Touch of the Demon kg-5

by Diana Rowland

  “What is it?” I asked. Memory of its touch brushed me, the foul miasma…Clawing panic rose, and I had to take several deep breaths to fight it down.

  “I do not know its full nature as it is a potency alien to this world,” Mzatal replied, eyes darkening. “It subtly alters arcane harmonics, and its use has the potential to cause much disruption.” He grimaced. “It affects me deeply. It affects Idris as well, but not nearly as much.” His eyes went to mine. “Kara, I will do all in my power to keep you from falling into their hands again.” He said it quietly but backed with deep intensity. “Idris has great skill and determination. He will work on this as well.”

  Some of the tension in my gut uncoiled with the understanding of his solid support. “When do we start?”

  “You should rest tonight, and we will begin your training tomorrow.”

  I scrubbed at my face. “I have so much to learn. I mean, I don’t know shit. I don’t know most of the sigils, or the shikvihr, or…”

  “These I can teach you,” he reassured me. “I have taught many. And you have a quick mind and innate talent.”

  “No pressure,” I said with a weak laugh. “I guess I’d better go get some sleep.” I met his eyes. “Thanks again.”

  “You are most welcome, Kara Gillian. Come, this way.” He gestured for me to go with him, and together we walked down the length of the balcony to the corner, the sea to our right and the grove ahead. He passed through the open doors in the glass wall and called up a soft light within. I entered, then stopped, confused.

  “These are your rooms.”

  “Yes. I would prefer you stay here.”

  A protest formed on my lips, but it died unvoiced at one look at his face. He had no intention of taking advantage of me. He wanted me to stay here because that way he could keep a closer watch over me. Guardian, not guard. And, as much I hated the weakness of it, I knew I’d feel safer here as well.

  “Um, sure. Okay,” I said instead.

  “If, after this night, you truly prefer different quarters,” he said gently, “I will make the arrangements.”

  “Yeah, that’s cool,” I replied, shifting uncertainly. “I don’t have any clothes or, uh, night things.”

  “The zrila have made a small supply for you,” he told me. “You will find those items in the rose chest in the dressing room off the bath chamber.”

  I smiled with only a bit of tension. “I guess I’ll be occupying your bedroom then.”

  He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Sleep well, Kara,” he said, then departed.

  Surprisingly, I did.

  Chapter 25

  Rhyzkahl stood before me, glorious and beautiful. “You left too soon, dear one.” Dark fire flickered over his blade as he stepped closer, and a terrible smile curved his mouth. “We were not finished…Rowan.”

  I tried to back away, but ropes of potency held me immobile. The bindings cut into my wrists, and pain seared my shoulders. A strangled cry of horror slipped from my lips as he brought the blade close to me.

  He stroked the back of his hand over my cheek, tilted his head as his eyes met mine. “Ah, Rowan, you are meant to be thus.” I tried to protest, to say my name, but I couldn’t make my mouth form the word. His smile widened as he lifted the blade and touched it to my flesh.

  I screamed as the pain tore through me, and I writhed in the bindings.

  Kara!

  A hand on my shoulder. My name. I held fast to it. Reached for them both.

  “Kara!”

  Rhyzkahl fractured and dissipated as strong arms pulled me from him.

  “You are dreaming, Kara,” the voice said, gathering me close. “I am here.”

  I clung to him, to Mzatal, I realized as the nightmare shattered and dispersed. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding me securely, but gently. To my horror I burst into tears, but he simply shifted to cradle my head to his chest. He murmured something as I felt the unmistakable touch of the pygah, but he did nothing more. Didn’t tell me to breathe or chill or anything like that. Simply held me, radiating a solid security while I wept.

  Gradually, I calmed down, but I continued to hold on to him even after I got control of the stupid sobbing. I hated feeling like this, despised this weakness in me. And right now I desperately needed this feeling of safety.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  He shifted so that he sat up against the headboard, keeping an arm around me so that my head was cradled on his shoulder. “There is no need to apologize. I know something of nightmares.”

