by DB Reynolds
“Is it okay to handle those?” she asked. “Aren’t you afraid—?”
“The glyph takes away their power, but even without it, there is no fear for me in handling magic. My power is far stronger than what’s contained in these pages, and I know how to study spells without activating them.”
“Okay, good. That’s good,” she said, still a little nervous. Wasn’t he the guy who’d just said everything mattered?
“Examine these two documents, Grace, and tell me what you see.”
She scowled at the side of his head, willing him to look up and give her a clue. But he clearly wasn’t tuned in to her wavelength, because it didn’t work. He just continued to gaze down at the two identical pages in complete, Zen-like contemplation. And all she got out of it was an appreciation of his perfect profile. Goodness, the man was fine.
She sighed. All right, if he wanted her to study the docs, she’d study the damn docs. Again. She’d spent the last few weeks scrutinizing every inch. It seemed very unlikely that she’d discover anything new at this point.
Switching her glare from his perfect profile and smooth golden skin, she placed the two docs—original and copy—side by side and began comparing them.
“Don’t look at paragraphs or lines, look at each individual character.”
She gave him a sharp look. Was that a clue? Hmmm.
“All right,” she said intently. “This is the copy from the museum last night, the one that—” She swallowed hard. It was still difficult to reconcile what she’d seen, but she couldn’t deny the proof of her own eyes. Magic was real. Get over it. “The one that made that demon . . . pop out or whatever—”
“Manifest,” he supplied.
“Right. Manifest. This is that one. And . . .” She did as he’d instructed, going over the two docs character by character, looking for any variances. Finally, she shook her head. “Nope. They’re the same. This is a copy of my original copy, because you stabbed your sword into that one, but it’s identical to the original scroll.”
Kato gathered the two pieces—the plain paper copy that she’d made and the ancient and fragile scroll that was the original—and set them aside. Grace wanted to protest, to insist that he handle the original with the care and reverence that it deserved, simply by virtue of still being intact after so long. But she didn’t think he’d be impressed. Apparently, he was every bit as old as the scrolls, and, not only that, but there was some connection between his witch mother and the scrolls’ magic. So, this was ordinary, everyday stuff to him.
“Now these,” he said, placing the next set on the desk.
Grace leaned forward again, studying the two documents. Line by line, character by character, not really expecting to find anything. Except. . . She blinked, clearing her vision. The writing on the original was compact and the characters completely foreign to her. Which was why she’d been convinced they were mathematical symbols in the first place. She leaned closer, her eyes shifting between the original and the copy.
“There,” she said finally, pointing to a character in the fourth row, her finger hovering over the page, but not touching. “Is that what you mean? There’s like a curvy tail on that character. I copied it, but my version is missing that extra fillip at the end.” She twisted her head to look at him. “I thought it was a stylistic curlicue. Is it something more?”
He nodded, and she’d have sworn there was a pleased gleam in his eye. As if his prized pupil had done well. “Magic isn’t words as you know them. It’s images and symbols, and yes, some scripted characters, too, all put together to achieve the magic user’s ends. A poorly written spell can have very different consequences from what the designer intended. That fillip, as you call it, changes that particular element into something else, which, in turn, changes the image, which in turn—”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. What’s the difference? What does this spell do, specifically?”
Kato’s sexy lips—she really had to stop obsessing about his sex quotient—pursed in thought. “The original curse was written by a master of the craft, most likely the Dark Witch herself. Its purpose was to call forth a single demon for a single purpose. To kill your romantic rival, for example, or eliminate the farmer who grows better produce.”
Grace was staring at him in disbelief. “You’d sic a demon on some guy who grew bigger potatoes than you? Or because your girlfriend was a cheating ho?”
He studied her for a moment, then shook his head, as if erasing her words from his brain. “I wouldn’t personally, no. But others have done it for far less. And the Dark Witch was not above selling such curses to those who could afford them, as long as they lived far from her own village. But you miss the point, Grace. That small alteration of character changes the wording of the spell, and thus the spell itself, into one that permits the demon to remain manifested until it is either banished or killed. So your demon—”
“Not my demon.”
He gave a little sideways nod, acknowledging her point. Sort of. “The demon,” he corrected, “that was summoned by this curse is now at large in your city, and it will kill again and again, until it is stopped.”
“Oh my God! What do we do?”
“I will hunt it down and kill it.”
“We already went through this, big guy. I may not be a warrior like you, but I’m no helpless female either. I can help. There are two of us, remember?”
“And you agreed to do whatever I said.”
“In your dreams, pal. I agreed to follow your lead when it came to magic, which doesn’t include staying home like a good little woman while you go hunting. So where do we start?”
Kato leaned back, his jaw clenched tight, looking a little like he wanted to kill her. But then he said, “There’s only one place to start and that’s at the only sighting we have of the demon, the murder near your home. But if you’re going with me—and don’t think for one minute that I couldn’t stop you if I wanted—there are rules.”
Grace made a face. She hated rules.
