Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian)

by Diana Rowland

  Sonny looked relieved. “I pretty much knew sex would be the purpose. Rhyzkahl seemed to like Janice a lot. He said he’d chosen her to live with him. It’s good to hear they’ll be okay.”

  I clamped down hard on the No, they won’t be okay! response that leapt to my lips. This was human trafficking, plain and simple. But saying that wouldn’t accomplish anything and would only distress Sonny more. He knew what he’d done, and right now he scrambled for any shred of comfort he could find. Now wasn’t the time to yank that away from him.

  “What’s your usual routine with a new acquisition?” I asked in a sharp change of subject. “I don’t want anyone wondering what’s going on if you’re supposed to be somewhere else.”

  He shook his head. “With the women, I usually spend some time to get them comfortable, anything up to an hour or so, depending on what they need.” Guilt clawed across his face again.

  “You did your best for them,” I said gently. “You weren’t simply taking care of the merchandise. You did everything you could to make a horrible situation a little less horrible. And the very fact that you came back here to help us proves you’re a decent person and a fucking brave one at that.”

  “It has to stop. Not only for me. For everyone.”

  “We’ll stop it,” I promised, then bared my teeth in a hard smile. “It will rain fire, and we’ll kick all the ass.”

  He let out a dry laugh, then glanced at his watch. “Let’s do this. Carter will be on the desk. I’ll walk you in as if I’m taking you to see the boss. I’ll get you inside, then I’ll get him away to give you time to get into the server room.”

  “Got it.” I went to the mirror, adjusted the wig to make certain no stray brown hairs poked out, and dabbed away a bit of smeared makeup under my eyes. Amaryllis had pretty eyes. My reflection gave a shy smile—

  I jerked my eyes from the mirror. “Paul,” I muttered.

  Somehow he knew. “Kara,” he replied, firm and certain. “You’re Kara.”

  Kara. I’m Kara. I moved to the kitchen area and filled a tumbler with water, gulped half of it down through a mouth dry as sand. Kara.

  “Kara,” Paul echoed.

  I focused on deep and regular breaths until I felt like myself again. “Thanks, Paul,” I said quietly. “Y’all ready?”

  “Ready,” Paul replied.

  I turned and gave Sonny a nod. “Let’s go.”

  He took my elbow. “Last time I’ll ever lead a woman into that house.”

  “Last time anyone will.”

  Chapter 38

  Sonny didn’t put the hood back on me, probably because once a “permanent” abductee was here, it didn’t matter what they saw. He kept hold of my arm and walked me along a curving brick sidewalk toward the lovely three-story Farouche Plantation house.

  Farouche. A self-serving southern gentleman crime boss allied with demonic lords while masquerading as a philanthropic businessman. Too weird.

  Numerous graceful wrought iron lamps cast soft, warm light on the grounds and brought out the color in gorgeous well-tended flower beds. To my left a small lake glimmered, and I picked out a dock with a flatboat moored to it. Off to my right stood several larger buildings, all either converted from original plantation structures or built in the same style. I remembered them from the satellite photo as the gym, pool, and shooting range.

  I noted the barest shift in the shadowy leaves of an oak by the lake; Eilahn, letting me know she was in place. Paul continued to say my name into my ear about once every minute. Props to him for remembering my implanted rakkuhr virus on top of everything else he was tracking.

  As we continued on, I marveled at the lovely gazebo that stood between the lake and the main house. Tiny white fairy lights wrapped pale marble columns and created the illusion of a star field on the underside of its domed slate roof. A ripple like a mirage distorted the lights for a fraction of a second.

  I blinked. Had I actually seen it ripple? Then I felt it, an arcane touch like the whisper of silk against my skin. I tugged Sonny toward the gazebo, but he tugged right back.

  “Can’t go there,” he told me, voice low. “It would draw instant attention.”

  I pursed my lips. “Surely no rule about fixing my shoe.” I bent and pretended to adjust a strap while I snuck a better look at the gazebo with othersight. Blues and greens coiled sluggishly in the center of the marble platform, arcane vapor rising and falling above it like the breath of a giant. No mistaking that.

