Graves Pact (Matthew Stinson) - Matthew Stinson Page 0,2
maybe it belongs to the victim.”
“So, no leads there?” Phil asked, scanning for the details.
“Not likely.” I glanced up at the bloody writing on the wall pensively. “You want me to take point on this?”
“Well, you have the most expertise with this sort of thing,” he admitted, waving a hand out over the sodden ritual site. “But I was given the responsibility. Let’s call it ‘partners’ for the reports.”
I nodded. Sure, that’s fine by me.
My field was forensic accounting, but that wasn’t what the old school guys like Phil called it. He was a major crimes guy whose resume read like an action movie synopsis. With hostage negotiations at bank robberies and huge drug busts, this case must have seemed pretty weak. I knew that he was none-too-pleased to call a paper trailing desk jockey like me ‘partner,’ but I had experience from the ’91 case.
And I was a warlock. I’d made a pact with a devil five years ago, unbeknownst to Phil or anyone else I worked with. I knew a few things about the occult and the supernatural world as a result. I was staring at the aftermath of the real McCoy. Someone had tried to summon some extra-dimensional creature.
I pulled on some latex gloves and knelt next to a pulpy heap of partially burned books. Rummaging through, I found a palm-sized piece of parchment that stood out. Even through the gloves, I could feel the coarse texture of the aged paper. It was too old to belong with the rest of the material, too thick and well-made to disintegrate with a little water. Less than a quarter of a diagram was visible, but I bagged it.
I reexamined the area just inside the circle. Any salt would have been washed away, but I looked for powdered iron or silver. For reasons beyond me, those materials held sway over spirits, fey, demons, and other nasties I had no names for. Oddly, I found nothing of the sort amid the refuse of the spent circle.
Summoning was dangerous business. Only a total idiot would conjure an otherworldly creature without making any attempt to keep it trapped. Had the summoned creature escaped? My experience with the arcane was limited to conjuring. I supposed the ritual could have been for something completely different, but my gut disagreed.
As I pivoted on the balls of my feet, I caught sight of the most disturbing part of the scene—to me at least. A vaguely human-like Rorschach blot of black ichor stained the wall. While the others might have dismissed it as a coincidence, I knew the shape meant something more. I didn’t know exactly what kind of creature it had been, but I doubted I’d like it when I found out.
I stood up and walked over. Leaning in close, I saw that the oily goo resisted the water from the fire suppression system and it smelled foul enough to evoke a reflexive gag. I stepped back, still staring at the wretched image of some terrible thing locked in place, like the inverse of an atomic shadow you’d see in photographs from Hiroshima.
“Our forensic team has already swept through,” Phil said as he noticed my fixation.
“While we wait for the lab work, I’ll revisit some of my old research.” Even with top priority, the physical forensics would still take a few days to come up with anything. “Should I take a look at the body?”
“It’s burned pretty badly. You can swing by the coroner’s tomorrow if you want. I’ll stick around here,” Phil said. “I like to get a feel for things myself. Photos and reports only tell you so much. I’ll play liaison with the military and see what they turn up.”
Reports were usually all I have to work with, but I knew his type. “Let’s get together in the office on Monday and compare notes. I’ll do some footwork and see if I shake anything loose. I’ll get your number from Anne at the office if anything comes up between now and then.”
I had no intention of digging up the ’91 case file. I had a more direct source of information. I just hope he didn’t rip my face off.
Chapter Two
A thick leather-bound book lay open on my desk, a worn but well-cared-for tome I’d owed for almost five years. I looked over the yellowing pages of parchment, fingers delicately tracing the faded lines of the diagram that detailed the summoning spell. I reread each section of text thoroughly. My Latin was rusty.