“Aunt Tessa,” I said, leaning forward. “Please tell me everything that you remember about that night.”
Tessa curled her hands around her cup, empty as it was. “Greg and I had both just turned seventeen. Our birthdays were only a few days apart. We’d been playmates since we were just kids—used to spend darn near every waking minute together. When we got older, the friendship just naturally progressed to intimacy.” Her lips twitched. “I guess you could say we were best-friend-fuckbuddies.”
I knew she wanted me to react, but I refused to amuse her. Get to the point, I thought silently.
After waiting a few breaths for me to respond, Tessa began to speak again. “Greg’s mother had been sick for a while, and his father decided that performing an incredibly risky, idiotic, insane summoning was preferable to actually taking her to seek medical help. We knew that it was breast cancer only because Greg had snuck her out and taken her to see a damn doctor.” Anger colored her voice. “At that time, I had no idea what a summoning was or that I had any talent for it. I knew that my mother had a private study that was sometimes locked, but that was about it. But that Saturday night, Greg called me and asked me to come over. He didn’t say so, but I knew he was worried about his mom and didn’t want to be alone. His parents had some sort of dinner party planned for that night, and I figured that meant we’d have lots of time to fool around in his basement.” A ghost of a smile lit her face. “I was doing my best to distract him from his worries, when people started coming downstairs. My mother was among them, which I hadn’t expected. We scrambled to grab our clothes and dove behind a bookcase, figuring we’d hide until they all left again.” She shook her head. “But they didn’t leave. We stayed behind that bookcase and watched as the ritual began.” She set the cup down and stood, moving to the sink to look out at her backyard and the morning sun on the lake beyond.
“Go on,” I prompted after a moment.
Tessa rolled her head on her neck as if trying to ease the tension. “You have to understand the … feelings of guilt that I’ve dealt with all these years. I know it’s not rational, but I feel guilty all the same.”
“Aunt Tessa, why?”
“I could feel the ritual, feel the opening of the portal.” Her voice was low, thready. “It was the first time I’d ever seen a summoning, and I could instantly feel that it was something I could do.” Her shoulders slumped. “And without knowing what I was doing, without thinking, I sat in my hiding place behind that bookcase and I reached out mentally to that portal as it opened.”
“Oh, shit,” I breathed.
“Yes. I altered the forming of it, changed the structure just enough …”
“And Rhyzkahl was pulled through.”
Tessa’s hands were white-knuckled on the rim of the sink. “Yes. Completely unwilling and without any warning. And because it was an imperfect portal, it was probably quite painful for him as well.”
I shivered. The memory of his unshielded fury came back to me.
“He … he’s beautiful, as you know. Angelic. There was a moment, a perfect small moment, when all everyone could see was that beauty, and everyone thought that the summoning had gone as planned.” She turned back to me, hugging her arms around herself. “And then he let us feel the full extent of his anger.”
“I’ve felt it,” I said softly.
Tessa gave a single jerky nod. “It was a bloodbath, a slaughter, but I’ll grant him this: He took his vengeance but did not revel in the suffering. Only enough to satisfy his honor.” A shudder rippled through her. “But it was still a horror to watch. He killed two of the men first, literally ripped them apart. He broke the necks of two women.” Tessa took a deep breath. “The only summoners left were my mother and Peter Cerise. They were both pinned down by his sheer power.” She brushed her hair out of her face, hands shaking slightly. “Rhyzkahl knew we were there, hiding. He looked straight at us. I could … feel his presence, feel him measuring and testing us.” She fell silent for several heartbeats. “I don’t know exactly how he killed my mother, but in one breath she was alive and screaming in terror, and then she just … fell silent, sighed, and didn’t breathe again.” She licked her lips. “Greg’s mother was next. Powers above and below, how he drew that out! Peter Cerise was held down by the unbelievable potency of Rhyzkahl, both legs snapped like dry twigs. Couldn’t move, forced to watch as Rhyzkahl ripped gobbets of cancerous flesh from his wife, that angelic face utterly impassive.”
