Legacy of the Demon

by Diana Rowland

  The savik eyed me for a moment more, then he lifted all four hands before him, as if in supplication. The air above his palms shimmered and coalesced into three gold discs in each hand. Twelve discs, not eleven. Called from a dimensional pocket, I realized. Stored in the same manner as the essence blades. They remained ever so slightly transparent, as if Turek hadn’t quite called them fully in. Each was about the size of a CD, but nearly a half inch thick. Delicate runes I didn’t recognize adorned the edges, and the sculpted face of a different lord gazed from each of eleven discs, so exquisite I wouldn’t have been at all surprised to hear one speak. The face on the twelfth was unfinished, with ghostly hints of features waiting to be born.

  Giovanni lifted his hand toward them. “They . . . have changed. He has breathed life into them.”

  “They’re incredible,” I murmured. How the hell could I even think of melting these down?

  “Szerain must be freed, Kara Gillian,” Turek said, voice low and adamant, as if he could divine the direction of my thoughts.

  I sighed out a breath and nodded. “Right. Priority one.”

  Giovanni gazed at the discs, his face drawn down in an expression of misery. Pellini leaned in for a closer look. “Maybe we should weigh them to make sure there’s enough.”

  Turek slammed both pairs of hands together, and the discs vanished. “The quantity is sufficient, disciple of Kadir,” he hissed. “I will not call forth the twelve again until the time comes to relinquish them for the net.”

  Unabashed, Pellini let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Thank god. Now I don’t have to carry that crap home!”

  Chapter 26

  We stepped out of the tree tunnel into bright sunlight reflecting off brilliant green-blue sea—and into a gag-inducing stench of rotten fish and seaweed.

  Giovanni clapped a hand over his mouth and stumbled a few feet off the path before puking. Pellini cursed long and colorfully, as if foul language could drive the stink away. I settled for holding my nose and breathing shallowly while I got my bearings.

  Behind the grove rose a steep mountainside covered in fire-damaged forest. A hundred feet before us, a cliff dropped to wet sand dotted with tide pools and blanketed with thousands upon thousands of dead fish and sea creatures. A natural stone arch connected the mainland mountain to a massive sea stack, on top of which rested the palace of Seretis and Rayst—though “villa” was a far better description for their residence.

  It was clear a major storm had recently swept through. Trees were snapped, and detritus lay tumbled among the rotting fish. Whole sections of the villa terraces had collapsed, and the roof of the seaside wing was missing. The stone arch, however, still appeared intact and sturdy, and the shimmer of arcane reinforcements provided an extra measure of reassurance.

  “Hurricane,” I said as we started across the arch. “Or demon realm equivalent. I’ve been through enough big storms to recognize the aftermath, but I’ve never heard of one causing a fish kill this large.”

  Atop the villa, a cluster of syraza perched, tissue-thin wings spread to catch the sun. As we reached the middle of the arch, one vaulted into the air and arrowed toward us. My hand went to my gun, and I noted that Pellini already had his out and trained on the demon. Logic railed at me to draw mine, but I hesitated for reasons I couldn’t name. Turek remained quiescent, yet he might have been poised to spring into action, for all I knew.

  The syraza landed and pushed off in a graceful bound toward us. Recognition finally clicked in.

  “Eilahn!” I squealed, racing forward to throw my arms around her. She gave a trilling cry, sweeping me into her arms and enfolding me in her wings.

  “You’re not mad at me?” I asked. I still felt guilty for having Idris dismiss her back to the demon realm without her consent.

  “No,” she replied in a voice chiming with crystalline tones. “Had our positions been reversed, I would have done the same to protect you.” She finally eased her embrace enough to gaze down at me with wide violet eyes. “And the timing was fortuitous. I am needed here to aid with the anomalies. Oh, but it is good to see that you are well.”

  We hugged again, like best friends reuniting after decades apart, then turned to the others to make introductions. Pellini knew Eilahn already, and apparently she and Turek were well acquainted to judge by their exchange of comfortable greetings.

