Touch of the Demon kg-5

by Diana Rowland

Alone, I made my way back to the library with the intent of finding something with which to pass the rest of the day and also, hopefully, to avoid contact with any other damn lords. My thigh still stung from Amkir’s lash, and I had no doubt that his slap had left a bruise on my cheek. Assholes, all of them. Even Rhyzkahl for not putting a stop to it sooner.

  The library held tomes, scrolls, and normal-sized books too, as well as a variety of unknown gadgets and even a section of Earth clocks, most really really old. Paintings hung in alcoves and on the walls, some reminding me of styles I’d seen on Earth. Many, I was sure, were Szerain’s work. There were even framed photographs of Earth subjects—the Eiffel Tower, an aerial of the Giza plateau, details of the Great Wall of China, and so much more. But more intriguing were photographs of places, creatures, and demons of the demon realm. That started a whole cascade of speculation on the acquisition of it all. With the mix of books, art, and artifacts, I decided this was a combination library and museum.

  I didn’t understand how the library was organized, but after a bit of wandering I managed to locate a large section of books that were written in something other than the demon language. Wards flickered along the shelves, and I quickly realized that they were there to protect the books from the various ravages of time. This place was a rare book dealer’s wet dream. There were books in damn near every Earth language, including some I wasn’t sure even existed anymore, and some ancient, handwritten volumes that I had no doubt predated the invention of the printing press. Many of the English language books were in an old English that proved difficult to read, but I eventually located a section of more modern English, including fiction titles of everything from Harry Potter to John Steinbeck to paperback romances. I grinned at the thought of a zhurn curled up reading a book with Fabio on the cover.

  I spied a copy of The Hobbit and pulled it off the shelf. Ryan loved this sort of stuff, so maybe it was worth a try. There was a comfy-looking chaise near the end of the stacks, and I headed that way. But an alcove caught my eye before I reached the chaise, and I paused. Like the other alcoves, it held a picture of some sort, though this one was covered, draped in dark red silk.

  Curious, I pulled the silk aside and off, revealing the sweet face of Elinor on the painting beneath. The painting exuded life, marking it most likely as a work of Szerain. Elinor stood on steps, her hand resting on a luminescent column, and blue sky behind her framed by more columns. The ruins before they were ruins, I realized. She wore a simple, pretty dress of rich green that seemed to shimmer though it was only paint. Her eyes reflected life and innocence and wonder, and her mouth curved in a smile that seemed to touch me centuries later.

  “It should remain covered,” Rhyzkahl said from behind me.

  I startled, then turned with a mild scowl. “She was a pretty girl. Why do you hide her away like this?”

  Face tight, he passed by me and picked up the red silk. “Because I prefer it that way,” he said, reaching high and re-covering the painting.

  I folded my arms over my chest. “Why? Because you want to forget all about her?”

  He remained with his back to me, hands gripping the sides of the frame. “I cannot forget her,” he said, voice low and dark. “And I require no reminder.”

  I stayed silent for a moment, feeling the pain in his voice. “How did she die?” I finally asked. “I’ve been told it was because of the gate, but…” Flickers of memory stirred in confusing patterns. “But there was more. I know it.”

  Rhyzkahl gripped the frame hard enough to dislodge the cover again. Elinor smiled out as the silk puddled to the floor like a pool of blood. “There was a disruption in the ritual and it spiraled out of control.” He seemed to force the words out between his teeth. “She could not stop it. Szerain could not stop it, and she died.”

  “And you have no idea what that disruption was?” I persisted. “Was it something she did? Or was it Szerain?” I knew I poked at a tender spot, yet my lingering anger about the incident in the main foyer urged me on. “Did you train her? Was she prepared to do this gate? Mzatal said she wasn’t much of a summoner, so why was she doing something like this in the first place?”

  Rhyzkahl let out a shuddering breath. “Mzatal released her from training.” He lifted the cover back over the portrait, then turned to face me. “Szerain and I trained her. She was well enough prepared for her part in the ritual.” He paused, anger flashing briefly over his face. “Szerain failed in his support.”

