Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian)

by Rowland, Diana

  “Idris told Rasha they were following node emissions. Like the geyser effect at the warehouse? Why?”

  “There is potency to be harnessed through the emissions, as Tracy Gordon attempted with the gate at the warehouse node.” He shook his head. “Though I do not know the Mraztur’s plan, that it involves the nodes is both enlightening and disturbing. It is unwise to tamper with such, and it disturbs me that Idris is involved.”

  “We’re going to bring him home.”

  “Soon,” he replied with utter conviction, and in the ancient depths of his eyes lay grim resolve and the promise of vengeance.

  “Then let’s get started,” I said. “Rasha is under Farouche’s influence. Probably best to take care of that first.” The teakettle began a plaintive wail from the kitchen. “I’ll make some tea for her. She could probably use it.”

  Mzatal gave a slight nod, then exited the chamber to tend to Rasha while I returned to the kitchen. Paul was there, in the process of removing the kettle from the heat. A broom leaned against the counter, and I saw the shards of china in a neat pile.

  He gave me a tentative smile. “I figured I’d make myself useful.”

  “Like that’s ever a problem with you,” I said. “How’s Rasha?”

  “Freaked out.” He plucked a cup from the cabinet, dropped a tea bag into it. “Bryce is doing pretty good keeping her calm though.”

  “She has the Farouche juju on her,” I told him. “Mzatal’s clearing that right now.”

  He poured the hot water into the cup, then retreated to his laptop on the table. “You’ll want to see this,” he said as he typed. “Check this out.” He turned the screen toward me to reveal a photo of a lovely dark-haired woman in an evening dress, in her fifties or so and with a Middle Eastern look about her, posing with the governor of Louisiana. “I recognized her from photos in the living room and pulled this up for you. It’s Big Mack’s first wife,” he told me. “Rasha’s daughter, Aria Farouche.”

  “Fucking shit,” I breathed. “This is one hell of a tangled mess.” Farouche had divorced this woman seventeen years ago, a couple of years after their five year old daughter—who I now knew to be Rasha’s granddaughter—had been abducted. “Where is she now?”

  “Living happily in New Orleans with plenty of cash from B.M.,” he said. “They apparently still get along pretty well. She came to the plantation several times last year for holidays and stuff.”

  “How cozy,” I said. “Is she Jade’s mother?”

  He shook his head. “Her aunt. Jade’s parents died in a house fire when she was eight. Jade survived but had some bad burns on her legs.”

  I let all that sink in as I took the teabag from the cup and set it aside. “Anything else?”

  “Not yet. That’s all I had time for.”

  “You rock,” I stated. “Let’s go see what other surprises she has for us.” I picked up the cup of tea and turned toward the living room then stopped and stared at the notepad beside the phone on the kitchen counter. My name and number were written on it in awkward, shaky writing. She’d wanted to call me, to warn me, but hadn’t. Or couldn’t because of Farouche’s influence. Poor woman.

  As I moved down the two steps into the sunken living room, I quickly took in the surroundings. A worn sofa, chaise lounge, and two wingback chairs. A fireplace, coffee table, and various shelves holding a host of framed photos. Everything neat and clean, with only a modicum of dust.

  Face dreamy, Rasha sat in one of the chairs with Mzatal behind her, his hands on her head. It was clearly her usual spot to judge by the tissues, eyeglasses case, and books on the table beside it. Two framed photos rested by the books: one of teenaged Jade dressed in a blue and white cheerleading outfit, and one of a laughing girl about five.

  I placed the cup on her table, then settled on the chaise lounge and waited for Mzatal to finish his work. Bryce maintained a watchful position by the arch that led to the entryway, and Paul settled onto the step beside him.

  After a few minutes Mzatal lifted his hands from her head and moved to a position beside me, expression as unreadable as ever, though now he merely loomed instead of LOOMED.

  Rasha’s eyes filled with tears as she looked from Mzatal to me. “Macklin was behind this? He came for a visit before. He seemed so concerned about me. So normal.”

  Mzatal had apparently given her some basic halo-tarnishing information on James Macklin Farouche once he’d cleared the bastard’s influence.

