Sometimes, a rubber duck is not a rubber duck.

  On the way back, I stopped at the Charleston Visitor Center and picked up a map of the peninsula. When we got back to the townhouse, I put the map on the coffee table and moved to the kitchen to snag a double old fashioned and fill it with water. The twig came out of my hair easily enough and when I stuck it in the glass, it almost seemed to give a happy sigh. Then again, I could just as easily blame that on my overactive imagination, given that Tristan didn’t notice.

  I walked back into the living room, set the glass on the table and unfolded the map. “Right. Here’s what I know…” My ballpoint pen circled White Point Garden. “Here is where the first kidnap victim vanished… and over here was where her body was found. I cross-referenced my hasty sketch of ley lines and nodes and marked the nodes nearby with a circle and the numerical strength on a scale of one to ten. She’d been found central to several nodes, and I realized that I should have made this map first. But I hadn’t seen the correlation to the ley lines. Tristan had.

  “So… she wasn’t found at a node, but rather near a cluster. Are there other clusters?” Tristan asked, picking up my sketch and trying unsuccessfully to compare it to the map. “Christ, Da. Where did you learn to draw a map?” He turned the sketch sideways and then made an ah-ha noise. “Hey, look,” he continued, oblivious to the fact that he’d just insulted my sketch by complaining while holding it wrong. “There’s another cluster over there. Were any of the other victims found in…” He squinted as he read the map. “Hampton Park?”

  I flipped open the file and skimmed the list. “Yeah. She’s the one that went missing from the bus station at Broad and East Bay.” I moved to mark the bus station on the map, and then scribbled in the cluster of nodes and the location that her body had been found. Before I moved to the third victim, I quickly drew in the Gate location and the node at Marion Square. Wordless, I drew in the third victim’s disappearance and reappearance points, and as I flipped through the file for the fourth, Tristan started to draw straight lines for each victim. Before I had even marked in the fourth victim, I knew what I was looking at. “Son of a bitch.” Every line went through the College of Charleston, and that’s where Kelly’s sister had gone missing.

  “I’d say offhand that he’s based there, Da. Okay, what do we do now? How can we tell if it is faculty or a student? A college campus is a pretty tough place to look for a single individual when you don’t know anything about them beyond being demonic.” Tristan said, scratching his head. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m not too keen on wandering campus feeling up trees and buildings.” My son had such a way with words.

  “I’m working a plan, but first thing is first. It’s nearly six, and the only thing I know for certain that you’ve eaten is a cheap packet of noodles. We’re going to get food and then I’ll decide the best way to go from here.” He looked at me, and I lifted my hand. “Not without you, Tristan. I know. And as much as I would prefer it, I won’t leave you behind.” I’d just make him sit in the car and guard. Guard. No, I knew one better. I’d set him to guard Ravenswing’s house, and therefore Vanessa. Sometimes I pleased even myself with my cunning.

  Tristan nodded and motioned to the map. “Guess we ought to leave this here. It looks a little too much like police work for the general public. Not to mention that there wouldn’t be any space for food on any table.” He moved to fold it up and managed to do it as precisely as if it hadn’t been unfolded at all. That took talent, for everyone knows that maps never fold back the same way after being unfolded.

  I nodded and looked to Tristan with a smirk. “I don’t think we’d enjoy suddenly being the center of attention in Charleston. The tourists are eager enough to see ghosts in every nook and cranny, a map with lines drawn on it related to a serial killer would only have them buzzing about even more.” Worse, whoever we dined with would be touting the fact that they were the central investigation point. A name would be assigned to this demon, and he’d gain notoriety akin to Jack the Ripper. That would be a PR nightmare to end all nightmares for the Charleston PD. I didn’t dare bring that level of awareness to the case.

  I also didn’t know where to eat. If I took him to the Bell Tree, he’d end up meeting Suzu and learning that Xelander was living there. Then there would be even more awkwardness when my brother got in on the case, and I’d be saddled with keeping both of them safe from this demon. My son, of course, solved it when he opened his mouth. “Let’s go back to that diner. You know, the one where I was such an ass. I pulled a runner on them, and I figure they deserve a better chance out of me.”

  I gave him a wry smile. “I did pay for the meal, Tristan. I’m not in the habit of dining and dashing.” He tilted his head, and I waved him off. “But they do have excellent food, and I see no reason not to patronize them.” I pulled my keys out of my pocket and jangled them at him. “Come on, I have a desire for a potato salad.”

  It was Charleston’s best kept secret that the diner was open for dinner. In truth, I felt like I was perhaps betraying Suzu by not going to the Bell Tree, but I rationalized it away as being for everyone’s best interest while I was working on this case. After I wrapped the case, I’d take Tristan to the Bell Tree and pay whatever price the Fates deemed worthy of my subterfuge. I parked the car, and we headed into the diner, our discussion about the case fallen way to the more urgent need to keep things quiet and out of the public knowledgebase. We were seated, and Tristan perused the menu. I didn’t; I knew what I wanted.

