Bryce cocked an eyebrow at the young man. “Wasn’t so hilarious when you accidentally called him that to his face. Anyway, Ms. Gillian wants to know—”
“Please call me Kara,” I interrupted.
Bryce gave me a nod. “Kara wants to know if there’s anything you need.”
“No. She doesn’t,” he said with a wry smile. “I can need a whole lot of very expensive things.”
“Okay,” I said, smiling, “is there anything without which you can’t do your work?”
He gave me a sly look. “I already ordered a laptop and some other stuff,” he told me. “It’ll all be here tomorrow.” He paused, fidgeted. “I need a few local things today though, if it’s not too much trouble. I can pay you back.”
“Write it down, and I’ll get the elves to take care of it,” I told him.
A smile bloomed on his face. “Wow, thanks!” He shifted the tablet from under his arm and started tapping on it one-handed, so fast I had a hard time picturing him actually typing anything that made sense. “You want me to help with the Idris stuff?” he asked. “The lord told me about him. I figure I can do some work on that, right?”
My phone dinged, and I fished it from my pocket. “Um, yeah. Hang on.” I checked the message, blinked. His shopping list—composed and sent to me in about ten seconds flat. I smothered a laugh. Chai tea, Krunch ’n Krackle snacks, and pistachios. All absolutely necessary for deep computer work, I was certain. I started to ask him how he knew my number, then decided against it. I had a feeling that would probably earn me a withering look.
I sent the message on to Zack, with a “please buy” added. “That’s right,” I told Paul. “We’re looking for Idris Palatino. Anything you can find on him would rock.” I spelled the name and gave him Idris’s date of birth.
Paul tapped on the tablet. “What sort of info you want? Sightings? That sort of thing?”
“Anything you can get. Sightings, rumors, mentions, you name it, especially within the last week. We don’t know where he is other than what you heard me tell Mzatal in the basement. He called me night before last from a stolen cell phone, heading northwest out of Austin. Farouche is involved, but we don’t know to what degree. We know Isumo Katashi’s organization is in on it. Tsuneo Oshiro. Tito—I don’t remember his last name.”
Paul looked up at me. “Tsuneo. That’s the name of the guy who ran away at the warehouse?”
“That’s right,” I said. “And Tito was the one Mzatal killed.”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” he said, then wandered down the hall, busily tapping on the tablet.
I waited until Paul was back in the office before I turned to Bryce. “Time to shift gears a bit,” I said. “You in the mood from some mild interrogation?”
“As long as it doesn’t involve beatings with rubber hoses, I’m game,” he replied with an easy smile.
“No beatings,” I said with a chuckle. “Not from me at least.” I took a deep breath. “But I need to know if the name Tracy Gordon rings a bell. Or you might have known him as Raymond Bergeron.”
A frown puckered his forehead. “I don’t think I know either name. Why?”
“Tracy was a summoner, killed about six months ago,” I told him. “Your name is in one of his journals along with a bunch of others.”
“Why would a summoner have my name?” Bryce asked, perplexed. “And yes, I know that’s precisely what you’re asking me.” He shook his head. “Sorry, but I don’t have a clue.”
So much for my fantasy of uncovering a simple explanation. I felt Mzatal’s mental touch, and I put on hold any thoughts of other avenues to take with the journal information. “We’ll figure it out later,” I said with a tinge of regret. “I’m going out to do some work with Mzatal, and I don’t know how long it will take. My best friend Jill may come by at some point.” I smiled. “She’s way pregnant. Can’t miss her. Y’all help yourself to anything in the kitchen, and don’t forget the game console.”
“Got it covered,” he said with a sharp nod.
I gave him a parting smile and headed toward the back.
Chapter 22
Mzatal stood on the sweet spot in the grass, hands behind his back and eyes closed in a familiar stance of focused concentration. He opened his eyes as I approached. “Zharkat. I am ready to begin.”
“Tell me what I need to do.”
