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She chewed her lower lip. “Hmm … he was tall, thin, super quiet. Didn’t smile. Just sat by her bed for a while, then got up and left.” She heaved another dramatic sigh. “I guess he was pining for her. The poor thing.”
I could feel a headache forming between my eyes. “Hair? Eyes? Anything?”
She gave a firm nod. “Yes, he definitely had hair. And his eyes were kinda light. I think maybe they were green. Or blue. Or they mighta been like a light hazel.” She beamed at me, clearly thrilled to have been such help.
I couldn’t make my mouth form words at first. “Your powers of recall are … amazing,” I finally managed.
She actually gave a small squeal of delight. “Oh! I’m so glad I could help!” She hung the chart back on the end of Tessa’s bed. “Well, let me get back to my rounds. Nice to meet you!” And with that she bustled right on out the door.
I stared after her for several seconds, then turned to look at Mr. Roommate, who had tears of laughter running down his face.
“Oh, God,” he gasped. “I’m sorry I laughed. But isn’t she a complete goofball?”
I grinned despite myself. “Hard to believe she’s for real. So, have you seen this mystery visitor?”
He shook his head as he wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay too late, so whoever it is, he must come in after I’ve gone. But maybe you can look for a name on the sign-in log at the front desk?”
“Good idea,” I said. “You’d make a good detective.”
“I’m a wimp,” he said with a smile. “I’ll stick to watching the fictional ones on TV.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” I said as I collected my things, “but I’m a total wimp too.”
Unfortunately, Mr. Roommate’s good idea was a bust. There was no record of anyone signing in to visit Tessa.
I got into my searing-hot car and jammed the AC on, then pulled out of the parking lot. Was someone else visiting Tessa? Melanie seemed like a dingbat, so perhaps she had Tessa mixed up with another patient. Or maybe it was just someone Tessa had known from her store or her neighborhood. But if that was the case, then why wouldn’t there be a record of it on the sign-in log?
I pulled into my driveway and did my best to push the worry about Tessa’s visitor out of my head. I needed my focus for the first stage of the ritual that Rhyzkahl had described to me. At least I was able to pry that information out of him before wasting my questions on my stupid concerns about the dreams, I thought with a mental scowl.
I headed down to the basement, then swept and cleaned the floor to prepare it for the new diagram. I’d forced myself into the habit of erasing my diagram and putting all my implements away after each summoning, but I didn’t want to take a chance on any stray marks messing up what I was about to do. Especially since I didn’t really know what I was doing.
Sketching with tedious precision, I laid out the diagram for the call to Tessa’s essence according to the parameters that Rhyzkahl had detailed for me, quite glad that I’d taken notes. Because this shit was confusing. It didn’t look at all like the sort of summoning diagram I normally used. But then again, I wasn’t doing a summoning; I was doing something else entirely. According to Rhyzkahl, this diagram, once completed and with the right amount of potency channeled into it, would send out a call to Tessa’s essence and hopefully draw it back to this plane.
I finished chalking the diagram, then opened my backpack and pulled out the stuff I’d taken from Tessa at the neuro center. I mixed it all together in a silver bowl—blood, hair, swabs, fingernails—to form a disgusting gloppy soup, then painted it around the edge of the diagram. Once I finished, I set the bowl aside and sat back on my heels to examine my work. It looked as if I’d done everything right, but this was so new to me that I had no idea if I’d even be able to see if I’d screwed something obvious up. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. Nothing to do now but keep going and hope for the best.
I stood and pulled potency. It came into my control sluggishly and unevenly, but since I wasn’t going to try to create a portal, it didn’t matter that it pulsed erratically. Or at least I hoped it didn’t. Rhyzkahl had said that the phase of the moon wouldn’t matter—which was a good thing, since there were a number of stages to this ritual that would need to be completed over the next several days.
I channeled the power down into the diagram as Rhyzkahl had explained, watching carefully as it settled into the runes. I released my hold on the potency, relieved as the diagram began to emit a soft resonance, yet at the same time feeling that the whole thing was pretty damn anticlimactic. But it’s not finished, I reminded myself. There was still a lot more work to be done. My problem was that I was too used to summonings—where complicated rituals and diagrams had the impressive result of wind and light and, of course, a demon. This was little more than a buzz.
Seriously unimpressive.
I could only hope that Rhyzkahl knew what the fuck he was talking about.
Chapter 12
As soon as I made it in to the station the next morning, I went to my sergeant’s office to give him a rundown of what Doc had found during the autopsies of Brian and Carol Roth.
Crawford nodded slowly after I finished. “Okay,” he said, turning his pen end over end. “So, Carol Roth might have been killed by someone other than Brian, which then casts a great deal of doubt on his death being a suicide.”
“Right. And if we wait for test results, any trail could be too cold to follow.”
“God, it would feel good to clear him of this shit.” Crawford tapped the pen on his blotter, a flicker of a grimace passing over his face. “I hate to do this, but … I’m going to give these two cases to Pellini.”
I stared at him, certain that I had misheard him. “Sarge,” I said, trying not to stutter in outrage. “Pellini has a backlog of cases. He can’t write a coherent report to save his life. He’s marking time until he can retire. The only other case I have is Davis Sharp. I can do this!”
Crawford shook his head. “I know you can, Kara, but … I was told to reassign these cases.” He looked pissed, which made me feel slightly better. At least this wasn’t because he thought I couldn’t handle the caseload.
“I guess the theory is that there’ll be too many ill feelings if you start getting all the juicy cases,” he continued. “We don’t have that many murders around here, and the other detectives want their share.” He pulled a sour face, and I knew that he didn’t really give a shit about hurt feelings.
