Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian)

by Rowland, Diana

  “Rhyzkahl’s ptarl. Reasonable doubt.”

  A sliver of dismay went through me. I’d hoped for some brilliant rationalization of why it was okay to trust Zack despite all the shit. “That’s the conclusion I came to,” I said with a sigh. “I asked Ilana about him, and she said he opposed Rhyzkahl’s actions and chose to guard you. And I was actually cool with that until I found out he knew about Tessa’s manipulation.” I leaned closer, looking into eyes that were Ryan’s but not Ryan’s. “Szerain, do you trust him?”

  His face tightened as though a wave of pain swept through him. “Zakaar. Yes. With my essence.”

  I processed that. With his essence. Then again, Szerain didn’t have much choice in the matter. Zakaar controlled his existence—very literally held his essence. If he didn’t trust Zakaar, what did he have? I felt my mouth tighten as I mulled over the implications. So what if Zakaar rewarded him every once in a while by loosening the grate? It sure as hell didn’t make up for keeping him submerged in the first place.

  Yet to Szerain, those times would be precious gifts, conditioning him to dependence and attachment. The torturer lets up on the pain a little, offers mercy and brief kindness, and becomes the hero. A technique as old as pain itself.

  A shudder crawled over me. Rhyzkahl had used that method when he carved the sigils in my flesh, and if not for Mzatal’s intervention it would have worked. Throw in the fact that Szerain had been enduring this for years, and it was a full blown case of Stockholm syndrome.

  Szerain’s fingers spasmed on mine before his grip firmed. “Kara. No,” he murmured, and I realized with a startled shock he’d read my thoughts. “So much more than that.”

  His quiet voice held such intensity and presence that I went still, focused on him. “Okay. Tell me.”

  “I am not insane.”

  “No, you’re not,” I acknowledged as I tried to figure out where he was going with this. He wasn’t stable by any means, but he wasn’t nuts either. “And that’s pretty amazing. I wouldn’t have lasted a week.”

  “Some times of madness. Despair. But I am still . . . here.” He lifted his free hand, rubbed the fingers together as though to reassure himself he really was. “Because of Zakaar. Only because of Zakaar.”

  I considered that. “Because he occasionally eases the pressure?” I couldn’t fathom how that would be enough to counter the effects of the submersion, especially long term.

  “No. Yes, though that is only a small part.” He trembled then extricated his hand from mine and placed both hands palm down on the ground. “Every night—every night for over fifteen years—he speaks to me while Ryan sleeps. For hours. Tells me stories. Reads to me. Keeps me focused. Passes glimmers of potency to me, palm to palm. Halts my certain descent into madness.”

  I stared at him as I tried to assimilate this new information into my perspective. “That’s some pretty serious dedication.”

  “He does not have to do this. It is his choice.” Another spasm of pain twisted his face. “He expends much potency in my care. He grows tired. He does not say it, but I know it is truth. This does not change what you experience with him, but it is unfair to include his treatment of me in your considerations unless it is weighted in his favor.”

  “Point taken,” I said, subdued. I remained quiet for a moment as I rearranged my perception of Zakaar in my mind. “I heard this from Ilana,” I finally said, “but I’d like to hear it from you. It’ll help me—” I sought the right word to capture what I meant. “It’ll help me reconcile everything. Did he really oppose Rhyzkahl and distance himself because of it?”

  “This is truth,” Szerain replied. “And distanced himself yet more by coming here with me since Helori was prepared to be my guardian.” He closed his eyes as though gathering the strength to speak again.

  I willed calm and focus for both of us as I considered his words. I had no trouble seeing the demahnk Helori as a guardian. It was Helori who nurtured me in the days immediately following Rhyzkahl’s torture. Mzatal healed the physical damage, but without Helori’s firm, gentle presence and imperturbable patience, I never would have recovered from the mental and emotional trauma.

