Sins of the Demon (21 page)

Demon bodyguard Mom. I hid a smile, returned inside, and continued on down the hallway to the kitchen. “It’s pretty obvious that whoever’s behind these murders is some sort of arcane practitioner,” I said as I poured myself a cup of coffee. “And considering that I was attacked by that
graa
—”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “I believe you were also dosed with something, though I do not believe it was exactly the same substance as the other victims.”

I turned around. “Um. Yeah, I had this whole long explanation that I was going to use to convince you that the whole thing was related, but I guess I don’t need to go into that now.”

“You do not. I also believe that the cuff has been muting the effects.”

“Right,” I said. “Because, as far as I can tell, I’ve gone batshit at least three times—I threw my coffee at Roman, I attempted to molest Ryan, and I went off on Rhyzkahl.” I grimaced. “And each time it’s been when I wasn’t wearing the cuff.”

“Yes. And I do not believe that any of these were specific, directed attacks—merely episodes brought on by the loss of inhibitions that this drug apparently causes.”

“In other words,” I said, “you don’t think I was drugged specifically to make me want to sleep with Ryan.”

Her mouth twitched. “I think that, with the cuff off, your normal iron self-control was lowered.”

I snorted softly and sat at the table. “The question now is, what the hell do we do about it?”

“We should go eat pancakes,” the demon said.

“Pancakes?”

She nodded firmly. “Everything is better with pancakes.”

“I’m not about to argue with you,” I said. “You making?”

“No,” she said with a smile. “You are buying.”

Lake O’ Butter pancake house was fairly well populated at seven a.m. on a Tuesday morning, though fortunately there still seemed to be a few available tables. Probably another hour before they really hit a rush, I figured. The welcoming scents of butter and coffee hugged us as we walked in, along with the clatter of plates and the clipped commands of the short order cook. Formica tables looked like they’d been salvaged from a fire sale, the vinyl chairs had more cracks than an old woman’s heels, and the silverware was usually battered and bent, but the pancakes were fluffily sinful, the cooks used real butter, and the blueberry syrup was made from a patch in the owner’s back yard. For breakfast it was nothing short of luscious. Lunch or dinner was another matter entirely. I’d only made the mistake of ordering a tuna salad sandwich here once.

A waitress grabbed menus, and gave us a thin-smiled order to follow her. I started to comply, then paused at the sight of Roman at a table in the corner. He had his back to me and papers spread out on the table in front of him. Guilt shuddered through me at my behavior the other day. “Eilahn, give me a minute, okay?”

She followed my gaze, gave a slow nod. “I will order coffee for you,” she said.

She knew me too well.

Taking a deep breath, I walked to his table. “Hi, Roman.”

He lifted his head, gave me an uncertain and cautious look. He looked tired and had a faint dusting of stubble on his chin. “Er, hi, Kara.”

“I’m sorry,” I said in a rush. “I don’t know why the hell I did that to you yesterday.”

Giving a self-conscious laugh, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe because I deserved it?” He gestured toward the seat opposite him. I slid onto it, relieved, then shifted as a wayward crack of vinyl poked my backside.

“No, you really didn’t,” I said as I found a more comfortable spot. “People ask for that sort of thing all the time. And, to be honest, we do it all the time. Not fixing it, but it’s not that tough to get tickets reduced, depending on your driving record. That sort of thing.”

“It’s all right,” he said, meeting my eyes. Some of the fatigue seemed to have cleared from his expression. “I can afford it, and I
was
speeding.”

“Okay, but still,” I said, “last time I checked, the standard punishment for speeding didn’t include getting scalded with hot coffee.”

He cast his eyes upward, and pretended to consider. “Well, maybe when you factor in court costs… .” He chuckled and dropped his eyes back to me. “Seriously, though, apology accepted.”

“Thanks.” I skimmed my eyes over the papers in front of him without being too obviously intrusive. There was a stack of what looked like account statements, and some
letters that looked like they were from law firms. “What’s all this? One of your investments?”

“Something like that,” he replied. “I’m part owner of an industrial park on the northeast side of town, and I’m trying to see if anything can be done with it that’ll allow us to turn a profit.” His eyes shadowed. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m not with ESPN anymore.”

