Eilahn had broken two of the demon’s arms, but now it was doing its best to slash a claw across her throat while she struggled against it, her own face set in a fierce rictus. I wasn’t wearing my duty weapon, but I had my backup piece in an ankle holster. It took a few more seconds of Twister-worthy contortions, but I finally managed to yank the little Kel-Tec .32 out of the holster, shove it against the demon’s midsection, and fire.
The demon let out a whistling shriek and released us both. I rolled aside, gasping raggedly, but Eilahn apparently had no desire to let it recover to attack another day. Her face twisted into a silent snarl as she pinioned three of the arms together. The fourth arm flailed uselessly against the pavement as the graa whistled and thrashed.
“Again, Kara,” Eilahn said calmly. “The side of the head should be sufficient.”
I staggered to my feet and shoved the gun against the creature’s head. It went still, oddly human eyes blinking at me, then it shuddered and looked away.
“Forgive me,” I murmured. This demon wasn’t attacking me for personal reasons. It had been summoned, and a bargain had been set for it to perform this service. My true vendetta was against whoever had sent it. But I had to do this, and there was no way it wouldn’t hurt the demon.
I fired once. The demon jerked, breath going out of it like a pierced balloon. Eilahn released it and straightened, standing over it as its limbs twitched and then went still. I stepped back as white light began to stream from the holes in its torso and head. Cracks appeared in its skin and the light flared to blinding levels. A heartbeat later a ripping crack split the air, and the demon was gone, leaving behind only the sour smell of ozone and a rancid perfume of rotted flowers.
With a shaking hand I hurriedly shoved the gun back into my holster and scooped up the two casings, stuffing them deep into a pocket. I knew I hadn’t actually killed the demon. Since it wasn’t of this plane I’d simply sent it back to the demon realm. It wasn’t a threat anymore—at least for now. That was the important thing.
“Are you injured?” Eilahn asked, gaze sweeping over me. I shook my head, then winced at the sound of running footsteps. I’d been hoping that the pop of my little gun wouldn’t be enough to draw attention, but apparently even a .32 was significant.
“Look annoyed,” I warned her as two uniformed officers came cautiously around the corner with their guns drawn.
“It was firecrackers,” I called to them, fixing a scowl to my face as I held up my badge. “Some assholes thought it would be funny to throw firecrackers out of their car at us.”
Both officers relaxed at the sight of my badge and holstered their weapons. “They’re lucky you didn’t pop them back,” one said, matching my scowl.
“No shit,” I agreed, adding a fervent snort for emphasis. “If my gun wasn’t in my car, I might have.”
Fortunately they seemed satisfied with our explanation, and didn’t look around for any detritus that firecrackers would have left behind. Probably helped that I’d had my badge ready to flash, and there was no reason to doubt my story. After the pair walked back toward the squad room entrance Eilahn turned to me.
“You are bleeding,” she said, a small frown pulling at her mouth.
I glanced down at my arm. My jacket was black so the blood was almost impossible to see, but there was definitely a rip, surrounded by a darker spot. When I touched it my fingers came away sticky. Scowling, I shrugged out of the jacket. “Damn. I liked this jacket.” I had on a long-sleeved grey shirt underneath, but I didn’t have any sentimental attachment to it. Hooking my fingers into the small tear, I ripped it wider.
The syraza peered at the wound. “It does not appear to be very deep.”
“The bruise will probably hurt worse,” I replied. “It just needs a Band-Aid or something.”
She retrieved the first aid kit from my car and bandaged the puncture. The worry on Eilahn’s face didn’t abate, and I knew it matched the queasy unease in my own gut.
“This is the first time I’ve been attacked by a demon when there’s been no doubt it was meant for me,” I said. Earlier this year I’d had an unpleasant encounter with a creature called a kzak—a non-sentient denizen of the demon realm. But Special Agent Ryan Kristoff had also been there, and I had plenty of reason to suspect that he’d been the true target of that attack.
“Yes,” she said. “There is no mistaking that you were the target.” Her frown deepened as she scanned the area, lifting her head as if she was scenting the wind, which, for all I knew, she was. “Yet it was not trying to kill you.”
I resisted the urge to say something trite like Coulda fooled me. Because, truth was, I knew she was right. “It didn’t put up much of a fight,” I agreed. “Maybe it was simply a warning?”
“The graa was foolish to attack you when I was present.” She turned her gaze on me. “It had to have known that it would fail, and that its risk of destruction in this realm was great.”
