“I’ll hope for the best. Gotta hang up now, sweetling.”
“All right, be sure to call me when you get there.” I made my goodbyes and hung up. “Crap,” I muttered, then sighed and looked back at Mzatal. “At least she’ll be out of town and away from Farouche.”
“I would prefer her to be close, though it does indeed remove her from this area,” he said. “When she returns, do you intend to insist that she move here?”
I let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, right. I don’t think I could pry her out of her house with a—” I fumbled for a cool analogy and failed. “—a big frickin’ lever. She’s worse than Jill.” I sighed, dug at the grass with the toe of my shoe. “With any luck all this crap will be over with by the time she gets back.”
He reached and touched my cheek in a gesture of understanding. “Are there others for whom you worry?”
“Not really.” I stopped and thought through my meager-yet-awesome circle of friends. “Jill, Zack, Ryan, Tessa. That’s about it. A few people like Cory Crawford from the police department. Right now I’m mainly worried about Jill and the baby.” I took a deeper breath. “Which brings me to another big question: Is it okay with you if I summon one of your syraza?”
“You need not ask this, beloved,” he said, gentle understanding in his eyes. “Who do you have in mind?”
I smiled, relieved. “Steeev,” I said. “Zack told me I should talk to you before summoning him.” I angled my head, brow creasing. “I was kind of wondering why I needed your permission.”
“You do not,” he confirmed, though a questioning frown curved his mouth. “Why do you require Steeev?”
“Jill needs protection,” I stated. “I already knew that but after the body showed up on her lawn, that need got a whole lot more urgent.”
“Ah.” His expression cleared, and he gave a nod of comprehension. “You intend to ask Steeev to remain for an extended period. That would be why Zakaar advised you to speak to me.”
“How does that make a difference?” I asked, curious. I hadn’t realized there were mechanics and protocols for this sort of thing.
“Because it requires potency support for a syraza to remain on Earth and would be a direct drain on me,” he explained. “Do you consider Steeev’s presence here to be necessary?”
I considered carefully before answering. “Zack is wearing himself out trying to keep Szerain stable while also keeping Jill safe—and who knows what else. It’s like a domino effect. If something happens to Jill, then Zack will falter, then Szerain will crash and so on.” I took a deep breath. “And Jill’s very important to me.” I frowned as a new concern arose. “No. Shit. You’re already getting drained here. You don’t need another burden.”
“It is important to you, thus it is important to me, beloved,” he said, inclining his head. “I agree to the arrangement and will adjust the mini-nexus to supply the potency for him while I am on Earth.”
“Perfect.” I gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Boss.” My brow furrowed as another question occurred to me. “Wait. How can Eilahn be here? Isn’t she associated with Rhyzkahl’s realm?”
“It would be due to his agreement with her,” he told me, “though I do not know the nature or extent of it. It is still in effect, or she would not be here.”
Sudden worry gnawed at me, and I hated the implications. “Boss,” I said quietly, “I can trust her, right?”
Mzatal moved to me, took my hands and kissed my forehead. “She is devoted to you,” he said with quiet assurance. “Whatever agreement he made with her, this was not how he envisioned it. It is a constant drain for him.”
Relief had me tightening my hands on his. “Whew. I love her so damn much. It would kill me if she was on team Rhyzkahl.” And now I remembered Helori’s explanation: Eilahn had been determined to go to me and had conspired with another syraza to put the idea in Rhyzkahl’s head to make her my guardian.
Mzatal smiled. “You may delight that he forged a poor agreement, one with exploitable loopholes.” He lowered his head to kiss me.
I returned the kiss. “Does it really drain him?” I laughed with vicious glee. “That’s awesome!”
His eyes flashed with shared amusement. “Yes, it does. And I have no doubt it rankles him deeply.”
“I love it!” I said, grinning. “Okay, lover, I have some errands to run, so I’d better go track down Eilahn.” I gave him a quick hard kiss, with some added incidental groping, then left him to his search.
