I bit my lip. “But I might know where they fall in the supernatural spectrum. Nina and I saw Lorraine today— the witch, from HR?”
“Right.” Parker sat back in his chair. “The one who knows more than she lets on.”
“Well, she’s letting on more. She said that the stuff—that the stuff taken from the victims? It can be put together to create something.”
“Like some kind of macabre macaroni necklace? Gross.”
I sighed. “No. Like something that can give the creator—or gatherer or whatever he would be—absolute power.”
Parker’s eyebrows rose. “Well, that sounds ominous.”
“It’s been your experience that people tend to kill for three main reasons. Power …”
“Power and power.” Parker ticked it off on his fingers as he spoke. “Miss Lawson, I think you’ve just given us a motive.”
“Lawson? Lawson?” Parker was on his feet, waving his arms airline traffic controller style. “Are you okay?”
My face went hot and red. I cleared my throat and clamped my knees together. “Sorry just … trying to work on the case.”
Parker’s face broke into that sexy half smile and he leaned against his desk. “Sophie Lawson—dedicated player. We make a good team.”
“If you only knew,” I muttered under my breath.
“Okay, great. We’ve got motive. But where do we go from here?”
I raised my eyebrows. “I think I know. Lorraine mentioned that in order to perform the ritual, the demon needs not only the”—I shuddered—“stolen body parts, but to use a certain sword. It has to be charmed, the steel has to have been forged by one of the Meer demons in a remote part of Ireland, and it has to be inlaid with a purple quartz stone.”
“That sounds awfully specific.”
“Specific and rare. Not the kind of thing you pick up at the local Target.”
Parker rubbed his hands together. “Okay, then where would someone pick up something like that? It seems to me we find the sword, we find our killer.”
I nodded and flipped open my laptop. “There are a lot of demons in San Francisco but not a whole lot of demon retail. There’s a place in San Jose where Nina used to go, though….”
“A place where Nina used to go, huh?”
I nodded.
“You think Vlad might know about this place, too? Maybe know a little something about the sword?”
I looked up from my laptop. “I really don’t know anything anymore, Parker. Vlad wasn’t even here when the first two murders happened. Besides, he’s just a kid.”
“A hundred-year-old kid?”
“I don’t know,” I moaned, going back to my laptop. “Okay, got the address.” I jotted down the address to the Crystal Ball and held up the paper to Parker. “Feel like a road trip?”
Parker shook his keys between his thumb and forefinger. “Let’s go.”
I buckled myself into Parker’s white SUV when he pulled out of the police station lot, and turned away from the freeway. I jabbed my index finger toward my passenger-side window. “Parker, you’re going the wrong way. The freeway on-ramp is right over there.”
Parker’s eyes remained fixed on the road, but I could see his cheeks push up in a grin.
“Haven’t you even been on a road trip before, Lawson? The first rule of travel is road food. Can’t drive on an empty stomach.” He patted his trim stomach, then maneuvered the car into the McDonald’s parking lot, swinging through the drive-through entrance.
“San Jose is only forty-five minutes away!”
“Right,” Parker said, his eyes scanning the lit-up menu board. “I should get two cheeseburgers. You want something?”
I blew out a sigh. “Strawberry shake, please. And a small fry.”
Parker patted my thigh jovially. “That’s the spirit.”
Parker called our order out of the driver’s side window and handed me our spoils. Once the car filled up with the overpowering scent of grease and salt, we turned onto the highway, heading south.
“I know I keep asking this,” Parker said, mouth full of French fries, “but how is it that the whole Underworld —and UDA—can exist, and the regular world not know about it?”
“They know about it,” I said, sucking strawberry through my straw. “They just don’t think about it. Works in the demon’s favor. And besides, the demon world was around long before the human one ever was, so they—the demons—kind of have the upper hand.”
Parker furrowed his brow. “Where’d you get that?”
“I guess everyone has their own Big Bang Theory. Demons, too. According to the Underworld, demonkind existed long before humankind. The demons grew so arrogant—their words, not mine—that humans were created to replace them.”
“That’s rough.”
“Yeah. You can see why a lot of demons are a little upset and make humans offer them sacrifices or pay for favors or protection. After the humans were created, the demons were used to carry man’s prayers to the gods and the gods’ wills to mortals.”
Parker fished another fry from the bag. “I don’t know if I believe that.”
“Well, then Christianity spread, and all the spirits were demonized and shoved downward—into the Underworld, caves, eventually into sewers and cellars—and angels were created.”
Parker’s head swung toward me, and he swallowed hard. “Angels, huh?”
“Eyes on the road,” I said, turning his jaw forward. “Angels were supposedly created to replace the demons. They inherited the demon function of carrying messages and prayer. The demons were obviously upset that they, real beings, were replaced by a mythological, made-up creature.”
Parker smiled. “So angels aren’t real?”
“Not that I’ve ever seen.”
“But centaurs, wizards, trolls—they’re real?”
I finished the last of my milkshake. “As real as you and me.”
We drove along in companionable silence for a few minutes until Parker said, “What about you, Lawson? Do you believe in angels?”
“Of course not. I believe in God—but the whole winged angel thing?” I shook my head. “Silly.”
“Silly?”
“I’m sorry, did I offend you? I didn’t think—”
“No,” Parker said, “not at all. I was just asking. This is our exit, right?”
I nodded as Parker steered the car off the highway. “Right there, that’s the street. Turn there.”
We pulled into the Crystal Ball parking lot and jumped out of the car, pausing in front of the scarf-covered front door.
“Ready for this?” I asked Parker.
“If you are,” he said, his hand on the knob.
We walked in, a tinkling of bells signaling our entrance into the incense-filled shop.
Long counters and shelves were lined with all manner of trinkets—magical and non—plus miniature statues of stern-faced gargoyles and trolls interspersed with baskets full of crystals and rocks.
“Would you get a load of this?” Parker said, picking up a troll statue. “Remind you of anyone?” He grinned, and I took the troll doll—which did, in fact, bear a striking resemblance to Steve—and put it back on the shelf.
“Stop playing around, Parker. We’re here for a reason.”
“Yeah, but is anyone else?”
Parker was right—the store was deserted. No customers except for the two of us; no shopkeeper or
