Touch of the Demon kg-5

by Diana Rowland

  “Maybe it won’t hurt,” Idris offered. “I mean, the diagram looks like it’s more for support and stabilization than anything else.”

  “Whatever lets you sleep at night,” I replied calmly, pleased when he jerked and had to redo yet another sigil. I stood still with my eyes half-closed as I tried to find some sort of gap or weakness in the diagram. It didn’t help that I didn’t know what most of the sigils meant, or that I was wearing a fucking anti-arcane collar. My stomach churned with frustration. I wanted to be back in the grove, surrounded by that incredible sense of peace.

  My breathing slowed as I focused on that memory, and I clung to it as Mzatal returned. His gaze swept the whole of the chamber, floor to ceiling and back down again as he assessed everything. “Idris, you are not finished,” he said. He didn’t raise his voice, yet his tone still cut like a knife.

  Idris flushed. I allowed myself to enjoy the small victory.

  “I…” Idris’s voice shook, but then he straightened, misery etched on his face as he looked to Mzatal. “I let myself get distracted, my lord.”

  Mzatal’s gaze remained on Idris for several heartbeats. For an instant I almost pitied the kid. But only for an instant. As much as he wanted to deny it, he was a part of what was about to happen to me. I continued to focus on deep breaths while I held the memory of the grove firm in my head.

  “Step back,” Mzatal said, the intensity of the command palpable. Idris did so, looking more than a little shell-shocked. The lord stepped up to the diagram and finished the perimeter in a matter of seconds, then moved to stand beyond the circle and directly in front of me. “And so we begin.”

  My calm wavered at his words. I sunk deeper in the memory of the grove while I kept my eyes on Mzatal. All I want is a way to keep him from hurting me. Is that too much to ask for?

  Apparently so. Mzatal stepped into the diagram and lifted a hand to wrap potency around my right wrist, trapping it to my side. With a sweep of his other hand, he ignited the diagram around us in shimmering beauty that belied its darker purpose. He reached and grasped my left wrist in an uncompromising grip and pulled my arm toward him. Fear rose again, and I clung to the feel of the grove. Its touch enveloped me in comfortable, tangible presence, like a blanket fresh out of the dryer on a frigid day.

  He placed a hand over my left forearm, over the mark. I watched warily as he silently assessed it. After a moment he lifted his eyes to mine, a seething mix of anger and disgust backing his gaze. “Tell me how this was made,” he said, voice carrying an echo of strain.

  I didn’t want to tell him a damn thing, but I also knew that he could easily delve and strip the memory out of me if he so desired.

  “I was working a case,” I told him. “A series of murders that didn’t look like murders. I could tell that the essences of the victims were gone. My partner, Ryan, and I found her—the woman who was doing it. But she got the jump on us and managed to get hold of Ryan.” I paused, swallowed as the memory of those awful few minutes rose. “She threatened to consume his essence if I didn’t open a portal and allow her to have more hriss.” I took a deep breath and touched the warm-blanket presence for calm.

  “I tricked her and summoned Rhyzkahl,” I continued. “I told him that if he stopped her and saved Ryan, I’d agree to be his summoner.” I searched Mzatal’s face for some sort of reaction, but it remained impassive. “We agreed to terms: three years of service, I’d summon him once a month, and he’d answer two questions for me each time. He pulled a knife and cut my arm and his, then pressed them together and said it was done.” I exhaled and looked down at the delicately intricate arcane tracings that marked my forearm. Was that only a few months ago? It seemed like forever.

  Mzatal shook his head slowly as though trying to process what I said. “A purported mark agreement, under duress, for only three years duration, and an exchange of two questions in return for being summoned to Earth monthly.” A muscle in his jaw twitched.

  I scowled and shrugged. “It worked okay for me. And, anyway, what was I supposed to do? It was that or leave Ryan to have his essence consumed.”

  Mzatal’s mouth tightened as he lifted one hand and touched my temple. “The blade he used—I need to see it.”

  I debated resisting, but it was too late. Just his suggestion brought the memory to the surface.