  Szerain drew a labored breath, opened his eyes and continued. “Though Zakaar stood against Rhyzkahl’s actions on many levels, it was still a heavy blow to Rhyzkahl to lose contact with his . . .” Szerain’s face went ashen. “To lose a ptarl. To lose . . .” His gaze sharpened, fierce and predatory. “Kara. Call Vsuhl. I need my blade.” He reached, caught my wrist. “I cannot call it as I am. Diminished. Through you. Through you.”

  I tensed in shock at the instantaneous shift in his manner, but then a snarl curled my lip. No way was I calling the essence blade for him. Not now. Hell, not ever. I’d worked my ass off for it and damned near destroyed the demon realm to get it. Then I felt it—an insidious drawing sensation as he used our contact to call to Vsuhl through me.

  “No!” I shouted. I yanked my wrist from his weak grasp, scrabbled back and lurched to my feet. Breathing hard, I watched him warily. “You ever try shit like that again, and I’ll kick your motherfucking demonic ass.”

  His hands went limp in the grass, and his eyes grew wild and unfocused. An instant later he jerked heavily, collapsed to the side and went into convulsions.

  My anger evaporated in an instant. “Shit! Szerain!” I threw myself to my knees beside him, caught movement out of the corner of my eye and glanced that way. “Zack!” Relief flooded through me as he loped quickly toward us. Of course the guard and guardian wouldn’t be far away. “He tried to call Vsuhl.”

  Zack gave a nod, crouched on the other side of Szerain. He spoke in demon as he laid his hand on Szerain’s forehead, and within seconds the convulsions stilled. “I will put Ryan into deep sleep and fog Szerain as much as I am able.”

  “It came out of nowhere,” I told him, brow creased. “We were having a good conversation. Then he told me to call Vsuhl, and grabbed my wrist. When I broke away, he collapsed.”

  Zack lifted his eyes to me. “The blades have a strong hold.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” I scowled. “He’s obviously obsessed. When he tried to call the blade, it was like I suddenly didn’t know him. Before that, even though it was Szerain without Ryan, he was familiar.”

  “You’ve held Vsuhl. You know a hint of its allure.” His gaze penetrated me. “Not a day goes by that you don’t think about the feel of it in your hand, even toy with the idea of calling it.”

  I opened my mouth to deny such an absurd notion, then realized he was right. “Sure, but that’s no big deal,” I said, feeling an obscure need to defend myself.

  “I’m simply asking you to consider that you held the blade twice. He held it for millennia.”

  Feelings I couldn’t identify tumbled through me. “Whatever the deal is, I don’t want to go through that with him again,” I said with a shake of my head. “Maybe you can, um, get him to chill.” Chill? That was a pretty insensitive request, I realized with chagrin. Zack already worked his ass off to keep Szerain controlled and sane. “Crap. That was unfair of me. Forget I said that.” I shifted, grimaced. “Szerain told me what you’ve done for him. Do for him.” I gave him an apologetic wince. “I jumped your ass pretty hard earlier. You think we could call a truce?”

  Relief I hadn’t expected shone in his eyes, and a faint smile touched his mouth. “I’d like that.”

  “I can’t say it doesn’t still bug me—the whole Rhyzkahl’s ptarl thing, and you not spilling everything you know about Tessa,” I said, “but we all need to stick together right now. There’s too much at stake.”

  “You’re right,” Zack replied. “This isn’t a time for division. I know you don’t fully trust me, and may never again.” He scooped Ryan into his arms and lifted him. “But I’m here,” he went on. “And I don’t intend to bring harm to you. My presence here is . . . complicated.”

 
I stood and nodded. “Okay. Fair enough for now. If I actually stop and think about it instead of flying off the handle, I can see the difference in actively helping Rhyzkahl and keeping your mouth shut about things you can’t—for whatever reason—share.”

  Zack gave me a relieved smile, then headed toward the house with me. I opened the back door and held it for him to pass. “Szerain acted like this ptarl bond thing was forever and irrevocable. Is that true?”

  “The qaztahl have no memory of a time without the bond,” he said as he passed through the kitchen, “and despite ptarl grievances, as with Rhyzkahl and Kadir, no bond has ever been broken.”

  I followed him in. “So, hypothetically, a ptarl bond could be broken?”

