“It’s Rhyzkahl’s. I saw it on his throne when he brought me to his realm. Cerise marked the victims with it to focus the potency toward binding Rhyzkahl. And he knew the symbol because Rhyzkahl had marked him with it during that first summoning.”
“The Mark of Rhyzkahl,” he murmured, an odd shadow rippling over his face as if he was trying to remember something. Then he blinked and it was gone. “Well, that’s one more mystery solved.”
I peered up at him. “So how did the chief get you?”
A chagrined expression crossed his face. “The chief called me up and told me that Michelle Cleland had stated that she had information about the Symbol Man but she wanted out of jail first.” He grimaced. “Easiest way to handle it was to go and sign her out on a PR.” I groaned and he nodded. “Yep. I was a total chump. We were barely out of the jail when that big fucking demon managed to grab us both.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Fortunately, demons don’t know shit about cell phones, so I managed to dial Garner and leave it on long enough for him to figure out where the demon was taking us. And, very fortunately, he didn’t show up until after it was all over.”
I understood perfectly. “He and anyone he brought with him would have been slaughtered.”
“God, yes. That demon was unbelievable!” He reached out and touched the side of my jaw briefly before withdrawing his hand, sending a curious little flutter through me. “You had one hell of a bruise working when I saw you there.”
I was quiet for a moment. “What did he mean, Ryan?” I said finally. “What did Rhyzkahl mean when he said that you weren’t fully aware of yourself?” I watched his face carefully.
He shrugged and spread his hands. “Kara, I have no idea,” he said, expression showing nothing but bafflement. “But I guess if I did know, then I would be aware of myself?” He shrugged again. “Your guess is as good as mine. I’m just glad it’s over and you’re okay.” Then he grinned. “But I can’t wait to see how you write your report.”
I groaned. “I should be exempt. I died.” Then I cringed. “What are people saying? I mean, about me being gone and then coming back?”
He gave a bark of laughter. “There are so many rumors and wild theories floating around that I couldn’t even begin to go through them all. The official word is that there is no official word.” He grinned. “The Beaulac PD is refusing to offer any official explanation for your disappearance and subsequent reappearance, though there’s an ‘unofficial’ explanation that is being carefully spread around that you were on a top-secret task force for the FBI.” He laughed. “Probably the smartest thing they could do, considering that there were a few gallons of your blood at the scene and that about twenty officers saw you appear at the station from nowhere in a flash of white lightning.” His grin widened. “Naked as a jaybird, I might add.”
“And you missed it,” I teased.
He sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, but it’s okay.”
“It is?”
He leaned closer. “Oh, yes. I think I’ll have the chance to see for myself quite soon.”
I raised an eyebrow at him, unable to keep from smiling. “Oh, you do?”
His grin turned wicked. “I do. Because I’m sure that the pictures are all over the Internet by now.”
My shriek of dismay let everyone in the hospital know that I was definitely alive, if not necessarily well.
About the Author
DIANA ROWLAND has lived her entire life below the Mason-Dixon Line, uses “y’all” for second person plural, and otherwise has no southern accent (in her opinion).
She has worked as a bartender, a blackjack dealer, a pit boss, a street cop, a detective, a computer forensics specialist, a crime scene investigator, and a morgue assistant, which means that she’s seen more than her share of what humans can do to each other and to themselves. She won the marksmanship award in her police academy class, has a black belt in Hapkido, has handled numerous dead bodies in various states of decomposition, and can’t Rollerblade to save her life.
She presently lives with her husband and daughter in south Louisiana, where she is deeply grateful for the existence of air-conditioning.