Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian)

by Diana Rowland

  “Like Farouche finds talent,” Bryce observed.

  “Yeah, I guess it’s something like that.” I lifted my chin toward the photo in his hand. “Why did that one grab your attention?”

  “You have any better photos of this sketch here?” He tapped one of the drawings in the photo, and a chill went through me. Rhyzkahl.

  “Sure. Hold on.” I did my best to keep my face neutral, pulled three comics from another pile. Shattered Realm, the graphic novel written and drawn by Greg Cerise. I found a page with a good representation and dropped it on the table in front of Bryce.

  He stared at the page—a full-color of Rhyzkahl in armor looking out over the battlements of a castle. He sat back in the chair. “Jesus. Mega-Fabio.”

  “Bryce, spill,” I ordered.

  “He’s a goddamn demonic lord, isn’t he.”

  I stood. “That’s Rhyzkahl,” I said, my voice flat and hard. “Tell me how you know him.”

  Bryce shoved up from the table. “I’ve seen him several times, once as close to him as I am to you. He’s in with Farouche. Big time.”

  My heart pounded unevenly. “How? When? When did you see him?”

  “Shit, I don’t know the exact dates,” he said with a shake of his head. “Now it makes sense. He doesn’t feel at all like Mzatal or Elofir, but he has his own aura just as strong. Shit! I should’ve realized it sooner.”

  “It’s okay. Just tell me when,” I said, unable to hide the urgency in my voice. “Ball park. Anything.”

  His mouth firmed. “The first time was in the spring last year. Not sure exactly when. He showed up at the compound gates at about three a.m., demanded to see Farouche, and did. That’s unheard of.”

  Cold sweat pricked the small of my back. “Spring. You said it was night. Do you remember anything in particular about it?”

  He frowned. “Not much. It was pleasant and clear, and there was a big full moon hanging low over the house.”

  Shit. Shit! Ice formed in my gut. That was the first night I’d summoned Rhyzkahl—completely by accident. I’d been trying to summon a luhrek named Rysehl, and the demonic lord had hijacked my summoning to escape the Symbol Man’s attempt to summon and bind him. He’d seduced me that night and had apparently then gone straight to Farouche when he was done.

  “That fucker. That . . . fucker.” My nails cut into the palms of my hands as I clenched my fists. “How many times? Was it always late at night?”

  “I saw him six, maybe seven times,” Bryce told me. “He’d always arrive late, and usually stay until around noon the next day, sometimes a little later.”

  Stupid stupid stupid! I railed at myself. Of course he wouldn’t waste all of that lovely access to Earth I so generously gave him. But how? How did he get from my house to Farouche? Every time he left me, he disappeared—I assumed to return to the demon realm. Sick anger spread through my chest and gut. Easy enough to manipulate me to believe that’s what happened, I realized. Manipulate me, stroll outside, and call a syraza to him to give him a lift.

  “Oh god,” Bryce breathed. I jerked my attention to him to see a look of deep dismay on his face.

  “What?” I managed to ask.

  Bryce drew in a ragged breath. “That’s where the abductees must’ve gone, to the demon realm. I don’t know whether that’s good or bad, but I don’t feel very good about it.”

  I moved around the table, eyes on him. “Abductees?”

  “Farouche acquired people for him,” he told me, voice pained. “Mostly women. Mega-Fabio would take one or two back with him every time he visited. Sonny was the pickup man and handler for all of them, except for one. Not a woman. A StarFire inner circle guy who’d pissed off Farouche and was already in his custody.” He gripped the back of a chair. “God almighty, Sonny hates those assignments.”

  My mind raced, and I forced myself to think past the horror of human trafficking. Sonny. Maybe he was the key. Of all the people Bryce and Paul had left behind, Sonny was the one they truly missed and worried about. And he’s still on the inside.

  “You consider Sonny to be a decent guy, don’t you?” I asked.

  Bryce exhaled. “Sonny hates what he does, but he does it. Then again, with jobs for Farouche, we all do—did—them. Some get off on it, some consider it nothing more than a job and get plenty of sleep at night, and some get ulcers.” He tugged fingers through his hair. “He’s done a few hits, but only as the second man. He’s lead for . . .” He hesitated, then sighed before continuing. “He’s often lead for pickups—abductions—because he can really keep people calm. That talent we talked about. But despite all that, yeah, he’s a decent guy.”