  “Yes, he was,” I said, not surprised by the visit. To lay the fear, no doubt. “At least for some of what’s occurred on Earth. I’m sorry.”

  Grief deepened the lines in her face. “He changed after Madeleine was abducted. My beautiful granddaughter.” Her hand trembled as she touched the picture of the little girl on the side table. “But I never imagined he would go this far. I never saw that in him.”

  “He’s hurt a lot of people,” I told her. “It has to stop.”

  She drew a shaky breath. “I am deeply sorry for my part in this.”

  “Rasha, we know you didn’t condone what happened.” I kept my voice gentle. She was like one of her china teacups—elegant and beautiful, aged and fragile. “I saw my number by your phone,” I continued. “I know you would have warned me if at all possible.” I pulled the sketch of the ring out of my bag. Though I suspected I knew whose hand I’d seen wearing it, we needed to be absolutely certain. “We’re still looking for Idris, and you might be able to help.” I showed her the drawing. “Where is this ring now?”

  Rasha’s mouth thinned, and her eyes hardened. “Aaron has it,” she said, vehemence thick and sharp in her voice. “I saw it on his hand when he was here. I gave it to Jade on her sixteenth birthday. He says she gave it to him last year.”

  “What did he do to her?” I asked as I tucked the sketch away again.

  “When she was nearly seventeen, he came here to train her and also to learn what I had to offer.” She leaned forward, mouth twisting into a sneer. “He thought he knew so much. I had been summoning for more than thirty years when he was still a babe at his mother’s tit. Thirty years, back when it was dangerous and the flows more capricious.” She sat back, shook her head. “When Jade was barely eighteen, she and Aaron announced that they were together and assumed I would simply accept it.”

  Great. The young, nubile Jade was a summoner too, and her boyfriend, who grandma didn’t approve of, was also a summoner except he was sort of evil. I’d seen soap operas with less drama. As the Portal Turns?

  “But you didn’t accept it,” I said.

  “How could I and still have a conscience?” She drew herself up proudly. “He was and is an insufferable ass who lacked respect and restraint.”

  I wasn’t about to argue that point. “She didn’t come with Asher last Monday?”

  Sorrow clouded her eyes, and her shoulders slumped. “Five years ago I tried to talk sense into her, told her Aaron was no good, and I wouldn’t tolerate him in my house for training or otherwise.” She looked away. “She walked out with him and never returned,” she said, voice breaking.

  “I’m sorry.” It was a story as old as time, and Rasha had played the role of disapproving elder with fervor. And even though her intent had been noble—to protect her lovely granddaughter from an untrustworthy man—she paid the price with crushing loneliness so deep she’d risked injury or death to summon Faruk, simply to play chess with her last . . . Christmas. My chest squeezed tight. She’d been completely alone for Christmas.

  And how many Christmases have I spent with only my aunt? I pushed the unpleasant question away. I didn’t want to think about that right now.

  Mzatal abruptly stepped forward. “Rasha Hassan Jalal al-Khouri.”

  Rasha looked up at him, eyes wide, but with caution now instead of fear. “Lord Mzatal.”

  He dropped into a crouch before her. “You carry hea
vy burdens, old and new,” he said, voice rich. “Aaron Asher has committed a great offense against me, and he has used you. I will find him, and I will extinguish him.”

  Her mouth curved into a fierce smile. “I am in your debt, my lord.”

  Mzatal gently took her gnarled hands in his, lifted them to touch his forehead before returning them to her lap. “No, honored summoner. You have served well for more than half a century. It is a gift.” He folded her hands between his. “As is this.” He glanced to me. “Beloved, will you assist me?”

  I smiled, deeply pleased as I felt his intent. “You got it, Boss.” The rhythm of the healing patterns felt familiar now after working with him on Bryce, and I slipped into our connection effortlessly.

  Mzatal shifted his hold and worked the stiffness in her joints. “You will soon find it easier to summon again.”

  Rasha inhaled sharply as healing warmth suffused her hands, and understanding dawned in her eyes an instant later. “Oh my,” she murmured, then closed her eyes and sat quiet and still while we worked.

