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“I don’t know! That’s why I fucking came here—to try to find out!” I had my hands clenched to keep them from shaking, but the quiver in my lower lip betrayed how unsettled I was.
Tessa exhaled. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just worried about you.”
I nodded, throat tight. “Sorry I yelled.”
Tessa rubbed her eyes, then shook her head, as if she’d lost an internal argument. “Rhyzkahl … is not a regular demon, not a creature that can be summoned by the usual means. Or at least not by the means that we employ for summonings of any of the twelve levels of demon.” She toyed with the chains around her waist. “I know I’ve mentioned them to you briefly, but I can understand why you wouldn’t ever think that one had come through.” She sighed and spread her hands. “Rhyzkahl is a lord. One of the Demonic Lords.”
I stared at her. “Wait. I thought they were like demigods.”
“They are. They are incredibly powerful and refuse to be bound or subservient. This is why they are so dangerous.”
I swallowed harshly. “All of them?”
Tessa locked her gaze on me. “All of them.” She lowered her head, eyes still on me. “Rhyzkahl is ancient and has one of the largest followings of any of the lords. He is ambitious, and devious, and takes matters of honor very seriously. Even if he could be summoned, he would never submit to any manner of terms and would destroy any summoner who dared to bring him through.”
I struggled to parse this new information. I didn’t doubt my aunt’s knowledge, but Tessa’s description of Rhyzkahl didn’t match my own experience of him. Or did it? He was certainly terrifying when he first came through. I thought I was going to be destroyed. I’d felt the menace of him in that first rush of terror, when he’d scattered the bindings like dust. Perhaps it was true. So why didn’t he destroy me? I asked myself for perhaps the thousandth time.
I mentally replayed Tessa’s words, then abruptly snapped my gaze up to my aunt. I wasn’t a slightly experienced homicide investigator for nothing. Aunt Tessa was keeping something back. “How would you know that the drawing resembled him?” I demanded. Then I pointed at Tessa. “You’ve seen him too!”
To my surprise, Tessa went pale and sank to sit on the floor. “Powers of all, yes. I have. I was a stupid teenager. And the only reason I’m still here is because he … was otherwise occupied.”
Something in my aunt’s tone told me more than any words could. I knew enough about demons that if my aunt—my powerful, experienced-summoner aunt—was this shaken by a memory that had to be over thirty years old, it had to have been bad.
I leaned forward and placed a hand solicitously on her knee. “I’m sorry, Aunt Tessa. Are you all right? Do you need me to get you anything?”
“Oh, for the love of all the spheres. I’m not about to fall over.” She rolled her eyes, color returning to her face, then stood, brushing imaginary dust off her skirt. She looked up at the graphic novel on the shelf. “I don’t know how you survived, but I can only be intensely thankful that he chose to spare you.”
My throat felt tight. I knew what a Demonic Lord was, but it had simply never occurred to me that I might have called one, even inadvertently. The other-planar creatures known to me as demons had a strict hierarchy, with each level of demon jockeying for position and power within their respective levels. At the highest, above the twelve levels, were the lords—potent creatures who could wield devastating power and who utilized the powers and skills of the demons who served them. I hadn’t thought that they could even be summoned, which was why I had so little knowledge of them.
“You’ve always told me that the demons are neither good nor evil,” I stated, watching my aunt.
Tessa shook her head. “Don’t try to fling my own words into my face. I didn’t say he was evil. I said he was devious,” she said, shoving books back onto the shelves in utter defiance of details such as available space and the laws of physics. “Remember, good and evil are human terms that merely refer to the application of human morals. Demons are absolutely and utterly self-serving, and at the same time they are completely honor-driven. Which is a good thing, because without that driving sense of honor, nothing would ever get done in the demon realm. Everything is tied to honor and status.” She gave me a piercing look. “And a summoning is enormously offensive to a lord. Any demonic creature who did not take revenge against such an offense would be seen as weak and would lose huge amounts of status. Offend a demon—or a lord—at your own peril.”
I stayed silent. Tessa would never believe that Rhyzkahl had just let me go. Is that what happened? Did he just let me go? I guess he did, since I’m here and alive, but how could it be so simple?
Tessa sighed. “Go. You can tell me later exactly what happened, since you’re obviously not ready to tell me now.” She adjusted the chains at her waist, shaking her head. “You’re alive. That’s what matters the most.” She leaned in as I stood up and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, then took me by the elbow and steered me toward the door. “I’ll talk to you more later.” And with that she pushed me out of the library and shut the door.
I looked back at the white door, relief warring with confusion. At least now I knew what Rhyzkahl was. But I had a feeling I was happier not knowing.
Chapter 5
Work. Now I can bury my stress under work, I told myself as I drove to the parish morgue. My visit with Tessa had done little to soothe my worries. Fortunately I had an autopsy to attend, which I hoped would distract me from obsessing over the events of the previous night. Maybe once I had my mind wrapped around the case instead of around my visitor, I’d feel sane again.
If an autopsy couldn’t stop me from thinking about sex with a demon, nothing could.
I stepped into the outer office of the morgue, automatically wrinkling my nose as the distinctive odor of the place struck me—intense even a room away from the cutting room. Though this was my first homicide, I’d attended a number of autopsies. Captain Turnham liked his detectives to be familiar with all of the various procedures for all types of investigations, no matter what the detective’s permanent assignment was. Much bitching and moaning usually resulted, though never in the captain’s hearing. Personally, I thought autopsies were utterly fascinating and had never complained about being sent to one, even when my cases were stacked up.
Dr. Jonathan Lanza, the forensic pathologist for the St. Long Parish Coroner’s Office, glanced up from his desk as I entered. “Morning, Kara. You can leave the door open.”
I couldn’t help but smile. The smell was obviously a bit much for him as well. It didn’t have the stench of decomposition, as one normally would expect in a morgue, but that was due to Dr. Lanza’s morgue tech, Carl, a self-proclaimed OCD cleaning fanatic. So instead of the vague odor of rotted flesh and formalin, it had the often-overpowering aroma of Pine-Sol and bleach and any other industrial-strength cleaner Carl could dig up. Doc often said that he was prepared for the day when he came into the morgue to find that Carl had died from some toxic combination of cleaning supplies.
“Morning, Doc,” I said as I propped the outer door open with a rock that seemed to be just for that purpose. “Is this the only one you have today?”
He shook his head. “Nah, I have a probable overdose in the cooler, but I’ll do him this afternoon.” He made a sour face. “I was actually on vacation this week. First real vacation I’ve taken since I started working here.” Then he gave a shrug. “But I’m glad they called me to ask if I was willing to come back in town for this. Otherwise it would have been sent to New Orleans, and that office is pretty overloaded.”
I understood completely. Even years after Katrina, the city and its surroundings were still getting everything put back in place. And some things would never be the same again.
“I took a look at your girl when I came in,” he continued. “It sure does look like another Symbol Man victim, doesn’t it?”
