Blood of the Demon

I couldn’t make my mouth form words at first. “Your powers of recall are … amazing,” I finally managed.

She actually gave a small squeal of delight. “Oh! I’m so glad I could help!” She hung the chart back on the end of Tessa’s bed. “Well, let me get back to my rounds. Nice to meet you!” And with that she bustled right on out the door.

I stared after her for several seconds, then turned to look at Mr. Roommate, who had tears of laughter ru

“Oh, God,” he gasped. “I’m sorry I laughed. But isn’t she a complete goofball?”

I gri

He shook his head as he wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay too late, so whoever it is, he must come in after I’ve gone. But maybe you can look for a name on the sign-in log at the front desk?”

“Good idea,” I said. “You’d make a good detective.”

“I’m a wimp,” he said with a smile. “I’ll stick to watching the fictional ones on TV.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” I said as I collected my things, “but I’m a total wimp too.”

Unfortunately, Mr. Roommate’s good idea was a bust. There was no record of anyone signing in to visit Tessa.

I got into my searing-hot car and jammed the AC on, then pulled out of the parking lot. Was someone else visiting Tessa? Melanie seemed like a dingbat, so perhaps she had Tessa mixed up with another patient. Or maybe it was just someone Tessa had known from her store or her neighborhood. But if that was the case, then why wouldn’t there be a record of it on the sign-in log?

I pulled into my driveway and did my best to push the worry about Tessa’s visitor out of my head. I needed my focus for the first stage of the ritual that Rhyzkahl had described to me. At least I was able to pry that information out of him before wasting my questions on my stupid concerns about the dreams, I thought with a mental scowl.

I headed down to the basement, then swept and cleaned the floor to prepare it for the new diagram. I’d forced myself into the habit of erasing my diagram and putting all my implements away after each summoning, but I didn’t want to take a chance on any stray marks messing up what I was about to do. Especially since I didn’t really know what I was doing.

Sketching with tedious precision, I laid out the diagram for the call to Tessa’s essence according to the parameters that Rhyzkahl had detailed for me, quite glad that I’d taken notes. Because this shit was confusing. It didn’t look at all like the sort of summoning diagram I normally used. But then again, I wasn’t doing a summoning; I was doing something else entirely. According to Rhyzkahl, this diagram, once completed and with the right amount of potency cha

I finished chalking the diagram, then opened my backpack and pulled out the stuff I’d taken from Tessa at the neuro center. I mixed it all together in a silver bowl—blood, hair, swabs, fingernails—to form a disgusting gloppy soup, then painted it around the edge of the diagram. Once I finished, I set the bowl aside and sat back on my heels to examine my work. It looked as if I’d done everything right, but this was so new to me that I had no idea if I’d even be able to see if I’d screwed something obvious up. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. Nothing to do now but keep going and hope for the best.

I stood and pulled potency. It came into my control sluggishly and unevenly, but since I wasn’t going to try to create a portal, it didn’t matter that it pulsed erratically. Or at least I hoped it didn’t. Rhyzkahl had said that the phase of the moon wouldn’t matter—which was a good thing, since there were a number of stages to this ritual that would need to be completed over the next several days.

I cha

Seriously unimpressive.

I could only hope that Rhyzkahl knew what the fuck he was talking about.

Chapter 12

As soon as I made it in to the station the next morning, I went to my sergeant’s office to give him a rundown of what Doc had found during the autopsies of Brian and Carol Roth.

Crawford nodded slowly after I finished. “Okay,” he said, turning his pen end over end. “So, Carol Roth might have been killed by someone other than Brian, which then casts a great deal of doubt on his death being a suicide.”

“Right. And if we wait for test results, any trail could be too cold to follow.”

“God, it would feel good to clear him of this shit.” Crawford tapped the pen on his blotter, a flicker of a grimace passing over his face. “I hate to do this, but … I’m going to give these two cases to Pellini.”

I stared at him, certain that I had misheard him. “Sarge,” I said, trying not to stutter in outrage. “Pellini has a backlog of cases. He can’t write a coherent report to save his life. He’s marking time until he can retire. The only other case I have is Davis Sharp. I can do this!”

Crawford shook his head. “I know you can, Kara, but … I was told to reassign these cases.” He looked pissed, which made me feel slightly better. At least this wasn’t because he thought I couldn’t handle the caseload.

“I guess the theory is that there’ll be too many ill feelings if you start getting all the juicy cases,” he continued. “We don’t have that many murders around here, and the other detectives want their share.” He pulled a sour face, and I knew that he didn’t really give a shit about hurt feelings.

I still didn’t bother to hide my scowl. Unfortunately, there was a measure of truth to what he’d said. There was already some resentment and ill will toward me over the resolution of the Symbol Man case and my strange disappearance, and Sarge was only doing what he’d been told to do.

But Pellini? I’d counted myself lucky that I’d never had to work directly with the dour, overweight detective. He’d been with Beaulac PD for only four years, after fifteen with NOPD, and so far the best impression I had of him was that he was lazy, sloppy, and generally unpleasant to be around. He seemed miserable, and I had the feeling that the only joy he had in life was when he was making other people miserable as well. But would cases be reassigned just because of his whining? He whined about everything. Usually everyone simply ignored it.

“Go get him up to speed on what you have so far, Kara.” Then Crawford paused. “Give him a chance. He does have a lot of experience.” But I could see the doubt in his eyes.

I nodded and muttered something about typing my notes up, then left Crawford’s office to return to my own. It took me only about twenty minutes to type what I had so far on the two deaths, but I was as detailed and thorough as possible so that no one could point any fingers at the quality of the work I turned over to Pellini. I wanted to dither and put off handing the cases over to him, but unfortunately I had too much else I needed to do. As soon as I finished typing, I printed the reports out, then made my way to Pellini’s office.

His door stood open and I could see him leaning back in his chair, looking at something on his computer. The screen was faced away from me, so I couldn’t tell what it was. But when he saw me in the doorway, he clicked on something else, making me suspect that it hadn’t exactly been work-related—not that I had any room to judge, since I did my own share of Internet surfing on taxpayer dollars. Pellini’s office was about half again the size of mine, which meant that it was the size of a large closet. Pellini was as well, or darn near. He was big and blustery, with greasy black hair and a thick mustache that looked like it belonged on a seventies-era porn star. The rest of him was far from porn-star quality, though. He’d given up on maintaining any sort of physical standard well over a decade ago, and his belly hung so far over his belt that I had a hard time imagining how he put his pants on. Not that I tended toward mental exercises related to Pellini and his pants …