Sins of the Demon

needed a minute to tease it out. “This drug,” I said finally, “it’s not just making me point in a particular direction. My impulse control seems to be shot to hell. And I think it might have been the same with the victims as well.” I thought back to what Pellini had said about Barry getting into his face. Maybe his impulse control had been slipping? Why else would an ex-con take a chance on antagonizing a cop?

Zack cleared his throat. “I have a theory about that, actually.”

I looked over at him, suddenly realizing with a stab of embarrassment that he’d surely been aware of what had happened between Ryan and me the other day. I didn’t know the precise dynamic between those two, and I had a feeling it wasn’t quite the same as the arrangement Eilahn and I had—wherein she was always within touching distance of me—but still, I had no doubt he knew what was going on with Ryan at all times.

But more importantly, I remembered that he’d reacted when we first mentioned the drugs. If he had any information, putting forth a “theory” would certainly be the best and easiest way to share any knowledge he might have.

“The reduction of impulse control is probably as vital as the enhancement of sensitivity to the arcane,” Zack explained. “What good is it if the recipients become more attuned to portals—or whatever it is you’re being drawn to—if they can simply resist the desire to go see for themselves?”

Ryan frowned. “Shouldn’t this drug wear off at some point?”

“I do not know,” Eilahn confessed. “Theoretically, yes, but the cuff is shielding its effects, and also possibly increasing the time it takes to degrade.”

“It’s also possible,” Zack added, “that there’s a link between you and the portals, since you had a strong emotional connection to the victims.”

Damn. Now that made a hideous amount of sense. “So this summoner might not even need me to find whatever this is?”

Zack shifted uncertainly. “It’s only a theory,” he qualified. “But I would imagine he already knows where the, um, focal point is.”

I shot him a look of pure gratitude. From the look of tension on his face it was clear he was skating hard and fast over the thin ice of breaking the oaths that bound him to secrecy.

“I’d love to know what the hell this thing is that I’m supposed to go find,” I said, “but I’m well aware that finding out would probably involve bad things happening to me. However, I do wish we could pinpoint the location a little better. Maybe we could find some locations closer to this area and get them warded so that I could take the cuff off and take new bearings.”

Jill nodded. “That would work, but,” she looked over at Eilahn, “how long would that take to do?”

The syraza pursed her lips. “Wards of that design and strength are not simple. Even if the chosen locations were small, it would likely take much of a day.”

Did we even have that long? I rather doubted this summoner intended to blithely sit back and wait for the drug to wear off. He or she surely had a backup plan in mind. “Okay, so we can try to narrow the location down. In the meantime, we need to figure out how to track down this other summoner.” I stood and began to pace the length of the sitting room. “I swear, if I ever get loads of free time, I’m going to create a directory. Or a social network.”

Jill snickered. “What, like MagicSpace?”

Tessa’s lips twitched. “Somehow I doubt that the ones engaged in illicit activities will be eager to sign up.”

I waved my hands. “Details! But I can’t help but wonder how the hell Peter Cerise was able to get six summoners together for his summoning of Szerain.”

“Perhaps they had the same mentor,” Tessa suggested.

“Maybe,” I said. “But…” I stopped pacing. “Wait. That’s six summoners we haven’t checked out.”

“Aren’t they all, yanno, dead?” Jill put in.

“True,” I said. “But if any of them had kids, maybe they became summoners as well.” I turned to my aunt. “I mean, you did. We know there’s a genetic component.”

Tessa’s expression was shadowed as she nodded, and guilt swam through me for making her relive painful memories. However, when she looked up at me she had a smile on her face. She has my back, I reminded myself.

“You really only need to check out four of them,” she said, “since you already know about Peter Cerise and your grandmother. Your best bet will probably be the married couple. I’m blanking on their name, but I seem to remember something in the news about them being survived by a son.”

“I’ll head back to the office and pull up the report.…” I trailed off, frowning as Jill grinned and pulled a ridiculously small laptop out of her purse.

“The lab gets all the cool new toys first,” she said as she opened it and set it on the coffee table. “Remote access to the database. I can pull up the report from the fire here.”

“That’s not fair,” I pouted. “Why can’t the detectives get some of the nice shit?”

“Because you don’t know how to use it,” she retorted.

I hmmfed and plopped into a chair. It didn’t help that she was right.

“Okay, according to the report the victims were Robert Lamothe, Frank McCreary, Cherie and Keveen Bergeron, Peter Cerise, and Gracie Pazhel.” At my grandmother’s name she glanced up at me with a slight grimace before returning her attention to the screen. “Now I’ll run a check on them through my various people search functions.”

I felt a bit silly just watching her work, but Ryan and Zack watched her just as intently.

“Got something!” Jill crowed. “The married couple did indeed have a son. Gerald Bergeron. He lives in Baton Rouge at—” She grimaced. “Nope, scratch that. He died several years ago.” She continued to click the touchpad and finally exhaled. “Ah, but he had a kid. He’d be in his late twenties now.” She looked at me. “Could be?’

“It’s our only lead so far,” I said with an answering shrug. “Gimme everything you have on him.”

Her brow puckered in concentration as she worked the search. “Well, I have a name—Raymond Bergeron.” Her forehead puckered. “But no DL, no passport. No pics that I can find anywhere.” She clicked a few more keys. “Oh, here we go. Raymond was reported as a runaway when he was fourteen.”

The back of my neck prickled, and I sat up. “This sounds promising. Maybe he changed his name.”

“What about the parents?” Ryan asked. “What else do you have on them?”

“Lemme get back to that screen,” she said. “Plenty of stuff on them.” She fell silent, her eyes flicking across the screen. “The mom died about two years before Raymond ran away.” Jill winced. “Suicide. Shut herself in the garage, stuffed blankets under the doors, and left the car running.” Pursing her lips, she clicked through some more screens. “And the dad, Gerald Bergeron, passed away from a heart attack about five years ago.”

“Crap,” I muttered, frustrated. “This kid, Raymond, has to be our guy. I just know it. There are no pictures of him anywhere?”

“Not on any databases I have access to, but…” she trailed off and tilted her head, frowned. “Oh, wow. …”

“What?” I demanded, fighting an urge to rip the laptop away from her.

She exhaled. “Well, no pics of Raymond. But I do have a DL pic of his dad.” She turned the laptop toward me.

I stared. I couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d shown me a picture of the Pope. “There’s no way,” I said.

Jill shrugged. “It might not be,” she said. “This is a picture of the father, after all, so any similarity in appearance could be nothing more than coincidence.”

“I don’t understand,” Ryan said, frowning. “Who do you think it is?”

“Well,” I said, “unless this guy has a double running around, this is the father of one Officer Tracy Gordon.”

Chapter 20