Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian)

by Rowland, Diana

  He gave a slow nod of agreement. “Makes sense.” He picked up a shirt, flipped it right-side out then folded it in a crisp series of moves. “I saw Lon Harris get electrocuted when a power line fell at the compound,” he said as he set the folded shirt down and picked up another. “He’s the one who tortured and killed Dickey, the security guard who shot me at the warehouse.”

  “Remind me to send flowers to his funeral,” I said, sticking to the towels since Bryce’s folding skills were vastly superior to mine. “Dead ones.”

  “Jerry made it out though,” Bryce continued, muscle twitching in his jaw. “I caught him on some news footage coming out of the hospital with his arm in a sling.” He snapped a shirt out with a sharp crack. “Too bad he didn’t go down.”

  “With the investigations in full swing, he will, one way or another,” I reassured him.

  Bryce gave me a predatory smile. “Yeah, he will,” he said, and I knew he’d make sure of it if the official channels failed.

  I started on the dishtowels. “There’s more bothering you,” I said. “Spill.”

  He exhaled. “Paul wiped all digital evidence that he, Sonny, and I had ever been involved with Farouche.” He stacked the folded shirt with the others, grimaced and looked up at me.

  “But you’re still worried,” I finished for him. “Paper and off-line records are still out there, and will lead investigators right to you.”

  “That pretty much sums it up.”

  I met his eyes. “What if there was a way for you to have a clean slate?”

  He began to pair socks, adroitly avoiding several pairs of undies. “I’ve done some really bad shit, killed a lot of people in cold blood. But I’m not that man anymore. Could I still kill? Would I still kill? Yeah.” Sadness whispered through his voice. “But not like that. Never again. I won’t do someone else’s dirty work.” He neatly tucked two socks together in a ball. “That said, I don’t want to rot in prison. I don’t want to stop doing what I can against the Mraztur. I don’t want to leave Paul or Sonny. They’re my family. If I can get a clean slate, I’ll take it.”

  “I’ve already been thinking about it,” I told him, “and I have some ideas on how to pull it off. Once Zack is back in the swing of things, he can help get new identities for you three.” If Zack is ever back in the swing of things.

  Bryce dropped the socks to the table. “That’s . . .” he trailed off, shaking his head. “‘Thanks’ doesn’t cut it.”

  I handed him the stack of dishtowels to put in the drawer. “If it wasn’t for you and Sonny and Paul, we wouldn’t have Idris back, and the Mraztur would be full steam ahead with their dangerous node-gate bullshit.”

  He tucked the towels away. “I sure as hell want to do more. I’m in the game.”

  “Good, then we’re stuck with you,” I said and thrust a bath towel at him. “And there’s a no-stench rule for my posse. Go. Shower.”

  He smiled, took the towel, and turned toward the bathroom. “Kara’s Kavalry?”

  “No!” I shouted at his back. “Posse.”

  Still smiling, I put the rest of the laundry away. I was putting the empty basket in the laundry room when I heard the front door open. Ryan.

  My heart pounded. It was only Ryan. At least that’s what I tried to tell myself. I returned to the kitchen and peered down the hall, wanting to see and feel for myself who he was before he reached me. I didn’t want to misstep and say something I shouldn’t.

  He approached with a smile, completely Ryan-like in looks and manner and walk. “You look better than you did when I left,” he said.

  Well, shit. That didn’t give me a clue. “Um, how did I look?”

  “Laid out on the sofa. Wasted after the ordeal.” He took off his suit jacket and laid it over the back of a kitchen chair.

  “Uh huh,” I said, watching his every move. “The, um, ordeal of the stuff at the plantation?”

  “That and what happened out there last night.” He nodded toward the backyard. “It’s okay. You can talk about it.”

  My stomach did weird flip flops as I tried to shove the ragged clues into something that made sense. “How is it okay . . . Ryan?”