Before returning to the house, I made a quick detour to Jill’s new digs to make sure she was getting settled in and had what she needed. A few workers still bustled around outside, but the deck was finished, making access easy. Jill assured me Zack was taking care of the few things she lacked, then granted me a quickie tour of the inside. It was definitely cozy, but then I remembered her own home wasn’t very large either. Moreover, it was nicely furnished and had good quality appliances. Zack done good, I thought with pleased approval.
I also made zero mention of the possibility of a syraza bodyguard. I knew her too damn well, and it would be way too easy for her to say No to the whole thing before I summoned Steeev. Sure, I was being devious and underhanded, but Jill was too important to me to take any chances on her hormone-enhanced stubbornness.
I found Eilahn as she exited the front door, a big smile on her face.
“You seem awfully chipper,” I noted somewhat warily. Eilahn could be delighted over the oddest things. “What’s up?”
“I am certain that Paul will enjoy decorating for the Fourth of July celebration day,” she announced. “We must plan to be on Earth! He is very enthusiastic.”
I eyed her dubiously. “He told you this?”
“No, he did not need to,” she said with a sly and knowing smile. “When I gave him the box from the delivery personage, he threw the bumpers into the air with such abandon that I recognized him instantly as a fellow Earth celebration enthusiast!”
Demon logic. No. Eilahn’s logic. “Riiight,” I said. “Probably had nothing to do with the laptop he ordered yesterday.” I frowned. “Wait. What are bumpers?”
She held up a pink anti static packing peanut between her thumb and forefinger, as if it was a delicate treasure. “They are superbly suited for Valentine’s Day, are they not?” She let out a wistful sigh. “We missed it this year. I will come to agreement with Paul on conservation and storage of the bumpers for the next occurrence.”
“You do that,” I said, unable to keep a smile off my face at her enthusiasm. Paul would have his hands full if she drafted him into her Excessive Decorations Committee, yet I found it awfully charming that she’d taken the young man under her wing.
Her expression became grave, and she laid her hand on my arm. “I have a deeply serious request.”
Anxiety spiked. “What is it?”
“There are many items I require for the comfort of Fuzzykins in her gravid state,” she told me. “I cannot leave you to acquire them. Will you accompany me to the pet supply store?”
The look of delight and hopeful pleading in her eyes shot down any possible argument I might have mustered. “Sure,” I said with a sigh. “Why the hell not?”
“Excellent!” she all but squealed. “I will return at once so that we may depart!” With that, she ran off toward the woods, “bumper” in hand, and I abruptly had a weird vision of a secret hoard of Earth treasures in a hollow tree, and the bumper in a place of honor between a corncob holder and a losing lottery ticket.
“I need to shower first!” I called after her, but she was already lost amidst the trees. I shrugged and headed inside, doing my best to shut out the garish mental image of the porch festooned in red, white and blue.
Chapter 27
After half an hour in the pet store with Eilahn I began to look back fondly on my last visit to the dentist.
More toys. Treat
s. A special blanket. A cat bed—selected only after Eilahn poked, prodded, sniffed, and rubbed her face against every variety available. Brushes and combs—and I had to seize her arm to keep her from trying them out. By the time she trundled her shopping cart down the food aisle I was ready to snap.
“Eilahn, here’s cat food,” I said with a slightly manic smile as I grabbed the first bag available. “It’s a big bag! We won’t have to shop again for ages. It’s even on sale!”
She looked over at me with a very serious expression. “I will get organic Kitty Cuisine Niblets for Fuzzykins,” she informed me primly. “She is eating for seven and superior quality nutrition is critical.”
“Seven?!” I released the bag and stared at her, aghast. “Wait, there’ll be six copies of her running around, glaring and hissing at me?”
“Yes! Is it not wonderful?” she exclaimed, beaming. “I am still deciding on the names.”
My horror increased. “Are you planning on keeping them all?” I shook my head frantically. “No no no. You have to find homes for them.”
Her lovely brow furrowed. “I would not send them away if they do not want to go.” She frowned. “That would be barbaric.” Then she lifted her chin. “Whether they choose to go or remain, they need names.”
