Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian)

by Rowland, Diana

  He regarded me for a second, then swept past me to his car. At first I thought he was walking away from the discussion, but instead he yanked the driver door open and dumped his laptop case onto the seat. He closed the door with a little more force than necessary, though his demeanor made me think it was more general frustration than anger at me. He jerked his head toward the back of the house, then briskly strode off.

  I followed, though at a more ordinary pace. No way could I match that long-legged stride without running. As I rounded the corner of the house, I saw him heading toward the pond trail. Mzatal sat motionless on the mini-nexus as I passed, and I sensed him deeply involved in the flows. Sparrows twittered their business in the trees as though all was right with the world, and a crow announced its presence with a raucous triple caw. When I reached the pond a ripple of potency touched me, like a breeze through an open window. On the far side of the water, Zack crouched beside the valve and worked his hands over it in unfamiliar patterns. I felt shifts in the potency, but othersight revealed nothing more than transparent shimmers in the air above the coruscating blues and greens that marked the valve itself.

  Puzzled, I slowly made my way around the pond. “What are you doing?” I asked quietly.

  “Pulling some potency before I collapse,” he told me with a low sigh that I realized was born of exhaustion. After a moment he looked up. “I created this branch valve. It’s one of thirty-three off the valve trunk in the north of Rhyzkahl’s realm.” A sad, nostalgic smile touched his mouth. “The first full system in place after the cataclysm.”

  Zack had to have been in a near-constant state of damage control since that catastrophic event centuries ago, I realized. And now he had the care of Szerain on top of that? No wonder fatigue seemed to permeate his every cell—far beyond any sort of normal tiredness.

  He continued to work his hands over the valve. I sat cross-legged beside him, reminded of an orchestra conductor as I watched him move. After a time he brought his hands together, and the rippling potency breeze died away, as though he had closed the window.

  He sighed softly, lifted his eyes to mine. “You asked what the line is,” he said. “It’s those ancient agreements, oaths, and decrees that frustrate the hell out of you.”

  Decrees. That implied an enforcer. I filed that away. “That’s an understatement,” I said with a wry smile. “I’d like to move beyond that.”

  He shifted from the crouch to a sit with one knee up. “You’re right.” He rested his forearm on his knee as he regarded me. “You’re not a child. Not anymore. You’ve grown so much, through betrayal as well as love.”

  “I’m not the same person I was a year ago, that’s for sure.” My throat tightened. “Sometimes I’m not sure who I am anymore.” I shook my head, scowled. “And not because of Rhyzkahl’s stupid rakkuhr virus either.”

  Zack plucked a long and heavy-headed piece of grass and rolled the stem between his fingers. “No. And I know it’s hard to find your footing.” He let out a soft snort. “My being a confusing pain in your ass doesn’t help.”

  “You’re not.” I did my best to smile, but I had a feeling it ended up more like a rictus of pain. “I don’t understand what the rules are, so I feel like I’m trying to find the walls of the room with all the lights off, and I keep bumping into furniture and knocking shit over.”

  A dragonfly zipped and hovered around Zack’s head like an iridescent green helicopter. Off to my right a frog croaked and entered the water with a plop. Further into the woods a squirrel chattered its displeasure at some other creature.

  “I said earlier that any explanation crosses the line,” Zack said quietly.

  My mouth drew down into a scowl. “Right, so my dark room has no light switch.”

  To my surprise he shook his head. “The switch is there. But I keep moving it.” He dropped the piece of grass and lifted his hand. The dragonfly alighted on his index finger as though he’d called it to him. “I’ve spent most of my existence walking that line and others, sticking my toes over.” His eyes remained on the elegant insect. “In law enforcement terms, I’d have a rap sheet full of misdemeanors, a fistful of felonies, and be wanted by Interpol.” He gave a light shrug. “I’m a troublemaker.”

  “No wonder I like you.” This time a faint smile curved my lips. “How about we back up one more step. Can you explain why there’s a line at all?”

