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“Huh,” he said, puzzled expression on his face. “Wonder what he meant by that?”
I shrugged and stood up from the bed, wishing I could shrug away the slight doubt that Rhyzkahl had instilled in me. Was he trying to warn me about something? Or someone? Now that the whole experience was over, I could—grudgingly—admit that I had been overstepping my bounds when it came to dealing with a creature of that level of power. Not that I had any experience with that sort of thing, but I’d been coming very close to thinking of Rhyzkahl in human terms. He was not a human. Not a mortal. He was a demon. They were different. The rules were different.
“Dunno,” I said as I pulled a sweatshirt on. Had he been trying to tell me something about Ryan? Was that why he’d attacked Ryan, or at least attacked a dream version of him? If so, then why wouldn’t he just come out and accuse him?
It didn’t matter. The seed of doubt was there now.
“So I guess this means that you didn’t get any info about the body?” Ryan asked.
“Oh, actually I did.” I laughed a bit shakily. “After all that, he took me to the morgue.”
“And?”
I spread my hands. “All he said was that he knew who it was and that he would deal with it.”
Ryan pondered this for a few seconds, brows drawn together. “I don’t understand. Does that mean it’s one of his own followers?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, feeling my frustration rise. “If so, it would mean that it’s a demon working against Rhyzkahl somehow. Or it could be that it’s another lord’s demon. Either way, he’s going to deal with it.”
Ryan scrubbed his hand through his hair. “And we’re to back off on that, no matter who it is.”
“Yeah. That’s pretty much the vibe I got. Not that there’s much we could do if it’s some sort of conflict between two lords.” I exhaled, suddenly feeling very tired. “And after that whole visit, I’m just fine with letting him deal with it.”
“But it doesn’t get us any closer to figuring out who the Symbol Man is.”
He’d struck to the heart of it. “No,” I agreed. “We’re still right where we were before.”
Chapter 23
Ryan was practically breaking his jaw with his yawns, so I finally bullied him into returning to the guest room to try to get some more sleep. I, however, had approximately zero desire to sleep again at this point. I made a pot of coffee in an attempt to battle my own attack of the yawns, then took another look through my notes to see if anything new would come to me. I was grasping for anything at this juncture that could point me in the right direction. I felt like I was running in place while the time until the next full moon rapidly slipped away.
My cell phone rang as soon as I’d poured my second cup. I glanced at the clock. Four a.m. Calls this early were seldom good news.
“Detective Gillian? This is Detective Powell in Narcotics. I’ve found one of your people.”
A surge of sick dread went through me. “Oh, shit. Another body?”
“Huh? Oh, no. Nothing like that. Her name’s Michelle Cleland, and I just arrested her for prostitution and possession of crack cocaine.”
I nearly swayed in relief. “Oh, that’s fantastic. Where is she now?”
“She’s in holding. I just finished booking her in.”
“Powell, I owe you. Thanks a million.”
“No prob, Kara. I hope it helps you guys out.”
I hurriedly changed into jeans and a T-shirt with the Glock emblem on the front while slugging down as much coffee as I could without burning my mouth. Twenty minutes later, I was at the jail, waiting for the girl to be brought into an interview room.
Michelle Cleland had the ultraskinny frame, sunken cheeks, and beaten-down cast to her eyes that told me that she’d been on crack or some other highly addictive substance for a while. I glanced quickly at her booking sheet for her age. Twenty-three. Damn hard to tell by just her appearance.
She looked at me sullenly as she sat down, though there was a flicker of bravado about her as well. I could see by her driver’s license photo that at one time she’d been pretty. Nice smile, long brown hair, and big brown eyes with a scattering of freckles across her nose. Not anymore. She’d probably be dead in a few years from an overdose.
“Hi, Michelle,” I began. “I’m Detective Kara Gillian.”
Michelle slumped down in the chair. “I already talked to the narc guy and told him who I bought the shit from.”
“That’s not what I want to know.”
