No Place Like Hell (5 page)

"Silent alarm, the pigs said. It was a trap. He set me up to look responsible. But why? It wouldn't save him."

"Blood and sacrifice," the demon muttered.

"Exactly."

The demon's eyes widened. "It was a
sacrifice
? Decker didn't die of natural causes?"

"There were runes drawn on the floor and imbued with power. A bewitched blade was used to cut the soul free. The magic carried a trace of Holmes."

Seve sucked in a breath. "Decker and Holmes are linked?"

Kasker nodded.

"Did Decker fight?"

"No sign of it."

"The blade, it was white? And the runes spiral out to a portal?"

Kasker stared at the demon. "To the back door. You've heard of this?"

"Si, many years ago. I thought the knowledge lost."

"Is it of the angels? Why would they save a man like Decker?"

"No, sabueso, of the
universe
, and therefore much more dangerous, especially in the hands of a soul like Holmes."

Seve sat back in the padded seat and sipped his coffee while Kasker considered what the demon had said. Magicks loose in the world… they could have consequences greater than the salvation or damnation of a few souls.

"What do you know?"

Seve blotted his lips with a white linen napkin. "The ritual severs the binding and frees the soul."

Kasker chafed at the demon's reply. This much he knew already. "So the soul escapes into nothingness instead of being swallowed by Hell. Humans cling to their lives. They would agree to die this way to escape their fate?"

The demon put his fingertips against his temples. "The soul still yearns for existence. The rune path guides it in a search for new blood, new flesh."

"The loosed soul has the power to kill?" Kasker asked. He wiped a wrist across his forehead.

"No, no. It is weak and blind. It seeks warm, unoccupied flesh, just as we do when we manifest here. There may have been a second sacrifice nearby, one that prepared a new vessel for occupation. Did you sense it?"

Kasker frowned at the table and thought back to the night before. "How near?"

"In the past, the receptacle waited on the other side of the door."

"If Holmes sacrificed another so Decker could take its flesh, it had to be done near the bookstore. I sensed no dispossessed souls in the alley, and I would have smelled Holmes if he were nearby."

Kasker rubbed a hand across his mouth and wondered if that were true. He'd broken the rules and taken the flesh because he'd been unable to trace Holmes since his escape from Hell. He'd caught whiffs of his prey in the Solaris area, but never enough to track. How was Holmes hiding the scent of his damnation?

"Then perhaps the transfer was unsuccessful and the universe has taken the soul owed me. If this was Holmes' first attempt to wield the power, he may not have mastered it yet."

"How does Holmes come by this knowledge?" Kasker asked.

The demon pushed his coffee cup away. "There is a tome, thought destroyed. The freeing of souls is but one secret it illuminates. Great harm can be done with the knowledge in it. Perhaps even the unmaking of Heaven and Hell. To find it, you must seek answers from another, one who stands outside our paradigm."

Kasker shifted on the bench. "I'm a simple hunter. Saving Heaven and Hell is beyond my purpose."

"You are sabueso del infierno, the greatest hunter in Heaven, Hell, or the universe. The one who can help will not wish to be found, but no one is better qualified than you to locate the Oracle."

7

My feet ached, and I wished Mayor Newell would get on with it. The conference room at the hospital was hot and stuffy. Antiseptic tainted the air and burned my nostrils. We stood on a low stage at the front of the windowless room. A bevy of reporters and photographers gathered before us, jostling for places in the front row.

Dave and I were to the mayor's left. His son sat in a wheelchair to his right. No way the mayor would allow himself to be trimmed from any photos. He might be short, bald, and chunky, but he looked sharp in his fancy three-piece suit, gold ring flashing on his pinky finger.

Mayor Newell was running one sentence of thank you to twenty sentences of his usual political propaganda. He bragged about how he'd increased the number of officers on the streets, how he'd cut the crime rate. No mention of last night's horrific murder, although I was sure the press would ask if given the whisper of a chance.

"And here she is, folks. Officer Demasi, the first female patrol officer on the Solaris PD and the person responsible for saving my son."

Flashbulbs blinded me. Too late, I wiped the automatic smile from my face. I didn't want people to think I was a bit of fluff. Stern Officer Demasi. That's how I wanted to be immortalized.

"Can we get you and the mayor's son together?" one of the photographers shouted.

The mayor took my elbow and guided me to a place behind his son's wheelchair. He pressed close to me and smiled. The smell of cigarettes mingled with his overpowering cologne to create a nauseating odor. I thought I might barf in his son's lap if we didn't finish soon. Lucky Dave stood on the other side of the podium, stifling his amusement.

"Okay, folks," the mayor's rat-faced press secretary said. "That'll be it for now. The mayor's a busy man."

The press grumbled but took their cue and dispersed from the hospital conference room.

The mayor patted his son's shoulder. "Remember what the doctor said. No strenuous activity, which means you can't chase your nurse—or Officer Demasi."

Newell gave a forced chuckle and grimaced once his father's back was turned. He'd been silent throughout the press conference.

The mayor hurried away, the press secretary scurrying behind. I'd intended to make my own hasty exit, but Newell caught my forearm.

"I'd like to apologize for my father's comment," he said in a raspy, soft-spoken voice. "We haven't been properly introduced. And I haven't had a chance to thank you, either."

He held out a hand. "Tad Newell."

My face heated like a bonfire. "Officer Demasi."

His hand remained in the air. Belatedly, I gave it a weak squeeze. "No need to thank me. I was just doing my job."

He looked like hell. One side of his face was masked in scrapes, and the other was purple edging into green. I couldn't imagine how Dave had recognized him.

"Then thank you for being expert at your job and saving my life." He smiled through puffy lips. It sent a tingle along my skin.