“Call them all Fred,” I suggested with a glower as we continued down the aisle.
“As they only have limited telepathic communication, that would be extremely confusing for them,” she stated as if lecturing a three-year-old. “Names are special. Unique.”
I groaned. “Telepathic . . .” I shook my head to rid it of the horrifying concept. “You’re telling me that Fuzzykins is okay with being called Fuzzykins?”
“Certainly!” She gave me a look as if wondering whether I suffered from some form of mental disorder. “I would not speak a name for her that brought her distress.”
I was saved from more talk of telepathic cats by the ringing of my phone. A Beaulac PD number. “Kara Gillian,” I answered.
“Hey, Gillian, it’s Marcel Boudreaux,” the familiar nasal voice said. “You busy right now?”
“Nope, whatcha got?” I said. Eagerly. Malfunctioning stop light? Cockroach invasion? Crowd control at a 90%-off shoe sale? Anything to get out of this store.
“Got a detective here from St. Long sheriff’s office with some questions about one of your old cases.”
“Yeah, I can come by,” I said. “I’m only about five minutes away.”
“See you in five then,” he replied and hung up.
“Okay, enough cat toys, Eilahn,” I told her. “Need to go to the PD.”
She balanced a large box atop the rest of her haul. “A fresh water fountain is not a toy,” she lectured. “It is for optimal health, well-being, and happiness.” She indicated the words on the box.
I felt a twitch forming in my left eye. “Fine. Let’s get it and go.”
To my relief she headed for the check out. As soon as she was done I jogged to the car and popped the trunk open, while she proceeded at a more leisurely pace.
“You seem distressed,” she said as she carefully tucked the fountain, cat bed, food, toys, and all the other paraphernalia into the trunk. “Do you want me to drive?” She closed the trunk and gave me a calm smile, though I caught the wicked humor in her eyes.
Yep, my demon bodyguard was a smartass.
I decided I wouldn’t dignify that with a reply and climbed into the driver’s seat. I was even nice and waited for her to get in the car before I drove off.
• • •
* * *
• • •
There was no street parking to be found, and the visitor’s lot was full, so I finally cheated and found a place in the far corner of the detective’s lot. To be safe, though, I quickly traced an aversion ward on the hood, just in case anyone decided to ticket or tow it.
Eilahn lingered in the foyer while I headed through the familiar Investigations door. A sharp twinge of nostalgia went through me as I walked down the hall with its stained tiles and cheap wood paneling and ever-present scent of burnt coffee.
My former sergeant, Cory Crawford, wasn’t in his office. A vaguely familiar young man earnestly typed away at his laptop in the closet-sized room that used to be mine. He’d been a road cop, I realized as I passed by. Must have snagged the promotion when I left.
Yet as soon as I passed the open doorway I had to stop and take a several deep breaths. I wasn’t a cop anymore. I’d known it before, but now the truth of it hit me hard in the gut. Not a cop. I wasn’t really a consultant for the FBI either. What the hell was I now? A summoner? That didn’t adequately describe it. Not anymore.
Squaring my shoulders, I continued on to Boudreaux’s office. He was on his phone, but when he saw me he covered the mouthpiece and said, “Interview three,” with a jerk of his head in the direction of the interview rooms.
I nodded and continued to the side corridor that housed the various interview rooms. The first two rooms were dark, their doors open. The third, at the end of the hall, was lit and the door ajar. I headed to it and peered in, even as a sudden hard shove in the middle of my back propelled me fully into the room.
I let out a startled yelp and stumbled forward as the door closed solidly behind me, but then I registered the other occupant of the room. Gritting my teeth, I recovered and tugged my jacket straight.
“Got all the cops under your thumb?” I asked Farouche with a tight smile.
Impeccably dressed in an obviously high quality steel-grey suit, dark shirt, and pale blue-patterned tie, he stood with the fingertips of one hand lightly resting on the table, silver cufflinks glinting at his wrist as he regarded me. “They are eager to accommodate me,” he replied mildly.
