. So it definitely wasn’t an isolated event with Brian.”

“Can you fill me in?” Zack asked. I did so, quickly outlining the pertinent details. Special Agent Zack Garner was also well informed about the arcane, though I had no idea if he had any particular talent for anything of that ilk.

He looked intensely troubled after I finished. “Only those two so far?”

“Yeah, but that’s two more than I’m comfortable with.” I paused. “I shouldn’t even be using the word
comfortable
at all. Frankly, it worries the shit out of me.”

“I can understand that,” Zack said, brow creased. “What was the councilman’s name?”

“Davis Sharp. He owned Sharp’s restaurant, among others.”

The frown deepened on Zack’s face, and he and Ryan exchanged a look. “Is there any connection between him and the other one?” Zack asked me.

“I don’t know that yet. I still have a lot of digging to do. Brian probably ate at Sharp’s every now and then, but other than that I got nothin’.” I frowned at the two of them. “Do y’all know something about this?”

Zack leaned back against one of the metal desks. “Davis Sharp’s name came up in the case we’re working on. I don’t see how it could have a connection to what you’re working, but I’ll see if we can get clearance to share what we have with you, in case it does.”

“I appreciate that,” I said. “You never know what’ll turn out to be important.”

“Are you sure it’s not some sort of naturally occurring thing?” Ryan asked. “Maybe it’s not something sinister at all.”

“No, I’m not sure,” I replied honestly, “but I find it hard
to believe.” I looked back to Zack. “Kinda like I find it hard to believe that you actually go out in public with that hair.”

“You never used to be so cruel, Kara.” Zack made a comically tragic face. “You’ve obviously been spending too much time with Ryan.”

“No fair!” Ryan said with a laugh. “She summons demons, yet I’m the bad guy?”

“Hey, at least the demons don’t hate
me
,” I teased in retort.

Zack seemed to tense. “What do you mean by that, Kara?”

I hesitated, for some reason feeling that I’d be tattling on Ryan if I spoke about what happened during the summoning. But Ryan didn’t seem to care. “She let me watch a summoning of a
reyza,”
he explained. “Big fucker by the name of Kehlirik—who seemed to pretty much hate me on sight. Called me a
krakkahl
or some shit like that.”

“Kiraknikahl,”
I corrected, but my eyes were on Zack. He hadn’t moved or twitched or reacted at all to what Ryan said—remaining so still and expressionless that I had the eerie impression that he was fighting
not
to react.

Then Zack grinned and it was gone. “See? It’s true, Ryan. Everyone hates you. Even the demons.”

Ryan gave a dramatic sigh. “And here I was planning to treat you two to dinner.”

“That’s a good start,” I said with an approving smile. “But I’m not sitting at the same table with
him.”
I jerked my chin toward Zack and his orange-tipped hair. “That is, not unless he wears a hat.”

“So very cruel,” Zack moaned. But he opened the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet and pulled out a baseball
cap that had
FBI
in large gold letters across the front. He tugged it on and looked to me for approval. “Better?”

“Much. Now, let’s go before Ryan changes his mind about paying.”

I exited the small building with the two agents following. “Where are we going? We should probably take separate cars since I—” I broke off, going still as an odd nauseating sensation shimmered past me.

“Did you feel that?” I said after a few seconds. I hadn’t missed that the two agents had gone still and silent as well.

“I did,” Ryan replied, as Zack nodded agreement. “What was it?”

“Dunno. It’s arcane, but—” I stopped again, feeling as if something had slithered by. There was a strange hint of menace to it, but nothing I could put a finger on. I shifted into othersight, slowly scanning the parking lot, but the enhanced perception merely intensified the feel of nasty. “It’s dangerous,” I whispered, shifting back to normal sight.

“We should go,” Zack murmured, hand on his gun. “Kara, get in your car. We’ll wait until you’re in. Get on the road and we’ll call you to arrange where we’re going.”

I didn’t need any convincing. I walked quickly to my car and slid in, locking the doors immediately. I pulled out of the parking lot, glancing back to see that Ryan and Zack were getting into their car with similar dispatch. About a minute later, my cell phone rang.

“Any idea what that was?” Ryan asked.

“Not a clue,” I admitted. “I couldn’t pinpoint anything, so it might have been some sort of random wash of potency. But it was skeeving me out, so I’m totally cool with running away.”

“Same here. Look, I’ll have to give you a rain check on
the free meal. Zack got a call about this Galloway case and needs to take care of some things.”

“Not a problem,” I said. “But, please, do one thing for me?”

“Yes?”

“Take Zack to a hairdresser
first.”

I SCOWLED AT MY REFLECTION IN THE FULL-LENGTH mirror in my bedroom. Brian Roth’s funeral was in an hour, and my dress blue uniform hung on me like an oversize sack. My choice of attire for the funeral yesterday had been easy—dress like a detective. But this was a funeral for a fellow officer, which meant that everyone—from the chief on down—would be dusting off the dress blues. Until this moment, though, I hadn’t realized quite how much weight I’d lost, thanks to the too-stressed-to-eat diet that I’d been on for the last few months. On the one hand, I was elated that the insistent little pudge at my belly was gone. Flat stomach! Hooray! However, the idea of buying a whole new wardrobe was nowhere near as pleasant. Not on a cop’s salary.

I sighed and cinched my belt a notch tighter in an effort to keep my pants from falling down. The extra fabric wrinkled uncomfortably at my waist, but it was better than giving the entire community a free show. I scowled down at my clown-sized pants, glad that I didn’t have to
wear a fully rigged duty belt, with holster and handcuffs and baton. My pants would definitely end up around my ankles then.

I fiddled with the positioning of my name tag and tried to remember when I’d last put the damn uniform on. Two years ago, I decided, at the annual departmental awards ceremony when I’d dutifully accepted my five-year service pin. I wrinkled my nose and leaned closer to the mirror, repositioning said pin on my right breast pocket. Since making detective, I hadn’t had any other need to wear the uniform. I rarely worked off-duty details like so many of the other detectives did. And, fortunately, the department hadn’t lost a cop in the line of duty since I’d been there.