The confusion cleared from Ryan’s eyes as he smiled. A strange chill crawled down my back. So, if Zack is also Ryan’s guardian, is part of his duty making sure that Ryan doesn’t remember whatever it is he’s not supposed to remember? Is he a guardian or a prison guard? Or was the line between guard and guardian a fine one? Like a reverse Stockholm syndrome.

My appetite had disappeared, so I left the rest of my burger and excused myself to the hallway to call Crawford. When I pulled my phone out I realized that I’d several missed calls from him, and I groaned. Great, I wrecked my car and didn’t show up for work. Nice way to earn points with the rank.

“Goddamn it, Kara!” he said when he answered, in lieu of hello or anything of that ilk. “What the fuck is going on? Are you all right?”

“I’m sorry, Sarge. I’m okay. Had an unwelcome visitor last night.” I paused. “Ten-twelve?” Ten-twelve was the code for “Can you talk freely/are you alone?”

I heard a shuffling and then the closing of a door. “Okay, go ahead,” he said.

I gave him a quick rundown of what happened at my house last night, leaving out the part about being woken up by a demonic lord. Crawford was handling the woo-woo stuff all right so far, but I didn’t think he was quite ready for the bit about me summoning demons.

He muttered something foul. “All right, we’ll come up with something to explain what happened to your car. Do you know who sent that thing after you?”

“We have a pretty strong theory, but, well, we’ve run into a snag.”

“Go on.”

“I have no idea how to get a warrant that accuses someone of committing murder using an arcane construct,” I said sourly.

“Well, shit.”

“We’re trying to put together a plan,” I continued. “It would help if you were a part of it, but it might not, um, follow procedure.”

He was silent for several heartbeats. “Then it sounds like you might have need for me.”

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. “We’re holed up at Ryan’s place. I’ll text you the address.”

“I’ll be on my way as soon as I get it.”

I disconnected and walked back to the living room. “Sarge is on board. Where the fuck are we?”

Ryan laughed and rattled off an address that I recognized as being even more out in the boonies than my own house. I quickly sent the text to Crawford, then plopped back down on the couch and concentrated on eating. No matter what course of action we decided on, I had a feeling I was going to need all available energy.

Crawford arrived about twenty minutes later, which gave me enough time to finish my burger and even finally pull a brush through the snarled mess that was my hair.

I introduced Eilahn and Crawford, quickly glossing over where she was from and why she was here. He gave her a gruff greeting, shook her hand, and then ignored her so studiously and carefully that it would have been insulting in any other circumstance. However, I was pretty sure that Crawford had somehow figured out that he didn’t really want to know too much more about her. Crawford’s tenuous acceptance of my weirdness seemed to include an instinct to not ask questions unless it was absolutely necessary.

Probably a damn smart move on his part.

“I think the first thing we have to do is find the golem and destroy it,” I said, once we’d all settled in the living room. “Then we can deal with Ben Moran without worrying about silly things like getting smacked by a giant clay monster.”

“It would have to be somewhere at the house, right?” Zack suggested.

I started to agree, then paused. “No. I’ve been to the house twice and never felt any resonance. I think if it was being kept there, I’d have felt something.” I considered for a few seconds. “And not at the studio, either. Or rather, I only felt resonance there in certain places, where the golem would have been to kill Adam Taylor.”

Silence fell.

“You said this thing is made out of clay?” Crawford asked after a moment.

I nodded. “That’s what it looked like to me. Dirt, dried clay, held together and animated by some sort of arcane means.”

“And it’s pretty big, right?” he continued. “Which means that whoever made it would need a fair amount of clay.”

I nodded again.

He pushed off the wall. “I know where to start looking.”

We looked at him expectantly.

“C’mon, boys and girls,” Crawford said with a cheery smile. “We’re going to the dump.”

Chapter 33

Ben Moran had made his money in debris removal, or so Crawford reminded us after we’d looked at him like he was insane. One of the reasons Moran had enjoyed such success wasn’t simply because he had trucks to haul debris, but also because he owned a decent-sized tract of land in the north end of the parish which he was able to use as a place to dump said debris. And one of the reasons that the site was so ideal for a landfill was the fact that the ground was mostly clay—which had saved him a great deal of trouble and expense, since the landfill permits required a significant clay barrier to be placed before debris could be dumped.

Unfortunately, the landfill was a shit location as far as tactics went. It was in the middle of dense woods, there was only one road leading to it, and it was surrounded by a high chain-link fence and higher dirt berm. We’d scouted the location as best we could using the Internet, but we knew that the satellite images we found were probably months old. Eventually we grudgingly decided that there was nothing to do but go.

We went in two vehicles—Ryan, Eilahn, and me in one car, and Zack and Crawford in the other. As a concession to tactics we parked beyond the last curve of the road before the landfill, less than a quarter mile from the entrance. This area of the parish was hilly enough that we couldn’t see the landfill from where we were, which we hoped meant that anyone—or anything—at the landfill couldn’t see us either.

I stepped out of the Ryan’s car, then slung the strap of my shotgun over my shoulder. I had it loaded with double-aught buckshot and slugs, and I hoped like hell that I wouldn’t have to use it. I hated firing slugs. The last time I’d been forced to qualify with the shotgun I’d ended up with a bruise the size of a dinner plate on my shoulder that had taken weeks to fade completely.

But I had more faith in the ability of the shotgun to stop a golem than my 9mm. And, since we didn’t have access to grenades or rocket launchers, this was the next best thing for destroying the thing. I hoped.

“Doesn’t smell like a dump,” I remarked to Crawford as he walked up. He’d changed into fatigue pants and boots as well, and he held his shotgun down by his side.

“That’s ’cuz it’s not for regular garbage,” he replied. “Almost entirely for construction debris, and I don’t think it’s used much anymore. Moran made a killing after the last hurricane, when the local governments were desperate to find a place to dump storm debris, but this site’s a bit too remote for regular use.”

“Which makes it the most likely place to store a magic monster,” I said.

Ryan peered up at the berm that blocked our view of the landfill. It was at least twenty feet high and unnervingly steep. “Zack, you’re a nimble little fucker. You wanna reconnoiter?”

The blond agent smiled. “Thought you’d never ask.” A second later he was scrambling up the side of the steep hill, barely disturbing a single clod of dirt. We watched as he edged up to the crest and pulled out a small pair of binoculars. He remained still and silent for a couple of minutes, then scrambled back down.

“I’m not seeing any surveillance cameras,” he reported, brushing dirt from his pants. “Chain-link fence around the perimeter, with the one gate at the road. Gate’s open, and there’s a dark green Lexus SUV parked in front of a small metal building—about a hundred yards beyond the gate. And there ain’t shit for cover between the gate and the building. Lots of low hills of dirt, that’s all.”