  “Paul, the node is at the gazebo,” I muttered. The latitude and longitude from Tracy Gordon’s journal had only narrowed the location of the node to the back lawn of the plantation. “And it’s, uh, breathing.”

  “Okay. Got it, Kara,” Paul replied. “I’ll let Mzatal know.”

  I counted columns, then quickly counted again. Shit. “Tell him it has eleven columns. He’ll understand.”

  “We need to move,” Sonny said with an edge of anxiety in his voice.

  I stood and made a show of testing the shoe, then continued toward the house. “Sorry,” I said quietly. “I had to check that out. We didn’t know exactly where it was.”

  The more I saw of the house and grounds, the more the place felt like a pleasant resort. Yet I knew that not far from my room, a building designed for torture and murder hunkered beyond a screen of shrubbery and a security fence. Some resort.

  A whisper of droplets pattered briefly across the walkway. Far off to the west, lightning lit clouds in a soundless dance. We’d have rain before the night was over. I intended for us to be long gone by then.

  “When we get inside we’re going to pass a man at a desk,” Sonny murmured. “Behind that desk is the door to the server room you’re looking for. I’ll take you down the hall and around a corner, supposedly to have you wait in the holding room until Mr. Farouche or one of his cronies sends for you. No one will question it.”

  I nodded. No one ever did anything against Farouche’s orders, which meant no one would suspect that Sonny was stabbing him in the back. This was where Farouche’s controlled loyalty would bite him in the ass.

  The house rose above us in stately splendor, a true antebellum gem. Left and right, a pair of broad curving staircases led up to the second story, and lights winked beyond sheer curtains in many of the tall windows.

  “Don’t forget to look scared,” Sonny reminded me as we approached.

  Good thing he did since I was in full observe-and-assess mode. I quickly schooled my features into “shocked, freaked, and terrified.” Sonny gave a short nod of approval, so apparently I wasn’t overdoing it—which immediately pissed me off. No woman should have to feel that vulnerable and scared, I silently raged, then made myself focus on the calm Sonny projected to keep from appearing as angry as I was.

  He escorted me to a ground level door situated between the two staircases. Probably a servant’s entrance at one time, I decided. He kept hold of my arm as he led me inside to a cramped foyer and hallway beyond with plain décor and low ceiling, compared to what I’d glimpsed of the rest of the house through the broad windows.

  About ten feet inside, a middle-aged black man with close-cropped hair and keen eyes sat behind a desk. As the entrance door closed, his focus shifted from his computer screen to us. A huge map of the compound, and a dozen flatscreens displaying various surveillance camera views, flanked the door directly behind him. That was my target. Plain and uninteresting to ordinary eyes, the door rippled with wards in my othersight.

  The eyes of the man at the desk tracked over me, assessing, noting my appearance, and no doubt my demeanor. Unlike Jerry, though, his gaze was purely to catalog. All business, this one.

  “Carter,” Sonny said with a short nod without breaking stride.

  “Sonny,” the man replied with a similar gesture as we passed, then he returned his attention to his computer screen.

  We continued down the hall and around the corner, my heels clicking on the tiled floor. I could only imagine how the sound must have fel
t for the other women—like seconds of life ticking off. Sonny looked up and down the hall before opening a door.

  “Here you go, Amaryllis,” he said in a voice pitched normally for Carter’s benefit. “Just relax in here for a bit, all right? Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “Kara,” Paul stated right after the “Amaryllis.”

  I quickly slipped my heels off and set them inside the door of the small room. Sonny pulled a pair of flat slippers from his jacket pocket and handed them over, then closed the door with us both still in the hall. He took a deep breath, readying himself. I touched his arm, gave him an encouraging smile.

  “You got this,” I whispered as I tugged on the slippers. Too bad I couldn’t give him the same calm he gave to others. And also too bad the adorable lace top was about a size too tight. Another hour of wearing it, and I wouldn’t be able to feel my fingers.

  Sonny exhaled, met my eyes and nodded, then headed back toward the entrance. I followed to the corner and waited, listening.