"Mr. Newell, if you wouldn't mind, I have a couple of questions," Dave said, pulling his notebook from his shirt pocket.

Tad shifted his gaze to my partner as if he'd just become aware of Dave's presence. "Of course. Anything I can do to help."

"Can you tell us how the accident happened?" my partner asked.

"Well… no." Tad studied his hands where they lay on a red plaid robe. "It's all gone. I don't remember anything about yesterday. I don't remember getting up. I don't remember having lunch with my dad, although he says we did. I must have been thinking about something and stepped off the curb without looking."

Dave waited, silent. I wondered what he was fishing for. When he didn't get anything more, he pressed on.

"Any idea what you were doing in that neighborhood? Buying something at a business? Visiting a friend?" Dave tapped his pencil on the page.

"Is that relevant? I was in the wrong. I've convinced my father we shouldn't press charges against that poor kid who hit me."

"You know how it is," Dave said. "We have to dot all the I's and cross all the T's or the duty sergeant will be on our case for not being thorough."

"I don't know why I was there, although I'm sure I had a good reason when I set out. There's nothing listed in my day planner." Tad hung his head. "Sorry. I wish I could be more help. The doctor says my memory might come back eventually."

He turned his attention my direction. "Maybe you could help me?"

"Me?" It came out shrill. I threw up my hands. "I'm not a psychiatrist."

Tad laughed. It was a low, throaty sound that resonated all the way to my bones.

"You were there when it happened. I thought maybe if you told me about it over lunch tomorrow, it might jog my memory."

"Lunch?" I'd become a monosyllabic mimic.

"They're discharging me tomorrow morning. Let me buy you lunch. I have to do something to repay you."

"No, really—" I wanted to melt into the floor.

Tad's fingers took mine, and he gave me a hangdog look. "You wouldn't turn down an injured vet would you?"

Dave seemed terribly interested in the carpet. My face had gone from a bonfire to a forest fire.

"Travo's at one?" Tad suggested.

I looked into those sad, swollen hazel eyes and felt my resistance drop all the way to my uncomfortable uniform dress shoes.

"Okay, Travo's at one. Now we have to go. Duty calls."

"You must be slammed. I saw in the morning paper about that man they found in the bookstore. Surely they have you, Solaris' finest, on the case?"

I hesitated, uncertain about whether he was making fun of me. "I'm just a patrol officer. The detectives handle the murders."

I pulled my hand from Tad's grip and hurried down the aisle to the exit doors. Dave's footsteps thudded on the carpet behind me. At the last minute, I wondered whether Tad needed help to get back to his room. I stopped a candy-striper in the hall and suggested she check on him.

In the parking lot, the afternoon sun felt hot enough to bubble the paint on the car. Dave grabbed the driver's side before I could react. We both slid into our mobile oven.

"Lunch, huh?" Dave said, maneuvering us onto the road.

"What was I supposed to do? He insisted. It's just lunch. In a public restaurant." I was a nervous wreck. Why had I agreed?

"Just remember, he's the mayor's son. That gives him power. If he doesn't get what he wants, he can explode your career like an A-bomb."

The bomb had already gone off—in my stomach.

8

Kasker stared through the open car window at the storefront. Sweat dampened his forehead and trickled down his ribs to form dark circles on his tank top. His back stuck to the Naugahyde upholstery. He barely noticed his discomfort.

Hawaiian Mike's Meditation Center
the overhead sign read. The window displayed an image of some Indian god or goddess, seated, with one pair of arms held palms together over the head, and another pair resting on the knees, thumb and middle finger forming Os. Printing at the bottom of the window advertised incense, candles, yoga mats, and meditation classes.

Kasker shifted position. A sense of unease kept him in the stifling heat when he should be inside seeking the Oracle. He hadn't slept since sometime yesterday morning, and the flesh yearned for rest. He couldn't drive it much further before it would stop responding to his will. Already, behind his eyes, sharp pain throbbed.

After his discussion with Seve, he'd visited bookshops to ask about texts on fortune telling, astrology, magic, prognostication. Bookshops always attracted the believers. They came seeking arcane texts and assurances of their own worth. They came to learn about life after death.

After he'd expressed an interest in such things, it was easy to strike up a conversation about practitioners of the arcane arts in the area. Solaris seemed to draw them like maggots to dead flesh. He'd tracked one after another through the long, hot day. They were all shams.

Seve was right. The Oracle was a bitch to find. But Kasker was the hunter. He never quit. Eventually, he always located his prey.

He'd ended up here, on the doorstep of what must be the most powerful creature in the universe. It masqueraded as a human, which seemed implausible. Why would any creature with a choice take the flesh?

He didn't understand how he knew, but in his gut, he could feel the weave of the life, the texture of the choices made. This one was beyond the reach of Heaven or Hell. This one brought danger.

Two attractive co-eds strolled down the street, opened the shop door, and went in. His worry was such that the flesh failed to respond to them despite their long shapely bare legs and jiggling breasts.

He lost sight of them between the display shelves, but tracked their souls to the back of the building. He'd wait until they left. Then there'd be no one inside to see should he need to shed the flesh.

Over the next few minutes, ten more people arrived, some male, some female, all upper-class and ranging from late teens to middle-aged. Twelve souls inside, and with the proprietor, thirteen. Thirteen, a number of power.

He wiped moist palms on his shirt. Perhaps they were a coven. If so, whatever magic they practiced gave off no strange vibes like the knife. Still, he didn't want to risk going in while they were at full strength.

Forty-five scorching minutes passed before the occupants trickled out in ones and twos. The strange soul of the proprietor lingered in the middle of the shop. Then it moved through the front door and onto the sidewalk.