  Murder, kidnapping, and who knew what else. Farouche was definitely a Grade-A piece of shit. But a few days ago Paul had tapped into a conversation between Sonny and his estranged sister, and discovered that Bryce’s disappearance had shaken up Sonny’s world. That sounded like a man desperate for a change. “Do you think he’d be a mole for us and help get Idris’s mom out?”

  Bryce began to shake his head, then stopped and frowned. “I was about to say no way in hell—not with Farouche’s influence. But it’s Sonny. I don’t think he would’ve made it if I hadn’t pretty much held him together for the past twelve years. He has a soft streak that’s perfect for,” he grimaced, “his specialty, abduction, so Farouche tolerated him.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, expression thoughtful. “I guess it’s possible,” he finally admitted.

  “I know you want to get him out of there,” I said. “Let’s see if he can help us help him. This could be a parting shot.”

  “I do want to get him out,” Bryce said slowly. “But I don’t want him to get fucked up in the process, y’know?”

  “I understand,” I said, “and we’ll do our damndest to keep it safe for him. But if we don’t help him, he’ll never get out.”

  “You’re right,” Bryce said, voice hollow, then sighed and straightened his shoulders. “Here’s the deal. Making that call to his sister was out of bounds. Against Mr. Farouche’s rules. That tells me he’s desperate, and somehow managing to push through the fear. That’s the only reason I think there’s a chance he won’t run straight to Farouche if we contact him.”

  “Maybe it has something to do with his talent,” I suggested. “Perhaps the super-calm somehow helps him override the fear?”

  Bryce stared at me. “Y’know, that could be it. He’s never been pushed like this without me there.” He nodded. “We’ll need to feel him out. A text from Paul.”

  “Right, and if we like what we get, we set up a meeting. I’ll trust your judgment on how to proceed with that.”

  “He should be able to receive a message and avoid trouble,” Bryce mused, clearly warming to the plan. “And if we’re right about his state of mind, I don’t think he’d go straight to the boss.”

  “It’s possible he might set us up,” I said, “but we’ll be able to sniff out a trap.” I considered the various aspects, then nodded. “If he agrees to meet with us, we grab him and Mzatal will clear Farouche’s influence from him. If he then agrees to be a mole, that’s awesome for us, but even if he doesn’t, he’ll be free.”

  “Oh, god,” Bryce said, voice thick. “It’d be wonderful to get him the hell away from there.” Years of pain and doubt swam in his eyes.

  I ached for him. He’d saved Sonny’s life, and then had to carry the heavy guilt of what Sonny became. “Let’s get Paul to text him and go from there.”

  We found Paul yawning on his futon, and quickly filled him in on our desire to get Sonny away from Farouche and use him as a mole, if he was willing.

  Paul’s face brightened instantly. “Awesome! What’s the plan?”

  “Let’s start with a simple text that says ‘Hey’ and see what we get back,” I suggested.

  Paul tapped at his tablet. “There, sent.” About twenty seconds later, he grinned. “He texted back ‘You OK? Bryce?’”

  I smiled. It was a good start. “Um, tell him you’re b
oth okay, and you miss him.”

  He did so. It felt like ages for the response to come in, though it was probably more like thirty seconds.

  Really miss you two. Hard without you.

  I pumped my fist into the air. “Perfect! We know he’s freaking out a bit without you and Bryce there. Now tell him you’d like to meet with him, only him, to see him again. Oh, and don’t let on that we’re going to keep him.”

  Paul rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I was going to finish it off with, ‘Hey, Sonny. We’re totally not going to kidnap you, okay? TTFN!’”

  I maintained a serious expression. “Wow, then it’s a good thing I warned you!” I snorted, grinned. “Smart ass.”

  Paul laughed and sent, Bryce needs to talk to you, and we both want to see you. We want to meet.