  “Explaining that would be like running across the line and shooting the bird at the ones who drew the line.” He raised his dragonfly-free hand with middle finger extended and others folded to clarify that he didn’t mean a sparrow. “I can’t go there. Not now.” He paused. “Not yet.”

  “Ones? Not Rhyzkahl?”

  “No, not Rhyzkahl. The Demahnk Council,” he paused, looked away. “And others.” The last two words came out as a near breathless whisper.

  My frustration degraded to something closer to despair. I could barely comprehend the oaths he had with Rhyzkahl. How was I supposed to understand more beyond that, of the Council and of others he wouldn’t even name? “I don’t know what to do, Zack,” I said, brow furrowing. “Should I stop asking you for help?”

  The dragonfly whirred away as Zack snapped his head toward me, gaze sharp. “No!” He drew in a breath. “No,” he repeated a bit more calmly. “Let me see how I can put this.” He closed his eyes, and I imagined him sifting through words to find the least incriminating ones. “It is so very complex. In the convoluted insanity of the agreements and decrees, some interventions—such as using the demahnk ability to travel—carry consequences in certain Earth situations.” True distress creased his forehead. “I know a woman’s life is at stake right now, but I must weigh the consequences against the benefits.”

  “What kind of consequences do you mean?” I asked, determined to get some sort of useful info. “Are we talking volcanoes and locusts? Or, you get in trouble and get put in time out?”

  “Volcanoes and locusts if I went too far,” he said, expression grave. “Extensive consequences. But every transgression carries personal consequences. Very personal.” He retrieved the dropped stem of grass. “If I extract Angela Palatino, we win the battle, but I cripple myself for the greater war.” He gripped his temples between his thumb and fingers, shook his head. “Kara, this is . . .”

  I reached over, gently pulled his hand from his head, and wrapped my fingers around his. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry I’m stressing you out. I don’t understand who has you boxed in like this, but I get that you are. That’s more than I knew before, and it’s enough for now.” I peered at him, smiled. “So tell me how I can help you, other than not asking you to blip out and pick up my dry cleaning.”

  Relief eased his features. “You’re doing it right now,” he assured me, then tipped his head back “The other night you said that if a bond isn’t mutually shared, symbiotic, then one party is a parasite.” He cast the stem of grass away like a spear into the water, watched the ripples spread from it. “You’re right,” he continued. “The bond in question was never intended to be mutually beneficial. However the imbalance now is . . . intolerable.”

  I felt myself frown. “Whenever I mention breaking the ptarl bond to Mzatal or Szerain they kind of freak.”

  “Because it is inconceivable for them,” he stated.

  “It’s inconceivable to them,” I said, “but not to you. Why?”

  He regarded me, eyes unveiled and ancient. “Any inferences that you make from that are yours, but I can’t go there.” He lifted his hand, middle finger extended, but I didn’t take offense. This was his way to signal that the answer was too far over the line and into shooting-the-bird territory. “And in all fairness,” he added, “it’s almost inconceivable to me.”

  I mulled over what little I’d learned so far. Okay, so the bond between a lord and his demahnk ptarl was never intended to be mutually beneficial, but the demahnk clearly wer
en’t at the beck and call of the lords. So what was the deal? “The demahnk initiated the bonds with the lords, not vice versa,” I said after a moment of thought.

  Zack offered no verbal or physical cues of affirmation or denial, and that on its own spoke volumes. “I don’t know if I could do it, even if it is . . .” He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion.

  “Even if it’s right?” I asked. I shuffled the bits and pieces of clues into what I hoped was a logical order. “I guess you’d have to weigh the long-term effects of doing it,” I assumed he meant breaking the bond with Rhyzkahl, “against the long-term effects of letting the parasite continue to feed.”

  “Plus the short-term effects, and medium-term effects. And if it is indeed ‘right.’” He looked away, exhaled. “Throw on top of that a sincere desire to protect and cultivate the parasite, and it gets more twisted.”