I realized that my hands were clenched into tight fists under the table, nails digging into my palms.
Tessa dragged a hand across her face. “And then he gathered his power and was gone, leaving the blood and the slaughter.” She made a breathy sound that I realized was meant to be a laugh. “It’s funny. I hate Rhyzkahl for what he did that night, but I could never blame him for my mother’s death. It was Peter Cerise’s arrogance and my ignorance that were the true causes for what happened.”
“Aunt Tessa! You can’t blame yourself like that.”
Tessa turned back to me. “Oh, I know. I was so very young. But Rhyzkahl was merely acting on his nature after being dragged unwillingly through the portal. He took the vengeance he needed to satisfy his honor. Greg’s mother … it was hideous what Rhyzkahl did to her, but … I could see her face. I don’t think she felt any of it. I think Rhyzkahl did it solely to further torment Peter Cerise.”
I struggled to grasp how my aunt could be so accepting of the Demonic Lord’s actions. “What happened after he was gone?”
Tessa took a deep breath, beginning to recover some of her color. “I grabbed Greg—dearest powers of all, but he was hysterical. I was just trying to not think about it. I hated Greg’s dad, hated him so much for making my mother do this thing, hated him for not treating his wife properly. I dumped Greg upstairs, then went back and ran to the garage …” She trailed off.
“Greg told me,” I said gently. “Told me that you burned the house down to cover up what had happened.”
“He didn’t tell you everything. He didn’t tell you what he didn’t see.” Tessa’s voice was flat.
“What didn’t he see?”
“I dumped the gas down into the basement, then lit a towel off the stove and threw that down as well.” She looked at me. “I stayed there long enough to make sure that the place was going to catch fire. I stayed long enough to make sure that the stairs had caught, so that Peter Cerise couldn’t get out.”
I felt as if I’d been punched. “What? I thought he’d been killed by Rhyzkahl.”
“No. He was alive. Rhyzkahl broke his legs and left him to watch it all. He knew that it was a greater revenge to make Cerise live with the memory, the guilt.” Tessa gave her head a sharp shake. “I wasn’t thinking that elegantly. I just wanted him dead.”
I stood. “Aunt Tessa. Are you sure he died in the fire?”
Her thin eyebrows drew together. “When they finally put the fire out, the basement was a mess. And since we never saw him again, I …” She smacked her hand to her forehead. “I never even thought of him!”
“Basements usually have windows or doors, other ways out in case there is a fire,” I breathed. “He’s alive. He’s alive, and he wants to summon Rhyzkahl. It makes sense. That explains how he knew Greg.” I grabbed my aunt by her shoulders. “Aunt Tessa, do you know what he looks like? Do you have old pictures of him? Anything?”
Tessa shook her head. “No, sweets, nothing like that. And if he stayed around here, he must have changed his appearance, because Greg always thought he was dead too.”
“Aunt Tessa, I have to go,” I said, as I snatched up my cell phone and took off for the door. This was almost worse than not knowing. I knew who the Symbol Man was now, but I had no idea how to find him.
I had my cell-phone headset jammed into my ear even before I got the car started. I punched Ryan’s number in as I backed out of my aunt’s driveway. “Come, on, Ryan. Pick up!” I muttered.
“Good morning, Kara,” Ryan said
as he answered.
“Ryan! I know who the Symbol Man is,” I said in a rush. “It’s Greg Cerise’s dad, Peter Cerise, who was supposedly killed in a summoning, but I think he wasn’t killed after all. And now he wants revenge on Rhyzkahl and everyone else for letting his wife die, even though it was his own damn fault to begin with!”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down. Okay, it’s Greg’s dad. So where is he now?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know what he looks like or what he’s doing.”
I heard him mutter a curse. “All right. Well, it’s a start, at least. I can go back and do some legwork and see if he had any prints on file or anything like that.”
“I bet Greg had photos of his dad.”