He took my hand, drew me to him. Carefully and patiently, he explained the process and showed me the needed sigils for the diagram, and for the rest of the afternoon we prepared the unassuming patch of grass. For the first hour we did little else but clear residue and stabilize the power of the confluence, like pressure washing grease-encrusted drainage pipes. After that came the foundation anchors sunk deep, and meticulously woven flows. Then dozens upon dozens of rings of sigils, with every link checked and double-checked. Jekki kept us amply supplied with food and tunjen, and after more than four hours of work—and a quick potty break for me—we felt ourselves ready to begin the ritual itself.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as we returned to the confluence, and I glanced up at the sky. Clouds hid the sun, and little gusts of wind whipped high branches. As I lowered my gaze, I caught sight of Jill at the kitchen window, watching with avid curiosity though I doubted she could see any of the sigils. We probably looked rather weird as we walked around in seemingly random circles in my back yard.
Jill grinned and waved at me, but then pointed toward Mzatal and made a point of fanning herself. I grinned right back at her, ridiculously pleased that she’d made it over to see my mega-hot boyfriend. Wait ’til she sees him up close, I thought, chuckling low as I returned my attention to my work.
While I checked the sigils around the perimeter, Mzatal walked spirals, a slight frown on his face. Paul emerged from the house, tablet in hand, looked out to us then down at the tablet. Mzatal’s frown deepened, and he stopped, eyes on the ground.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I am unable to locate the virtual center.” Frustration rolled from him like a slow tumble of boulders. “All is shifting, and I need the precise alignment.”
“One step back and one to the right,” Paul said, eyes glued to the tablet as he crossed the grass toward us and stopped about ten feet away.
Mzatal lifted his head, regarded Paul, and then to my mild surprise took one step back and one to the right.
“Too much,” Paul said with a shake of his head, face fixed in concentration. “Left again a little.”
Mzatal moved as instructed, went still, and drew a deep breath. “Yes.”
“Yes!” Paul exclaimed. He looked up with an exuberant grin, then his mouth dropped open as if he’d just realized what he’d done.
“Well done, Paul,” Mzatal said. Paul flushed, to my amusement.
Mzatal took my hand again. “What was that all about?” I asked quietly.
A faint smile touched his lips. “He has an affinity for the flows,” he told me. “In this world, he touches them through his devices, and it gives him unconventional access to information. Even in the demon realm he feels the flows.” Rare delight lit his eyes. “He is innocent, and it is simply natural to him, a part of who he is. I find him fascinating.”
I smiled. “You like him quite a bit.”
“I do,” he replied without hesitation. “He is . . . comfortable.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and gusts of wind whooshed through the tops of the pines. “Time to get this show on the road,” I said with a glance up at the cloudy sky. Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long.
Together, we danced the first seven rings of the shikvihr; Mzatal traced floating sigils that I enhanced and amplified as I followed. When those seven rings were set, I remained in the center of the diagram as Mzatal finished the remaining four. That was a first for me, and with every ring I felt the increase in potency like a vib
ration inside of my bones.
Once the entire shikvihr was complete, he moved to the center with me. He ignited it in a burst of potency that made my head spin—in a good way—and left me feeling energized, as though fresh from a nap and a brisk walk all at the same time. Together we walked the perimeter and assessed for any anomalies in the sigils. The wind picked up, gusts stronger and more persistent, and carrying the scent of rain.
I took note of the dark, agitated clouds. “We need to finish soon, lover. A thunderstorm is headed this way.”
Mzatal laughed. “It is indeed.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “Glorious, is it not?”
Lightning flashed nearby, followed by a deep rumble of thunder. “Yeah, glorious,” I said doubtfully. “Glorious to watch from the safety of a nice dry house.”
“No, beloved,” he said as he walked us back to the center of the diagram. “I am calling the storm.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. “The fuck?”
Mzatal gave me a sideways look, and a smile crept over his face. “I am calling the lightning. We will use it to activate the nexus.”
I felt my eyes stretch wide open. “Lightning?” I’d lived in Louisiana all my life and had a healthy respect for dangerous weather.
“Yes.” An undercurrent of excitement rippled through his voice. “I work in great harmony with lightning.”