KATO HAD TO fight the urge to laugh at Grace’s expression. He’d known when he’d said the words that she wouldn’t welcome his rules. More and more, he was beginning to understand her, and to appreciate how she’d concealed her true nature from her supervisors at the museum. He had to admit that he liked this version of her better than the dutiful woman who toiled night after night in the dark hole of her museum, even though that one had much to recommend her. She’d been kind to him, after all. The only person in the many years he’d spent closeted within the museum’s walls who’d related to him in any way. And she was a diligent worker, not one to give up easily. Look how long she’d spent over the three scrolls, trying to decipher a language that had no parallel in this reality. That stubbornness would stand her in good stead when it came to hunting demons.
In some ways, she wasn’t that different from this Grace, the one staring at him with her strange pale eyes, daring him to deny her right to participate in the hunt. And that understanding made her even more appealing to him. When she took him to her bed—and she would, he could read it in the looks she gave him when she thought he wouldn’t notice—it wouldn’t be because of what he could give her. It would be because she desired him, because she lusted after the pleasure he could bring her. And he would bring her pleasure. When it came to a woman’s body and how to make it feel good, he was a master. The women of his village had been quite happy to instruct his youthful self on how to please them. And since then, the gods knew he’d had plenty of opportunity to practice.
Grace was a different sort of woman from those others, however. He wanted her. And he intended to have her.
But first he would have to ensure her safety on this hunt.
“This is not a jest, amata. Not some afternoon’s casual flirt with danger so that you may regale your friends over tea.”
She gave him a long-suffering look, but that didn’t stop him.
“Let’s be clear. You will do what I say, when I say it. No argument.
I know these creatures; you do not.” He waited, staring at her expectantly. It took her a moment, but she finally seemed to understand that he wouldn’t continue until she’d agreed.
“Got it. You’re the boss.”
Kato regarded her silently, not quite trusting her quick capitulation. But finally he went on. “We must go over some basic facts when dealing with demons. First, you never speak to it directly—”
“Wait, is it just me who doesn’t get to talk, or does that apply to everyone?”
He narrowed his gaze, wondering if she was teasing, but she seemed sincere. “I may have to speak to the creature in order to banish it. I won’t know until I confront it directly. But you are never to speak to it. You don’t know enough yet to do so safely.”
“Yet?” Her eyes were bright with excitement, and he wanted to groan. He’d seen the danger of that word the moment he’d said it, but it had been too late to pull it back.
“I anticipate your magical education will continue after this,” he said blandly, but she wasn’t fooled. She laughed in delight and wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. The move pressed her breasts against his arm, which did little to strengthen his resolve to be patient when it came to bedding her.
“There’s more,” he reminded her.
She straightened away from him, pulling her arms back and placing her hands primly in her lap. As if he was fooled by that.
“You don’t talk to it, you don’t listen to it, and you don’t believe anything it says. This is important. The demon will try to steal the thoughts from your head, the feelings from your heart. It will use this knowledge to play on your weaknesses, such as any insecurities you may have, or, more importantly, your love for other people.”
“Loving people isn’t a weakness,” she said immediately.
Kato’s thoughts stuttered to a halt at her instant rejection of love as a weakness. Love could be a weakness. But the only people he’d ever loved were his warrior brothers and Nico, and they were fully capable of defending themselves, as well as everyone around them. There was no weakness there. On the other hand, he found himself growing inexplicably fond of Grace. He wouldn’t say he loved her, but he felt a definite need to protect her. Could a demon use Grace against him? Absolutely.
He would do well to listen to his own rules when it came to dealing with the foul creatures.
“Loving is not a weakness,” he agreed. “But it is a vulnerability, and one that the demon can use against you. Do you understand?”
Her brow wrinkled in concern. “How do I keep my thoughts away from him, then?”
“I’ll teach you some basic shielding, but when we confront the demon, my shields will be extended to protect you.”
“Won’t that hamper your ability to fight it? I don’t want—”
“I am magic made flesh, Grace,” he reminded her gently. “I’ve been weaving shields since before I said my first word.” He set aside the second scroll and turned to the third. “Now this one,” he said, placing the copy and the original side by side, “is a perfect copy, or as perfect as is possible. And once the demon has manifested, its course of action is limited to the terms of the curse.”
“That’s good news, right?”
Kato grimaced. “It should be. But unfortunately, the terms themselves are poorly defined, which makes me doubt that this one was written personally by the Dark Witch. Likely an acolyte of hers, or someone pretending to speak for her.” He read one of the phrases out loud, wincing at the poor structure. “The language is arcane, of course, but whoever wrote this wasn’t completely proficient. A rough translation is that the demon is called forth to ‘eliminate my enemies,’ meaning the enemies of whoever activates the curse. But how does one define ‘enemies?’”
Grace leaned close, her delicate scent filling his senses as she studied the copy she’d made. She tended to avoid touching the originals, preferring to work with her copies, no doubt a habit of long practice from her professional research. Kato understood why she did it, but what she considered to be precious and ancient scrolls were simply curses written on ordinary paper. They were more dangerous than valuable, and had he come across them in his previous life, he’d have destroyed them immediately.