  “So… what’s good for a meat eater, then?” Tristan asked nonchalantly as he flipped the pages of the menu and scanned the list. “I mean, I figure you’re not the ideal person to ask, but have you brought anyone here that has liked something that actually contained animal product?” He had to put it that way, just had to go there. A quick flash of the menu revealed that same irritating grin, and I knew he was doing it on purpose.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Ask the waitress,” I replied, my mind not truly on the subject of eating. I was still chewing on how I was going to get him to agree to keeping watch at Ravenswing’s. I’d probably have to tell him that the girl inside was the true target, and that an elaborate subterfuge was keeping her lower on the demon’s proverbial radar. After that, it would be a simple matter of giving him the address and telling him to keep watch over the night. I could then go lay in wait at the Gate as the dryad had told me. The hard part would be looking my son in the eyes while I strung him along.

  I waited until our dinner had arrived to make mention of it. “All right, I’ve been trying to decide how to handle this, but I can’t come up with a reasonable plan of action. I know who the true target of the demon is, and right now, she’s about as vulnerable as it gets. I’m not sure how to protect her and go after the demon.” I moved the bowl of potato salad to the side and spooned some onto my plate while he poked his steak with a fork to see if it was cooked correctly. Or, not cooked, as it was. My son seemed to have the eating habits of a wildling.

  Tristan cut into the steak, and I immediately looked away from the blooded plate, focusing my attention on the potatoes and ignoring everything two inches past my own plate. “Da, I’m not a child. You want me to go protect this woman so that you can go after the demon. I get it. I’ll go. But I’m going under protest, and you know it.” I looked up just in time to see him closing his mouth around a forkful of entirely undercooked steak and I winced.

  “How can you eat that? It’s complaining louder than you are,” I busied myself with my potato salad, patently aware that at this point, eating it was, to pardon the bad joke, not bloody likely. “Never mind, I don’t need an explanation. But as to your protecting the young woman… after all is said and done, I am your father. And a father’s responsibility to protect his children still remains, even if I wasn’t the best in the world.”

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  “Da…” Tristan began, and then I heard his fork catch against the china of his plate. It made me look up, and he was looking at me with an expression that I didn’t quite follow. “You and me… we had a rough go of it when I was younger. All I wanted was to be with you, and all you could do was take care of me from afar. I’ve forgiven you. Did so years ago after a long talk with Auld Peg. Now you forgive yourself and I’ll go on your little side mission of protecting a damsel in distress.” He moved to cut the steak again and I shifted my gaze before I had to see it. My heart headed for my throat, and I swallowed hard, reaching for my water.

  It took a few minutes before I trusted my voice after the rush of emotion, and after another sip of water, I put my glass down and lifted my gaze. “You grew up better than I could have ever hoped, Tristan. You’re a testament to Auld Peg’s love.” My lips quirked because I knew how strongly Auld Peg loved. She loved fully, with her heart and her soul and no matter what I’d done; I knew she’d still love me. Didn’t mean I could bear to go back and look her in the eye.

  Tristan had his own glass of tea at his lips, and he nodded once, and then set the glass down. “You’re not eating. Did I put you off your meal?” He turned his plate self-consciously, effectively blocking my view with his baked potato. “I can box mine up if you’d like. I can always eat it later.” Another shift of dishware, and his soup bowl now obscured the greens on his plate.

  “No, no. I rarely eat before a job.” That was true, and yet, I had to admit to myself that his steak had been a bit much for me to attempt to stomach. “I ordered it more to look the part so that you’d feel less on the spot while you ate. Please. Eat while it is still… hot.” As hot as a steak with a cold and bleeding center could be. Christ.

  My son grinned at me and moved to cut more steak, and I pulled my phone out of my pocket, calling up Ravenswing’s address. “Have you got an international license? I’ll give you the keys to the rental because it’s a bit of a distance from here. I’ll take the Ninja, as it is smaller and easier to hide.” And it beat walking. I wanted the element of surprise when I dealt with this demon… and if he saw a grey Pontiac sitting all by itself in the parking lot; it would be as bad as my having a huge neon sign around my neck proclaiming my presence.

  I glanced his way, averting my gaze quickly when I saw his fork rise with a slice of something disturbingly pink on it. He chewed, swallowed, and then replied. I was grateful he hadn’t tried speaking with his mouth full. “Yeah, I’ve an international. Haven’t had to use it for a bit… been mostly village-bound, you know? It’s not like you need a car there. Or a motorcycle.” He had a point; one could easily walk from one end of the village to the other in about an hour. If you were lazy about it and stopped to chat with everyone you encountered. And didn’t consider the sheep fields on the outskirts.

  “That will likely do. As long as you remember to drive on the right side of the road here. Taking off on the left side will not only end up with an impressive fine, but the risk of lives lost.” I pushed around a potato chunk, speared it with my fork, and managed to move it three inches across my plate before I lost it. I wasn’t trying to eat; it was more a game I was playing to see how far I could move the bits of my food before they fell off my fork.