  He still smiled, but a touch of sadness colored it now. “Because I know,” he said quietly. “I know what I am, and I know that I stabbed you last night and healed you. I don’t know all the whys of it here on the surface,” he tapped his temple with a finger, “because I’m taking it one step at a time. This is pretty stressful.”

  “Oh,” I said in a small voice. “So you’re . . .” I nodded and struggled to smile. Was Ryan—my Ryan—gone?

  “Szerain?” he finished for me. His brow furrowed. “I guess. It’s a little confusing for me. Shit, a lot confusing. I’m sorry. I don’t want to freak you out.”

  I moved hesitantly to him, took his hand and peered into his face. It was Ryan’s yet more than Ryan’s, though I knew I’d never be able to explain it. My head told me it was time to grieve, told me this wasn’t Ryan anymore, but how could I grieve when he was still here?

  “It’s really weird that you know about Szerain,” I said tentatively.

  “You ought to try it from in here,” he said with what seemed a genuine Ryan smile. “You’re one tough chick, you know that?”

  I let out a weak laugh. “Stubborn Bitch. Sheesh. Get the term right.”

  “Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting.” He squeezed my hand, then blew out a breath. “So, what’s next?”

  I had a feeling he meant in the grand scheme of conflict and crisis, but I didn’t have it in me to go there right now. Instead, I shrugged. “Dinner?”

  He regarded me for a moment, relief in those green-gold eyes that reflected both Ryan and Szerain. “Yeah. That’s nice and normal. Let’s fix dinner.”

  “Normal. Me cooking. Right,” I said, laughing a little. He craved the illusion of a normal life right now as much as I did.

  “More me cooking and you,” he paused, “assisting,” he suggested. “I think that’s a better plan.”

  “Safer for everyone.”

  “Safety first.” He turned and opened the fridge, scanned the contents. “How about BLTs and french fries?”

  “With double bacon, I’m in.”

  Bryce and Jill joined us about halfway through the prep, and soon the kitchen echoed with jokes and banter and laughter. Each of us and all of us faced challenges and bore burdens unimaginable to ninety-nine point nine percent of the population, but for this evening we ruthlessly pushed them aside and gorged on food and friendship.

  Chapter 44

  The ringing of my phone jarred me from an oddly logical dream about encyclopedias and babies and ladders. I peered at the name on the caller ID and instantly shot directly to wide awake.

  “Zack?”

  “Hey, babe.” He didn’t sound as strained as a day and a half ago but didn’t sound at all animated either. “Caught you sleeping, huh?”

  I glanced at the clock. A little after eight a.m. “Yeah, working consultant hours is kind of cool. How are you doing?”

  “I’ve been lots better,” he said. “I’m not ready to leave here yet. I . . . can’t.” He went quiet for a moment. “I just wanted to talk.”

  I felt the subtle desperation behind the words. “I’m here for you,” I assured him. “Eturnahl.”

  “Kara,” he said in a voice so thick with emotion it brought a lump to my throat. “You’re okay? Are you?”

  “I am,” I said, smiling softly at his concern. “I promise. I’m really okay.” But then I sighed out a breath. “I’m sorry if giving Vsuhl to Szerain made things harder for you.”

  He echoed my sigh. “It’s so convoluted,” he said, as if the implications carried eons of pain. “I can’t process all of the possible complications yet. What I do know is that if you hadn’t given Vsuhl to him, you wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be
Kara. And that’s all that means anything right now.”

  A warm glow went through me. It mattered to him that I was still me. “And you’re still Zakaar. Even more than you were before.”

  He remained silent for several seconds. “How is Ryan?” he finally asked.

  How could I explain it? “He seems all right. We had a pretty normal evening.” Grimacing, I sat up. “Zack, he knows about Szerain, but he looks like Ryan. I don’t understand. Did you partially resubmerge him or something from a distance?”

  “No,” he said as though pronouncing a death warrant. “He did that. On his own. With Vsuhl, he freed himself, and is using it to give him a measure of stability.” He made a sound like a half-sob. “But he isn’t ready.”