  A wicked blade shimmers with an oily blue sheen. Its hilt is covered in spikes that thrust between Rhyzkahl’s fingers. A dark blue jewel glimmers in the pommel, flickering with dim internal light.

  “Enough.” He pulled his hand away and shook it as if to rid himself of the feel of the memory. “Rhyzkahl’s essence blade—Xhan—tainted with rakkuhr,” he said, the last word laced with vehemence. He looked down at the mark on my arm, lip curling. “That it was used to forge this increases my urgency a hundredfold.” He met my eyes again. “How did he fulfill the condition of stopping this woman?”

  My unease grew. I had no idea why the blade made a difference, but it obviously meant a hell of a lot to Mzatal. I wasn’t thrilled about continuing to feed him information, but I also knew it was that or have him read it from me. “With the same blade,” I said. “He stabbed her in the heart and she turned to dust. He said she was a saarn.”

  His grip tightened on my wrist. “This mark will come off, Kara Gillian.”

  I gulped at the intensity of his words but managed to narrow my eyes in what grim defiance I could muster. “I’d like to get a second opinion.”

  Mzatal spoke in rapid demon to Gestamar, who growled menacingly. When the lord returned his attention to me again, he spoke through clenched teeth. “Rhyzkahl seeks to regain Szerain’s blade. I will not allow that to happen.”

  I ran through possibilities. “You’re going to try to get it first, aren’t you?” How did I fit into all of this?

  “Yes. I will find and retrieve Vsuhl.” He lifted a hand, and for a bizarre moment I thought he was going to strike me. But in the next instant a knife appeared in his fist, long and narrow with shifting etchings along the blade itself and a silvery grey gem sparkling in the pommel. What I could see of the hilt below his fingers revealed what looked like delicately carved ivory. I had no doubt this was Mzatal’s essence blade.

  Terror surged through me, and I recoiled as much as I could in the confines of my bindings. I knew, more than anything else in that moment, that I did not want that blade touching me or the mark.

  “No!” I struggled against his grip, eyes on the blade. The presence of the grove wrapped around me, but it couldn’t dispel this deeper horror. “Please…no!”

  His grip only tightened. “Kara, I must do this.” He brought the blade close to the mark. I could feel the mark recoil from the blade, and I let out a moan.

  He bared his teeth as he set the blade flat against my wrist below the mark. Pain like fiery ants flared beneath my skin, and my breath came in shallow pants. I watched in mute horror as the outer coil of the mark twitched and lifted.

  Agony seared through me as though part of my essence had been yanked and twisted, and I screamed. An unfamiliar power wound through me, and I seized it, lashing out wildly in my panic and pain. All I knew was that I wanted Mzatal to stop, wanted him away from me.

  Mzatal staggered back, losing his grip on my arm as the patterns surrounding me shuddered, then fractured, sigils dissipating with whining cracks. As quickly as it had come into me, the strange power was gone, leaving me staring in shock at the flickering remnants of the diagram. My arm throbbed in dull pain, and I cradled it to me, wondering if my heart would pound right out of my chest. Mzatal had managed to undo a small part of the mark, but whatever the fuck I’d just done had at least kept him from doing more.

  Not that I knew how long that would last. He stood a short distance from me, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. Potency swirled around him like a dark mist as he regarded me, head slightly lowered and blade clenched in his fist.

  What the hell did I just do? My mind flailed unsuccessfully
for an answer. He was surely going to kill me now.

  He stepped in close with impossible speed. I jerked in the bindings, a breathless scream whistling from my throat. A snarl curved his mouth as he leaned close and drew a complex sigil in the air with the point of his blade. I fought back tears, trembling. What the hell did I do? I asked myself for what seemed the millionth time. I caught sight of Idris backed against the wall, and I had no doubt that the shock and horror on his face was reflected on my own.

  Mzatal lifted his hand and in the next breath the blade was gone. He gripped my wrist again and laid the shimmering sigil upon my mark. “Rhyzkahl felt what was done; I have no doubt. This,” he said, stroking the sigil with his forefinger, “will serve as an alarm and deterrent until we resume again.”