“Mr. Greg Cerise is quite dead, and the search warrant on that residence is no longer valid.”
“Details, details!” I retorted. “I’ll find you a damn photo.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
THE SEARCH WARRANT was expired, but at this point I really didn’t give a shit. I called dispatch and got the number for the owner of the house, Greg’s erstwhile landlady, a Ms. Dana Sebastian. I dialed as I drove to the house.
A woman answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hello, this is Detective Gillian with the Beaulac Police Department. Is this Dana Sebastian?”
“Yes … yes, it is. Is this about the murder?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m the lead investigator on the Symbol Man murders. Look, I know the search warrant has expired, but I really need to get back into your rental house and look for something.”
“Oh, damn, I’ve already had a crew come through to fix the door and scrub the place down, and I packed all of Greg’s stuff up. It’s all still there in boxes, though. I really don’t know what to do with any of it, to be honest. I don’t know if he has any family.”
“I can’t help you there,” I said. The only next of kin I knew of wasn’t likely to step forward just to claim some boxes of junk. “Is there any way you can come by to let me in and let me look through the stuff?”
“I’m at work and can’t get away until late this afternoon, but if you want you can let yourself in. The key’s under the frog statue on the back porch.”
“I really appreciate this,” I said fervently.
“Sure thing. I hope it helps you out. I still can’t believe this happened. Greg was a supernice guy and a good tenant.”
“I met him only once, but he seemed pretty cool,” I said. “Of course, the neighbor across the street was convinced he was up to no good.”
“Oh, my God, that racist bitch? I swear, I wanted to rent the place out to a black Jewish gay couple just to piss her off, but then I figured it wouldn’t be fair to the black Jewish gay couple.”
I smiled wryly. “Makes me glad I live way out in the country with no neighbors.”
“Lucky you! Look, if you need anything else, just let me know.”
“You got it. Thanks again.”
THE BLOOD HAD been cleaned up in the kitchen and the tile scrubbed and bleached. The cleaning crew had done a good job; there was no visible sign at all that a gruesome murder had taken place here. But it was still going to be hard for her to rent or sell the place.
The house had been stripped down to the walls, and I found about a dozen boxes piled in a back bedroom. I began looking through them and made the delightful discovery that Dana had labeled each box with a short description of its contents. Oh, I do so love this woman!
But even with the labels, it still took me well over an hour to find which boxes held pictures and then an hour more to find what I was looking for.
I sat down on the floor, holding the picture of a man in a suit standing stiffly next to a grinning teenager, arm draped awkwardly over the boy’s shoulders. The kid was definitely Greg. Even thirty years later, the grin had remained constant. And this picture had likely been taken not long before the summoning-gone-wrong—a couple of years at most. So this must be Dad. I peered at the picture. Slightly above-average height. Light-blue eyes. Brown hair. Nondescript features. Medium build. He’d be in his mid to late sixties now, I figured. I made a note to find out his date of birth when I got back to the office.
I pushed my hair back from my face, frustrated. I still didn’t have much to go on. But this has to be who the killer is. Peter Cerise. It fit perfectly. So, who the hell was he now?
I pulled my cell phone out again and called Ryan.
“Kristoff here.”
“Hiya, Agent-with-the-high-tech-resources-that-I-don’t-have. Can your peeps do an age progression on a photograph?”
“I can get it to someone who can,” he said. “Whatcha got?”
“Picture of Greg’s dad. But it’s about thirty years old. I can’t figure out who he is.”
Ryan gave a low whistle. “That’s terrific. Get it to me and I’ll send it off.”
“You got it. Where y’at now?”
“I’m out and about, but if you email it to me, I’ll forward it to my ‘peeps,’ as you put it.”
“I’m not near a computer. But I’m ten minutes away from the office.”
“I’ll be looking for it in eleven.”
I shut the phone and stuffed it into my pocket, then let myself out the same way I’d come in, tucking the key back under the statue.