“Must be boring to always have things go your way,” I said with a mock-tragic sigh. “No surprises. No adventure.”
He straightened and adjusted his cuffs, flicked a miniscule bit of dust from his lapel. An elegant band of gold and diamonds rested on the ring finger of his left hand, and I found myself weirdly surprised that he still wore his wedding ring. I knew about the cancer center and his dedication to the search for his abducted daughter, but this clear sign of devotion to his deceased wife struck me on a different level. A sentimental monster?
“How odd,” he said as he took a step toward me. “I’ve always found it to be exhilarating.” He took another step closer, but when I didn’t flinch or back away his brows drew together, and a whisper of tension creased the skin around his eyes.
With a small impatient sigh, I folded my arms over my chest and gave him a bland look. “Is there something you wanted to say to me?”
A look of true bafflement came over his face, and I knew damn well it was because I wasn’t sweating in fear and jumping to do his bidding.
“What have you done?” he murmured, eyes searching over me as if trying to find whatever hidden trick I was using.
Fiendish glee soared through me, but I widened my eyes and brought my hands to my mouth in mock dismay. “Oh no! Was I supposed to call you?” I exclaimed with great drama. “I’ve been sitting by my phone waiting for you to call me!” I fluttered my hands. “Oh my goodness, what a faux pas!” I gave him an innocent look even though fury roiled through me. He was pulling his shit on cops and friends, and that was way beyond the pale.
Yet he didn’t seem to fully hear my words. Feet shifting ever so slightly, his expression flickered for a brief instant in a weird mix of confusion, worry, and anxiety.
A second later it hit me. He’s not in control. And that’s completely unfamiliar territory. Payback’s a bitch, motherfucker.
“It was him . . . Mah zahtal,” Farouche breathed, mispronouncing the name, though it didn’t seem to be intentional. And the Oh shit in his eyes might as well have been written in neon.
I laughed low, and I sang a line from “My Boyfriend’s
Back.”
Uncertain and shaken—though it was clear he fought to keep it hidden—he shot a look to the surveillance camera in the corner of the room and flicked his hand to the door. A few seconds later it opened, and he departed without another word.
Now that he was gone, my pulse hammered at the insanely close call. I counted to five then moved to the door and peered out, while keeping a very sharp eye out for any of Farouche’s cronies.
Instead I saw Eilahn bound around the corner, consternation on her face that shifted to stark relief as she saw me in one piece.
Still she pulled me fully into the hallway, raked an assessing gaze over me then peered hard into my eyes before relaxing. “I saw the ginger one and him as they departed,” she told me with a low growl beneath her words. “Forgive me. I did not expect a threat in this place.”
“No reason for you to,” I reassured her. “And you can’t ride my ass everywhere. I figure you’d have known if I was in any real danger.” I went on to relate everything that happened.
“You sang to him?” Her brow puckered. “Is this a traditional means of taunting?”
“Well, sort of.” I paused to consider. “But it depends on the song. ‘We Are the Champions’ is certainly better than ‘Muskrat Love.’” Then again, the latter would probably be more effective as torture. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” I said. “I’ll educate you on the way home.”
• • •
Before we left the station I stopped by Boudreaux’s office to find out what he knew about Farouche and why he set me up to be in a room with the man. As much as Boudreaux and I failed to get along, I nevertheless knew in my gut that he wouldn’t deliberately fuck me over. Had Farouche put the fear whammy on him?
Yet, if anything, it turned out to be the opposite. Farouche had wanted to surprise me with a job offer, Boudreaux told me, eyes near glowing with an eager desire to please Farouche. It hadn’t occurred to him to question the scenario, because this was how Farouche had wanted to meet with me.
I extricated myself from the weird conversation and left the station with Eilahn. “Bryce was right. It’s not just fear,” I said after several minutes of brooding and driving. “He can also lay on the charisma and make people devoted and loyal.” I shuddered. “I’m not sure which one scares me more.”
Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian) Page 29