“This is the one I sent Ryan. I’m sure of it.”
He turned his head sharply. “Ryan? Who’s that?”
“The friend I told you about, the mathematician. I was so certain these were symbols, rather than language characters. He’s an open-minded guy. I thought it was worth letting him take a look.”
“Are you close?” He didn’t know why he asked that question, but he couldn’t deny his satisfaction when she shook her head.
“I mean, I guess. We met in college through mutual friends and became study buddies. We were on totally different academic tracks, but that worked for us. He helped me with the math I needed for my statistical analysis courses, and I helped him with history and sociology.”
“You were lovers?”
She coughed out a surprised laugh, embarrassment adding that lovely blush to her cheeks. “That’s kind of a personal question. But, no. We dated once, but didn’t click. We’re just friends.”
“Have you called your friend lately? Since you sent him this scroll?”
Alarm replaced the amusement on her pretty face. “Oh my God,” she breathed. “Ryan.”
Kato nodded. “This copy appears different from the others. The writing isn’t fresh.”
She nodded slowly. “That’s right. I sent Ryan the copy I wrote out. This is a photocopy of that, just for my files.”
“Photocopy,” he repeated the foreign word.
“It’s that machine next to the coffee in the office, the one that makes copies of whatever document you feed it.” She looked around, then picked up a random piece of paper from the desk, got up, and walked over to a dark gray device. “Like this. You put the original, whatever you want a copy of, on this glass.” She demonstrated. “Push a button, et voila! You have a near perfect copy.”
Kato considered the device for a moment. “Why not send your friend the copy made thusly?”
She shook her head. “Machines do a good job, but with every copy, you get some degradation. Like what you pointed out with that little fillip. It seemed like an inconsequential thing, but it made a huge difference. As a rule of thumb, I work with the earliest version possible, and I wanted Ryan to have the best reproduction I could provide.”
Rule of thumb? What in all the hells did that mean? He was suddenly tired, his brain worn out from trying to make sense of this world while fighting the battles of his old world at the same time. Dealing with the Dark Witch and her magic was chancy under the best of circumstances, which these decidedly were not. There shouldn’t have been enough available magic in this world to activate the Dark Witch’s destructive curses, and yet there was. Which meant someone, somewhere, in this world was hoarding magic—most likely a powerful sorcerer or two, whose magical drippings, so to speak, were leaving just enough free-floating energy for someone like Grace to bring an artifact as dangerous as the scrolls to life.
That fact gave him a perverse sort of optimism. Despite the exhaustion he was feeling after crashing into Grace’s world, with its hard surfaces and magic-blind people, the almost certain possibility of a high-level enchanter living in this reality—maybe more than one—gave him hope. A faint hope to be sure, and he fought against letting himself read too much into the possibility. But powerful sorcerers had been rare in his world, when magic had been as common as the air itself. In this reality they had to be almost extinct. Which meant it was just feasible that. . . . He hesitated to voice it, even in his thoughts, but one name slid into his brain as if it had a will of its own. Nicodemus.
Could it be that his brother and friend, the sorcerer that he and the others had followed into battle time and again, was here in this reality? The idea wasn’t completely far-fetched. After all, he himself had ended up here, and he had no doubt that Nico had sea
rched high and low, not only for him, but for the others. Maybe the trail had led—
“Kato?”
He stifled a jerk of surprise at the sound of Grace’s voice. He’d been so deep in his own thoughts that he’d forgotten where he was for a moment.
“Yes.” He drew a deep breath. “I understand. You need to call this Ryan person.”
She checked the time instrument on her wrist. “It’s kind of late, but he is a night owl,” she said thoughtfully, and then retrieved her communication device from her pocket.
Her cell phone, he corrected himself. He needed to start using the language and ways of this world. If he survived the demons, this would be his world, too. He listened as Grace spoke to her friend, surprised at how quickly she hung up.
“He’s not there,” she told him, frowning. “Or at least, he’s not answering. I left a message, but there’s no reason to worry yet. There are thousands of students and faculty where he works. And the academic grapevine is viciously efficient. I’d have heard from someone by now if something bad had happened.”
This information did nothing to ease Kato’s weariness about adapting to this new reality. “You left a message with his . . .” He frowned, not certain of the word. Slave surely wasn’t correct. Acolyte perhaps.
Grace patted his arm. “That’s okay. It’s a lot to learn. I left the message on his voicemail. Um, it’s a recording device. I can show you.”
She picked up her cell phone again, but he held out a hand to stop her. “No, not tonight. You should rest. Tomorrow will be a difficult day for you.”
“What about you? Don’t you sleep?”
He stared at her. He hadn’t slept last night at her condo, hadn’t even considered it. He’d been half-convinced he could be thrown back into his stone prison at any moment, and wasn’t about to waste what free time he had. But now. . . . Such a simple concept, sleep. And so necessary to the human body. Had he slept during his captivity? Ages had passed while he’d lain buried in darkness, and centuries more when he’d been shoved into dark rooms and forgotten. Did that qualify as sleep?