  “Any problems?” I heard Carter ask.

  “Not with the mark,” Sonny replied.

  “With who then?”

  “Jerry.” In the name was a wealth of animosity and contempt. “He fucked with my mark when I checked in.”

  A low curse from Carter. Either his opinion of Jerry was similar, or he didn’t like the fact that Jerry was messing with Farouche’s “merchandise.” Or both, I reminded myself, remembering Bryce’s words about the people who worked for Farouche. Of those who did the dirty work, all were influenced, but there was evidently a wide spectrum of how much people enjoyed the job.

  “You know as well as I do this isn’t the first time he’s done this,” Sonny continued with unmasked vehemence, “but I’ll deal with him later.”

  “Did he touch her?”

  “Not this time. Scared the shit out of her though,” Sonny told him. I had no problem imagining how terrifying Jerry’s talk would be to a recently kidnapped woman.

  Carter muttered a curse. “Fucking moron. Someday he’s going to mess with the wrong chick, and Mr. Farouche will fry him.”

  “He sure as hell wasn’t hired for his brains,” Sonny replied. “Anyway, I spotted an issue with the surveillance camera array by the Ops building when I walked her in. Can you come out for a minute so I can show you?”

  “Sure. Let me log off here,” Carter replied, obviously never imagining for an instant that Sonny would be up to no good. I heard a few clicks of a mouse, and then the footfalls of both men heading away followed by the opening and closing of the door.

  I did a cautious peek around the corner, verified that the foyer was indeed empty, then flew on my slippered feet toward the warded door. A quick assessment revealed decently constructed wards that lacked the quality of demon-laid ones. Perhaps Tsuneo’s work?

  And he hasn’t been training in the demon realm, I thought smugly as I unwound the protections. At least I didn’t think he had, especially since it took me only about a minute to disarm his work. Either way, my seventh ring shikvihr trumped his sorry ass. After a final check, I slipped through the door and quietly closed it behind me.

  “I’m in,” I said softly, though I wasn’t sure Paul would hear me over the whir and hum of the machines. A desk, chair, and computer workstation sat not far from the door. Two long rows of computer stuff, that I assumed were servers, occupied the rest of the floor space, with neatly bundled blue wires everywhere.

  “Good deal, Kara,” Paul said, then quickly gave me easy-to-follow instructions on which cables to disconnect, which ones to switch, and where to plug in his dongle—which looked like an ordinary USB drive to me, but what the hell did I know?

  “That’s it?” I asked as it slid into place.

  “Hang on.” A pause. “Aw, hell yeah! I’m in, babeee!” I grinned at the triumph in his voice. A second later the lights dimmed, then came back on.

  “Please tell me that was you,” I said.

  “Sure was,” he replied cheerfully. “I’m driving the bus now, and just uploaded my first little present for Big Mack. Not so clever now, asswipe!”

  I had to press the heel of my hand to my mouth to keep from bursting out laughing. He’d told me earlier that his first “present” was a virus that by morning would send copies of Farouche’s confidential files and emails to the feds—after wiping all electronic references to himself, Bryce, Sonny, and a few others who Bryce said were also coerced.

  “All right, Baby Bear,” I said with a grin, “are you and Papa Bear in position?”

  “Yep. We’re outside the fence waiting to hear from Sonny,” he told me. “I’m setting up everything I need to wreak havoc, and once we know Sonny has Idris’s mom, Papa Bear will take down the wards. I’ll let you know the instant it’s a go.”

  While I waited, I divested myself of the the wig, padding beneath the dress along with, to my regret, the increasingly uncomfortable lace top. It was lovely, but I needed to be able to move, and it was no longer vital that I hide the sigil scars.

  A few minutes later Paul spoke again. “We’re solid, Kara,” he announced. “Sonny’s heading out with Idris’s mom. Mzatal’s through the wards and is burning a hole in the fence right now, and then Bryce will rendezvous with Sonny outside the fence to get Mom safely across the bayou.”

  I felt Mzatal clearly now, like a sun on the edge of my peripheral vision. Raised voices and running footsteps passed by the door. “I think they know you’re here,” I said as I cautiously peeked out.