I winced. “No, I hadn’t heard. Um, was this your decision?”

His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I was asked to ‘voluntarily’ resign earlier this spring. Personality conflicts.” A scowl briefly crossed his face before being wiped away by a sardonic smile. “So now I’m looking for other opportunities for a beat-up ex-football player.”

“You’ll land on your feet,” I assured him.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” he said, smile turning warm. “But yeah, I’ll be all right. I have money put away, and I’ve made some good investments that will keep me comfortable for a long time.”

“Sounds like something I need to start doing,” I said with a grin. “I need me some lifetime security.”

He chuckled. “I’d be more than happy to set you up with my financial advisor.”

Snorting, I shook my head. “Dude, I appreciate the thought, but right now I think I have an extra seventy-three dollars in my checking account that I could spare.”

“All the more reason to talk to a professional,” he said with a knowing tilt of his head.

“You have a point,” I conceded. “Are you still leaving town tomorrow?”

He wrinkled his nose in annoyance. “One of the shareholders is dragging his feet on signing some paperwork.
I’ll probably be here another week.” He glanced at his watch and winced. “Speaking of, I’m about to be late for a meeting about that project.” He began gathering his papers up, but paused to give me another smile. “I’m glad to see you’re doing so well, Kara.”

“You too, Roman,” I replied.

He slid his papers into a briefcase and stood, then leaned over to give me a kiss on the cheek before turning and walking on out. Mouth pursed in thought, I watched him go. He’d changed a lot in the years since we’d briefly dated. Silly of me to expect him to be the same person. I sure as hell wasn’t.

I stood, made my way over to the table that Eilahn had staked out, dropped into a seat.

“All is well with your former paramour?” she asked.

I picked up the menu. “Seems to be.” The waitress came over to fill my coffee cup. I gave her a grateful smile, then proceeded to add sugar and creamer. I waited until the waitress walked off, then looked back up at the demon.

She opened her mouth to speak, then paused and turned to look at the door. I followed her gaze to see Zack and Jill enter the restaurant. Zack hadn’t changed in the weeks since I’d seen him. A bit less tan perhaps, but his hair was still as pale-blond as if he spent every day on a surfboard. Which, supposedly, he did during the warmer months, though now that I knew that he was a demon I had to wonder how much of that was true and how much was simply cover story.

The pair headed straight for our table without a second’s hesitation, and I gave Eilahn a narrow-eyed glare. “You called the others?”

“I did,” she answered serenely as she quickly inscribed the anti-eavesdropping sigil on the table. “You have many tribulations at the moment and require the assistance of those you call friend. And I knew you would not ask them for that assistance.”

I frowned. She was right. It seemed more than a little selfish to call people up and say, “Hey, I have a problem, can you drop everything and help me?”
But that’s what friends DO, moron
, I chided myself. I was still getting used to the whole dynamic, obviously.

“Hiya, chick,” Jill said. Her tone was bright, but her expression was fierce.

“Hiya, yourself,” I said. “I hear my roommate’s been tattling on me.”

Jill gave a shrug and a grin. “Nah, she just said you were buying breakfast.”

“Sure. What the hell,” I said with a laugh. “At least it’s pancakes and not steaks. Is Ryan coming as well?”

“Right behind us,” Zack said with a jerk of his head toward the door. True to his word, the man in question entered as if on cue.

Ryan paused as soon as he entered and did a scan of the interior. I could see him mentally cataloguing the occupants and exits—possibly not even aware he was doing so. Maybe that was why it was so hard for me to wrap my head around the “he’s a demonic lord” idea. Other than a couple of rare breaks in the façade, he was every inch the federal agent. And his personal history was insanely complete as well.
Could I be wrong?

No, I knew what I’d seen. And Eilahn had definitely shouted the name “Szerain.” I also knew, logically, that I should be as wary of him as I was of Rhyzkahl. Maybe it
was easier to trust him because he never—well, almost never—acted like a demonic lord?
Dear Santa
, I thought,
what I want for Christmas is for all this crap to make sense
.

