Secrets of the Demon (Kara Gillian #3)

Secrets of the Demon (Kara Gillian #3) Page 49

As he was . . . when I knew him? Or before? A chill shimmered through me.

I watched him walk down the road until he rounded the curve and was out of sight. Then I returned to the others and the rest of our mess.

Chapter 35

“What are we going to do about Michael, Sarge?” I asked quietly.

Crawford scrubbed at his face with both hands before letting them drop to his side. “Fuck if I know, Kara.” Somehow we both understood that we weren’t talking about who would take care of him. There was still a great deal of investigating before us, but from everything that had been revealed by Lida and Trey, I now doubted that Ben Moran had known of the murders. So, yes, his uncle would remain his guardian, but... “What if he does something like this again?” Crawford said with a sigh.

I echoed his sigh. Evening was falling and the mosquitoes were beginning to come out. The moon was barely visible through the trees. A couple more days and it would be full, and summoners all over the world would be inscribing circles and preparing offerings and making bargains.

The subject of our conversation was sitting on the ground on the opposite side of the bulldozer from where the bodies of his sister and Trey still lay. Michael hadn’t spoken a word since the shooting had ended and had acquiesced numbly to being led to sit by the bulldozer. He stared off into the distance, his arms wrapped around his legs and his chin resting on his knees.

“He’s broken,” I said. “His best friend blackmailed him into using his talent to kill, and the sister he adored actually hated his guts.”

“Fuckers,” Crawford muttered. “What happened to the father?”

I shrugged. “I can only guess from what was said. It sounds like their dad also had the ability to control earth elementals and was teaching Michael Junior how to make the golems. Something happened and it got out of control. Michael Senior was killed and Michael Junior and Lida were badly injured.” I shook my head. “I guess we’ll never know.” Lida had probably blamed him for their father’s death—in an accident that was most likely Michael Senior’s own fault.

“The uncle is his only family, yes?” Eilahn said, startling me slightly. She moved so damn quietly, and I’d half-forgotten she was with us.

I nodded.

“Send him to the demon realm then,” she said, folding her arms over her chest, her gaze on the young man. “He would be cared for there, and his skills treasured and guarded.”

I could only stare at the demon in surprise at the suggestion. Send him to live there? Was that even possible?

“Send him to the what?” Crawford asked, abruptly jerking me out of my own thoughts.

Oh, yeah, I thought with a grimace. I never did tell Crawford about the whole demon summoning thing. I cleared my throat uncertainly. “Um, it’s not what you think, Crawford. I mean, she’s not talking about hell.”

He slowly turned his head to look at me, expression so incredulous that I almost burst out laughing.

“Let me explain,” I began.

Crawford listened to my explanation about the demons in stony silence. I left out the little detail about Zack and Eilahn being demons, but I told him about me being a summoner, and what that entailed. At the end of he simply gave a long sigh. “Why couldn’t you simply be an alcoholic like all the other detectives?”

I grinned. “Demon summoning has less vomiting!”

“What kind of life would Michael have in the demon realm?” I asked Eilahn after Crawford had moved away to start making phone calls.

“What kind of life would he have here?” she replied evenly.

I shook my head. “Nope. That’s not good enough. His life wouldn’t be unbearable here, he wouldn’t be a slave or anything like that—”

“Michelle Cleland,” Eilahn interrupted. I struggled to place the name. A few heartbeats later I remembered, ashamed that I’d forgotten it at all. Michelle Cleland had been a victim of the Symbol Man, offered up as a sacrifice to the demonic lord Rhyzkahl by the serial killer. After the Symbol Man had been killed, Rhyzkahl had returned to his realm and Michelle had vanished at the same time.

“I thought she was dead,” I said finally, brow furrowed. “Rhyzkahl took her back to the demon realm after the summoning, and I assumed that . . .” I trailed off. I’d assumed that he’d killed her in retaliation for being summoned, but now that I made myself actually think about it, that didn’t fit with what I’d come to learn about Rhyzkahl and the demon’s code of honor. Michelle had not been the one to summon him, in fact had been a victim herself. Killing her would have been a pointless act of misplaced vengeance, which was most certainly not the demon way.

“Why would Lord Rhyzkahl slay her?” Eilahn asked, in line with my thoughts. “She has some small arcane skill and has proven to be useful.” The demon tilted her head to look up at the sky, where the moon was beginning to clear the trees. “She is free of her addiction and seems content.” She flicked a glance at me. “Happy, even.”