  “What, I’m not allowed to drive over the locals? Where’s the fun in that, Da?” He lifted a hand to stay off my protests. “I jest, I jest. I think I can keep a car between the correct lines and follow the general flow of traffic. Red means stop, green means go, and yellow means hold on to your ass and accelerate, right?” He was laughing when he said it, so I knew he was joking.

  “Only if you are driving in the North. Around here, red means stop, green means take your time and yellow means to creep into the intersection and look for traffic before you stop. Oh, and when it rains, they take their hands off the steering wheel, cover their eyes and pray to Jesus to get them home.” I might not have been joking about the latter.

  After Tristan finished his steak, we sat quietly discussing what he was going to do, and I gave him the address, directions, and the code to get inside the gate. As far as anyone looking out the window was concerned, the car had been seen at Ravenswing’s before, and Tristan could pass well enough as me in a cursory glance from a stranger. I made him promise not to interact with the occupants of the home unless it was absolutely required and made him swear another oath that he wouldn’t agree to anything that Valen Ravenswing might try to talk him into. He agreed with bemusement, but I hadn’t told him that Ravenswing was a more powerful demon… or that the young lady in question was at the very least, half.

  Back at the townhouse, I handed him the keys to the Pontiac. “Do remember it is a rental, Tristan, and try not to hit anything.” Neither the insurance or the repairs gave me any concern; it was more that he wasn’t on the lease, and it was too late to add him. The legal mess that could result would be fixable, but annoying. He rolled his eyes and took the keys, shaking his head as he headed out the door. I spent a moment with my eyes closed, hoping that he didn’t do anything stupid or worse, reckless. The last thing I needed was Tristan either in hospital from car accident, or in contract to Ravenswing.

  Then I picked up the little twig and went upstairs to prepare to take this demon by the perhaps not so proverbial horns.

  Preparations for dealing with a demon range from simple to complicated. For the lesser demons, the ones that pop up, cause chaos and leave, anyone with a strong enough faith can chase them out. For stronger ones like Valen Ravenswing? That takes a little more work. I planned for a lot more work than that.

  Upstairs in my room, I ignored the rumpled bed that my son had slept in and headed for the closet. Straight back, against the wall and behind my sport coats was a recessed set of shelving containing a myriad of objects that I tended to only use on more magical assignments and a bundle of clothing. I took up the clothing, changing into it quickly.

  For missions like this one, I went with something a little less… well, classy. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t be found out of dress pants, but I knew a tailor who had replicated a pair of hidden pocket cargos out of a wool and silk blend for me. They had seven pockets hidden beyond the four standard visible. Into these pockets went all sorts of bits. The little twig came out of the water and tucked into my shirt pocket. Don’t ask me; it just felt like the right thing to do.

  I had several small vials of magnesium, which while not entirely necessary, I’d learned kept a fire going on a demonic entity without my magic to carry it, and those were tucked into a thin leather wallet and held fast by an elastic. I tucked this into the pocket at my left knee, and then picked up a small bag out of the bowl of them on the second shelf.

  I checked the contents. By count, there were two large sapphires, three medium ones, and about fifteen small ones. But these weren’t true sapphires. See, over the years, I had condensed my magic into gemstones, a habit taught by my well-meaning but oftentimes meddling mentor. He’d known that I held more magic than I could easily control, so he’d taught me the skill to create what were commonly called magestones.

  Magestones, Mage’s Tears, magic gems, whatever you wanted to call them, were an unusual method for storing magic. Generally only created by powerful mages, magic could be siphoned off and forced into a crystal structure like a true gemstone. Now, they’re not what you usually think of a gemstone; they aren’t clear or faceted or anything close to jewel quality. They’re misshapen, murky, and varying shades of color. Jewelers wouldn’t want them, and indeed, many magestones have passed through history completely undiscovered for their appearances.

  Mine were murky light blue things that were mostly comprised of my air magic, the one… skill that was wild and apt to cause the most problems. I siphoned much of it off on a semi-regular basis to keep it from going wild on me and making things go crazy. Poltergeist activity was often the result of an unskilled air mage, and that was the way to approach things tonight. After all, I excel at mind games and there was nothing wrong with a little psychological warfare.

  I stuffed the bag of magestones into my pocket and reached for the vial of holy water. Remember: magic is a good bit based in belief… and if this guy believed that, as a demon, he was susceptible to holy water, it would work on him. If he didn’t, well, he’d get wet. That went in the other knee pocket, and I turned to look at my Glock 36. Magic or mundane, stick a few holes in it and it will eventually go down, and as I wasn’t on official business, I couldn’t take my service weapon.

  I snagged the in-waist holster and fought with it to get it clipped to my waistband in the back, then picked up the Glock. I slid one of the loaded magazines in and holstered the weapon. Another loaded magazine went into my upper left pocket, and after a moment of mental debate, I grabbed the third magazine and stuffed it into my right pants pocket. I was loaded for bear, and ready to kick some demonic ass. As soon as I could find it.