Cerise could see my reaction, and he laughed. “This is going to be a good night. I have my revenge against the whelp who ruined my summoning before, and soon I’ll have in my control the Demonic Lord who slew my wife.” He yanked his robes open at his chest, revealing an intricate twining of scars that I abruptly realized was an exquisite depiction of the symbol. “He gave me pain,” he said, as he let his robes fall closed again. He pushed his sleeves up to show me the uneven sheen of long-healed burns. “And I will return that pain to him a hundredfold.” He stooped again, reaching and yanking my backup gun out of my ankle holster. “It’s common knowledge that you wear a backup, m’dear,” he said. Then he tipped his head back, inhaling deeply and dramatically. “It is time. Bring her to the circle.”
Tears of pain and anguish filled my eyes as the demon dragged me farther into the meeting hall, dropping me to flop onto my side just outside the circle. I struggled to keep my broken wrist close to my body, trying to minimize the agony.
Squat candles placed in precise order around a large diagram threw a dim flickering light, barely visible in the illumination coming from the moon. A sharp, bitter smell drifted through the room, as if someone had been burning ants on hot metal. The diagram was at least three times the size of anything I had ever used. It needed to be that big, I realized, feeling ill. He was going to have a great deal going on—calling an incredibly powerful Demonic Lord, with at least two sacrifices in the center.
I could see a bound figure already in the center of the circle. Michelle. A flare of helpless anger tightened my belly. There was nothing I could do for her. I had no idea how to save myself, much less her. The girl was nude, bound at wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles, gagged but not blindfolded. Michelle’s eyes met mine, eyes that were wide and wild, stark with more terror than the girl had likely ever even conceived of before.
“And now Agent Kristoff can join us,” the chief announced. I followed his gaze to see Ryan step out of the shadowed hall, his face twisted in a feral snarl. The demon loomed behind him like a personal guardian, wings spread menacingly.
The flash of fury that surged through me was white-hot, the full force of all the pent-up hurt and betrayal and fear.
“Ryan!” I snarled. “You fucking asshole—”
“Kara—”
“You fucked me over!” I screamed at him, pain briefly forgotten in the haze of my anger.
He continued forward, then, to my shock, the demon shoved him roughly from behind, and only a last-minute tuck of his shoulders saved him from doing a face-plant.
Which would have happened since his wrists were handcuffed behind his back.
“Oh,” I said in a small voice, feeling a jolting mix of shame and sick-sweet relief that I’d been wrong. “Okay, maybe not.”
Ryan groaned and lifted his head to meet my eyes. “Ya think?”
I let out a breathless laugh. The chief had played me completely. “I thought you were in league with the Symbol Man. I’m sorry, Ryan,” I said, voice breaking on his name. “I should have trusted in you.”
He snorted. “Silly you. I’m pretty darn wonderful. Now, you would be much more believable as a serial killer.” He gave me a crooked smile that I found myself returning.
“Enough,” Cerise snapped. “Bind him and put him in the circle.”
Ryan clenched his jaw as the demon quickly bound his ankles, then lifted him and dumped him rudely beside Michelle. As the demon stepped close to her, she gave a muffled squeak of terror, eyes so filled with horror that I was forced to wonder if the demon had already engaged in “sport.”
I tried to shift my wrists in the bindings, but the pain of the broken bones flared hotly, forcing me to take several deep breaths to keep the nausea at bay.
“I’m so sorry, Detective Gillian,” Cerise said. “You don’t get a turn in the circle. I need you and your essence right here with me.” He looked to a high window in the wall that had the moon perfectly framed. “In the few moments that you have left to live, you’ll have the opportunity to witness the greatest summoning ever performed.” He gaze slid to me. “I think you’ll enjoy it, albeit briefly. There are many who say that Rhyzkahl is quite beautiful.”
He doesn’t know, I realized with a cold shock. He didn’t know that I had already encountered Rhyzkahl. But could I turn that to my advantage? I was pretty shy of advantages at the moment.
I can call him to me. Ice formed in my gut at the thought of this world ruled by a Demonic Lord. Humans enslaved, resources plundered, potency drained. No. There has to be another way.
Before I could think about it any more, Cerise approached me with a knife and yanked my left arm up at the elbow, sending another blinding flare of pain shooting through me. Willing myself to not black out, I sucked in breath, barely feeling the fire of the slice that he made in my left forearm.
I turned my head and watched in sick fascination as my blood flowed from the cut in the vein into a silver bowl held by the demon. It wasn’t a deep-enough cut for me to bleed out, at least not quickly, but it was enough for what he needed. After the bowl held what was probably a pint of blood, he dropped my arm and strode back to the circle, dipping a thick brush into the bowl and then carefully painting the outer perimeter of the circle with my blood. I shuddered as I saw the potencies flare into life, winding energies and complex structures that I had to grudgingly admit were elegantly created. It would probably work, I realized.
He was insane, yes, but that didn’t mean he was stupid. His planning had been meticulous, even down to luring me—a summoner—right into the ritual so that he could utilize my potency and essence for the bulk of the calling, saving his own strength for the binding of the lord. This level of summoning required the decades of preparation that Peter Cerise had devoted to it, as well as the alliance of a powerful high-level demon.
The energies coruscated in my othersight, and I could see Ryan looking around, wide-eyed, at the twisting runes that I knew he could see clearly. Hell, it was possible that even Michelle could see them, as powerful as they were. Peter Cerise was pouring all of the potency that he’d stored from all the victims he’d taken this month into this.
A sudden wave of weakness struck me. It’s starting, I realized with horror. He’s pulling potency from me. How long will I be able to last?
Cerise stood at the edge of the diagram, the silk of his robes fluttering in the arcane energy. Power arced dramatically from his hands as he crafted bindings that I knew would be holding an immensely powerful creature. And he’d be able to do it too. The diagram was flawless, the runes exquisitely prepared.
And there’s going to be a fucking lunatic on the loose with the power of a Demonic Lord on his leash. Might be a good thing that I’ll be dead by the time it happens, I thought grimly as the weakness increased. This world will still be enslaved and plundered, but by Peter Cerise instead.
The light of the circle flared as he began to chant, so brightly that I could barely see Ryan and Michelle in the center. They would die, I knew. And knowing Rhyzkahl, it would not be quickly or easily. Cerise was performing the ritual according to every nuance of the code of honor, which meant that Rhyzkahl would take the sacrifice and then make Ryan and Michelle suffer his retaliation for the fact that he would be enslaved.
Knowing Rhyzkahl…
My breath caught and the ice in my gut grew thicker. That was my only advantage. I knew Rhyzkahl, I was linked to him, and Cerise didn’t know that. I was still outside the circle. If I called Rhyzkahl to me, he would not be entrapped, would not be subject to the bindings and the wards, would not be subject to the will of a sociopath who thought nothing of murdering his own son.