  My eyes narrowed. “What was her part in the ritual?”

  “Simply to open the gateway,” he said. “Nothing more. Szerain had all other aspects.” His right hand clenched into a fist and a muscle leaped in his jaw. “He proceeded without my leave.”

  I snorted. “Seems a lot of lords do things without your leave.” My cheek still ached with the evidence of that.

  “Amkir,” he murmured, as if only now remembering that I’d been struck. He came closer and laid a hand on my cheek. “They do not do so without reprisal.”

  “Oh, please,” I said, scowling. “What, you’ll give him a slap on the wrist? He was a complete dick to me, for no reason! He’d have seriously hurt me if you hadn’t grabbed his damn arm in time. Then what? ‘Oh, Amkir, you naughty boy. You broke my toy!’”

  But Rhyzkahl shook his head. “It is not a ‘slap on the wrist,’ as you phrase it. He suffers my retribution even now.”

  “And what would that be?” I asked, dubious.

  “It involves power flows and is not a matter for humans…even you, dear one. He suffers.” Anger stirred behind his eyes, and I found myself believing that Rhyzkahl truly had smacked Lord Asshole down.

  Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair. “Why did he do that to me?” I asked, still utterly baffled. “I mean…it was like he hated me from first sight. Did I do something?”

  Rhyzkahl dropped his hand from my cheek then crouched and ran it over my thigh, easing the sting from the lashes. “Amkir needs no reason,” he said, straightening again. “He can most assuredly be harsh with humans.”

  “Then why did you leave me alone with him?” I asked, annoyed again. “He was hostile from the start, even while you were still there.”

  “He has been long from humans and overstepped bounds he would never have touched in the past. I misjudged his response.” Regret colored his voice. “He will not err thus again, nor will I.”

  I looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “I need to know I’m safe here,” I said. “That’s the whole damn reason I came here when I got away from Mzatal.”

  He caught my face between his hands. “You have nothing to fear now from these visiting lords,” he said. “I have seen to it.”

  “All right,” I sighed, then put my arms around him. “I’m trusting you on this.”

  He tipped my head up and kissed me, a slow and tender show of reassurance that quickly deepened. Whatever the hell kind of relationship Rhyzkahl and I had, even if everything else was weird as shit, this part was pretty damn decent.

  He slid his hands beneath my shirt to stroke my back, then broke the kiss to nuzzle my neck. “I once told you I wished to fuck you in every room of my palace,” he said, lips moving against my skin. “This one is as yet un-christened.”

  I laughed low in my throat, already fired by his words. “So you did.” I gave a mock sigh. “But I don’t know if sex in a library can be all that exciting.”

  He pulled my shirt down over one shoulder, lowered his head and bit gently. “Then you do not know much and require tutelage.”

  I dropped my head back. “And I suppose you think you can teach me?” I breathed.

  His hand slid up to fondle my breast. He bit again, harder this time, then moved to catch my earlobe in his teeth. “Most definitely,” he whispered.

  And he did.

  Chapter 16

  In addition to the library, we ended up christening two more rooms—the tree house of the arboretum and a storage room full of furniture—finally ending up back in my rooms whe
re I eventually fell asleep curled up in his arms, exhausted and sated.

  I didn’t expect Rhyzkahl to still be there in the morning, and, of course, he wasn’t. At first I thought I’d slept a lot later than I’d intended because of the amount of light in the room. It wasn’t until I got up and actually looked out the window that I realized why it was so bright.

  I let out a squeal. “It snowed!” Not only had it snowed, it still snowed, flakes drifting down, adding to the thick layer already on the ground and coating rocks and trees and buildings alike. All but the grove, which shimmered green and purple, untouched by the white blanket.

  I tore through the available clothing and found a variety of Earth-type cold-weather garb. Boots, hat, gloves, and scarf went over a ridiculous number of layers. I looked like a total dork, but I didn’t care.

  I hurried down the stairs and to the broad doors that led to the large back lawn. Kehlirik was crouched inside the doors with a book in his hand, and I smiled in relief at seeing him again. My smile spread to a grin when I saw that he was reading A Game of Thrones. Oh, I was so getting him hooked on television as soon as I got back home.