  A few minutes later she opened them again, brow puckered. Mzatal’s lips twitched in a smile as we continued to work the healing. “Speak, Rasha.”

  A whisper of fear crossed her face as she realized he could read her thoughts. “My lord, I meant no offense.”

  “Speak,” he repeated.

  She took a careful breath. “You call her beloved,” she said quietly, no doubt embarrassed I could hear, but unwilling to defy the lord’s command.

  He moved his hands to her wrists, and his smile grew fond. “Yes. I only speak the truth.”

  “Yet she calls you Boss, my lord?” she asked, clearly perplexed and probably wondering why he tolerated such disrespect. I studiously kept my eyes slightly unfocused as if I wasn’t paying any attention and carefully suppressed a smile.

  “She does indeed name me such,” he agreed. “Frequently.” Mzatal’s smile kicked up another degree. “It is the energy behind the word, not the word itself,” he explained. “Have you not heard a human speak a term of endearment, yet put such harsh intent behind it that it could as easily have been a knife to the essence?”

  The old summoner let out a dry chuckle. “Ah, yes, of course.” Then she gave a wistful sigh. “My Sapar, he would call me his third doughnut. Odd, to be sure, but he meant it sweetly. I miss him still.” Her forehead creased, as if struggling to recall those days with her long dead husband.

  “You have lived long alone,” he murmured.

  She looked into the distance, smile trembling. “I had my granddaughter Jade for many years after my son and his wife died,” she said, then sighed. “Such a joy she was, despite all she’d endured. So beautiful.”

  Mzatal gently released her hands, then brushed his fingers along her temple. Her expression cleared, and joy replaced the confusion as if Mzatal had dusted off those old memories.

  “Oh . . . my lord.” She lifted her hands, opened and closed her fingers, eyes brimming with tears. “You have given me a great gift.”

  “One richly deserved,” he replied.

  “Rasha, you have my number by your phone,” I said. “Call me if anyone threatens or pressures you, and especially if anyone tries to hurt you.”

  She nodded grateful assent.

  “Now you must rest,” Mzatal said and sent her into sleep before she could either protest or thank him. With a tenderness that few, other than I, had ever witnessed, he lifted the aged summoner and settled her on the couch. His hand remained on her shoulder for several more heartbeats before he straightened and drew a light blanket over her.

  “I have eased her memory of the ritual,” he told me quietly. “She is able to remember it, but only with focus and intent. It will no longer haunt her.”

  “You’re such a softy,” I said with a low laugh, and planted a not-soft kiss on his mouth. He’d expended a good portion of his reserves with the healing, and I resolved to get him home to the mini-nexus as soon as possible.

  Bryce and Paul and I finished cleaning up the kitchen and the broken porcelain, while Mzatal restored the wards in her house and beefed them up to demonic lord levels. At long last we departed, leaving Rasha sleeping peacefully on the sofa.

  Eilahn emerged from a clump of brush on the other side of the street, smiled and readied the motorcycle. I kept my hand in Mzatal’s as we walked back to the SUV. “I’m proud of you.” I slid a glance his way.

  He gave me a sidelong look in return. “My heaviness met your expectation?”

  “Well, you did a fair bit of looming for the first part of the visit,” I pointed out.

  His brows drew together. “I was simply heavy.” Before I could reply, he moved swiftly behind me, aura shifting to black menace as he pressed close against my back. I felt his breath on my neck as he spoke with dark and sinister horror. “This is looming.”

  I sucked in a gasping breath and had to bite back a cry of terror. Ahead of me, Bryce staggered and clutched at the SUV, face paling. Clenching my teeth, I drove an elbow back into Mzatal’s gut.

  He grunted at the blow, then let out an actual laugh, horrific aura dissipating to his normal “heavy” mojo in an instant. Bryce and Paul turned to stare at the lord, both apparently finding the laughter almost more disturbing then the menace.

  I couldn’t help but laugh as well. It felt good. “Holy shit, she’d have keeled over dead if you’d done that to her.” Throwing my arms around his neck, I planted a kiss on him, and didn’t mind at all when he wrapped his arms around me and returned it with a fervor that was possibly illegal on the streets of Austin, Texas.

