Blood of the Demon (4 page)

Unfortunately, my research had come to a screeching halt before it even began when I discovered that my aunt had warded her library with layers upon layers of arcane protections—and that they had
not been
set to allow me passage. That fact bothered me on a number of levels—not the least of which was that, without access to the materials in that library, I might never see her alive and well again.

My gaze slid back to the open door of the house. I could see Jill moving around inside, taking pictures and measurements. I could also see the motionless lump that was Brian’s body, but I was thankfully far enough away that I couldn’t feel the gaping lack of essence. This was different from my aunt’s situation. His essence had been consumed, not just pulled away whole. Even if his body
weren’t dead, there’d be no way to return his essence to him. There was no essence left to return.

And what could have possibly done that to him?
I asked myself again, frustration and worry twining together in my gut. The only creature I knew of that could consume essence was an
ilius
, but that didn’t mean much. There was a whole lot that I didn’t know, and I still couldn’t shake the sick feeling that I’d screwed something up in my dismissal of the demon. What if I was responsible for this? Had the demon sensed Brian’s death and swooped down onto that essence just as it was beginning to shuffle free of its mortal coil? Was that even possible?

Damn it. There was too much that I didn’t understand. Unfortunately, there were only two possible sources of information for anything to do with the arcane. The first—and what would normally have been the simplest—was my aunt’s library.

The second source of answers to questions about the arcane were the demons. I had a feeling I was going to be summoning again tonight—especially since a higher demon might also be able to help me penetrate the arcane protections on the library that had so far stalled my progress.

I looked over at Crawford. “Sarge, I’d like this case.”

He seemed to consider it for a couple of seconds. “Well, since you were first on the scene, I’ll let you run with it for now.”

“Thanks.” That would give me some more time and opportunity to dig into the circumstances surrounding Brian’s death and maybe shed some light on what could have eaten his essence.

And, if it
was
something I was somehow responsible for, hopefully I could make sure it wouldn’t happen again.

BY THE TIME I WAS ABLE TO HEAD HOME, I FELT drained, emotionally and physically. The scene at Brian’s house had taken only a couple of hours to wrap up, but we’d spent the next few hours trying to track down where Carol Roth might be. She’d been at work the day before but hadn’t shown up this morning, and we couldn’t find a single person who could state that they’d seen her since she left the office. I’d even requested copies of the surveillance video from the gate for the previous twenty-four hours, in the hopes that there might be some hint or clue there, but the camera system was brand-new—which apparently meant that the security company had no idea how to retrieve video from it and would have to call in a tech to download what I needed.

We’d run down every other possible lead, uncomfortably aware that her body could be anywhere—and in south Louisiana, there were a shitload of places to dump a body.
But why the hell would Brian dump her body someplace remote if it was an accident? And then why kill
himself? He wasn’t the type to panic
. Nothing made sense with this case, and it bugged the shit out of me.

Then, to add to the emotional beating, I’d stopped by the neuro center to see my aunt—or, rather, her empty shell. I hadn’t stayed long, just enough to verify with my othersight that she didn’t have the same “look” that Brian’s body did. Still, it was depressing seeing her normally animated face so waxy and still, and the short visit had left me with a hollow ache of worry in my gut.

I made the turn into my long driveway, mood abruptly lifting as I rounded the last curve and saw the car parked in front of my house. I was quite familiar with that dark blue Crown Victoria—with the heavily tinted windows and more than the usual number of antennae on the back. Add the government plate and it practically shrieked
federal agent
.

I found myself smiling as I pulled up beside the Crown Vic. Leaning against the hood of the car with his arms crossed over his chest was a tall man with reddish-brown hair and a rugged face. He was wearing a polo-style shirt and blue jeans, which showed off his workout ethic nicely. It was the most casual I’d ever seen him attired. It didn’t make a difference. His entire demeanor announced his profession even more than his car did.

I didn’t give a crap about his profession at the moment. My day had started out shitty, but it definitely looked as if it was turning around now.

I climbed out of my car and slung my bag over my shoulder. He pushed off the hood of his car with a grin.

“Hello there, Special Agent Kristoff,” I said.

He gave a mock sigh, but his green-gold eyes sparkled with amusement. “So formal.”

I laughed. “Fine. Hi, Ryan.” I’d met Ryan during my
investigation into the Symbol Man murders, when we were both assigned to the serial-killer task force. My first impression of him had not been a positive one—arrogant, condescending, and dismissive. Later I’d discovered that he could see the arcane, and I came to trust him enough to tell him that I was a summoner. Other than my aunt, he was probably the only person who knew that little fact about me.

After that initial trust had been established, we’d become friends—something that was both rewarding and baffling to me at the same time. Like my friendship with Jill, I treasured this connection with Ryan. Yet at the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder if we would ever go beyond “just friends.” Or if I even wanted that. Hell, I had no idea if
he
was remotely interested in anything beyond friendship.

And this is the
last
thing I need to be worrying about
, I chided myself.
My life is complicated enough as it is right now
.

“Dare I ask why you’re standing in my driveway?” I said instead.

“Because, while you were dead, someone fixed your door for you.” He turned to glare at my pretty new door. He’d been the one to break it a couple of months ago, busting in when he heard me screaming. It had been only a bizarre demon-induced nightmare, but he’d thought something far worse was happening.