  “It snowed!” I announced, then dashed outside with an unabashed whoop of delight.

  Kehlirik set the book down and followed me out as I tromped through what was easily eight inches of snow. He peered at me curiously as I launched into my first-ever attempt to make a snowman.

  “Yes, it has snowed,” he said. “This brings strong reaction in you?”

  “We don’t get snow where I live,” I told him as I made a sloppy attempt to roll snow into a large ball for the base of my snowman. “I mean, not more than a scuzzy inch or two.”

  The demon snorted, watching me with open curiosity. “There are other demons who will clear the snow for you.”

  “I don’t want them to clear it for me,” I said, slightly breathless. “I want to make snowmen and snow angels and all the stuff I’ve heard you can do in snow.” I want to have fun, I added silently as I rolled up a second, smaller ball and placed it atop the first. I want to forget I’m trapped here and forget how much I miss Jill and Ryan and Tessa and Zack.

  Kehlirik made a huffing sound and poked a claw at my partial snowman. I gave him a sidelong glance as I rolled up the third ball and stuck it on top of the others. “Y’all have fun and play sometimes, right?” I knew the demons seemed to have any number of games, but I had no idea how spontaneous they were, if at all.

  “Yes, we play games.”

  I scanned the area for sticks or rocks or anything to decorate the snowman, but whoever had the job of cleaning up the lawn was apparently pretty damn meticulous. Giving up on the snow sculpture for now, I crouched and packed together a snowball.

  “Do y’all ever do snowball fights?” I asked, eyeing him with a sly grin.

  He spread his wings and dropped into a menacing crouch, low growl throbbing in his throat. I laughed and let fly with the snowball at him, but he ducked it with ease. In the next instant he took flight, letting out a trumpeting bellow.

  “Hey, no fair!” I shouted, laughing as I hurriedly made more snowballs and threw them at the airborne reyza.

  I yelped as a snowball smacked me in the back of the head. I whirled to see a faas ducking behind a pillar.

  Apparently Kehlirik’s bellow had been a “game on!” signal to the rest of the demons. What followed next was the most insanely chaotic and glorious snowball fight in existence. Within less than a minute, the area filled with dozens of demons of damn near every variety. Chinese-dragon-faced kehza took to the air with reyza and zhurn in dogfights to rival anything out of World War I. On the ground, a cluster of luhrek—demons resembling a cross between a dog and a goat, with the hindquarters of a lion—whipped together a fort constructed of snow and arcane scaffolding, and proceeded to lob volleys at the airborne contingent. Graa darted with lightning speed between air and ground, weaving shields of potency that formed a sting-delivering obstacle course for all players, while young savik methodically dismantled and reformed said shields and slung snowballs at the faas who darted from pillar to pillar.

  For my part, I quickly abandoned any attempt at strategy or skill and simply chucked snowballs at any available target.

  Another snowball smacked into my head. I spun, expecting to see the devious faas, but to my shock it was a human who ducked behind a pillar.

  I stared at the dark-haired man. Tall, a bit stocky, face maddeningly familiar. And then it registered. “Holy shit. Michael?” Michael Moran was the younger brother of Lida Moran, a goth-metal singer who’d ruthlessly used Michael’s abilities to create golems—actual creatures of dirt and clay—to get rid of her business rivals. Michael had suffered a head injury when he was young, which had made it far easier for Lida and her boyfriend to cruelly manipulate and use him. After the case had finally been closed—after the deaths of Lida and her boyfriend—Eilahn had suggested I send Michael to the demon realm. I’d agreed. I knew that if Michael stayed on Earth, he’d end up in an institution or even possibly jail for the rest of his life. I figured, if Eilahn said he’d have a chance at a better life, I had to go along with it. I trusted her.

  He peered out from behind the pillar, smiling shyly. “Hi, Kara.”

  I let out a laugh and tromped through the snow to him. “How are you? You look great!” He did, too. His face looked slimmer and far less slack, and his eyes practically sparkled with life.

