I seemed to have already triggered everything that was there. I glanced back. “I’m in, and I’m cool so far,” I said. I gave a thumbs up toward the Crown Vic in case he couldn’t hear me, then closed the door behind me.
There were no furnishings or décor. Nothing on the walls. Only a tired beige carpet with obvious traffic stains. I listened carefully for any sign of life, but silence held the house in a strong grip. Breathing shallowly, I edged forward with my gun at the ready. Clearing a house of possible suspects was best done with backup—preferably lots of backup—but since I didn’t have that option I went slowly and methodically as I searched from room to room. Though I did pause in the kitchen to rinse my mouth out. Bile was never a fun aftertaste.
I hit pay dirt in the master bedroom. The floor had been stripped to bare concrete and painted black, and on it a complex diagram had been carefully inscribed in white and red chalk. Black bookshelves lined two wall, and a long low chest made of a lighter wood rested against a third. Books and scrolls and papers filled every shelf, but unlike my aunt’s library these were all placed with nearly pathological precision.
But all that was nothing compared to the sight of the reyza crouched against the far wall, casually paging through a book in his wickedly clawed hands. The twelfth-level demon looked like a living gargoyle made of burnished copper, with a bestial face, massive leathery wings, and a sinuous tail that coiled around his feet. I knew that if he were to stand he’d tower over me by several feet, and even crouched as he was he seemed to fill the room.
He lifted his head, and I dared to smile. “Greetings, Kehlirik,” I said as I holstered my gun. It would be useless against him if he wanted to attack me.
He bared his teeth in his version of a smile and lowered his book. “Greetings to you, Kara Gillian,” he rumbled.
I didn’t move into the room, merely stayed just beyond the doorway. “Does your current bargain prevent you from answering questions regarding the reasons you have been summoned and the circumstances regarding said summoning?”
The demon tilted his head as if considering the question. “There is nothing in my current bargain that prevents or precludes me from answering questions.”
I thought for a moment. I could ask questions until the cows came home, but unless I offered him something in return, I wouldn’t get any useful answers. “I have no suitable offerings on my person,” I said, “but would you be willing to accept my promise of a jar of popcorn kernels— payable the next time I summon you—in exchange for information about the reasons you are here?”
He snorted, nostrils flaring. “I would.”
I grinned. He’d developed a fondness for papcahn the last time I’d summoned him. “Who summoned you?”
“The summoner who names himself Raymond Bergeron.”
“What have you been tasked with?”
The demon lifted his head and settled his wings. “I am to guard this focus point.” He dipped his head toward the diagram on the floor.
I frowned as I peered at it. At first glance it looked like a fairly normal summoning diagram, but then I realized that there were several crucial differences—at least a half dozen sigils coming off the center portion that flowed into each other with exquisite and intricate beauty. “If I enter this room, are you honor bound to attack me?”
“I am.”
Well, that was pretty much what I figured. Damn. I had no doubt that all his grandparents’ notes were in this room. Once this whole thing was over I intended to come back and take every last scrap of paper in here. “This focus…is it connected to the other portals?”
The reyza gave a low rumble. “Not at this time.”
Perfect. “Is it intended to be?”
“Yes.” His eyes seemed to glow, and I had the unerring feeling he was enjoying this tremendously.
I skimmed my gaze over the diagram, annoyed that I didn’t dare enter to get a closer look. Each of the sigils no doubt referenced a portal, which meant there were some that he’d either already known about or had found by some means other than killing people on my Do Not Like list. The detective in me itched to call Doc and find out if there’d been any other stroke deaths in the past year where the body had been found in a seemingly random location. But the summoner in me knew that would be a waste of time. I wasn’t going to be able to pin these deaths on Tracy/Raymond anyway.
“What is Raymond Bergeron’s plan?”