Night of Demons - 02 (5 page)

The house was fast asleep. Darkness and silence hung about it like a pair of overlapping shrouds. There were not even any ticking clocks. Stephen Anderson had always hated those, and made it his habit to buy only electric ones.

His was a two-story home, painted white and with a green-tiled roof, in the area of town known as East Crealley. With small variations, the other houses around it looked pretty much the same for block after block. There were two cars on the driveway, since both adults worked. An aluminum swimming pool out back—little more, in truth, than a large hot tub without the benefit of any heat. And beyond that, an old apple tree, a swing hanging from one of its stouter branches. There were a few scattered balls and other toys. And a kennel occupying the rear corner of the yard, sitting empty.

There’d been a dog until two weeks ago. But Rusty, a friendly but rather dumb Labrador cross, had taken badly sick this summer, and had had to be put down. It was the worst tragedy this family had ever known. Both kids, as soon as they were awake, would whine about it constantly, and their parents were looking for a suitable replacement.

In the smallest bedroom, at the front of the house, slept Joe. He was six, liked comics and superhero TV shows. His sister, Aggie, next door, cared for neither. She was two years older, and already displaying a notable musical talent. There were a flute and oboe in her room—she practiced the whole time. She wanted to move on to alto sax, and was dreaming about playing a solo in the Liberty Theatre on Union Square, which also doubled as a concert hall.

In the largest bedroom, at the back, Stephen Anderson lay slumbering next to his wife, Christine. They were not snugglers, which did not mean that their marriage was emotionally lacking. Nothing could be further from the truth, in fact. They simply needed their own space to get a good night’s sleep, and so had bought the widest bed that they could find.

Stephen worked for one of the Landing’s few insurance companies. There were only two, if the truth be told. It wasn’t a popular business to be in around these parts, for obvious reasons. Both companies had pages of disclaimers attached to their simplest policies. But there’d been a fire recently, at one of the warehouses in the commercial district. And it had not been caused by supernatural forces. Stephen was still trying to crunch the numbers properly, the claimant’s attorney arguing with him at every turn. It had been a rather trying week.

Christine was a high-school teacher. She was good at it, but got far too involved in her students’ lives. Their problems became hers as well. And one of them, a bright thirteen-year-old girl with a promising future ahead of her, was suffering from depression and had even threatened suicide. It had affected Christine badly. She had poured herself a glass of Scotch this evening, before turning in.

Her mouth dropped open, and she began snoring faintly. So the silence in the room was broken, just a little bit.

And then—as if summoned by the noise—there was sudden motion at the window.

One small pane had been left open. Neither of them slept well in a stuffy room. There was not the slightest breeze outside, so the drapes didn’t tremble. But a portion of the darkness directly outside their window…

Seemed to detach itself from the rest, revealing itself as a much paler gray. It moved to the opening.

Wafted in, tendrils of it spreading out across the ceiling. Formed a thick pall of vapor, the same color as a heavy fog. Parts of it would swell, come boiling outward, then shrink back again. Once that it had entered completely, it hung over the couple like a canopy, expanding and contracting gently as though it were breathing.

Christine gave a gentle grunt, then her lips pressed together and her snoring stopped. Her husband’s mouth dropped open instead. They always did everything that way, one picking up where the other had left off.

And that seemed to be the signal that the gray mist had been waiting for. It coalesced abruptly, drawing itself in tight. And then started funneling down in a thin, dank stream.

It went into Stephen’s throat, until every last scrap of it had disappeared.

The man coughed. Then his jaws clamped shut, the muscles in them going very tight. His whole body went rigid for a second.

It relaxed again. He sat up on the mattress in one smooth motion, the quilt dropping away from his chest. His face was completely blank. His eyes came open, very wide. Their normal blue was gone. There were gray from lid to lid. The color swirled before becoming solid.

Stephen smiled—but there was no humor in his expression. Then he murmured two words, in a tone far deeper than was normally his own.