  My worry spiked. “Zack? What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t do this,” he said in a broken voice. “Szerain is in danger, and he’s dangerous. I can’t protect him or others. I can’t deal with it.”

  “I’m not sure you have to,” I said carefully. “Not the way you did before. He may not be ready, but there’s nothing we can do about that now, and I know he’s not going to abandon you. Neither will the rest of us. Once in the posse, always in the posse.” I wanted to reach through the phone and give him a hug. “It’s going to be all right.”

  “I can’t see it,” he said weakly. “But I’ll believe you.”

  “You’d better,” I told him.

  I heard him clear his throat softly, take a breath, release it, then take another. “Kara, have you ever killed anyone in the line of duty before?”

  The abrupt change of subject had me blinking in confusion. “No, I’ve never even been in a position to . . .” I suddenly understood where he was going with this: Pyrenth. That night, when I found Zack and brought him to Jill’s house, he had no doubt sensed my pain over the reyza’s death.

  “Pyrenth was the first,” I said, throat tight. “No, wait.” An uncomfortable realization struck me. “He’s the first I knew for sure. I Earth-killed a kehza and a graa, but, at the time, I assumed any demon killed on Earth made it back through the void to the demon realm.” Now I knew that, while there was a good chance a demon could return, it was by no means a certainty.

  “And if they’d died before on Earth and returned—”

  “Then the good chance drops to crappy,” I finished for him. A second death on Earth for a demon usually meant death for real. Eilahn had died on Earth once already, and so I worried doubly for her.

  “Pyrenth had traversed the void once before.”

  The implications of that simple statement left me mentally scrambling and ripped a new wound in my pain over his death. I took a moment to put it all together. Zack waited in patient silence on the other end of the line.

  “When I made the decision to use deadly force to stop Pyrenth from taking Idris,” I finally said, “I was playing the odds that he’d make it through the void and back to the demon realm. My intention was to stop him, to kill him if that’s what it took, with a secondary consideration that he’d have a chance of making it home. But it was a gamble.” I closed my eyes and let out a long slow breath. “I thought his odds were better than they were, but it was always a gamble.” Explaining it, actually speaking the words out loud, helped. My respect and gratitude for Zack climbed even higher. He was going through ten tons of shit and yet he still took the time and thought and energy to help me get through this.

  “I chose the blade over a bullet because it had a better chance of taking him out of the game,” I went on. “I didn’t know there were no ‘odds’ with Vsuhl, that a kill was final.”

  “Pyrenth gambled too,” Zack said gently. “Rhyzkahl couldn’t force him to come to Earth. Pyrenth knew the danger and chose to come. You killed him in the line of duty, and he died in the line of duty.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. Those were hard terms though ones I could understand. It still gnawed that Mzatal hadn’t warned me that dead by the blade meant Really Dead, but the heavy guilt around Pyrenth’s death abated somewhat.

  “Thanks, Zack,” I said.

  “Sihn,” he replied, and I heard a whisper of smile in his voice.

  “You doing okay with Sonny?” I asked, ready for a change in subject.

  “He’s a blessing. I’m not sure I’d have made it this far without him.”

  At least that much was working out well. “I figured it’d be good for both of you. He needed to help someone.”

  “I read him,” he said. “He’s a mess. Good pairing.”

  I laughed softly. “My whole posse is fucked up. It’s perfect.”

  • • •

  After reassuring Zack that Jill was doing well and Steeev was taking good care of her, I hung up, found some shorts, and then followed the smell of coffee. Ryan leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, and eyes unfocused as though lost in thought. I continued toward the coffee pot as it made its last gurgles.

  “Morning, sunshine,” I said with a bright smile. Yeah, let’s just keep pretending everything’s nice and normal.

  He startled a bit, then smiled. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

  “It’s not that late,” I pointed out. “You’re not exactly an early bird yourself today unless this is the second pot of coffee.” I retrieved two mugs from the cabinet, filled them.

  “Nope. I’m running late.”

