Secrets of the Demon

“Then back to the office grind on Monday.” I wrinkled my nose, though I didn’t really mean it. I enjoyed being a part of the task force, but I had no desire to be a full-time fed. I liked being a “small town” cop. Even though Beaulac was the parish seat of St. Long Parish, it was barely big enough to be called a city by census definitions, maintaining a small-town feel that managed to be friendly and homey without being annoyingly insular. The city of Beaulac curved around Lake Pearl and for decades had survived primarily on an industry of sportsmen and weekend vacationers, but that was gradually changing. The area was experiencing a few growing pains as more and more people discovered the “rural charm” of St. Long Parish, especially since the parish was still within comfortable driving distance of New Orleans. But I figured that such things were inevitable, and it would likely be decades yet before Beaulac and St. Long Parish had to worry about the kind of issues that plagued the immediate suburbs of New Orleans.



Besides, this was my home, and I liked being a part of its protection, as corny as that might sound. Sometimes the fact that I was on the task force put me in a bit of a precarious position when it came to office politics, especially when there was a shift in the workload. But, then again, I knew that some of the detectives would find a reason to grumble no matter what I did. I tried to take extra cases to make up for the times when I was busy with task force things, which then earned me the grumbles that I was “sucking up and hogging the good cases.” I’d pretty much reached the point of not giving a shit.



Ryan nodded. “Okay, then we’ll starting figuring out strategy for this whole thing when we’ve all had some sleep.”



I climbed out of the car, and he surprised me by getting out and walking me up to the porch. I almost made a smart-alec remark about how I didn’t think I was in danger of getting mugged in the ten feet between the car and my door, but I restrained myself. We’d been doing a lot of “joking” back and forth lately, and it was beginning to feel forced, as if we were desperately clinging to the friendship portion of our relationship.



“Okay, you and Zack are hiding something from me,” he said, but there was a smile in his eyes. “And I figure it has to be something that the demon told you, and the only reason for you two to hide it from me would be if it had to do with my favorite demonic lord. So I wanted you to know that I’m a big boy, and I don’t want you to feel any more stress about any of this because of me.” He put his hands on my shoulders, and this time his smile was tinged with something that might have been sadness or regret, though I couldn’t tell if it was for himself or me. “I worry about you,” he said, in an echo of what Zack had said earlier, “and I fucking hate that you’re in this situation, but I also know that I have no business judging or make demands on you that will only make the whole thing harder on you.”



I blinked at him, then returned the smile. “Wow. You’re, like, being all mature and shit. That’s kinda scary.”



He laughed, then surprised me again by pulling me into a hug. “You are such a goddamn dork.”



I recovered enough to give him a return squeeze, then he stepped back. He’d started with the “friend-hug that was a little more than a man-hug” shortly after I’d made my oath to Rhyzkahl. I really liked the hugs, but they confused the shit out of me at the same time. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him to stop. Ryan was solid and muscled, and he smelled damn nice as well.



“Hey, you’re the one who chooses to hang out with me,” I countered. “And I’m not the one who watches Star Trek and all that stuff.”



He heaved a dramatic sigh. “One of these days I’m going to make you watch some quality television.”



I glared at him. “I like my reality shows.” One of my current addictions was a show about preschool beauty queens and their white trash mothers. It was like watching a train wreck. I loved it.



He shuddered. “The horror.”



I poked a finger at his chest. “Right, and you want me to watch some show about a cheerleader who kills vampires.”



“You have no idea what you’re missing!”



I gave a derisive snort, but then I sobered. He knew something was up, so this was probably the best time to fill him in on what had happened. “Okay, so here’s the deal. Skalz offered me protection.”



All humor vanished from his face. “Tell me.”



I did, tempted to skim over the part about my arrangement with Rhyzkahl being “enviable,” but ruefully admitted to myself that it was better to get it all out in the open now. Besides, Zack would tell him eventually anyway.



“And so now you have the dilemma of whether to ask Rhyzkahl to provide protection for you instead,” Ryan said, expression grim.



I exhaled in relief. He understood. “Yeah. Exactly. If I use another demon for protection, I’ll have to negotiate terms. But if I accept it from Rhyzkahl, it seems . . .”



“Like another way for him to keep you under his thumb,” he said, voice nearly a growl.



I nodded.



He started to run his fingers through his hair, then scowled as he realized that it was glued into place with a metric ton of hair product. He dropped his hand and sighed. “I’m glad you told me this.”



