Chapter 13

Thirty minutes later, it was all over.

It took me that long to work out the pronunciation of the smoke demon's name. I tried summoning it several times using the circle Gregg had created around the bonfire, and the spell found in his book.

Once I finally got it right, it only took a minute for the demon to come rolling across the night sky, and into the ring around the fire. It wavered in place, awaiting my command.

In the end, it was almost anti-climactic. I used the banishing portion of the spell from the book, and the demon simply faded away. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but it seemed almost relieved. But I tend to impart too much emotion into things, so I was probably imagining it.

I never got an answer as to why the demon was killing one kid at a time, or why it had bothered with them in the first place. Gregg had said something about it being trapped, and killing to free itself. I wasn't versed well enough in summoning to know how it worked, and my review of the book and its spells didn't offer any concrete answers. The closest I got was a reference to demons turning on the summoner if not properly called.

Gregg apparently completed the ritual correctly that last night, and tasked it with cleaning up his mess. When I summoned it back and banished it, whatever cause it had to pursue the kids was gone.

My father stayed with me, and then called my mom from his cell to let her know everything was over. My flip phone shorted out during the fight, so I made a note to myself to stop by a store before heading back to Chicago.

About thirty seconds after dad hung up, Violet appeared in a swirl of periwinkle. Dad fell over, and then watched as the beautiful Lampad leapt into my arms and gave me a victory kiss that curled my toes.

"I knew you could do it, my Fëanáro," she whispered.

"No, I told you. That's the spear's name." We'd gone over it a dozen times, but she seemed to be confused about it. "Cool weapons get names, not their wielders."

"Are you not the weapon?" she said cryptically, and before I could respond, pressed her lips to mine again.

Dad averted his eyes.

The cops arrived a few minutes later, and started investigating the scene. By then, all of my weapons and shell casings had been recovered. The detectives declared that Gregg Connors had killed himself in some hair-brained ritualistic fashion after doing the same to his parents.

The official report on the other deaths was similar. Taking a page from my Jekyll and Hyde procedure, their findings were that Gregg Connors found what he thought was an old magic book, and tried summoning a demon with unsuspecting accomplices.

When that failed, he fell to mundane means to complete his work. Using an air tank and gas mask, Gregg had climbed in the first victim's back window, climbing atop the back porch to enter. He'd attacked the second victim similarly by entering into the back of the Pizza 'Spress. The third victim was attacked in the car, and the fourth in her apartment. Chloroform knocked the victims out, and then he placed the mask over their face and filled their lungs with smoke.

The only person that had witnessed any of those attacks, and could have countered that statement, was Mike Phan. With him dead, there was no dissenting voices to that explanation. Even the second victim's opportunistic family was forced to accept that, and lost out on their payday.

The reports of ghostly apparitions and monsters were attributed to the ravings of the kids, who had all participated in the bonfire at the Sells' old place. The report said that long forgotten chemicals there had gone airborne when the kids lit their fire, and they all experienced hallucinations for several days. The cops that had seen the monsters kept mum, as did the kids. Everyone wanted to put it behind them.

We still didn't know if there would be any fall-out for my mother. Only time would tell if all of the excitement would settle down without costing her the job. Mike Phan and a cop had died at the precinct under her watch. The only excuse we could come up with was that Gregg had snuck into the precinct and killed them both. It didn't sound good, but there was nothing else that people would believe.

As for myself, the charges for assault against Dr. Connors were dropped. Their lawyer was too busy trying to fend off suits against the family's estate from the victims' families to bother with the likes of me. Not when the offended party was dead and buried.

The news outlets were excited about the events for about twenty-four hours, but after the boring report was released, interest faded quickly. Within a month, everyone in Lake Providence, Michigan, was doing everything they could to forget about the deaths, just as they had the case of Victor Sells years earlier.

My mother confirmed that the smoke demon had returned to the precinct that night, and had tried to attack them. It never got through the barrier, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the call came through that it was over.

"What happened out your way?" mom asked later that night, after everything had wound down and we were finally alone.