  I placed the mugs on the table and sat. Okay, I was awake, and I had coffee. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

  Ryan pulled out the chair opposite mine and dropped into it. “Now what?” he asked in an eerie echo of my thoughts.

  I started to say I didn’t have a clue, then shook my head. “We can’t keep on pretending everything’s normal,” I said. “We both know it’s not.” He gave a grim nod, and I continued. “I need training still. I need to find out if Paul is all right. And I need to talk to Mzatal.”

  “Sounds like you have a plan.” Ryan picked up the mug nearest him, took a sip, then made a that-doesn’t-taste-right face.

  I winced a little. “I guess I do.”

  “That’s half the battle.” He stood and moved to the spice rack.

  I dumped sugar and cream into my coffee. “And what’s the other half?”

  “Perseverance and follow-through,” he told me. “A lot of people have plans. They’re useless unless you do something with them.”

  I gave him a wry smile. “Time to get my ass in gear then.”

  “Drink your coffee first,” he said, then returned to the table to put a scant spoon of sugar and a shake of cinnamon into his cup.

  I quickly lifted my mug to my mouth to hide my mild shock. Ryan always drank his coffee black. Was this whole Ryan-appearance simply a pretense to make it easier on me, or did Szerain need to keep it like this? A pang of loss went through me. Was there any of my Ryan left? I sipped my coffee and, for a moment, wished that I could go back to that beach in the demon realm where I’d gone with Helori, and simply be away from everyone and everything for a while. And just as quickly pushed the whiny self-pity down. This wasn’t about me, and I wasn’t going to run away from my problems. Too many others depended on me.

  “What about Zack?” I left the question wide open to see where he’d go with it. I’d assured Zack that Szerain wouldn’t abandon him as all the others had, but it was an assumption.

  He set his cup on the table, swallowed. A weird ripple passed over his face as though he’d almost lost the Ryan features. “He’s broken,” he said in a strained voice. “I’ll take care of him. I know broken.”

  I exhaled softly. “Yeah, I guess you do. Thanks.”

  He nodded. “When are you planning to follow through with your plan?”

  “After I get caffeinated I’ll go down and top off the storage diagram.” Luckily I maintained a habit of keeping it as full as possible at all times. I sighed, rubbed a hand over my
face. “And then I’ll summon a little after noon, I guess.”

  “You’re reluctant to do this,” he observed.

  “No, I’m not reluctant.” I grimaced. “It’s sort of a weird nervous-dread-anxious-resigned hybrid emotion.”

  “Well, that narrowed it down,” he said with a twitch of his lips. “Caused by?”

  I set my mug down, leaned back in my chair. “Caused by the fact that my demonic lord lover brought down the fires of heaven and would have killed me and everyone else if you and Kadir hadn’t helped me stop him.”

  Ryan winced. “That would do it. He lost control.”

  “And then he closed me out,” I said, then sighed and rubbed at my temples. “Weirdly, that was the worst part.”

  He looked at me sharply. “Closed you out?”

  The ache tightened my chest again. “We have this connection, and he . . . went totally silent.” I couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. “Like he didn’t hang up the phone, but wasn’t talking on the other end of the line.”

  He breathed a curse—in demon, I noted with another weird pang. “I understand the hybrid emotion now.”

  “I guess I get to see if he’ll still train me.” I pressed my fingers to my eyes. “I don’t even know what to expect.” I dropped my hands and grimaced. “And he might be pretty pissed off I didn’t give him Vsuhl when he asked for it.”

  “You’re a good student. He’ll teach you,” he assured me. “And if you’d given him Vsuhl, you would now be Rowan, anchoring the mini-nexus for Jesral and Rhyzkahl.”

  A shiver ran over me as the memory of those bizarre few minutes as Rowan surfaced. Szerain had saved me, as had Bryce. I rubbed my arms, found myself smiling at Bryce’s fierce loyalty. He’d called to me, had never stopped. Kara . . . Kara . . . Kara . . .

  Like Giovanni called to Elinor.