“But it could hardly wait for when you weren’t around,” I pointed out. Eilahn was never far from me. I ran a hand through my hair, growing more unsettled as more thoughts occurred to me. “And, of course, this means there’s another summoner nearby, possibly working for the demonic lord who has it in for me.”
“You are mistaken.” The demon shook her head. “There is likely more than one lord with a desire to harm you.”
“Thanks,” I replied dryly. “You’ve really put me at ease.” The whole reason we were tromping around the PD at night was because there’d been several attempts to summon me to the demon realm. Usually I was the one who did the summoning. I had the ability to summon to this world supernatural creatures known as demons from another plane of existence. Not hell—these weren’t the demons of any sort of religious mythos, and the reason they were even called thus was lost to history. There were twelve species—or levels—of demons, and the higher the level, the more powerful they tended to be, both physically and in their ability to use and shape arcane power. And above the twelve levels of demons were the demonic lords—beings more on the level of demi-gods—who ruled the demon realm. Generally speaking, one did not summon a demonic lord without extensive preparation, planning, and loads of arcane power, since the lords had an annoying tendency to slaughter anyone who dared do so.
But eight months ago, or so, I’d summoned Lord Rhyzkahl by accident and survived. Since then—through a variety of circumstances and favors owed—I’d become his sworn summoner, bound by oath to summon him to this world at least once a month.
And someone in the demon realm didn’t seem to be too happy with that arrangement. Or rather, several someones, if Eilahn was to be believed. And I had no reason not to trust her.
A cruiser pulled into the parking lot, and I quickly pulled my jacket back on to hide the blood on my arm. A moment later Tim stepped out with two laden plastic grocery bags, abject apology written all over his face.
“Ellen, I tried three different stores, but most everything is still closed, and all I could find was some cheap Kitty Kibble at the 24-hour drugstore, and so I got a bag of that just in case, but then I also got some tuna, and went to the all night deli and got some sliced turkey.” He crouched and began unloading the bags onto the ground in front of her, like a cat presenting a dead mouse as a trophy. He looked up at her. “Y’think any of that might work?”
I turned away in a sudden “coughing” fit as the demon blinked in discomfiture. “I…cannot thank you enough for going to such effort,” she managed after an odd few seconds of silence. The look she sent my way was nothing short of desperate, and I felt a brief surge of ridiculous satisfaction. As capable and kickass as the demon was, it was a relief to see that there were some situations that she had no idea how to handle.
“I think we’re about done searching for the night, Tim,” I said, stepping between the two since I wasn’t sure if he was even physically capable of tearing his eyes away from her on his own. A gust of wind blew my hair into my face, and I shoved it back behind my ears. The eastern sky held ominous red and purple streaks as clouds churned across the coming dawn. “The weather’s turning. It’s time to pack it in for now.”
Worry shadowed across his face. “What if she gets caught out in it?”
Oh, hell no. There was no way I was going to tromp around in the rain—and early December in south Louisiana meant it would be cold rain—on a search for a cat that didn’t exist. Not no, but fuck no.
“Fuzzykins is a tough girl,” I assured him. “She’s just biding her time until she comes on out. I’m sure she has a warm box to curl up under.”
He blinked and focused on me. “Oh, sure, Kara.” He stood and looked down at the various supplies with a crestfallen look, and I felt a stab of guilt for sending him on this wild goose chase. “Well, maybe y’all can use all this next time you look for her?”
“I know we can,” I said brightly. “Fuzzykins absolutely loves turkey. Isn’t that right, Eilahn?”
“Loves it,” she agreed.
He brightened at that. “All righty then!” He adjusted his gun belt, and I had no doubt that if he’d had a hat he’d have tipped it to Eilahn. “I’ll see y’all around then!” Whistling, he returned to his cruiser. We watched him drive off, and Eilahn shook her head.
“Humans are weird,” she muttered.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “You pretty much nailed it.”
My cell phone rang. “Now what?” I moaned. I didn’t need to look at the caller ID to know it was the Beaulac PD dispatcher. I was on call for the weekend, and I’d yet to get through a Sunday on call without getting a message from the dispatcher. It wasn’t always a murder—in fact it rarely was, fortunately—but it never failed to be something I had to actually go to the scene for. Luckily, I didn’t pull weekend call more than once a month. Plus, it wasn’t as if I had anyone at home who wanted me around on the weekends.
