“Tell me who the daimon is. You should know since you were talking to him a few weeks ago,” I said. “Give me a name, and I’ll believe you.”
As he opened his mouth, my tattoo erupted in an inferno of pain. This was nothing like the tingling current I felt in his presence. This felt as though my entire arm was on fire. I grabbed my wrist and doubled over with a grunt. He grabbed my shoulders in a gentle grip. The echo of a gunshot from down the hall echoed through the air. Both of us jerked to attention and snapped our heads to the door. He’d obviously hidden his speed. By the time I reached the door, he’d made it down the hall and inside our auditorium. He flung his hand up when I came up behind him.
“Don’t,” he said.
Students were screaming and scrambling from their seats. Serenity sat in hers with her eyes locked on the body on the floor with her hands gripping the armrests so hard her knuckles had turned white. Sheridan lay on the floor with blood spreading from beyond the podium that hid her upper body.
Chapter 23
I wrapped my arms around myself as I sat on the steps of the building and tried to push down the sick feeling in my stomach. A flashing of blue and red glowed faintly from the parking lot, casting the courtyard in an eerie ambiance.
Police officers stood at the edges of the yellow tape that surrounded the building with stern, blank expressions. Their compatriots were inside, investigating the scene of the accident. A bitter laugh burst from my lips. A crime had happened here, but the police would never know that. This was just another tragic accident to be closed by the end of the night.
“Miss Wayne?” A detective looked down at me with a concerned frown in his hazel eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I have a few questions, then you are free to go.”
I licked my dry lips and nodded to him. “Sure.”
“You were friends with Miss. Hayes?” He pulled out a small notepad and a pen.
“Yeah, we hung out,” I said.
“Was she acting any different? Do you know of anything that could have triggered this?”
The dryness moved to my throat, and I trembled. “She’s been attacked on a date. I tried to get her to report it, but …”
His brow furrowed, and he frowned at his pad. “I see. Did she tell her the name of her assailant?”
“What difference does it make? There’s no one to speak against him.”
“I’m just trying to gather all the information available.”
“Marcus Baxter.” I sighed. “But he’ll never admit it.”
“Unfortunately, you’re probably right.” A brief touch of sympathy entered his tone. “I understand you were present for the suicide of James Thorne?”
I nodded, staring at the sidewalk as my chest squeezed. Another death at the daimon’s hand that I failed to stop. I pressed my finger into my tattoo, trying to revive the burning, hell even the tingling, that had been present. Nothing happened. The burning had disappeared soon after I’d entered the auditorium, too quickly for me to narrow it down. The tingling had faded when Mercer—no, Hermes—and Serenity had left a short time ago. My interview was one of the last ones the police were conducting.
“Were you present when this one happened?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Uh, no. I was speaking with Mr. Chaplin in another room. We heard the gunshot.”
“What were you discussing?”
I glanced up at him with narrowed eyes. “What does that have to do with anything?”
He gave me a bland smile and brushed a lock of brown hair back from his face with the hand holding his pen. “I’m just trying to get all the facts, ma’am.”
“We were discussing aspects of the project,” I said.
“And what is your role?”
My jaw tightened. Did he treat all these interviews with these questions? Maybe my paranoia was overblown. After all, the police would still mark this as a suicide case. Sheridan had shot herself, and there was no physical evidence the police could find that would say otherwise.
“I’m the journalist assigned to the project,” I said.
“Do journalists often speak privately with Mr. Chaplin?”
I gave a harsh chuckle. “Well, he is funding and heading this project. He’s the man to go to for the best story. I really don’t see what this has to do with Sheridan.”
He leaned closer and studied me with a hard gaze. “You have extraordinary hair. Interesting color.”
I stiffened. “Oh, that’s not weird at all. Look, do you have any more questions? I’m ready to go now.”
He pulled out a card and handed it to me. “That’s all for now, though we may be in touch.”