  No kidding, I thought as I filed information away. Since Zack seemed to have more freedom saying parasite rather than Rhyzkahl, I stuck with the metaphor. “Parasites are funny things,” I said conversationally. “They can be beneficial to their hosts, but the kicker is that it’s only because it’s beneficial for the parasite.” I stood, chucked a stick into the water. “And sometimes there comes a point when it has no further need of its host.” I slid a glance to him. “Then again, most parasites aren’t with hosts who have friends who will stand right by them and pick them up when needed.”

  “Very, very true.” He fought for a smile, but his eyes held a fear I’d never seen in him before. His throat bobbed in a noisy swallow. “I wonder what happens to the host when isolated from both the parasite and the other hosts?”

  Tidbits of information filtered through his words. Other hosts. He’d expanded beyond himself. The other demahnk? “The other hosts would still be prisoners of their parasites,” I said, then crouched before him. “The free host would be with others who are free.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut as though blocking physical sight would block a concept too traumatic to consider. “Not others of its own kind.” He opened his eyes and repeated in a voice as empty as the void, “Not others of its own kind.”

  An ache of sympathy tightened my chest. How well would I be able to face a choice that meant isolation from all humans as one of its consequences? There was a reason why solitary confinement was a punishment. “I’m so sorry.” I slipped my arm around him in a cradling hug. He leaned into me as though craving any form of comfort he could get.

  “I’m so tired, Kara,” he said. “So tired. I don’t know if I answered why I can’t go get Angela.” He paused. “No. That’s not true. I can, but I won’t.”

  “It was enough,” I reassured him. “We’ll find another way.” And we would. Somehow. What good would it do to save Idris if we lost Zack?

  He remained still and quiet for a moment. “Kara, this is the part where I’m supposed to strip from you everything that you’ve inferred, surmised, or heard.”

  I took a moment to process that. Zack can do mind manipulation, I realized. I’d harbored some suspicions about that due to the nature of his work with Szerain, but the demahnk in general certainly didn’t advertise that they possessed that particular ability.

  Has he been reading me, all of us, all this time? I suddenly wondered, then dismissed the worry. I didn’t want to open another can of worms after finally getting the lid on the first one.

  More importantly, I knew that if he chose to, he could strip it all from me right now and I’d never know the difference. I hated—hated—that aspect of manipulation.

  I shifted to look into his face. “You’re supposed to strip it, but you’re not going to, are you?” I gave a cheeky smile. “Maybe it’s because you know that if you do, I’ll keep on annoying the crap out of you by asking you to do shit you’re not allowed to do.” I pursed my lips, raised an eyebrow at him. “But I don’t think that’s the case. You don’t want others reading it from me, but you also don’t want to strip the information. And, being the self-proclaimed rebel and troublemaker that you are, you figure you can get away with leaving it, probably by shielding it.”

  He regarded me soberly, though a hint of humor danced in his eyes. Finally. “You’re on to me.”

  “I’m a smart bitch.”

  He gave a sharp laugh, but didn’t argue. “Does this mean you agree to succumb to shielding?”

  “I do.” My brow furrowed. “Shielding me doesn’t change the fact that you leapt across the line and shot the bird. How’s that going to work for you?”

  “Probably about as well as boiling spaghetti in gasoline,” he said with trace of a smile and a resigned shrug.

  I waited for him to lay his hand on my head, gave him an expectant look when he didn’t. “Aren’t you going to do the shielding now?”

  “It’s already done.”

  I blinked. Innnnnteresting. Faster than a lord and without touch. Zack was continuing to feed me subtle information without telling me a damn thing directly.

  “Slick,” I said with a smile, though my worry remained. “What if Rhyzkahl reads it from you?”

  He shook his head. “The qaztahl cannot read the demahnk.”

  Even more innnnnteresting. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

  “How about a big posse breakfast-for-dinner at Lake o’ Butter complete with bad jokes, bad table manners, and a crappy waitress?” He managed a comical facial expression filled with equal measures of hope and doubt.