  “You’re through playing?” he asked, stepping warily out from behind the pillar in case I was still packing. “The faas are great with snowballs,” he added, with another wary look around for any lurking demons. My delight in seeing him grew. It was blindingly obvious that he was more stable and coherent than before.

  “Yeah, I’m done,” I said, grinning, though I too scanned for faas. “And yeah, those little suckers know how to sling a snowball. They take their games pretty seriously!”

  A broad smile lit his face. “And they always travel in pairs! Makes it hard to sneak up on them.” His face went abruptly serious, and he looked down and away.

  “Michael? What’s wrong?”

  He wiped at his face with the back of a gloved hand. “I’m really really sorry about all that stuff I did.”

  “Ah, jeez, Michael, I know you are.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “I never blamed you. It’s why I had you sent here, so you could have a real chance at a life.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out quickly. “It’s really okay?” he asked, worry darkening his expression as he finally met my gaze. “I mean…I’ve been thinking about it and…” He trailed off, swallowing hard.

  “It’s okay,” I reassured him firmly, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “You weren’t the bad guy. You were used.” I peered at him. “Are you doing okay here? I mean, you’re being treated all right?”

  He broke into a bright smile again. “Yep, it’s the best. They even fixed my head up a bit.”

  “I can tell,” I said, deeply pleased for him. “It’s awesome. So, which lord are you with?”

  “Seretis and Rayst. I even have my own piano!” He suddenly grimaced and bit his lower lip. “Uh, oh.”

  “What is it?”

  “Lord Amkir and Seretis,” he told me. “I hope he doesn’t get himself blasted. Pkkeeeww!” he added, making a sound like an exploding potency ball.

  What the hell? “Wait, who might get blasted?”

  “Seretis,” he said as if it was so obvious. His brow furrowed, and he seemed to be listening to something far away. “Rayst is in with Lord Rhyzkahl in the main hall, so no help there. Lord Vahl is in the far tower library. Lord Kadir is…” He grimaced, shook his head. “Elofir is out by the ruins.” He paused. “I mean, it’s most likely Seretis’s fault. He probably made Lord Amkir mad. He’s always messing with him. I just wish he’d do it when Rayst is around.” For an instant he sounded like a parent expressing the wish that his child would take his muddy shoes off outside.

  I took a few seconds to proces
s this. “Okay, so, you know where all the lords are all the time?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said, then we both flinched as the sound of some sort of arcane discharge came from within the palace—sounding almost exactly like the pkkeeeww sound Michael had made.

  “Oh, shit,” I breathed.

  “It’s okay,” Michael quickly reassured me, head cocked. “I think Seretis stopped it okay.” He rolled his eyes. “He won’t stop teasing Amkir though.”

  “Teasing him about what?” I asked, deeply interested in any teasing of Lord Asshole.

  “Seretis was teasing him about backing down from Lord Rhyzkahl yesterday.”

  I tried not to grin too obviously. “I think I’d like Seretis.”

  “He laughs a lot,” Michael said. “Says lots of funny stuff.” He winced as the sound of another arcane discharge reached us. “That one stung.”

  “Michael,” I said, “can you see where Mzatal is?”

  He nodded. “He’s at his palace.” His eyes unfocused. “Harder to tell when they’re far away. His palace…in a dark room. He’s drawing all sorts of sigils, I think.”

  “Is he talking to anyone?”

  “Don’t think so. Just scowling and drawing.” He shrugged. “Hard to see.”

  I will retrieve you, Mzatal had said. A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the snow and cold. Was he working on that even now?

  I dragged my thoughts away from that unsettling subject. “Do any of the lords know you can…hear them wherever they are?”

  A frown puckered his brow. “I can’t really hear unless they’re pretty close, and then only sometimes,” he told me. “Sometimes I can see, and sometimes I just know where they are.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Seretis knows, and he said not to tell any of the other lords.”

  “He’s right. Don’t tell any lord.” I grimaced. “And also be careful which demons you tell.” I gave him a worried look. “Michael, this is a really useful gift that could be used for the wrong reasons. I don’t want to see you taken advantage of again.”