“Is she free?” I asked, still dubious.

A smile briefly curved her mouth. “As free as any of us are.”

Well, that could certainly be taken many ways, but I didn’t have the energy to get into that sort of discussion. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. I felt dirty and gritty all over. “He’ll be cared for? He’s so . . . broken.”

“They can care for him as none here can,” Eilahn said with quiet reassurance. “He will be treasured.”

In the end we agreed that Michael was simply too dangerous to go back to stay with his uncle. Moreover, if Michael went missing, it allowed us to spin a more plausible cover story for what happened at the landfill. After much careful consultation, Sarge and I came up with a scenario that was as close to the truth as possible, leaving out the bit about the golems. Instead we stated that Michael had been the one to kill the three men—coerced into doing so by Trey and his sister. Michael had then been murdered by the pair—body dumped somewhere in the swamp—and when we confronted them, Trey suicided, and Lida had been shot when she’d tried to fire on officers.

I’d learned that deviating from the actual circumstances as little as possible made it easier to stick to a consistent story. I was getting pretty good at the whole fictional police report thing.

That night Eilahn and I returned to my house with Michael in tow. I still wasn’t certain about sending him to the demon realm. But what other option did we have? I reminded myself. Killing him was absolutely out of the question. I was relieved to see that even Eilahn agreed with that completely.

Michael sat against the wall near the fireplace, fingers plucking absently at the fabric of his jeans. He’d retreated deep inside himself, numbly obeying our requests to sit, and walk, and sit again. Eilahn leaned against the wall near him, almost protectively.

I still felt dirty, even though I’d taken a long shower after we’d returned to the house. I wanted to ask the syraza more about what would happen to Michael, but at the same time I knew it was pointless. There really was no other choice.

I finished making the changes to the diagram, then stood and began the summoning. When Rhyzkahl appeared in the circle, Eilahn sank to one knee, keeping her head lowered in a position of obeisance. I remained standing. I was oathbound to Rhyzkahl. I didn’t serve him. Or so I told myself.

The demonic lord stood with his hands clasped lightly behind his back, not moving from the center of the diagram. His eyes stayed on me, but I had no doubt that he was completely aware of every living creature in this basement.

“Lord Rhyzkahl, this is Michael Moran,” I said without any preamble. “He has significant arcane skills, but he is . . . damaged. Eilahn made the suggestion that he could go to the demon realm.” It sounded like more of a question than I’d intended, but it got the point across.

Rhyzkahl’s eyes shifted first to the syraza—still kneeling with her head lowered—and then to Michael. The young man seemed completely oblivious to what was happening in front of him. “Interesting,” he murmured, then stepped out of the circle. I expected him to go to Michael, but instead he moved to me. He put a hand beneath my chin and gently tipped my head up, then very lightly touched the lump on the side of my head. I winced, but a soft warmth quickly replaced the slight pain and my barely-perceptible headache faded.

“I sent Eilahn here to protect you, and yet you are injured,” he said, voice low and rich.

“I’d be dead if not for her,” I replied. And Ryan, the thought whispered and I quickly shoved it aside. I didn’t want to think about that right now.

“Then I am well pleased with her service,” he murmured. His fingers traveled to stroke my cheek and brush my lips lightly. “I do not wish to lose you.”

Lose me as his sworn summoner? I found myself wondering. Or something more?

He bent and kissed me, not deeply or passionately, but with a strange and unexpected tenderness which only served to deepen my sudden confusion. Then he straightened abruptly and moved to Michael.

The demonic lord crouched before the young man, regarding him silently for several heartbeats before lifting a hand to Michael’s cheek. He remained motionless in that position for what had to have been several minutes, while I stood as quiet and still as possible, not wanting to do anything that could interrupt whatever was going on.

Michael suddenly took a ragged breath as if he’d woken up, then focused on the face of the demonic lord. He stared in astonishment for several heartbeats, then smiled tentatively.

Tension coiled through me as I watched the exchange. There was something different about Michael’s expression now, as if he was more aware than he’d ever been before. Could Rhyzkahl heal his brain damage? I thought in sudden shock. I had no idea if that was within the realm of possibility or not, but I knew firsthand that the demonic lord had the power to heal. The no-longer-hurting lump on my head was evidence of that.

Rhyzkahl dropped his hand from Michael’s face, then turned and walked back to the diagram. A second later Michael scrambled to his feet and followed. Rhyzkahl set his hand on the young man’s shoulder, and in the next heartbeat they were gone.