Diana Rowland - Blood of the Demon

“But then you killed Brian,” Ryan said, voice a growl.

She straightened her shoulders and shifted slowly to face us, keeping her hands where we could see them and her eyes on our guns. “Yes, but only because my dear departed husband was a fucking moron and a philandering asshole.” The steel was back in her voice. This wasn’t the addict speaking now. This was the scorned and vengeful wife. “I was willing to tolerate his indiscretions to a point, because being married to a judge was good for my career. But then he got stupid and killed Carol. He was screwing his daughter-in-law.” Her voice dripped with disgust, and I had a hard time not sharing her sentiment toward Harris Roth. “Then he called Davis in a panic—”

“But you were with Davis, having a little revenge affair of your own,” Ryan said.

“It was only fair,” she said, shrugging. “But Davis turned out to be a pathetic whiner. Threatened to go to the police. Moron.”

“But he’d told his wife everything,” I pointed out.

“Another moron,” she said with a derisive sneer. “You know what she wanted from me? She wanted to come back to Beaulac as if nothing had happened. Wanted me to make sure she’d still be ‘accepted.’ Useless bitch. She could have taken me down with one phone call, but she didn’t have the balls.”

I swallowed back a knot of anger. “But why kill Brian?” I demanded. “He never hurt anyone. You couldn’t figure out some other way to cover up Carol’s death?”

Rachel’s lip curled. “I wanted Harris to suffer . I knew that would kill him.” Then her expression shifted to a sad and haunted smile. “Besides, Brian wouldn’t have wanted to live anyway if he’d found out what they’d done.”

“You have a healthy dose of crazy going on in there, lady,” Ryan said.

The look she shot him was pure and glittering hate. “I’m not crazy. I did what I had to do. But …” She took a deep breath as if to steady herself. “But I didn’t realize how much better it was to be right there at the very instant the essence was released, especially when it was … violent. None of it escaped me. I could take nearly all of it. God almighty, but it felt so good.” Her eyes closed in remembered bliss. “I was so strong, felt so perfect. Then when Davis told me he was going to the police—”

“You took care of him too,” I finished for her. “As well as the Galloways, when they were stupid enough to try to blackmail your husband.”

She gave a small shrug. “That was pretty stupid of them.”

“And Ron Burnside,” Ryan said quietly, “the public defender who was going to run against Harris Roth. Did you take care of him too?”

Another shrug. “People die after surgery all the time. Such a tragedy.” But I could see the satisfaction in her eyes.

My thoughts whirled in barely ordered chaos. How are we going to stop her? Is there some way to reverse it? Strip her of the ability? We can’t exactly stick her in handcuffs and put her in jail .

“Why did you come here?” I asked. I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but at this point I needed to get some hint or clue of what to do.

She shifted her gaze to me. “Your aunt. There was nothing there, but she was still alive. I knew she’d been injured during the incident with the Symbol Man, so I decided to find out what was so special about her.” She tilted her head. “I drove past this house every day for two weeks, never quite able to get my nerve up to try to get in and look around.”

The aversions and protections at work , I thought. The good ones .

“And then one day I just … felt like trying.”

Yeah, that would have been when I had the damn things taken down. Idiot .

“Breaking in was fairly simple, especially since there was already a broken window in the back. I came in here and … there was something—a little Tinker Bell thing. It attacked me and stung me, but then I grabbed it.” She shook her head. “I don’t really remember what happened, but … God almighty, it was like consuming a dozen lives at once. I think I passed out … but when I came to, I was different. Stronger.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Hungrier.” A shudder racked her, and I could see a sheen of sweat on her forehead. “I don’t want to have to kill anyone else. I swear. But I don’t know how much longer I can control this.” She flicked a glance at the warded portal. “It came out of that corner. I remember that. I figure if I can find another one of those things, then that could hold me for a while. Maybe I could just feed on those and not have to kill anyone else. But nothing’s coming out.” The look she gave me was one of desperate pleading. “You have to help me get another one of those things out. Please!”

I shook my head slowly. “Rachel, I can’t do that. It would only make things worse. I’m sorry.”

Her hands shook as she clenched and unclenched them. “No, you’re not sorry. You want me to starve to death.”

Would that work? Could she be weaned from this sort of addiction? “Let me figure out another way to help you.”

“No! I don’t have time for you to figure something out!” She licked dry lips. “If you won’t help me, then I’ll have to … to do something else. What? You think you can stop me?” She gave a laugh tinged with hysteria. “You can’t shoot me.”

“And what makes you say that?” Ryan asked calmly.

“You would shoot the poor distraught wife of a recently deceased judge, who came to see you only to find out more about her husband’s crimes?” Her eyes glittered. “You don’t have any proof that I killed anyone!” She took a step toward us.

“I don’t fucking care,” I snarled. “Take another step and I will shoot you.” Better to risk losing my career than let her touch me.

She hesitated a second, breathing harshly, then shrugged. “Well, let’s see how that goes then, shall we?” she said cryptically. I was still trying to figure out what she meant when she leaped toward us, hands outstretched.

I fired at the same time that Ryan did, my finger tightening spasmodically on the trigger. Spots of blood bloomed on the front of her shirt, but unlike in the movies, the shots didn’t throw her dramatically across the room. Rachel stumbled forward as Ryan backed to the wall, and she grabbed his gun hand even as he pumped another round into her chest.

Ryan screamed—a sound I hoped to never hear again.

“Shoot me again and he dies!” Rachel rasped, clutching at Ryan’s hand as he dropped his gun and went to his knees, his eyes wide and agony spasming across his face.

“No! Stop!” I shouted, fear for Ryan slamming through me. “Don’t pull any more from him! I’ll help you, I swear.”

Her breath came raggedly, and she seized his hair with her other hand. “Drop your gun!” she ordered. Blood pumped from several places in her torso, but even as I watched I could see the blood flow slow and then—grotesquely—the holes close. Ryan shuddered, face graying, and I realized with horror that she’d pulled from him and somehow used his essence, his natural potency, to heal herself.

“Stop pulling from him!” I yelled again.

“Drop your gun,” she ordered, “or I’ll suck him dry!”

If I shoot her in the head, would that stop her? The thought flashed through my mind and I dismissed it just as quickly. I was several feet away from her, she was using Ryan as a shield, and while I was a decent enough marksman, I didn’t trust my skill enough to be certain I wouldn’t shoot Ryan in the head instead.

I slowly lowered the gun. “If you swear not to kill him or me, I’ll … open another portal so you can get more of those pixie-things.”