Reluctantly, I moved to the center with him. “You do know that human bodies are kind of allergic to big jolts of electricity, right?”
“It will be an experience you will not forget, zharkat.”
“For the remaining ten seconds of my life, you mean,” I muttered, already sweating at the thought.
Mzatal turned to face me and laid his hands on my shoulders, expression serious. “Beloved, I will not allow harm to come to you,” he assured me. “But I do not wish to bring you distress. The activation will be stronger with you here with me, but I will not mandate it.”
The truth of it showed in his eyes. I exhaled softly, leaned in and kissed him. “I’ll stay, but you’d best remember that if you fry me, I won’t be much fun in the sack afterward.”
Mzatal returned the kiss, trailed his fingers along my cheek and smiled. “Then I will most assuredly not fry you.”
He moved behind me and dropped his left arm over my shoulder and across my chest, pulled me back against him. With this close connection, I felt him call the storm, felt the increasing charge in the air. He inhaled deeply, as if bringing in all of the energy from the diagram around us.
“Focus on the full pattern,” he murmured. “See all of its parts as a single unit.” He raised his free arm high above his head. “When the strike comes, send it to every aspect.”
I swallowed. “Sure. Got it. I’m an old hand at this.” Wind whipped around us and rushed through the nearby woods, as if we were the calm center of the storm. Movement caught my eye, and I looked up to see Jill and Bryce emerge from the house to watch us from the sensible shelter of the covered porch. Paul knelt in the grass halfway between the perimeter of the diagram and the house, rapt focus on us as he clutched his tablet to his chest.
“Paul!” Bryce called out. “Get under cover!”
Paul didn’t move or even acknowledge him. Bryce scowled, said something I couldn’t hear and pointed for Jill to stay against the wall of the house. He leapt off the porch and hurried toward Paul, staying low as leaves and large drops of rain lashed through the air. “Paul! Jesus, kid. You need to get out of here!”
Paul startled as Bryce put a hand on his shoulder. “What?” He jerked his eyes up to Bryce. “No. I’m okay.”
Bryce shielded his face with his forearm. “Yeah?” he shouted over the wind. “You’re giving me a heart attack.”
Paul’s face filled with sudden worry, then he scrambled to his feet and returned to the porch with a deeply relieved Bryce right behind him.
With one hand still held high, Mzatal tightened his arm around me. “Now, zharkat.”
Lightning leaped to his hand, and a CRACK of thunder ripped the air. Power slammed through me, like a ten-foot-high wall of water crashing down, but without it crushing me or bowling me over. Even though I’d never been struck by lightning, I knew without a doubt this wasn’t at all the same. Every particle of every atom in my body screamed in joyous furor, utterly painless yet with an intensity that threatened to overwhelm.
Almost as an afterthought, I remembered to shunt the power out to the pattern, filling every aspect and sigil and loop as it ignited in a glorious rush. I felt Mzatal’s approving acknowledgement of completion as he released the strike.
Eyes wide, I breathed in shaky gasps. It felt like a roller coaster ride, the kind where you scream you want off while it’s happening, then can’t wait to do it again as soon as it’s over. “Hot fucking damn,” I managed, though I knew I had a crazy grin on my face. Every cell in my body seemed to vibrate on the verge between uncomfortable and ecstatic pleasure.
Mzatal lowered his hand, radiating strength and power as he dropped his head beside mine and nuzzled my neck. “Do you wish to remain for more, zharkat?” he asked, voice rich and intense. “The diagram is complete, but I am not.”
I gave an unsteady laugh. “I can take it if you can.” I leaned back into him, not wanting the moment to end. In my peripheral vision I saw Bryce shield Jill protectively on the porch, while Paul stared at us in utter awe.
Rain lashed around us, and the trees groaned under the onslaught of the wind, though we remained untouched in our arcane creation. Mzatal straightened, lifted his right hand again. “This one is for pleasure.”