  To my relief the pain eased to nothing beneath the sigil. Gestamar stood. Mzatal spoke to him in demon, then shifted his attention to Idris. “Go with them,” he ordered. “Watch the mark. If there is any change in that sigil—even the barest flicker—you will lay an inverse attenuator diagram with my sigil as the focus and…Gestamar has his instructions.”

  Idris paled and looked like he was about to throw up. “Yes, my lord,” he replied, voice quavering.

  Mzatal looked back to where I stood. His face remained unreadable, but his eyes showed a flicker of…worry? Inquiry? It was impossible to tell, and I was far too shaken to be able to puzzle it out. He moved as if he was about to speak, then paused, turned away, and departed instead.

  Chapter 10

  In dismay, I watched him go, barely even noticing as Gestamar released the bindings and took my arm in a solid grip. “I don’t even know what I did,” I whispered.

  “Come, Kara Gillian.” He led me to the doors and out as Idris followed behind.

  I stumbled along, not making any attempt to resist. “What happened?”

  The reyza turned and entered a cozy room right next to the summoning chamber. “Much,” he replied. “The catalyst being that you drew potency from the grove and disrupted the removal.” He led me to one of two big cushy chairs and gently pushed me to sit. Fine with me since I wasn’t sure I could even stand right now without my knees shaking.

  “I had no idea I was drawing any kind of potency,” I protested. “It…hurt. And the blade scared me.” I clenched my hands together and dropped my eyes to the mark. With an othersight squint to counter the collar a bit, I focused. Two strands of a tight silvery sigil wound around a loop of it. By Mzatal’s mandate the thing held the key to my fate, though the bastard hadn’t bothered to share the possibilities with me. Near my wrist, a curve of the mark pulsed bright to dark with a tendril whipping around like a loose fire hose. Yep. Definitely fucked up.

  Idris entered and dropped into the chair beside me. He looked shell-shocked as all hell, but he seemed to remember his orders since he glued his attention to the sigil.

  Shuddering, I looked back to Gestamar. “What are you supposed to do if the mark changes?”

  He crouched. “That is dependent on the outcome of the diagram Idris lays,” he said. “The mark is open. Rhyzkahl will know it has been touched. Risk of his intervention was significant, and now it is greater yet.”

  I scowled. “Stop talking in circles. Did he tell you to kill me? Is that one of the possible outcomes?”

  “Yes,” he replied with no hesitation. “It is one of the possibilities.”

  The color drained from Idris’s face. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Wait….”

  Gestamar swiveled his head toward Idris. “You will lay the inverse attenuator or her death will be the only possibility.”

  He stood, clenching his hands at his sides, though to his credit he continued to watch the sigil on my arm. “Why? What gives us the right to kill her?”

  “Because it is the best option,” Gestamar stated, as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

  Idris glanced at Gestamar and opened his mouth as though to speak, but closed it again and scowled at the mark.

  I let out a soft sigh. Idris was as trapped as I was. “Idris.” I hesitated. I didn’t want to say It’s okay, because it totally wasn’t okay. At all. “It is what it is,” I said instead. “Do the attenuator thing. Whatever else happens isn’t your fault.”

  “But it is,” he shot back. “It’s my fault that you’re here. Why the hell did I ever think this,” he made a mock tracing in the air, “was how I wanted to spend my life? I thought I was going to grow up to be a damn vet!”

  Despite the entire situation, I had to smile. “Because you’re good at it,” I said. “You’re really damn good.”

  He tried to run a hand through his hopelessly tangled curls, then gave up. “Yeah, well, I like doing the stuff, y’know? Feels natural. But this?” He gestured toward my arm as he sank back into the chair. “Watching for something that may or may not mean you’re about to get wasted by Gestamar? No. Nuh uh.”

  I bit back a sigh and resisted the urge to rub my arm. I wasn’t about to defend the order to kill me, but a part of me ached that Idris was in such a situation. “Well, let’s hope that the mark stays nice and quiet.” And let’s hope that either Rhyzkahl makes a definitive move, or I find some other way to get the hell away from here. One thing was for sure—I wasn’t going to put up with being hurt anymore.