  Zack glanced at me as he made his way down the hall and toward the basement door. “Hypothetically, theoretically, yes. Practically, realistically, no.”

  “Why?” I opened the basement door for him.

  Zack stopped on the top of the stairs, turned to face me. “Unknown consequences. Disruption of the arcane flows. Potentially deadly effect on the qaztahl. Inconceivable loss. Ripples in all directions for many.”

  But if no one had ever done it, how did he know for sure? It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him. It was simply that it was so far away from anything I’d experienced, I had no reference. “If it was a little more practical and realistic,” I pressed, “would you break the bond?”

  A wave of agonized distress passed over his features. “I don’t know.”

  I accepted that as a victory over a flat out No. “Go take care of Ryan,” I said with a smile. “If you’re lucky, I might even start dinner.”

  Zack let out a weak laugh. “I’m not sure I’d call that luck.”

  “My cooking isn’t that bad.” My mouth twisted. “Or maybe it is. I’ll keep it simple.”

  “I’ll be right back to supervise,” he replied with a hint of mock-panic in his voice. Or possibly real panic.

  “Maybe you can pick up some culinary secrets,” I said sweetly, then closed the door behind them and headed for the kitchen to forage for something “simple.” In other words, Kara-proof.

  Szerain and Zack had given me a lot to think about on top of the Idris issue, Farouche, and Tessa’s manipulation. Oh yeah, and let’s not forgot the evil demonic lords trying to take over the world. On top of all that, I needed to talk to Jill and see if I could convince her to move into what was rapidly becoming a compound. Kara’s Kompound. I muffled a laugh, then mulled over what I’d say to her while I tried to decide between frozen lasagna or waffles with bacon for dinner. Or bacon lasagna. Yum.

  Zack returned with a stack of files and his laptop as I closed the oven door on the frozen lasagna. “I have Ryan sleeping. Szerain is in turmoil,” he said. “I’ll do some intense work with him tonight.” He set the laptop on the kitchen table and passed over a file folder. “I made copies of all the Symbol Man case file notes for you, as well as everything we have for Amber’s murder. Figured it couldn’t hurt for you to have it all.”

  “You rock,” I said and took the folder. “I’m going to grab a shower while the lasagna cooks. Twice through the obstacle course. I think I stink a little.”

  “More than a little. You’re ripe.”

  “It’s much more gentlemanly to deny my stench.”

  “Then you’d doubt it was me,” he said with a low laugh.

  “You got that right.” The familiar banter was a relief and reminded me that, while the problems weren’t gone, they were manageable. “I’ll call Jill first and see if she wants to meet me tomorrow for a lovely early morning walk. Not only will it shock the hell out of her—me, exercise, morning—but I’ll have her as a captive audience to sell her on the benefits of her potential new temporary home.”

  He grinned. “She won’t be able to resist it, not with your smooth sell.”

  “Riiiiiight.” I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Seriously though, I’ll do my best. Too much shit going on right now to risk her.”

  “Thanks,” he said fervently, and the worry and love for Jill in his eyes was another bit of reassurance for me. “I’ll get to work on the deeper mysteries of my open cases,” he said and headed for the living room.

  I put the case files by the stack of Tracy Gordon journals, then made a quick call to Jill to invite her over for a persuasive sales pitch—disguised as a stroll around my property—for the next morning. I also gave her a summary of the harrowing roadblock incident with Farouche. I figured it couldn’t hurt to prime the danger pump.

  No new crises emerged during my shower, to my relief and delight. The lasagna smelled great, and I had chocolate fudge ice cream to spare in the fridge. What the hell? A quiet night kicked back at home?

  Don’t get cocky, I reminded myself. Best to take it minute by minute and not get my hopes up for the whole night.

  Chapter 20

  I opened my eyes to sun slanting through the blinds. No alarm clock. No phone call. The smell of something baking. I glanced at the clock, pleased to see that I’d slept over eight hours. I could get used to this.

  I had about thirty minutes before Jill arrived for our walk and talk. When I wandered out to the kitchen, I found Ryan at the table, already dressed and with his laptop open.