  Another eternity of waiting, this one far longer than thirty seconds. Or even a few minutes. Bryce began to look a little antsy, and I struggled not to fidget. Paul finally looked up at Bryce, his face worried and sad.

  “Give him a little more time,” Bryce told Paul. “This is a big deal.” Through the tension in his voice I heard the acknowledgement of the other possibility—that Sonny was informing Farouche.

  The instant the words left his mouth the tablet pinged, and Paul lit up again. “Where? When?”

  I heaved a big sigh of relief. It didn’t mean he hadn’t warned Farouche, but at least he was still communicating. “Bryce, they probably track the cars, right?” At his nod, I continued, “Where’s someplace he usually goes that wouldn’t raise suspicions?”

  “The Beaulac Nature Center,” he said without hesitation. “He goes there to chill and spend time alone.”

  It took several more texts to sort the details out since we had to consider what time would be best for Sonny and to arouse the least suspicion on his end. Moreover, we needed time to prepare.

  At long last the plans were set—a nice casual meeting between good friends at the remote Nature Center at four p.m. Nice and friendly. No pressure. Only one slightly dastardly plan to kidnap him.

  “Let’s hope he comes through for us,” I said and glanced at my watch. Two hours until the meeting.

  Time to start moving our pieces into place.

  Chapter 36

  Once again our trek through the back woods and over the fence went without a hitch, though this time instead of a rental SUV, the fed boys waited for us in their Impalas. Eilahn muttered something in demon that included kiraknikahl as she passed Ryan’s car on her way to Zack’s, but at least she didn’t snarl. That was progress.

  Zack greeted me with a brilliant smile that felt just as much Zakaar’s. “Well, sheriff,” he said in an accent worthy of an old Western movie, “I reckon we better git the posse saddled up and hit the trail.”

  I grinned. “At least you made me the sheriff.”

  He winked, then slid behind the wheel of his car. “I considered you for the saloon girl part, but you can be a bit bristly at times.”

  “Bristly?” I laughed. “Is that what you call it?”

  “When I’m being polite,” he replied, and with that we loaded up the two cars and made our way to the rendezvous with Sonny.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, as we pulled into the Nature Center’s empty parking lot. The air held the heavy feel of impending rain, lending an ominous atmosphere to our surroundings as we exited the cars and did a careful look-around. Even on the best of days the Beaulac Nature Center—also known as the Crappy Trail Through Mosquito-Infested Swamp and Woods—wasn’t a big draw, but the hot, muggy afternoon coupled with the promise of a thunderstorm added an extra layer of deterrent.

  Worked for me. The last thing we wanted was bystanders, though I hoped the rain would hold off until we were finished here.

  Eilahn slipped into the woods and was out of view within seconds. Mzatal stood motionless, assessing, then gave me a nod. “No other humans or demons are near,” he assured me.

  “Awesome.” I turned and gave Zack and Ryan a thumbs-up.

  “Text when you’re done,” Ryan called through the open window, then he and Zack drove off.

  I swept my gaze over the Plexiglas-covered map of the trails and the weathered shack that made up the Center. The last time I’d been here was to work the murder scene of one of Tracy Gordon’s victims, sacrificed as a crude means for him to locate a valve in the area. And only a few days later Mzatal and Idris finally managed to summon me to the demon realm.

  I’ve changed a teensy bit since then.

  I checked my watch. “Forty-five minutes ’til showtime,” I said.

  Bryce shook his head. “Sonny’ll be here early. Best to get in position.” He didn’t wait for me to give assent or comment and headed down the trail in long strides.

  Paul chuckled under his breath. “He’ll never admit it,” he murmured to me as we followed Bryce, “but he actually really enjoys the planning and tactics side of things.” He smiled at the older man’s back. “I think it’s like a puzzle for him. It tweaks that logic center in his brain.”

  “And I’m damn glad to let him plan his little heart out,” I replied with a smile.

  About a hundred yards in, the trail opened into a clearing with a few decrepit tables and moss-covered concrete barbeque pits. Beyond, the trail continued to an equally poorly kept deck over the swamp.