The second strike was as heart-stoppingly kickass awesome as the first—even more so as Mzatal held the power, reveled in it, and shared it with me, with no need to shunt it to the diagram. Our connection expanded and crystallized in near orgasmic ecstasy, and in those extraordinary seconds, I saw through his eyes, felt what he felt, knew what he knew. When he released the lightning, the intimate hyper-awareness went with it, but the entire experience still left me breathless, amazed, and feeling somehow more than myself.
Mzatal, vibrant and alive, turned me and gathered me close. “Well done, zharkat,” he murmured.
“That was wild,” I said with a soft laugh. “And a little terrifying.”
“It is exhilarating,” he agreed. “And another means to enhance potency.”
I smiled up at him, certain I was glowing. “Did it work? Do we have a mini-nexus now?” I felt plenty of power around us, but I had no idea if it was from the lightning strikes, was generated by the diagram, or simply radiated from us.
“We do. It is perfect.”
I grinned. “A bouncing baby nexus.”
For a brief instant he tried to hold back the laugh, then gave up and let it out—a glorious rich sound. “Yes,” he finally said, eyes still swimming with mirth. “And we its proud parents.”
He cradled the back of my head in one hand, slid the other to the small of my back, pulled me close for a deep and smoldering kiss. I slid my arms around his neck and returned it eagerly. I clearly felt his enhanced potency, and I had some neat ideas for how to celebrate the addition of a mini-nexus to our magic family.
But not right here in full view of spectators. I broke the kiss and seized his hand. “Pond,” I gasped, and then we were off at a run down the trail. I let him lead since I figured he could see better in the rainy gloom, and running smack into a pine would probably cool my ardor a teensy bit.
Lightning still lit the clouds as we emerged into the clearing, reflected in the pond like earth and sky joined in perfect synchrony. Dozens of sigils glowed around his little pavilion, adding their own color and sparkle to the surface of the water and casting soft light on the surroundings. Literally a magical setting, I thought as he drew me close again for another searing kiss. I moaned against his mouth as my hands worked the buttons on his shirt. Or trie
d to.
I pulled back with a curse of frustration. “Shitballs goddammit!” I snarled as the wet fabric defeated my attempts. “Are these stapled together?” Great. Magical setting overwhelmed by a ridiculously mundane issue.
He laughed, took my hand, and focused, and a heartbeat later power wrapped around us to pull the rainwater from our clothes and hair and vaporize it with a hiss.
“Show off,” I teased, then made short work of divesting him of the now-dry shirt. The rest of his clothing quickly followed along with my own, and then he scooped me up in his arms, strode to the pavilion, and tumbled me to the mattress.
Laughing, I took hold of his braid and delighted in his groan as I tugged him to me with it. The groan shifted to a growl of desire as he lowered his head to my breast and claimed a nipple. I let out a gasping cry as I arched up to his mouth, wrapped my arms around him, and savored the perfection of his body against mine.
He shifted lower, and I dropped my head back, grip tightening on his head and hair as he wrung incoherent noises from me. Hands and mouth and everything that was him, so familiar to me now yet still as exhilarating as our first time. I eagerly succumbed to it all, cried out and clenched and felt his satisfaction and delight mingle with my pleasure.
Mzatal lifted his head as I fought to catch my breath, his gaze filled with stunning joy and passion. “Zharkat,” he murmured, then shifted forward.
“Not so fast,” I said with a throaty laugh as I once again seized his braid, wrapped it around my hand. “My turn.” Seizing control, I used the grip on his braid, shifted my weight and hooked a leg around his to reverse our positions. Mirthful delight danced in his eyes as he went to his back and I knelt astride him. We both knew he could have resisted easily, but where would be the fun in that? Yet the smile he turned on me was anything but indulgent. I claimed his mouth and tasted my own pleasure on his lips. A groan ripped from his throat, and the hands that rose to grip my hips shuddered with his own unslaked need.
I nipped and kissed along the sculptured landscape of his torso, toyed with sensitized nipples as he clenched his fists and throbbed against me. My fingers skimmed down his sides with a trail of goosebumps to mark their passage. Moving further down, I stroked and slid my flesh and mouth against him, loving upon him and giving back all he’d given me and more, until the clearing echoed with his own cries of need and pleasure and release.
Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian) Page 24