  I grinned and rolled my eyes, relieved that we’d moved beyond the tension. “That would go over great, except for the fact that we’d be sitting ducks for Farouche. But, damn it, now I want pancakes.” I considered the alternatives, smiled. “I bet Jekki could make some, and between you, me, Bryce, and Paul, we have the bad jokes and table manners covered.”

  “Kara’s Kafé! Beats Lake o’ Butter by a carbohydrate landslide.” Zack scrambled to his feet and shuddered like a dog shedding water. In the space of a few seconds he seemed to cast off all of the heaviness of the last half hour and was back to cheerful, casual, relaxed Zack again.

  Except now I knew it was an illusion. It wasn’t all fake, but there was a shitload more below the surface.

  “Don’t you have files to work on?” I asked as we headed for the house.

  He draped a companionable arm over my shoulders. “Some things are worth the price you have to pay.”

  “Pancakes,” I said, though I doubted he meant either dinner or work. “Pancakes are always worth it.”

  “Damn straight, Kara.”

  • • •

  Kara’s Kafé opened that night, with all eight of us crowded into the kitchen and none of us minding, not even Mzatal. Good company and bad jokes. Jekki’s hysterically failed attempts to be a crappy waitress. Pancakes, bacon, and syrup, then wine, conversation, laughter, and companionable fellowship into the night.

  The Mraztur had their schemes of world domination, but they’d underestimated the ultra-sappy and mega-cheesy power of love, friendship, and family.

  No two ways about it. My posse rocked.

  Chapter 31

  “More cofffeeeeee, Kara Gillian!” Jekki announced as he deftly topped off my mug.

  It had turned into something of a game between us this morning, where he could only refill my mug when it got below half full, but if I drank it past the three-quarters mark then I apparently “scored.” Moreover, it was cheating if I chugged it, and if he was ready with the coffee pot I had to allow him to refill it. I wasn’t quite sure how he managed to score. Maybe he got a point every time I had to get up to pee? Either way, he seemed to be enjoying it tremendously.

  I also didn’t mind being overdosed with coffee this morning. Weird dreams had awakened me a number of times during the night. Not exactly nightmares, but somehow worse, since they continued to hang around in jumbled bits and snatches. Idris was in them. And Tessa. And
Tessa’s fruity tea. A swimming pool full of it. And the damn ring I’d glimpsed as Idris was sent to Earth, the ring I couldn’t sketch for shit—though, in the dream, it was more of a ring-shaped dirigible that hovered over my house.

  The bizarre images floated through my head while I nursed the latest cup of coffee. Every ounce of intuition I possessed told me the ring was a key clue, a link to the specific person who had received Idris on Earth, which would then—hopefully—lead to a location.

  Right now, however, we had it narrowed down to “someone working for Katashi and/or Farouche.” Yeah, that was useful.

  I needed an artist. An artist who could draw it from my description. Like a police sketch artist, I thought, then immediately dismissed the idea. Dinky little Beaulac PD didn’t have one of those. For that matter, New Orleans was probably the closest place with a trained police sketch artist, and I’d have a hard time explaining why I needed their services to find a damn ring.

  What about Ryan? Beneath the overlay of Ryan was Szerain—the sculptor, painter, and consummate artist, as demonstrated by the hundreds of works of his I saw while in the demon realm, all brilliant and evocative. I had yet to see Ryan show any sort of artistic ability, but I’d also never seen him try.

  Frowning, I lowered my mug. There were two problems with asking Ryan to do it: The first was that I had no idea if Szerain’s talent was accessible to Ryan. Second, he’d have to read me to get what the ring looked like, and I wasn’t even certain he could read me as Ryan. I only knew he had the ability to shift memories around. And, if he could actually read me, it would be disastrous if he happened to pick up the whole, “Oh, by the way, you’re also an exiled demonic lord.” Of course, if Ryan could read that info, Zack never would have allowed him to do the memory-shift thing after my encounter with Farouche, which meant that, either way, Ryan was out of the running.

  Jekki gave a delighted burble as he refilled my mug, then a trill of unparalleled glee as I took a quick break to “unget” coffee. One point for Jekki.