I was too, suddenly. I liked feeling that I could trust him. There were times when I really wasn’t sure.



“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said, “but don’t rush into any decisions, all right?”



“I don’t plan on it. I should be able to tell you more Monday.”



His expression briefly tightened at the obscure reminder that I’d be summoning the demonic lord soon, but in the next breath he’d masked it and offered me a smile instead. “All right. Well, get some sleep.”



For an instant I thought he was going to lean down and kiss me on the forehead, but instead he turned and walked back down the stairs to his car. I unlocked my front door, feeling the brush of my arcane protections, comforting and strange. I looked back to see the tail-lights of the SUV retreating down my driveway, then gave a pathetic soft sigh and stepped inside.



Chapter 5



I thought I’d have trouble falling asleep—that so-tired-I’m-wired feeling humming through me. But I barely remembered crawling into bed and the next thing I knew it was one in the afternoon.



I caffeinated myself, showered, and made myself reasonably presentable before heading over to my aunt Tessa’s house. Tessa had been released from the neuro center a couple of months ago, after she’d mysteriously recovered from her even more mysterious coma. It hadn’t been mysterious to me—I’d been fully aware that her essence had been pulled away from her body to fuel a powerful arcane ritual. She’d spent six weeks in a coma—without a mark on her body or anything that showed up on a CT scan or an MRI to explain it. With Rhyzkahl’s help and instruction I’d created an arcane beacon to draw her essence back to her body—barely in time, too. Her body had been perilously close to losing its grip on life.



It had been another month before they’d allowed her to be released, but she’d finally convinced them—in her inimitable acerbic fashion—that she was in full possession of her faculties. After she was discharged I made sure to send a fruit basket to the nurses on her floor—as much of an apology as a thank you.



My aunt’s house was in a historic district along the lakefront, full of century-old houses maintained or restored to immaculate condition. Gleaming white with elegant blue molding and pristine landscaping, Aunt Tessa’s house fit the neighborhood perfectly. My aunt, not so much.



I knocked twice, then opened the door and stuck my head in. “Aunt Tessa?”



“Kitchen!”



I headed obligingly in that direction and found my aunt perched on a stool at her counter with the daily crossword in front of her. Her frizzy blond hair was pulled up into a twist on top of her head, and she had on billowing hakama pants that nearly overwhelmed her skinny frame and a gray T-shirt that said FRAK OFF—overall, a somewhat tame look for her. Unlike her personal style, her kitchen was as exquisite as the rest of her house—rose-colored tiled floors, lovely wallpaper with subtle patterns of climbing ivy, and dark granite countertops. Her one deviation from the original nature of the house was her appliances—stainless steel and thoroughly modern.



Well, there was one other deviation: the summoning chamber in the attic. I rather doubted the original owners had intended for the space to be used in that manner.



At the kitchen table sat Carl, with a mug of coffee beside his hand and a book in his other. He lifted his eyes briefly and gave me a small nod, then returned his attention to his book. I was still getting used to thinking of him as Tessa’s boyfriend. To me he was Carl the Morgue Tech, quiet, somewhat emotionless, and—I’d discovered—impervious to arcane wards and who knew what else. And for him, that small nod was the equivalent of an exuberant greeting. Tall and lean with an athletic build, he had hazel-brown eyes set in a lightly tanned face and closely cropped hair that was more transparent than blond. He really didn’t fit the stereotypical image of a lanky and pasty morgue worker, but his general demeanor made up for any deviation from the expected norm. I took a quick peek at the cover of the book he was reading. Parasite Rex: Inside the Bizarre World of Nature’s Most Dangerous Creatures.



Yep, more than made up for not looking the part.



Tessa gave me a smile. “Hiya, sweets. You had a busy night last night?”



I pulled myself onto a stool opposite her. “Er, well yeah. Had a thing with the FBI task force. Woke up about an hour ago.”



“So was it a demon?”



I blinked at her. “Huh?”



She pursed her lips. “The singer. The threats. Was it a demon that attacked her?”



“How on earth did you know about that?”



Tessa gave an exaggerated sigh and flipped her newspaper over to show me the front page. “I didn’t lose all my brains cells while I was in that silly coma. The paper stated that Lida Moran was receiving threats that ‘demons would take her soul,’ ” she said, making quote marks with her fingers. “You were working late last night with your FBI friends, and there was an incident during her concert.” She gave me a smug smile. “So. Was it a demon?”