  “I’m sowing chaos,” Paul replied with glee. “Their surveillance and comms are completely down. Plus, I terminated all of Big Mack’s cell phone accounts. Failure to pay! Ha! They’re running deaf and blind.”

  “I love it.” I retrieved my gun from the thigh holster. “I’m on my way out to join up with y’all.”

  “Sounds good, Kara. See you soon. We’re through the fence now.”

  After another careful look and listen, I eased out, then ran to the door and outside, keeping a sharp eye out for potential trouble. I slunk out past the big staircases, but made it only a few steps down the sidewalk before flood lights abruptly snapped on to turn night into day. I bit back a curse and dove for cover in a nearby cluster of azaleas. The sound of quick bootsteps came from the direction of the Ops building, and I flattened myself onto cypress mulch while I prayed the black dress would conceal me enough.

  “Report any sign of the intruders directly and in person to Ops,” I heard someone shout, then the boot-wearers were past, and I could cautiously peek up again.

  Though he was still distant, I sensed Mzatal off to my right. I’d no sooner maneuvered my way to the back side of the azaleas when two figures abruptly burst out of the door I’d just exited. Heart pounding, I ducked into the deep shadow between the nearest staircase and a huge gardenia bush, and nearly went sprawling as I tripped on a wiggling bundle. I peered into the gloom, then realized it was Carter, gagged and trussed in what looked like a very secure hogtie.

  I gave him a sweet smile and a shrug of apology, then shifted my attention to the two men as they took off at a jog toward the gazebo—and the node, I realized. One of the men, mid-thirties and average height with pony-tailed shoulder length wavy brown hair, repeatedly looked at his cell phone as though it would miraculously start working. Mystery Man Twenty-two, I thought. A.K.A. Aaron Asher. The other, tall, athletic, with a mop of unruly blond curls, followed with his face set in determination.

  “I see Idris,” I murmured, keeping my voice low and controlled with effort. “Asher’s with him.” Cautiously, I eased out from behind the stairs as the two went up onto the broad platform of the gazebo and crouched in the center. “They’re doing something arcane with the node,” I said. “Can’t tell what though.”

  Idris straightened after a moment, and I got a good look at his face for the first time. He looked older, tired. He’d lost the boyish innocence, and even from this distance I could see the lines of stress in his face.

  Not
just stress, I realized. Fear. Grief. And anger.

  His gaze swept around the area, passed over me, then returned. He gave me a slight nod then tensed, a flicker of indecision in his eyes. I recognized the look. He struggled to resist the Farouche-induced compulsion to tell Asher he’d seen me. My pulse thudded unevenly as I waited for the outcome, then I exhaled in relief as he gave me another little nod. That confirmed my suspicion that Farouche’s influence on him was light. Perhaps Rhyzkahl had let Farouche know he’d rip the man’s head off if he ruined Idris with his fear-whammy.

  I gave Idris an exaggerated What-the-Hell shrug and motioned toward the gazebo. What are you doing? I mouthed.

  To my bafflement, he lifted his hand to his head in the universal sign for telephone, then tilted his head slightly toward where Asher crouched.

  Phone call? Then my gut lurched. Was he saying they had a way to use the node to communicate with the demon realm? If anyone could figure out a way to use them for communication, it’d be Idris. Damn it. That gave the other side one hell of an advantage.

  “Tell Mzatal I think Asher and Idris are sending a message through the node,” I said softly to Paul as I watched.

  “Hold on,” Paul replied after a few seconds. “Mzatal just scowled and said something in demon that I’m pretty sure is a bad word.”

  “Yeah, I’m saying a few myself.”

  Asher stood, and I ducked back into the shadows as the two headed to the house again. Asher maintained a slight lead, his mouth curved in a supercilious sneer. “We have to tell Mr. Farouche they want the area kept clear of humans and that there’s to be no interference from anyone,” he said over his shoulder to Idris. “And don’t forget, the savinths must be held so the node doesn’t collapse when they come through,” he added with a pompous air.