“Special fun.”

He peered around carefully. Being careful not to wake Christine, he climbed out of bed and started heading down toward the kitchen, where the sharpest knives were kept.

The owner of the heels—they sounded like pretty high ones—finally came to a halt bolt upright in the conservatory’s doorway. And that was when I recognized her. Or rather, realized that I’d seen her from a distance a couple of times. It had been at the big garden parties thrown by Raine’s distinguished father, back when I had been a cop.

I’d never spoken to her, but knew a bit about her history. This was Millicent, Lucas Tollburn’s sole surviving grandchild. The man had had two children, a son and a daughter. The latter had never married, and was a reclusive type. But his boy, Tremayne, had continued the bloodline with three kids of his own.

One had fallen to a childhood illness. The second had died in an accident when he had been fifteen. Millicent here was the last one left. It wasn’t exactly the happiest of sagas, but that’s often the case with wealthy families.

There was something else I knew about her too. Not so long ago, she’d married into the Vernon dynasty. It had been Gaspar’s nephew Todd. She’d stayed with him for barely a year, and word had it she’d done very well for herself out of the divorce.

These days, she’d reverted to her family name. She had to be in her midthirties, not the slightest crease or shadow on her expertly made-up face. At this hour? Where’d she been? And she was dressed from head to toe in designer clothing, all of it the darkest shade of blue. Her hair was a lustrous brown, and was tied back in a ponytail. Her eyes were the same peculiar turquoise as her granddad’s. She wore a silver pendant with one large diamond in it—not a magical device, so far as I could tell—and a few narrow but expensive-looking rings. And she stood about five foot seven, very slim. She might even have been attractive save for one small adjective. The word for the way she looked was “pointy.”

Her nose and chin had plenty of that quality. And her ears were rather that way too. Whoever had carved her cheekbones had overdone it with the chisel. And when you saw the way she held herself, the angle of her limbs, you quickly understood that this was someone who was sharp all over. Even her bright gaze, which swept across us quickly as if summing us up. You could cut yourself badly on Ms. Tollburn—I was left in very little doubt of that.

I also knew that she was just a minor leaguer in the hierarchy of adepts. Lucas must have taught her some tricks—that went without saying. But she seemed to prefer using other means to get the things she wanted. Judging by the way she’d prospered, it was a reasonable guess that she was pretty good at that.

The look on her face was haughty, her eyebrows lifted like a distant pair of birds in flight. And then she looked down at the floor, and her whole expression changed.

Although…I wasn’t really certain what to, during those first few seconds. Her face didn’t seem sure what shape it wanted to take. As if a dozen different emotions were clashing across it, disbelief and denial at one end of the scale, fright and anger at the other.

Partly she was confused, and I gave her that. But it seemed to me like she was trying to choose what to show the rest of us.

She finally decided. Her mouth contracted and her eyes grew very wide.

“Poppy!”

She came hurrying forward with tears welling up in her eyes. And was practically touching the corpse, when Saul grabbed her gently by the shoulders.

“Let go of me, you imbecile!”

She lashed out at him, catching him on the cheek with her long fingernails. But Saul hung on, moving his grasp down so that her upper arms were pinned to her sides.

“This is a crime scene, Miss,” he told her. “I’m genuinely sorry, but you can’t do that.”

She seemed to think it over, and then quieted down. Her chest was going like a bellows, but no more tears came spilling out. Looking at her carefully, I could see her cheeks were barely wet.

The forensics guys were both watching the scene unhappily, as was Hugh Williams, who’d come stumbling along behind her. Cassie hadn’t even moved. She was still standing by the glass, her arms folded in front of her. And by the steadiness of her gaze, I could see she wasn’t impressed by the woman either. But then, Cass generally has little time for wealthy folk and their petty antics.

Millicent stared around at us.

“Who’d do such a thing?” she blurted. “He was such a well-loved man.”