  “Giovanni, this is Eilahn,” I said. “She was my guardian on Earth for quite some time. Eilahn, this is—”

  “I know Giovanni Racchelli,” Eilahn said. “Returned from death. Fair greetings, kibit.”

  I blinked in surprise, not only because I’d never considered the possibility that the two had met, but also because Giovanni was blushing furiously. Did it have something to do with Eilahn calling him “little snake?”

  I cleared my throat and regarded them. “Anything y’all want to share?”

  Eilahn bared her teeth in a syraza smile, obviously highly amused by whatever was embarrassing Giovanni. “It is nothing of import,” she said, eyes flashing with humor. “What brings you to Seretis’s realm?”

  Now I was even more determined to find the truth about Giovanni “Little Snake” Racchelli—but it was going to have to wait until I took care of the more pressing business. Damn it. “Earth’s a mess,” I said and gave her the quick and dirty recap. “Michael may be able to help, so I need to speak to Seretis or Rayst.”

  “An as-yet-unmanageable anomaly manifested over the southern pole two days past,” she said. “All available lords work a grueling rotation to counter it. Rayst is there now, but Seretis rests on the east terrace. Cheytok will lead you to him.” She gestured toward a streak of blue rushing in our direction from the villa. “I will find you when your business is complete.” Her wings vibrated and her eyes glittered with excitement. “I have a surprise for you!” She gave me a quick embrace then flew off before I could respond.

  “Alrighty then,” I said, amused, then continued on toward the villa. Near the end of the arch, the faas Cheytok met us, looking for all the world like a furry, six-legged lizard.

  “Come come come come come!” it said in a way that reminded me of a fussing squirrel. “Way to palace is this. Way to Seretis is this.” The faas scurried off ahead, its rich blue fur glistening in the sun. “Come come come come!”

  Pellini snorted. “Impatient little bastard.”

  “The faas tend to be very eager,” I said, smiling.

  We followed Cheytok through a trellised garden that had no doubt been breathtakingly beautiful at one time. Now dead vines covered the frameworks, and rock and leaf debris littered the ground and path. The villa itself hugged the contours of the sea stack, giving the impression that it was a natural part of the landscape. The structure would have been stunning were it not for the damage wrought by storms and the neglect that resulted from everyone being otherwise busy dealing with near cataclysmic world events.

  As we walked, I kept a sharp lookout for Seretis’s ptarl, Lannist. I’d only seen him from a distance a few times and preferred to keep it that way. Bryce had told me how the demahnk dislodged a massive chunk of masonry to distract Seretis from forming the essence bond with Bryce. The ploy had ultimately failed, but the act placed Lannist high on my do-not-trust list.

  Cheytok chittered continual disapproval at our human pace but faithfully led us to the east terrace, one of the few that remained intact. Seretis sat on a demon realm equivalent of a fainting couch, though I had a feeling he’d been reclining moments before.

  He stood as we approached. “Kara Gillian,” he said in warm greeting, then he took my hands and kissed my cheek. “Eilahn informed me of your arrival. You and your associates are most welcome.” He smiled to the others and gave them a make-yourself-at-home gesture toward couches and cushions.

  “You look like hell, Seretis,” I said, returning the cheek kiss. No point in pretending I didn’t notice the b
ags under his bloodshot eyes, the lines of exhaustion in his face, or the droop in his bearing.

  He chuckled. “And here I had convinced myself that I am yet as handsome as ever.”

  “You’ll always be that,” I reassured him then grinned. “I have absolute faith in your power of sexiness.”

  This time he laughed, full and genuine, and a touch of the grim despondency left his face.

  “Your presence is a treasure, but what brings you to my realm during such upheaval?”

  “Szerain is fully himself again,” I said in a low voice, “He’s in hiding, hunted by Xharbek.”

  His mouth tightened, and he traced a glowing pygah above himself, followed by an anti-eavesdropping sigil. Calm and privacy.

  I placed my hand on his arm. “I sure wish the weather would cool off back home,” I offered as a change of subject. “Still hot as hell some days.” It was a bit dicey telling Seretis about Xharbek and his perfidy, since the truth about him and the other ten demahnk was one of the verboten topics that could trigger the lords’ vicious headaches.