  I let out a ragged breath and felt as if I should pull away from him now, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it just yet. “Guess you’re regretting letting me stay in your rooms now,” I said, trying for humor but not quite reaching it.

  He gave me a light squeeze. “No, Kara,” he said, voice calm and melodious. “I have no regrets in that.”

  I sighed against him. “Good thing, ’cause I think you’re stuck with me.”

  He was fully clothed, in dark grey pants and a white caftan-style shirt covered with intricate silver embroidery. A comfortable chair and ottoman had been pulled near the bed, and a small side table held some papers and a half-full wine glass.

  He’d been sitting there only moments before, I realized. Watching me sleep. But somehow the thought didn’t creep me out at all. Instead I found myself deeply appreciating the care, especially now, after the nightmare.

  I was definitely calmer now, but I still wasn’t quite ready to shift away from him. “How much did you know about me before you had me summoned?”

  Mzatal drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “I knew you were Rhyzkahl’s marked summoner,” he said. “I knew what Katashi had told me of you. I knew from reports of demons that you function as a Guardian—police person—to maintain order in segments of the human populace. I had more details from closer surveillance in the weeks leading up to your summoning.”

  I still had my head against his upper chest, calmed by the steady beat of his heart. “I kind of wondered, especially when I saw that the, uh, feminine supplies that you had here were the same brand I usually use.” I smiled, finding that stupidly amusing, and I had to bite back a giggle as I had a sudden image of a reyza poking through the cabinet beneath my sink and holding up a tampon in confusion.

  Mzatal gave my shoulders a squeeze. “It was my desire to be prepared for your arrival. I did not know—” He paused, and I felt him give a low sigh. “I did not know when I summoned you if you would be with me indefinitely or for a very short time.”

  My amusement faded as I remembered how close he came to killing me in those first few hours after I was summoned. Though I appreciated his candor, the topic unsettled me. I shifted to sit more upright, wrapped my arms around my legs, and rested my chin on my knees.

  “Rhyzkahl wanted to use me to get Szerain’s blade.” A shiver passed over me at the memory. “Why? I mean, why me? And why does he—and you for that matter—want it so goddamn badly?”

  “The most likely reason he chose you as a ritual surrogate is your demonstrated ability to summon a qaztahl single-handedly using only chalk and blood. That, coupled with the similarities to Elinor’s energy signature, were compelling reasons.” Mzatal drew a deep breath and released it in a slow sigh. “Control of a single blade offers a substantial increase in potency and focus. With control of two,” he said, shaking his head, “there is an exponential increase in power.”

  My eyes narrowed. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

  Mzatal met my gaze steadily. “Yes. Szerain, Rhyzkahl, and I stood long unchallenged and unchallengeable.”

  Holy crap. I’d known they had the blades, but hadn’t put it together that they had their own little power bloc. That called for more investigation later, both on its nature and its dissolution. Those three sure as hell didn’t stand together now.

  “Rhyzkahl wants it for someone else, doesn’t he?” I asked. “Jesral or Amkir, to set up a new regime.” Kadi
r had a hand in there too, but my gut told me he wasn’t a candidate.

  Mzatal nodded. “With Rhyzkahl bearing Xhan, and Vsuhl likely destined for Jesral, they would hold much influence and be in a position to advance other plans, including designs on Earth.”

  “But they can’t get Szerain’s blade without me, can they?” I asked. “Otherwise, wouldn’t they already have done it?”

  Mzatal remained silent a moment, his mouth drawn in a tight line. “With you, the task would be far easier. What I do not know is if Rhyzkahl gained enough from you in the ritual to make an attempt by another means.”

  “Well that sucks,” I said, hugging my knees a bit tighter as I considered everything. “Back in that fucked-up time when you tried to remove the mark,” I continued after a moment, “you told me you wanted to get the blade. Is it possible for me—us—to get it first? I mean, without it being really painful or horrible or anything like that?”