  “You made coffee,” I observed. Plenty of time for coffee. Hell, I’d make time for coffee.

  He looked up and gave me a smile. “I sure did. It shortens the Grumpy Kara time if it’s ready to go when you wake up.”

  “I’m never grumpy,” I protested unconvincingly. “Ever.” I filled my cup and dumped in sugar and cream. “How are you feeling this morning?” I had no idea if Ryan felt any residuals of the convulsions Szerain had yesterday.

  “I’m feeling fine,” he said giving me a wary look. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t be?”

  I smiled sweetly. “No! Not at all. Can’t a girl ask about your well-being?”

  “You? Nope,” he said with a grin, then gestured toward the oven. “I made some bacon-topped maple roll things. They’re done, but I’m sure you’re not hungry. Zack and I will manage to keep them from going to waste.”

  “Nice try.” I pulled the oven door open, and the sight and smell of the rolls set my mouth watering. I grabbed a potholder and moved the baking sheet to the stovetop, transferred one of the delectables to a plate, then took a bite. “Holy shit. You’ve been keeping these secret all this time? I’ll have to run the obstacle course three times, but it’s worth it.”

  “My mom’s recipe,” he said. “I found it tucked away in a photo album. I don’t remember her making them, but they sure are good.”

  I stopped chewing as my heart clenched with a fierce ache. Of course he didn’t remember his mom making them. He wasn’t really Ryan Kristoff. How did all of that work? I wondered as I resumed chewing. As far as I’d been able to determine, Szerain took over the real Ryan’s life a decade and a half ago, and the Ryan I knew was actually Szerain with an arcanely altered face. Before then, Ryan Kristoff had a full life that included family and college and work. How had Szerain replaced him without raising suspicions? And what happened to the real Ryan?

  I finished my bite. “These are damn good,” I said. “Any other secret recipes hiding out?”

  “A few. I’ll let you taste test if you’re a good girl.”

  My witty retort went unsaid as the gate control panel buzzed. I glanced over at the screen to see Jill’s car pulling through the gate. “Crap! I’m not even dressed.” I hurried to down the rest of the coffee.

  Ryan grinned. “I’m so damn interesting you can’t even think straight.”

  I set the cup in the sink and thwacked him on the shoulder as I passed by on the way to my bedroom. “Yeah, that’s it. Had me all aflutter and hanging on every word. Since you’re so interesting, you can entertain Jill until I get ready.”

  Ryan answered with a laugh.r />
  After taking a few minutes to throw on clothes and shoes and take care of some other necessary business, I returned to the kitchen. “Hey, mama.”

  “Hey, yourself. I brought some fresh fruit cups from the market,” Jill announced with a smile. “But I’ve ruined all of that and indulged in one of Ryan’s evil rolls.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. You’re weak like that. Me? I resisted.”

  She leveled a mom-worthy glare at me. “Kara Gillian. Number one, I know you better than that. Number two, you have maple drizzle on your chin.”

  Damn. I hurriedly swiped at the evidence.

  Ryan tucked his laptop into its case and pulled on his suit jacket. “I know this is going to be a blow to you both, but I can’t stay. Court.”

  “Aw, man!” I said with a mock-pout. “And we were going to talk about female bodily fluids!”

  Jill grinned evilly. “I’ve been learning all about post-pregnancy discharge.”

  Ryan made an agonized face. “I did not hear that. Did not.” With that he gave us a wave and left.

  I laughed. “Makes them squirm every time. You ready to go? The boys have been doing their best to turn my property into a theme park.”

  “I know. You can’t even imagine the things I talked them out of.”

  I gave her a wary look as I opened the back door. “Like what?”

  “For starters, a pool table in the living room. Can you believe it? In the living room.”

  “A pool table,” I repeated in disbelief. “I guess I should be glad that the majority of my summoning chamber remained untouched.” Amusement at the possibilities set me laughing again. “I’m picturing returning from the demon realm and landing in a hot tub.” I stretched as we reached the bottom of the steps and started across the grass. “I can’t complain about the kitchen though. And the yard looks better than it ever has.”