Ryan headed to our table and slid into the empty chair beside me, positioning himself so that he still had a good view of the room and the entrance. “Morning,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

“We should order,” Eilahn instructed. “And then Kara can fill you all in.”

Ryan gave me a questioning look. “Is it the usual? Life in danger, world ending, nasty magic creatures running around unchecked?”

Laughing, I nodded. “That about covers it!”

Breakfast was duly ordered and much coffee consumed, then I filled them in on everything I knew—the deaths, my connection to the victims, the portals, the
graa
attack, the cuff and what it was for, and the suspicion that I’d been drugged.

A silence fell after I finished.

“Goddamn, I’m glad we ate first,” Zack finally said. A laugh swept the table, nicely breaking the tension.

Jill leaned her elbows on the table and propped her chin in her hands. “You suspect that the victims were given something that gave ’em temporary magic? Or whatever the fuck it is you do,” she added with a wink at me.

Grimacing, I rubbed my temples. “I think their sensitivity is being increased, and somehow they’re drawn to the resonance these portals have.”

“And then when they actually find one it overloads their brains?” she asked.

“That’s the working hypothesis,” I said. “As far as I know, none of those people had any sort of arcane skill, or if so, only a trickle.”

“Is there a drug that can do that?” Ryan asked. To my surprise he looked over to Eilahn for an answer.

The demon pursed her lips, frowning. “I have heard of such—compounds that can open the channels used for manipulating and detecting power flows.”

Zack tensed, and alarm flashed quickly across his face. He quickly schooled his features, but his eyes flicked toward Ryan then away. I had the impression he had something to say but didn’t dare.

Ryan doesn’t know Zack is a demon
, I reminded myself.
If Zack revealed knowledge of that world it would give him away.
In other words, I needed to find a way to get him to spill what he knew. Not an easy task since Zack was oathbound against talking about much demon stuff.

“Use of these compounds is generally proscribed,” Eilahn continued, “due to the unpredictable and dangerous side effects.”

“Would stuff like that show up on a tox screen?” Jill asked.

“Doubtful,” Eilahn said, forehead puckering. “Most of the ingredients used can only be found in the demon realm.”

“Yeah, Doc’s in a tizzy,” I said. “He can’t figure out what’s causing these strokes.”

“Poor guy.” Jill grimaced. “It’s not like you can clue him in that it’s something out of this world.”

“No kidding!” I said. “He already thinks I’m weird enough.”

“Is Kara in danger of having a stroke?” Ryan asked Eilahn, face dark and serious.

“It is my suspicion that Kara is being affected by a different substance than the others,” Eilahn stated. “She already has extensive arcane skills.”

I noticed that Eilahn didn’t answer Ryan’s question. “Well, that’s cheery,” I said. “But if the others were used to find portals, that means I was tagged to find something as well. Plus,” I lifted my arm and shoved my sleeve back, “I’m only experiencing side effects when I’m not wearing this thing.”

Jill leaned forward to snag the maple syrup. “And you think this
graa
attacked these other victims as well? Wouldn’t they have freaked the hell out?”

“Demons are fast,” Eilahn answered. “All it had to do was scratch them. It’s quite possible they never saw it, especially if it was dark.”

“Hang on.” I yanked my phone out of my bag, then thumbed in a text to my aunt.
Can you pls ask Carl if stroke vics had any weird scratches on bodies?

“Let’s make sure there’s really a connection before we get too confused,” I explained to the others. “If the
graa
is the common vector, then we know our main focus is finding the summoner who called it.” A few seconds later my phone dinged.
Yes.

Frowning, I texted a reply:
is that yes they had scratches or yes you can ask him?

I scowled at the phone as I waited.

yes to both. Vics had deep scratches. I’ll have Carl let me into morgue so I can check if from demon.

I related the exchange to the others.

“Your aunt rocks,” Jill said. “She’s weird and scary, but she rocks.” She tilted her head. “Kinda like you.”

“Thanks,” I said drily.

Jill grinned then tapped the table. “But I don’t understand something. Why would someone set Kara up to make her look like a possible killer and then also drug or poison her?”

I sat back. “Right. That doesn’t make sense to me either.”