  But Seretis showed no sign of pain, only focused control. “I have been practicing,” he said softly.

  Relieved, I nodded. I knew exactly what he meant. Practicing to mentally dip briefly into a taboo topic while channeling his thoughts in the “acceptable” areas so as to avoid the headache. I suspected the support from his essence bond with Bryce gave him the stability, insight, and edge he needed to practice—even with the screwed up ways between the dimensions preventing direct telepathic contact.

  I gave his arm a squeeze and then, for what seemed like the millionth time, told the tale of the past two months, especially the part about the rakkuhr, the rifts, and the Jontari. I wrapped up with a reminder about Szerain’s plight, while skirting the Xharbek part, then I moved on to my primary business. “Here’s the thing,” I said. “I think Michael and his talent of seeing the lords could be a huge help in locating—”

  Seretis held up a hand, stopping me. “I understand your dilemma, and while I agree that Michael’s talents could prove useful, I cannot allow him to return to Earth with you. I swore to keep him safe.”

  “And you’ve done that. Now let me take care of him for a while.”

  “I cannot allow it,” Seretis said firmly. “He is under my protection.”

  “I don’t need care sitters,” a baritone voice said. “I want to go.”

  I turned to see a strapping young man barely into his twenties standing in the doorway. Michael Moran.

  “Michael,” Seretis began gently, but Michael stepped onto the terrace, jaw set.

  “I want to go, Seretis,” he said, voice clear and strong. “You worry about me, but I’m lots and lots better now, and I want to help Earth.”

  He was better, I realized. Even more so than when I’d seen him a year ago. Back on Earth, his childhood head injury had left him able to understand simple instructions and situations, and not much more. The lords’ healing and a caring environment had made all the difference in the world.

  Seretis moved to him. “There is great peril there.”

  “There’s big peril here, too! All the fish ran smack dab into peril.” Michael sighed. “You’ve been real nice to me, but I did some bad bad stuff. Maybe helping out is how I’m supposed to make up for the bad.”

  “Hang on, Michael,” I said. “You were used by your sister, no ifs ands or buts. You have absolutely nothing to atone for.”

  “See? You’re nice, too,” he said with a sweet smile. “But both of you listen up, and I’ll explain it so you can understand.” He crouched and traced a finger across the tile. “Snails make a shiny trail behind them, y’know? They don’t clean it up, ’cause they don’t know any better. They’re snails.” He drew another line with his finger. “I made a trail behind me, too, but it’s real ugly, and people got dead.” He looked up, first to Seretis then to me. “I gotta help clean up, ’cause I’m not a snail.”

  “Because you know better,” I murmured.

  Though Seretis tried to look serious, his lips twitched. “How am I meant to counter the snail argument?”

  “You’re not!” Michael said. “It’s the best.”

  Seretis gave him a fond smile. “And if I were to forbid your departure, I would be making you more a pet than a companion.”

  Michael grinned and leaped to his feet. “You’d need a big litter box!”

  Seretis tipped back his head and roared in laughter then pulled Michael close in a fierce hug. “My realm is ever open to you, ghastuk.”

  “I’ll come back ’cause this is my home, and you’re my friend,” Michael promised. “But I gotta help save the world first.”

  “I understand completely, and you have my eternal support,” Seretis said warmly. “Cheytok, will you please help Michael pack a travel bag?”

  Cheytok trilled an assent and scurried off with Michael right behind him.

  “I can’t get over how much he’s improved,” I said. The Mraztur could learn a thing or two from Michael.

  “Incredible, is it not?” Seretis said. “He has far exceeded all expectations, though it is unlikely he will ever be as he would have been had the accident never occurred. But I believe that neither would his gifts have manifested.”

  “Really?” I cocked my head. “Talent can be, er, knocked into place like that?”

  “It can be awakened.” Seretis spread his hands. “Humans have fascinating innate abilities—though in most cases they are forgotten, dormant, or suppressed. In Michael the talent was always there, but his injury allowed it to blossom unhindered, given the favorable conditions.”