Saul let go of her and straightened his tie. A spot of blood had appeared on his cheek, but he just ignored it. In fact, he looked as solemn as an undertaker. People tend to forget that dealing with not merely death, but bereavement, is a major part of a cop’s job.

“I know,” he nodded quietly. “And I understand how you must feel. We’re going to do everything we can to get to the bottom of this.”

Which didn’t seem to reassure her even a tiny bit. Her eyes took on a fiery glitter, venom creeping back into her voice.

“You’re treating this like a normal case?”

It was the first time in ages I had seen Saul look so flustered.

“We’re giving it top priority, Miss Tollburn. You have my word.”

“And where are the others? Vernon? The McGinleys? He was one of theirs! Why aren’t they here?”

Which was not police business, but Saul still felt obliged to answer.

“The judge was here earlier. He alerted us, in fact. You know perfectly well—Miss—that we have an understanding with the adepts in cases like this. If there’s nothing supernatural involved, then it’s up to my department and to no one else. And there seems to be no magic here.”

“You’re treating this as commonplace? The death of the most revered man in this entire town?”

“I know. Again, I’m sorry.”

She took a step back, something happening to her features once again. Softer quivers played across them, the small muscles working by themselves. And I thought I saw a strange glint in her piercing gaze. Then her face rearranged itself until it gave away precisely nothing. The dampness of her stare was like a pane of opaque glass. And when she spoke again, her tone was mollified.

“All right, then. I understand your position and respect it. But can I stay a little while, at least?”

I saw Cass jut her lower lip out. And Saul looked extremely doubtful.

“To be honest, it would be much better—”

“Yes,” she cut him off. “I know what the procedure is. But my Poppy and I were very close, and his death has been so sudden, unexpected. Could I simply spend a little time here, simply to say goodbye to him?”

She was exploiting Saul’s good nature, and I knew it. But he didn’t seem to have it in him to refuse the woman, she sounded so sincere.

“Just two minutes,” he replied quietly. “And you can get no closer than about four feet. Please don’t disturb anything.”

She nodded. “Certainly. Of course.”

Millicent stepped up to her grandfather’s body. Folded her hands in front of her and bowed her head a couple of inches. Then she looked around at us again.

“If I might be allowed a little privacy?”

“Right,” Saul muttered.

He turned away, closing in quickly on Hugh Williams, and I followed him. I could see by the set of his shoulders how angry he was. Not that it was my place to interfere. What Saul does with his people is his concern—I’d known that ever since I’d quit.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he hissed at his subordinate, once we were out of earshot. “How did she get past you? You have to be twice her size.”

Hugh looked like someone who had trodden on a kid’s pet hamster and was trying to hide it underneath his shoe.

“I’m sorry, Lieu. I tried to, really. But she made like she was going to cast a spell on me.”

“And you’re not used to magic yet?”

“You should have seen the look on her face.”

Saul was about to answer that, when a yell from Cassie brought us spinning around. Millicent was no longer standing reverently by her granddad. She had crossed over to the roll-top bureau at the center of the conservatory. Was crouching down in front of it, and rummaging through the drawers.

“Miss Tollburn?” Saul exploded.

And he lurched at her.

Cassie looked like she wanted to join in, and I felt the same impulse. But we both hung back. This was police business too. Although the look on Cass’s face spoke volumes. She’d known from the outset that we couldn’t trust this woman.

“Miss Tollburn, what the hell d’you think you’re doing?”

Millicent took no notice of him, and kept on searching for whatever she was after. There was a clattering as her narrow fingers scrabbled through the second drawer. I could see a huge cluster of magic implements in there. It was a pretty even guess, given who her granddad was, that some of them were pretty powerful devices. But her hands went past them. Kept feeling around like busy spiders.

Saul ran across and grabbed her by the shoulders again, rather more roughly than before, and hauled her off. By that time, she’d already reached the bottom drawer. She pulled it back with her as she was dragged away. There were a load of small black books in there. But apparently, they were not what she’d wanted.