"Gregg lost control of his own demon, and it killed him," I said with a shrug. "Then I took care of it."

My mother gave me a weighing look, but let it go. My father kept mum about what he'd seen, and that was that.

He'd arrived just as things got started. It turned out that he'd never left the precinct, and when he saw me leave, took off after me. As he exited his vehicle in the Sells driveway, he'd heard my shots. He came running, and arrived just as the demons attacked me.

I was glad for that. Part of me hoped that with the truth revealed, he could finally put the past behind him, and accept me. If he'd known how things really went down, that I'd facilitated Gregg's death, we probably would have never spoken again.

Violet had been pleased with the outcome, and was interested in showing me just how proud she was. It was difficult resisting her, but I didn't think my parents were quite up for me disappearing into my old room with my nymph girlfriend after battling demons.

Instead, we headed home, where my grandmother was waiting.

I formerly introduced Violet as my girlfriend, and my parents did their best to smile. Out of all of them, my grandmother was the most pleased, who took to the girl immediately.

"I love your hair," she said, fondling the mulberry tresses.

"Thank you, Great Mother," Violet replied, curtsying slightly.

"Grandmother," I whispered to her after Nana had wandered away. Violet looked at me oddly, so I let it go and patted her hand. "Never-mind."

At dawn, Violet departed. I helped the investigators type up their reports, and signed off on my own. The gift I'd given my mom at ten years old, the little rose in a glass dome, had been recovered from Gregg's things. It was at home on her desk again, where it belonged.

"Crap," I said, looking up from where I sat in my mother's office.

"What?" she asked, looking up.

"I completely forgot about the case in Chicago," I explained. I dropped the file containing my Jekyll and Hyde reports for the Connors case on her desk, and pulled out a pad of paper. I quickly started jotting notes down on what could have caused the wall to collapse.

"I don't think the coroner is going to agree with this Gregg Connors self-sacrifice story," mom said as she glanced over the Jekyll report.

"Let me give you a number to a guy we use in Chicago," I told her. "He'll know how to word it."

The bell overhead jingled as it opened, and the book shop owner came out from the rear.

"Can I help you?" he said, adjusting his glasses.

I slapped Gregg's summoning book on the counter. "A young man bought this from you."

The owner of the shop glanced at it, and then back to me. "I believe so, yes."

"Were there any more?" I asked. "Anything with this?"

"It was part of a set," the man said, tilting his head back as he looked to the ceiling in thought. "They were in a trunk over at the pawn shop. It'd been sitting around forever, and they finally pried it open. When they found the books, they sold them to me."

"Do you have the other books?" I asked.

"I do," he confirmed with a nod.

"I'll take them," I said. "And which pawn shop was that?"

The pawn shop owner looked at me with a scowl.

"It's none of your business what else was in the trunk," he replied.

I leaned over the counter. "You've heard about all these deaths? These supposed sightings of ghosts and nonsense?"

"Sure," the guy said, shrugging. "What of it?"

"It started with a kid buying a magic book," I explained with a hint of foreboding. "A magic book he believed was real. Over the next few days, there's going to be a lot of people looking into where he got it."

"What's it to me?" the man said, frowning at my tone.

"You sold that book to the book store, as a set," I said softly. "People are going to hear about that. They're going to hear that you're selling arcane stuff that encourages kids to kill their friends and their parents. They're going to hear that you're making a profit off of their suffering, and they're going to be mad."

The pawn shop owner swallowed visibly.

"Or," I said, leaning back. "You sell me everything you have from the old Sells estate, including all of the items from the trunk. And you give me a list of anyone that bought anything else from Sells' house."

The man's eyes narrowed. "And they won't hear where the kid's book came from?"

"Oh, they'll figure it out," I assured him. "But you can say that you don't have any such stuff for sale in your shop, and you never will."

The man took a moment, but eventually nodded. "Let me get the stuff. And I'll make the list."

"So it worked," Q said, the reception on my new flip phone poor due to him being in the subbasement beneath my house.

"Like a charm," I said. "I don't know for sure what it was that affected the demons so well, though. It might have been the iron, or it might have been the silver."