  Mzatal laced his fingers over his solar plexus. “When I first said that, all I knew, based upon what I sensed from the mark, was that Rhyzkahl sought the blade. His methods proved to be brutal, though ultimately would have been effective. He sought to forge you into a tool for greater purpose, and may yet seek to finish that task. One of the uses of that tool would have been to retrieve Vsuhl.” He gave me a gentle smile. “However, based on my observation of his ritual, I do not believe he ever sensed your subtle affinity to the iliur, the essence energy that ignites the blades. I sensed it clearly in the close contact of the healing.”

  I frowned in thought, considering this new tidbit. “What does that mean? That makes it easier?”

  “I believe that it does. I have deep connection with all three blades. Working with that, in tandem with your unique gifts, we have an excellent chance of securing Vsuhl with minimal complications.”

  I shifted to sit cross-legged and absently rubbed the scar on my left forearm with the palm of my other hand. “Okay. Well, that sounds promising,” I said. “Turek showed me the image of Szerain’s blade. Why are his and your blades so beautiful and Rhyzkahl’s so—” I grimaced. “—hideous?”

  A shadow of what seemed to be grief passed over his face. “It did not always appear thus.” He lifted a hand and traced a sigil. A heartbeat later a slightly translucent image appeared of Rhyzkahl’s knife, but without the thorns on the hilt. A softly glowing blue gem adorned the pommel, and the oily blue sheen I’d seen on the blade shone here as a clear, shimmering layer of potency. “Rhyzkahl dabbled secretly with the rakkuhr for many years, bringing the taint upon himself. The corruption of Xhan is recent.” He dispelled the image with a sharp flick of his fingers, as if it pained him to see what the blade had once looked like.

  “This rakkuhr,” I said. “Is it like a ‘dark side of the Force’ sort of thing?”

  A flicker of question lit his eyes, but then it cleared as he no doubt read the meaning of the reference from me. He shook his head. “No. It is not ‘evil’ any more than the potency you and I use is. But, while powerful, it is insidiously disruptive.” He paused. “You have felt it. It is anathema. I do not fully understand it. Szerain knows more, and now Rhyzkahl,” he said with regret.

  I let out a long, slow breath, seeing flashes of red and shadow, feeling an echo of the Wrongness. “I think I understand far more than I want to,” I murmured. With a shudder I willfully changed the subject. “How is this all going to work? Getting Szerain’s blade, I mean.”

  Mzatal narrowed his eyes. “The specifics are not finalized as there is much to be determined through our work.” He regarded me as though weighing what to tell me. “However, the plan is to utilize my nexus as the seat of a beacon ritual to locate and transfix Vsuhl. When that ritual is set, it will require tending until it culminates—a matter of hours to weeks. Once it is complete, we will perform the actual retrieval of the blade at Szerain’s nexus since that has the strongest connection for Vsuhl.”

  “Okay. What’s a nexus?” The rest kinda made sense—at least enough for now.

  “A focal point. A link to the source potency,” he said. “Szerain’s is the columned platform in his courtyard. Mine is here, at the base of the cliff.”

  “All right,” I said. “So when do we start work?” It felt good to finally have a goal and direction.

  “It will coincide with your training,” he said. “It is near dawn now. Meet me in the workroom at midmorning.” He stood from the bed, clasped his hands behind his back. Chatty-time was over, and a sliver of relief went through me. I felt comfortable around this lord, and that in itself made me uncomfortable and wary. I sure as hell wasn’t ready to blindly trust any of these qaztahl. I was ready to focus on something—anything—to move this along.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said as I climbed off the bed. “I’m going to hit the bath first and spare you my dreaded Stinky Summoner power.” Mzatal gave me a slight smile and nod, then left for his table in the outer room.

  I headed to the bath chamber, then peeled off my nightshirt and undies and dropped them on the marble bench by the wall. I almost never took baths at home anymore, but if I had a bath like this, I sure as hell would. It wasn’t a bathtub, but a pool cut into the natural basalt of the cliff that backed the palace. Steam rose and the surface stirred gently as though the water circulated. Steps led down into it, and a shallow shelf with a headrest for lounging beckoned invitingly.

  I crouched and dabbled my fingers in the water. Perfect temp. Damn near perfect everything. Okay, great, I was trapped away from home, but I could sure as hell enjoy the luxuries.