I had a strong suspicion that he was also the one who’d fixed the door, though he’d never admitted it. “Aw, poor you,” I said. “You have to stalk me from outside.”

“Actually, I was in the car with the AC cranked up until I heard you coming up the driveway. Did you know that it’s insanely hot?”

I snorted and started up my front steps. “You’d think this was a subtropical climate. You’re spoiled by your time at Quantico. Don’t worry.” I glanced up at the sky. “Give it a couple of hours and we’ll have our usual afternoon thunderstorm. Then it’ll be hot
and
humid.”

Ryan made a strangled noise as he followed me into my house. I lived in a single story Acadian-style house, with peeling paint and a broad front porch, on enough of a hill to allow me to have a basement; it was located in the middle of ten acres at the end of a long, winding driveway. Very private. I loved it.

“I’m too used to living up north,” he admitted. “I’m melting like a Nazi at the end of
Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

I dumped my bag on the desk by the door and then turned to him. “So what brings you back to these parts?” It had been more than a month since I’d last seen him. We’d exchanged a few emails, but since we were both understandably reluctant to mention anything related to the arcane in email, they’d been fairly terse and boring.

His mouth twitched. “Well, I think I’m going to have to get used to this insane heat and humidity. I’m on a temporary transfer down here.”

My heart gave a mad thump of delight, and I had to fight to keep my face from showing anything more than a pleased smile. “Seriously? There are enough crimes related to the arcane in this area to warrant that?”

“There is a variety of reasons,” he said, shrugging, “and I’m not privy to all of them, but the suits at the top apparently felt it was worth it to base our little task force in this region, at least for now.”

“Well, I approve,” I said, with as much of a sober nod as I could manage.

He laughed. “I’ll be sure to pass that on to the powers that be.”

“You do that!” I couldn’t keep a straight face anymore and had to grin. “Okay, seriously? I have to admit that this is the best news I’ve had in quite some time.”

He tilted his head. “I can’t decide if that’s incredibly flattering or seriously pathetic.”

I rolled my eyes. “Pathetic, obviously, because I just realized that I’d forgotten what a smart-ass you are.”

“You know me too well.”

I wish!
I thought, then hurriedly pushed the thought from my mind. “So, are you working anything right now?”

He made a face. “Nothing fun. I’m working a public corruption case—utterly mundane. Can’t really talk about it.”

I nodded and resisted the urge to pry. I’d been in law enforcement long enough to know that there were some things that had to remain confidential—if I wanted to remain friends with him, that is.

I gave a mental sigh. Ryan was seriously good-looking, though certainly not in any pretty-boy sort of way. He was about a head taller than me, with nice broad shoulders, a trim waist, and gorgeous eyes that I often felt were wasted on a guy. But I didn’t have very many friends, and I was—okay, I admit it—too chicken to make any sort of move and risk blowing the friendship all to hell.

But, damn, there were times when I really wanted to jump his bones.

“So where’s your partner?” I asked instead. During the Symbol Man investigation, Ryan had been partnered with Special Agent Zack Garner, who looked far more like a lifeguard than an agent specializing in arcane and supernatural incidents.

“That blond bastard is on vacation. California.”

I laughed. “Surfing?”

“You nailed it. So how about you?” he asked as he looked through my fridge for something to drink. He snagged a Diet Barq’s out of the bottom drawer and quirked an eyebrow at me. “Anything going on that you can talk about?”

I grimaced. “Yeah. I’ve had a pretty shitty day. Sarge called me this morning to go wake up one of our narcotics detectives, and I found him dead of an apparently self-inflicted gunshot wound.”

“Damn,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry to hear that. It doesn’t get much shittier than that.”

I scrubbed at my eyes and leaned back against the counter. “Actually it does.”

He gave me a disbelieving look.

I took a deep breath. “Brian’s essence was gone. Consumed.”

He was silent for several heartbeats. “You mean, like your aunt?”

I shook my head. “Tessa’s essence was drawn out to power an arcane ritual. It was intact—sort of like taking a battery out of a robot and using it in something else. Brian’s essence was … eaten. There was nothing but shreds left.”

Ryan sat down at the table and looked up at me, a frown playing across his face. “How can you tell? I mean, doesn’t the essence leave the body after death anyway?”

“Yes, but not immediately, and it’s more of a gentle release.” I pulled out a chair on the other side of the table and plopped down. “Fuck, you’re going to make me try to explain this? Um, it’s like the body—the physical shell—has the essence in a firm grasp. When it dies, the grasp is
loosened, which allows the essence to float away whole, so to speak. But when it’s consumed, there are ragged edges still left behind, like meat torn from a bone.”

He gave a shudder. “All right, that sounds pretty hideous. So, he … what, doesn’t go to his afterlife or whatever now?”

I rubbed my temples. “It’s a bit more complex than that. Everything I’ve been taught about essence and potency says that, while there’s no such thing as actual from-one-body-to-the-next reincarnation, essence does get reused. Think of it like water being poured back into a pitcher. The next time a child is born, another glass is poured out. But if too much essence gets consumed, then there won’t be enough to create new life, and we’ll start seeing some nasty side effects.”

“Such as?”

“Stillbirths,” I said quietly. “Ill patients dying when they should have been able to recover. An empty ‘pitcher’ would almost have a vacuum effect as it pulled back any available essence.”