Her face was slightly flushed, her brow damp. But other than that, she looked perfectly composed when he let her go and she stood back upright. I watched her carefully, trying to figure her out. Didn’t like just being a spectator in this fashion, but what option was there? This was still Saul’s show.

“What the hell were you looking for?” he demanded.

The briefest hint of a smile flicked across her narrow lips.

“That’s entirely my concern.”

“Not if I arrest you, it ain’t.”

“Should I call my lawyer?” she inquired.

Which amounted to an open threat. Since, if she did that, it would be a terribly expensive example of the breed who’d turn up at the station house. We each knew that. Hobart took a step away and looked her up and down, seeing her in a brand-new light, his face creased up with apprehension.

“How can you behave like this with your grandfather lying there?” he asked her. And then he gave up on politeness altogether. “Exactly what kind of vulture are you?”

Millicent did not look in the least embarrassed. If she disliked being called a name like that, she didn’t let it show. The expression on her face got milder, her thin eyebrows riding high again. But I could see that peculiar, faraway gleam in her eyes a second time. And I didn’t like the look of that one tiny bit. It seemed to add up to some kind of madness.

“When he was alive,” she told Saul, “I was welcome here any time I liked. Poppy always told me I should treat it as my home, and make use of anything I wanted. That was all that I was doing, to be honest. And actually, part of this place is mine now. Legally, I mean.”

She could have at least waited for the will to be read. Saul glanced across at me, an open question on his face. Should he cut her some slack, or start reaching for the handcuffs? Me, I had my own ideas. I gave my head the tiniest of shakes. He took a breath, and rounded on her.

“I don’t give a damn whose property this is. For the next few days, it’s under my jurisdiction. And I’m having tape put up, the kind that reads, very clearly, ‘Do Not Cross.’ I want you on the far side of it from this point onward. Understood?”

“With perfect clarity.”

She turned smartly on her heels, and marched out of the room again. I noticed one more thing when she did that. When she’d first come in, her attention had been pinioned to the body on the floor. But—leaving—she didn’t even glance in that direction, not for a split second. Like her granddad’s death was already forgotten. Like…the grieving of before had been nothing but an act.

The sound of her heels retreated. We were left with each other and our reflections to stare at. A few more spots of rain hit the roof of the conservatory, but it didn’t seem like that was going anywhere. Cassie let out a slow breath, and Saul peered at me warily.

“Explain to me?” he inquired. “Why did I just let her go?”

I was glad that he had taken my hint. We’d have gotten precisely nowhere if he had arrested her.

“She was looking for something,” I pointed out.

“But couldn’t find it,” Cassie added.

As is usually the case, she was already on my wavelength.

“She knew exactly where to look, but it wasn’t there. Which probably means whoever killed old Lucas took it. That’s our lead.”

Saul’s face went a few degrees more slack.

“Okay?” he grumbled. “So…this is your case now?”

I’d run into problems like this with him before. And knew that the best way to deal with it was simply to push on through. Our town’s only detective lieutenant is a reasonable man, and puts getting results before matters of protocol. So that generally works.

“Whatever she was looking for, there has to be some kind of sorcery involved. You know I’ve got a gift for stuff like that. And if you’ll excuse me for saying it, I was always better at tailing a suspect. You stand out too much.”

The big guy thought that quickly through, then acquiesced and nodded, staring at me wearily.

“I’ve still plenty of work here, I guess. See you later?”

“Count on it.”

“How about me?” Cassie asked.

I knew she didn’t like inaction. There was nothing I could do about it at that moment, though.

“I’ll bring you up to speed as soon as I know more.”

The set of her mouth got slightly anxious.

“You be careful. I’d say that one’s capable of turning pretty mean.”

But that was a place I’d been to plenty of times before. So I just headed back outside.