"Or one of the essence spells we cast," the goblin said. "We put a lot into these weapons."

"True," I said, although I wasn't sure how well those had worked. We hadn't had an opportunity to test any of the essence treatments.

"It might have been the holy water we used during the quenching," Q mused. "You said the dipped bullets hurt them."

"Maybe," I said.

I could hear Q worrying the problem with his teeth. "I'm thinking about starting a fight with some faeries," he finally admitted, his dark grin obvious by the tone of his voice.

"Don't," I told him again. "I'm sure we'll eventually find out if the coal additives worked. No need to go stabbing everything in sight to see if the ashwood, wolfsbane, or hawthorn essence took."

"Don't forget the mistletoe," Q added, delighted in his inventions. "And the mandrake root, and hemlock, and—"

"I get it, I get it," I sighed. "We'll figure out a way to test them."

When we'd forged the spear and the other weapons, we'd tried all sorts of things to give us an edge. Different stages of the tempering process had involved Violet's torch and Sal's flames. Q had even bought some of the phoenix ashes from Bailey to add to the coals, along with everything else. Even things I didn't really think were associated with hurting magical beings, like salt, basil, and citron fruit were added, all in hopes that the blades would be infused by some essence of what made them deadly to different creatures.

For a while, the worst part had been the quenching with the Balaur's blood. I was sure the stench of that would live with me forever. But that had eventually been surpassed by the quenching with Hind's blood. Not to mention the trouble we'd gone through to get it.

Combined with the smithing process he'd reverse engineered from the Kenku's blade, Q was convinced that nothing could resist the weapons. And if you give a goblin an enchanted weapon, he's going to want to use it.

"Hurry back," Q said, more excitement in his voice than I think I'd ever heard. Clearly his days of simply testing the blades in his lab were numbered.

"I'll be back tomorrow," I said. "Don't stab anyone until I'm there."

I stayed another night, making sure everything was sewn up tight. I had to visit half a dozen families, and make gentle inquiries into the purchases they'd made at the pawn show. None of them put up much of a fight when I explained things, and everything that had been sold from the Sells estate was sitting in the trunk in my grandmother's Wagoneer.

Violet returned at dusk, and joined us for dinner. Nana cooked, which was always preferred, and the family learned what they could about Violet, which was nothing.

It was one of the most pleasant evenings with my parents that I could recall. My father did his best to act normally around both Violet and myself, and I did my best not to start any fires. He'd shot some concerned glances my way when Sal had crisped his oak wood dinner, but he kept quiet. It was more than I would have hoped for a few days earlier.

At one point in the evening, I found my mother staring at my sister's door. I approached her, and she started when she saw me.

"Sorry, I was just lost in thought," she said, forcing a smile.

"Thinking bout magic, and how it might be useful looking for her, right?" I asked.

My mother's eyes widened, before softening again as she looked at the door again. "Yes. I can't help but wonder…"

I shook my head softly. "I've done everything I could. I learned a spell last year that lets me track things linked together. When I was here last fall, I tried it on several things from her room. But nothing worked."

My mother's shoulders sagged slightly, and I hugged her. "Do you think…" she said, trailing off. "Do you think she's out there somewhere?"

Rather than answering, I stared at the door, and wondered. Wondered what would be better for her. False hope, or false peace? Despite having used every resource short of making a deal with a demon, I'd done everything I could to look for my sister.

And knowing more about the supernatural world hadn't helped my own peace of mind. Knowing just how many things were out there, that would take a virginal fifteen year old girl without a trace, was terrifying. There was just no way of guessing at whether she would even be alive or dead if she had been taken.

That was the worst part, I suppose. The not knowing if someone or something had taken her, or if she'd left on her own.

"I don't know," I told her, unable to lie. "Maybe we'll never know. But I'll keep looking."

My mother hugged me, and sniffed her tears away. I gave her a moment, and then led her back over to the family we had. Maybe not the family we wanted, or felt we deserved. Maybe not whole, or healthy.

But family all the same.