  Bryce and Paul settled at a table they proclaimed to be Sonny’s favorite, while Mzatal strode directly to the valve near the edge of the clearing and crouched, frowning. I moved to stand behind him as he worked his hands in slow, precise arcs over the valve. Othersight revealed an odd fraying of the twisted potency strands that formed the perimeter of the valve, like braids of rope that had been overstressed.

  I set my hand on his shoulder. “What’s up?”

  Mzatal’s frown deepened as he continued to work, and I noted the frays smoothing. “Tampering,” he said. “The primary node has been touched from the demon realm side.”

  “Touched?” My eyes narrowed. “You mean something’s been pushed through it?”

  “Nothing has come through this one recently,” he told me. “I feel Rhyzkahl’s resonance, and there is a distortion I do not understand. You see the damage. There has been stress on the structure.” He passed his hands over the valve once more then stood and took my hand. “The man approaches.” He paused, his eyes distant. “He is alone.”

  Mzatal and I quickly moved into the underbrush to crouch not far off the trail. Though Mzatal’s initial proposal had been to simply net Sonny in potency at the first sign of resistance, I’d managed to argue the lord down to a somewhat less traumatic option, in which we would simply block Sonny’s retreat, leaving potency-netting as an absolute last resort.

  Within minutes, I heard the whisper of shoes on damp pine needles, and I peered between the leaves toward the sound. A Hispanic-featured man about five-foot-ten of medium build made his way down the path toward us. I recognized him as one of Farouche’s gunmen, though instead of a suit he had on jeans and a navy blue t-shirt. If I hadn’t known what to look for, I’d have missed the slight bulge of his shirt where an inside-the-waistband holster held his gun.

  His face broke into a cautious smile as he came within sight of Bryce and Paul, but as he came abreast of us he faltered and stopped. His eyes flicked left and right in wary alarm, and he slipped his hand under his shirt to rest on his gun.

  Mzatal’s aura, I realized with a silent curse. Sonny felt something was off.

  Bryce stood. “Sonny, it’s okay. I promise,” he said with quiet but firm assurance. “Please, we need to talk.”

  At Bryce’s words, a wild fear lit Sonny’s eyes—Farouche’s influence, I knew all too well. He shook his head and took a step back. “I . . . can’t,” he said, voice tight and strained, even as crushing disappointment twisted his features. “I’m sorry,” he gasped out and spun to leave.

  In two quick strides I crashed through the brush and onto the trail to block his retreat. “Wait. Please.” I held my hands
out to show they were empty. “We’re here with Bryce and Paul to help you.”

  Sonny stopped, hand still on his gun, though he didn’t make a move to draw it. I remained still, secure in the faith that Eilahn and Mzatal were poised and ready in case Sonny tried to do anything foolish. He puffed out quick, adrenaline-fueled breaths, and I didn’t need to be a mind reader to understand his distress at being lured into a trap, especially one contrary to Farouche’s interests. Sonny shifted, eyes flicking from me to Bryce and then widening on Mzatal as he stepped onto the path.

  Bryce moved toward us slowly. “Sonny, it’s okay. We’re going to help you. I swear.”

  “Bryce, goddammit,” Sonny said, voice hoarse with a barely controlled panic. “You know I gotta get out of here. You know it. Fuck! You set me up.” Pain overshadowed the fear on his last words. “How could you do that?”

  “It’s not what you think,” Bryce said, voice and manner calm and cool. “Look, we can get you out, get you away from Mr. Farouche. Lord Mzatal helped me and Paul, and he’s agreed to help you, too.”

  Hope flared on Sonny’s face for a blinding instant before the fear eclipsed it again. A choking sob welled in his throat even as his hand twitched on his gun.

  Shit. This was going to require a lot more than talk. Sonny had been driving under the influence of Farouche for a long damn time.

  Even as I thought it, Mzatal moved toward him. Sonny drew his gun but fumbled it under the crush of Mzatal’s full-on aura. He staggered back as the lord advanced, caught his foot on a root and fell hard, then crab-scuttled backwards a few feet until brought up short by the trunk of a pine.

  He stared up at Mzatal, eyes wild and panicked. Mzatal crouched smoothly and clamped his hands around Sonny’s head, and in the next instant Sonny’s mouth dropped open, and he went completely still.