As I walked back out to my car, Ms. Dailey was standing at the end of the driveway, dressed this time in a bright fuchsia velour sweat suit. I wondered briefly if her entire wardrobe consisted of velour sweat suits of varying obnoxious hues.
“Young lady,” she said with a stern expression on her face. “May I ask just what you were doing in there?” Her tone was accusatory, as if she thought I was looting the place for valuables.
What, now the woman was concerned about her neighbor? I closed the distance to Ms. Dailey, getting close enough that she was forced to take a step back.
“It’s Detective Gillian,” I said through bared teeth, yanking my badge off my belt and thrusting it into the woman’s face. “I am here on official police business for the purposes of investigating a series of murders. But for you, Ms. Dailey, I have just one thing to advise.”
Ms. Dailey’s eyes widened.
“From now on, why don’t you try minding your own fucking business?”
I turned and marched back to my car, leaving the woman behind me gaping and speechless. And, for the first time, I felt like the warrior woman in that picture.
MY GOOD MOOD DIDN’T LAST LONG. MY PAGER SHRILLED before I could make it back to the station, and I had to read it twice before the meaning of the message got through to me. It wasn’t another body. It was six of them.
A LOCAL MAN who’d taken a sick day to go fishing found the bodies piled in an ugly heap about fifty feet from the shore in a rarely traveled or fished area of the lake. Trouble with the engine on his flatboat had caused him to drift into a small cove, where he discovered, to his delight, where all the fish had been hiding from him for the past twenty years. He’d reached his limit after an hour of fishing and then decided to investigate the source of the odor that had drifted to him when the wind shifted.
I had a feeling his sick day was justified now.
It might have been fairly simple to get to the scene by boat, but going by car was another matter entirely—several miles of rutted dirt roads, followed by a ten-minute hike on foot down a narrow deer trail. Fortunately, by the time I made it to where all the other vehicles were parked, some of the good ol’ boys had busted out their ATVs and were shuttling people back and forth through the woods.
I climbed off the back of the four-wheeler with a mumbled thanks to the driver, well aware that he had gone over a few extra bumps in order to get the full effect of my tits pressed up against his back as I hung on for dear life. I would be walking back, thank you very much.
To my surprise, there was already a cluster of local and not-so-local media in a small clearing on the low ridge above where the bodies had been discovered. A murder
ed homeless drug addict could be a decent mention on the evening news, but a mass dump of six bodies in various states of decomposition couldn’t be passed over. No, this one would probably make national news.
I saw Dr. Lanza on the ridge, standing next to a slender, leggy woman with blond hair and a lovely face. The woman wore jeans that were low-cut and form-fitting without looking painted on and a black T-shirt that showed her obvious dedication to her workouts. There was no layer of pudge above the jeans on this woman, and I found myself standing straighter and pulling my stomach in. Damn doughnuts.
Dr. Lanza caught my eye and motioned me over. “Detective Kara Gillian, this is Dr. Susan Vaughn,” Doc said when I reached him. “Dr. Vaughn is a forensic entomologist.”
I shook the woman’s hand, but there must have been something resembling a blank expression on my face. “I do bugs,” Dr. Vaughn added with a smile.
“Oh! Right.” I shrugged sheepishly. “I was either going to go for that or foot doctor, and the latter didn’t make much sense.”
“Susie … um … happened to be in town when I got the call,” Doc said, “and I’m hoping she’ll be able to help us determine how old these corpses are.”
It’s Susie? And she just happened to be in town? Doc, you dog!
Doc must have picked up something in my expression, because his lips twitched into a smug smile. Then he glanced down the ridge and all trace of humor slipped away. “Let’s get started,” he said tersely, and started making his way down the small slope, with the two of us following. I grimaced as the nauseating odor grew stronger, but even if I hadn’t smelled it, the sound of the flies would have warned me that something ugly was nearby. The buzz was constant, and any motion sent clouds of the insects swarming up, only to settle back on the flesh as soon as they could. Now I understood the need for someone who knew their bugs.