Diana Rowland - Sins of the Demon

Jill opened her mouth to speak then closed it as Pellini approached.

“Betcha it’s a drug overdose,” he said as he did his best to hoist his pants a little higher under his gut. “Fucking loser. What the fuck did you ever see in that dickhead, Gillian?”

Spreading my hands, I said, “Dude. I plead temporary insanity.” I knew the answer, though. I was lonely and desperate, and Thomas acted like he understood the lifestyle of a cop. After all, he’d been a fireman. Of course, later I found out that he’d been fired for a laundry list of infractions—everything from insubordination to violations of safety protocols that put his coworkers at risk.

Pellini huffed out a breath under his mustache. “He was a fucking whiny bitch, too. I was booking a prisoner into the jail same time he got brought in, and he was crying like a little kid who’d lost his puppy. What a dumbfuck.”

“You won’t get any argument from me,” I said.

He waddled off. Jill watched him go, then shot her attention back to me. “The jail,” she said. “These people all went through the jail here.”

I blinked. “That’s right.” I thought furiously for a moment. “And…my name would be in the records, in the victim impact statements.”

“Which means that whoever the summoner is, he or she has access to the arrest reports!”

“But it’s been long enough that those are public record now,” I pointed out, wincing. “That could be anybody.”

Jill frowned. “True. But what are the odds that whoever’s doing this saw you listed as a victim somewhere and then decided to see if there were any other instances? Isn’t it more likely that someone interested in finding people you didn’t care for would check to see if you’re listed as victim on any police reports?”

I considered her theory. It made sense. More sense than the theories I already had, which were nonexistent. “It’s possible,” I admitted, “but that’s still an insanely large pool. Not just law enforcement, but anyone who works in records, the DA’s office, the public defender’s office.…”

“Okay, okay!” She held her hands up in surrender. “But we can rule out David the barista, right?” she said with a laugh.

I tapped my chin. “Fine. We can eliminate David the barista as a suspect. For now! But if he turns out to be our summoner, then I’ll never let you live it down.”

“Deal!”

My phone buzzed with a text message from Tessa.

.…portal just below surface. Pls put wards back after they scrape turd off the lawn.

“Damn,” I muttered, stomach sinking. I glanced over at Jill. “Portal at the Nature Center. There goes my last hope that all of this was one big happy coincidence.”

She winced. “And still no clue what these portals are for?”

“Nothing solid.”

“So what now?”

“First, I’ll restore my aunt’s wards,” I said. “But after that…Well, three people are dead, I’m the most likely suspect, and I have no idea what direction to go next.” I flashed her a tight smile. “Therefore, I’m going to go home and go to bed.”

She gave my arm a light punch, smiled. “For once, you have your priorities in order.”

I made my way down the broad corridor, the stone floor smooth and cold against my bare feet. Light filtered through tall, broad windows covered with grime. A few were broken, and through the gaps I could see clear blue sky and distant mountain peaks. Along the walls hung tapestries that had probably once been vibrant and colorful, filled with dynamic scenes. Now most were in tatters, and those few that remained were too faded and stained to make out more than the occasional figure. A man in armor. A woman reaching for a flower. A reyza perched on a stone. Lanterns hung between the tapestries, heavy iron things with wells at the bottom that had probably held oil at one time. But now they were cold and dark, smeared with soot.

The hem of my dress brushed the stone with a soft susurration, and I slowed, not wanting to make even that much noise, even though there was no one nearby. I knew that. No one in the entire structure.

Frowning, I looked down at what I was wearing. A dark blue gown, intricately embroidered in silver thread with a pattern that I had trouble focusing on. Some sort of ivy perhaps. Or birds. Or birds in ivy.

I took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. I could feel the rush of air through my lungs, taste the dust of the place, feel the warmth of my expelled breath on my lips.

But I knew without a doubt that I was dreaming.

I’d been here before in dreams—once, no, twice on the roof with Rhyzkahl, and other times somewhere nearby—though they’d never been as vivid, as real as this. I didn’t know what exactly this place was—a keep, or fortress…something like that, nor did I have any idea where it was.

Only this time I’m completely aware that I’m dreaming. That’s a first.

Maybe I’d been thinking of Rhyzkahl as I fell asleep? Had I unwittingly called him to my dreams? Considering the various revelations of the day, it would be understandable. Yet if that was the case, where was the demonic lord?

I put my hand out to the wall. I am dreaming…right? Frowning, I lightly scraped my knuckles against the stone—not enough to draw blood, but enough to scratch the skin and send a light twinge of pain through my hand. Fear tightened my chest. Maybe I’ve been summoned…? But surely I’d be aware of that. It’s just a dream , I fought to reassure myself. I’d been in other sendings from the demonic lord that were indistinguishable from reality.

But why is this all so screamingly familiar?

The silence seemed to press down on me, but I wasn’t quite brave enough to shout, Hello , or anything like that. Even though I felt a deep certainty that I was the only living creature in this keep, and that I wasn’t really here, I’d seen enough horror movies to know that I could be quite wrong about both.

The corridor ended abruptly, opening into a vast hall lit only by dust-filled spears of sunlight coming from windows high on the walls. Surprised, I stood in the entrance to the corridor and took in the sight. Heavy tables and benches of dark wood filled the center of the hall. A higher table, that could easily seat forty, ran along a wall opposite an archway. Two chairs at the center of the table were intricately carved with scroll work and patterns I couldn’t quite make out, though both bore harsh slashes that revealed the lighter wood beneath the varnish—deep gouges that had to have been made by an ax or a seriously heavy sword. I tasted mildew in the air, and a pungent scent of rodent droppings made my nose twitch.

I’ve been here. Through the archway on the right were the kitchens, and the entrance to the left led to a corridor that would take me to the great doors of the keep. And the stairs in front of me.…I balled my hands into fists as memory surged through me—this hall filled with people and scurrying servants. Laughter and song. Meat and wine. Fighting and blood.

Then it was gone, leaving only the echoes of shrieks and raucous calls skittering through my mind.

I breathed in shallow pants, turning slowly. If this was a dream, it had to be one sent by Rhyzkahl, since he had a link to my dreams. In which case he was…what? Wanting me to find something? Figure something out?

Screw horror movies. “Rhyzkahl?” I called out. Goosebumps skimmed over my skin as the walls took my call and flung it around in scattered echoes. Gulping, I held my breath, waiting for the demonic lord to make an appearance.

Nothing. He wanted me to figure this out. Or I was completely wrong about this sending being from him. Either way, I had no idea what I was supposed to do or how to wake myself up.