  Reluctantly, and only because Bryce and Paul were doing their best to look anywhere but at us, I broke the kiss. “Let’s get back home,” I said. “And if we run into Asher or Jerry or Katashi or Farouche, you can loooooom all you want.”

  Chapter 34

  I waited until we were at least an hour out of Austin and then took an exit onto a small dark highway with a closed diner and one lone gas station. Four pumps. Grimy windows. Probably had the bathroom key attached to a hub cap. Only one car, which was likely the clerk’s since it was parked near the back of the building. It was the kind of station that no female traveling alone—especially in the middle of the night—would ever patronize except in a dire emergency.

  It was perfect.

  “Paul, any cameras?” I glanced in the rear view mirror as I drove past the station and saw him already typing away on his laptop.

  “Hang on.” He muttered to himself for another few seconds, then looked up in triumph. “Got it. It’s an old system, so best I can do is shut it off. Should work okay.”

  “You’re a god, Paul.”

  He blushed and grinned. I turned around then pulled in at the front pump and shut off the engine. “I’ll go get snacks and stuff,” he announced, undoing his seat belt.

  Bryce snorted. “You just want to see if they have Krunch ‘n Krackle.”

  Paul laughed. “I’m addicted.” To my surprise he then looked at Mzatal. “Lord Mzatal, you wanna come with me?”

  My surprise increased when a smile touched the lord’s face. “I do, Paul.”

  Bemused, I watched as the pair exited the SUV and headed toward the station, Paul chattering companionably about how awesome Krunch ‘n Krackle was, and Mzatal apparently listening closely and murmuring responses. He likes Paul, I thought, pleased and weirdly relieved. Mzatal’s incredible capacity for affection and love had gone untapped and unused for far too long. Millennia. He needed friends.

  I could relate, though on a much smaller scale. It was only in the past year that I’d developed an honest-to-god circle of friends. My posse. Even when things were at their shittiest, knowing these people had me in their thoughts made all the difference in the world.

  I climbed out as Eilahn stopped at the pump behind us. She parked the bike, swung her leg over and shoo
k her hair out of her helmet, then stood and preened a bit. I couldn’t blame her. If I looked that damn good on a motorcycle I’d likely do the same thing. She still rode Tessa’s bike, which I realized now probably wasn’t cut out for long highway road trips. Eilahn needed something more powerful—something fast. A sleek crotch-rocket or a model equally dangerous to mere humans. I smiled at the thought. Maybe when the FBI paid me.

  Bryce came around the back of the SUV, eyes going to Eilahn for long enough to prove he was a healthy heterosexual male, but not so long as to be pervy. “I’ll pump,” he told me with an easy smile.

  “I’ll watch and pay,” I replied and swiped my card on the pump, maintaining faith in Paul’s assertion that it couldn’t be tracked. My gaze went to the sight of Mzatal and Paul within the store. What would the super powerful demonic lord make of a back-country gas station? Did it have a big jar of pickled pigs feet on the counter? Or a container of boiled eggs suspended in an odd red liquid? In my entire lifetime of living in the South, I’d never been brave enough to try either staple of southern culture. I’d stick to M&Ms, thank you very much.

  My musings came to a sharp halt as a vehicle pulled off the highway, and my gut did a nasty lurch at the sight of the light bar on top of the Crown Victoria.

  “Shit,” Bryce murmured from beside me.

  I kept the pleasant smile on my face as the cop pulled up and parked along the side of the station. Sheriff’s deputy. A sergeant, I noted as he exited his vehicle. Late thirties, tan shirt over brown trousers. Service weapon and a deceptively casual air. No gut. Fit and trim.

  He gave me a polite nod and smile, then did a once-over assessment of Bryce, the SUV, and Eilahn, in a way that let me know he was more than some local yokel. This was a cop with a good eye who took his job seriously and probably had some damn good instincts. I loved his type, but damn, it was inconvenient for him to show up right now. Hell, he probably pulled in because there’s a carload of people and a motorcycle here in the middle of the night, I decided. That’s what a good cop would do, especially at a place right off the highway in the middle of nowhere with only one clerk working.