  Like the gradual increase in potency on Earth over the past few years, I mused. I was positive that particular favorable condition had also led to the expression of talents in others, such as Bryce’s intuition, and Paul’s computer flow connection. But before I could press Seretis for more details, Eilahn swooped in and landed on the terrace, a shoebox-sized bundle of shimmering, deep orange cloth in her hands.

  “I crafted these so that you might properly decorate your abode.” She thrust the bundle at me, violet eyes sparkling, and wingtips quivering. “I am truly pleased that I am able to gift them to you in time for the festival of All Hallows’ Eve!”

  “I’m not sure I could ever hope to match your decorating enthusiasm and skill,” I said, carefully unwrapping the demon silk. “But I’m sure this is—Whoa!” Tucked within the folds of silk was a delicate silver chain, and upon it hung dozens and dozens of exquisitely crafted crystalline miniature skulls and carvings of what I could only assume were species native to the demon realm. “Holy shit, Eilahn, these are incredible!” I gingerly lifted a length of chain to appreciative oohs and aahs from Pellini and Giovanni. Sunlight caught the crystal and sent flecks of colored light dancing over the terrace.

  “I believe there is sufficient length to drape your front doorway,” Eilahn said. “I apologize if the figurines are not sufficiently terrifying for the hordes of children who will descend upon your house to demand sweets.”

  “I don’t think we’re going to get too many children this year,” I said absently as I continued to marvel at the artistry.

  “No children?” Eilahn said in the same horrified tone a child might say No Santa?

  “Oh, but it’s all right!” I hurried to reassure her. “Er, because . . . all of the security guards will trick-or-treat. And I’ll, uh, pass out cookies to my squad.”

  She trilled in relief. “That is very good. Remember to teach Fuzzykins how to assume the correct arched back posture, and she then will teach Fillion and Bumper and Cake and Squig and Granger and Dire.”

  “I’ll get right on that as soon as I’m home,” I said with what I hoped sounded like conviction. My breath caught. I’d almost forgotten. “Steeev. Eilahn, did Steeev make it back?” Steeev was the syraza who’d agreed to be Jill’
s guardian. Not long before the valve explosion, he’d died on Earth after being shot by a sniper.

  Her smile dimmed. “He returned alive,” she said. “But the ways closed while he was still in passage through the void. He remains yet in stasis.”

  “Will he recover?”

  “There is great hope yet,” she said to my relief. “He is under the care of the syraza matriarchs.” She embraced me again, enfolding me in her wings. “You are to stay safe throughout these troubles.”

  Tears pricked my eyes as I hugged her back. “I will. And you’d better do the same.”

  “Tah agahl lahn,” she said. It meant I love you, with the kind of deep and eternal love that went beyond family or lovers.

  “Tah agahl lahn,” I echoed.

  She thrummed deep in her chest then reluctantly released me. “Michael awaits you by the arch.”

  We said our goodbyes to Seretis with the promise to give Bryce a full update, then my little troop headed out to make the trek to the grove.

  As we passed into the sadly neglected garden, a cool breeze spun a vortex around me then died to stillness. A subtle freshness replaced the fish rot stench, and the sound of waves and demons and life faded to silence.

  The hair on the back of my neck lifted. Unsettled, I turned to find Pellini, Giovanni, and Turek frozen mid-stride, much as the soldiers had been at the Spires when Kadir arrived. Except not even their eyes moved. A bubble of golden light formed around us while the outside world darkened, as if a dimmer switch was being turned down. A dimensional pocket, like the one Szerain had pulled me into.

  I startled as a man appeared beside Pellini, fine featured with rich brown skin touched with bronze. Bare-legged and bare-footed, he wore a simple mid-thigh tunic of saffron-yellow silk. Seretis’s ptarl, Lannist, in human form. And, if my theories were correct, his father as well.

  The blackness of the void closed in beyond the bubble, trapping us together. In one stroke, Lannist had eliminated the possibility of interruptions—or my departure. My stomach clenched, but I forced myself to cling to annoyance at the universe for throwing one more shittastic thing my way. And right now it was a lot better to be ticked than terrified.