  Mzatal entered. My eyes snapped to him, but he turned to Gestamar, rattling off something in demon. The reyza nodded and departed, and then Mzatal turned to Idris. “We are going to a remote location where we can work with less chance of interference. Prepare a standard research kit with additional stabilizers and go to my grove.”

  Idris glanced to me and swallowed. “Yes, my lord,” he said. He turned and headed out, head bowed.

  I scowled at the lord. “So what new delights have you dreamed up for me?”

  He sank into the chair vacated by Idris, sat back and regarded me. “I have need to determine what will shield you from reflexively drawing upon the grove energy. Then, I will remove the mark. Rhyzkahl has not only sent a demand but now knows the mark has been touched. He will not delay long. We go to a place where he will not easily track you.”

  I remained silent for a moment while I processed this, more than a little surprised that he’d bothered to explain this much to me. I finally took a steadying breath. “I know I won’t be able to talk you out of this,” I said, more calmly than I felt. “But can you please find a way to do it…so it doesn’t hurt so much?”

  “I do not know that such is possible,” he replied evenly. “Not with the specialized nature of that mark.”

  I could feel my mouth tighten. “Well then, why can’t you simply knock me out or something?”

  “Were it possible to do it with you unconscious, I would,” he said in the same calm tone he’d used after I’d broken my leg. “The mark is deeply tied into your consciousness—moreso than a typical mark.”

  I shoved a hand through my hair, frustrated. “Fine. Whatever.” I scowled. “Then let’s get this shit over with.”

  “We wait upon Idris,” he replied, unruffled. “It will not be long.”

  He fell silent, apparently deep in contemplation. My own thoughts drifted, and I leaned back in the chair. Shadow memories and dream fragments flickered at the edge of my mind.

  Lord Mzatal approaches! I hurriedly close my journal to hide my folly, more pages filled with doodles than glyph patterning.

  “Elinor, stand,” he says, holding his hand out. Heart sinking, I give him the journal, tremble as he pages through it.

  He looks up, eyes narrowed in…anger? Disdain? I cannot tell.

  “Why are you here?” he asks.

  My breath catches. “To train, my lord.” I fight to keep my voice steady. “To learn to be a summoner.”

  His mouth tightens as he holds the journal up. “This indicates otherwise. Gather your belongings and prepare to travel.”

  I stare at him, stricken. “No, please, my lord.” I cannot breathe, but if I faint it will only make it worse. “
Please…don’t send me away. I’ll study harder, I swear it!”

  Lord Mzatal tucks the journal under his arm, turns and walks away, hands clasped behind his back. “Go do as you are told, child.”

  I frowned as the memory faded. Big surprise. Mzatal was a dick to Elinor as well.

  Lord Rhyzkahl’s arm is around my waist, and I think surely I must be in a dream. “I would have you train with me for a time,” he tells me. “And continue with Szerain as well, of course.”

  “Yes,” I breathe. Train with him? Be with him? How could I possibly say no?

  He strokes the back of his fingers over my cheek and smiles at me. “I will go speak to Szerain of the final arrangements.” Then his lips brush mine, and I think I will surely die of pleasure.

  I blinked, somewhat off balance by the different feel of the two memories. But it was clear that Rhyzkahl definitely had some sort of interest in her.

  “Rhyzkahl and Elinor,” I said. “Did they have a relationship?”

  Mzatal returned his focus to me. “He favored her.”

  I waited. “That’s all?”

  “She held great affection for him,” he said. “And he favored her.” He shifted, crossed his legs. “She trained with me for a short time, then with Szerain, and finally with Rhyzkahl.”

  “And she died when the gate collapsed?”

  “She died during that ritual, yes,” he replied. “In the chamber of your arrival here.”

  Memories flickered annoyingly, telling me that there had to be more to it. “How could it have gone wrong so badly?”

  He shook his head. “I do not know the trigger event, though once it cascaded, it went quickly.” A shimmer of anger or frustration passed over his face. “If Szerain knows it, he has kept it well hidden.”

  I kept my face as composed as possible. “And where is he now?”

  He lowered his head and looked at me. “I cannot answer that question, as you likely already know.”