  I stood and moved to retrieve a towel from the shelves. A wave of dizziness flowed through me and was gone, but as it retreated color leached from everything as an all-encompassing grey fog rose. Heart pounding, I went still as I struggled to make sense of the sudden, surreal shift.

  Rhyzkahl appeared in the fog about ten feet from me, beautiful and terrible, wearing the same white and cream he’d worn during the ritual. I sucked in a shocked breath. Adrenaline dumped into my system, sending my heart pounding. He’s not really here, I realized, though that didn’t calm my racing pulse. It was a dream-sending. I knew from experience how real and potentially dangerous they were—an actual contact with the lord, not a product of my subconscious. This one had greater presence than any of the previous ones, like the difference between a black and white photo and one in color.

  “Get the hell away from me!” I said, voice shaking.

  He took a step forward. “Kara.”

  “No. No!” I gasped, taking a reflexive step backward. “Get away from me!”

  Rhyzkahl raised his hand, and I stepped back against an unyielding barrier of potency. “Kara, come,” he said softly. “It will be different.”

  Sweat trickled down my sides as I fought back panic. “No you’ll make me different!” I pressed back against the barrier. “Fuck off! I’m staying me!”

  Rhyzkahl took another step forward. “Yes. That is what I am here to tell you. I will reverse all.” His eyes traveled over my scars. “All.” His breath came heavily as though it challenged him to say this. “Come.”

  His gaze felt like a foul touch. “I trusted you once,” I shot back with a curl of my lip. “Never again. You fucking tortured me.”

  He stepped within a pace of me, aura surrounding me, suffocating me. “It can be undone,” he said with a shake of his head. “Dear one, it is not too late.”

  “Yes it is! You can’t undo the fact that it happened, not without destroying me in the process.” My breath came in shallow gasps. He wasn’t even projecting terror at me in that way, but his presence alone brought it forth. “You’re the one who said it was too late, and now you sound like a psycho stalker.” I pressed back against the potency barrier. “I’m not going with you. I’ll never go with you. You can’t undo this.”

  Another aura. Mzatal. I vaguely felt his arm across my chest, but it was as if he was the dream and Rhyzkahl the reality. Rhyzkahl sensed it too. He looked beyond me then snapped
his focus back to my eyes and spoke with measured intensity, breath hissing. “You do not understand.” He caught my face between his hands. “Kara, all will be well. I will take you away. Away from here. Away from the realm. And you will be you and whole.”

  Mzatal was there, somewhere—an invisible support. “No,” I said, baring teeth. “I do understand.” Though my heart still slammed, I gathered myself, gripped Rhyzkahl’s wrists and tugged, seeking to get his vile touch off my face. “I understand that you would give me over to Jesral and those other fuckers. I understand you lied to me and betrayed me. I will never ever go with you. Get that through your blond head right now.”

  A whisper passed through my mind, and I knew Rhyzkahl read the truth of my words. Good.

  His breath quickened. He released my face and took a step back, hands lifted as though he still held me. A stricken look swept over his features, and he shook his head, looking strangely lost.

  I felt Mzatal’s physical hold on me more clearly as well as his nonphysical touch. “Rhyzkahl. Leave me now,” I said as I took a step toward him, willing him away.

  He retreated another step.

  A flush of determined anger seared through me. “Go! Leave me alone.”

  Potency surged over me as he tensed and dropped his hands to his sides. “Ungrateful chikdah.” He spat the words and took another step back, visibly shaking in what could only be anger.

  I blinked in true surprise at the slur. “Wow. Yeah, dude. A couple of pointers here if you want keep a girl. First, don’t torture her. Second, calling her ugly names is also a no-no.” I held steady to my core and the supporting presence of Mzatal. “Get away from me. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  “You think your savior’s hands are clean?” he asked with a short, cold laugh. “You will see me again. Soon.”

  Mzatal’s encouragement to continue to resist and push came through clearly, and I did so with ferocity. I shook, there was no doubt about that. But I also had no doubt that I could and would push this fucker away. My fingernails bit into my palms as I rejected his presence with every fiber of my being.