Secrets of the Demon kg-3

by Diana Rowland

  Well, that could certainly be taken many ways, but I didn’t have the energy to get into that sort of discussion. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. I felt dirty and gritty all over. “He’ll be cared for? He’s so . . . broken.”

  “They can care for him as none here can,” Eilahn said with quiet reassurance. “He will be treasured.”

  In the end we agreed that Michael was simply too dangerous to go back to stay with his uncle. Moreover, if Michael went missing, it allowed us to spin a more plausible cover story for what happened at the landfill. After much careful consultation, Sarge and I came up with a scenario that was as close to the truth as possible, leaving out the bit about the golems. Instead we stated that Michael had been the one to kill the three men—coerced into doing so by Trey and his sister. Michael had then been murdered by the pair—body dumped somewhere in the swamp—and when we confronted them, Trey suicided, and Lida had been shot when she’d tried to fire on officers.

  I’d learned that deviating from the actual circumstances as little as possible made it easier to stick to a consistent story. I was getting pretty good at the whole fictional police report thing.

  That night Eilahn and I returned to my house with Michael in tow. I still wasn’t certain about sending him to the demon realm. But what other option did we have? I reminded myself. Killing him was absolutely out of the question. I was relieved to see that even Eilahn agreed with that completely.

  Michael sat against the wall near the fireplace, fingers plucking absently at the fabric of his jeans. He’d retreated deep inside himself, numbly obeying our requests to sit, and walk, and sit again. Eilahn leaned against the wall near him, almost protectively.

  I still felt dirty, even though I’d taken a long shower after we’d returned to the house. I wanted to ask the syraza more about what would happen to Michael, but at the same time I knew it was pointless. There really was no other choice.

  I finished making the changes to the diagram, then stood and began the summoning. When Rhyzkahl appeared in the circle, Eilahn sank to one knee, keeping her head lowered in a position of obeisance. I remained standing. I was oathbound to Rhyzkahl. I didn’t serve him. Or so I told myself.

  The demonic lord stood with his hands clasped lightly behind his back, not moving from the center of the diagram. His eyes stayed on me, but I had no doubt that he was completely aware of every living creature in this basement.

  “Lord Rhyzkahl, this is Michael Moran,” I said without any preamble. “He has significant arcane skills, but he is . . . damaged. Eilahn made the suggestion that he could go to the demon realm.” It sounded like more of a question than I’d intended, but it got the point across.

  Rhyzkahl’s eyes shifted first to the syraza—still kneeling with her head lowered—and then to Michael. The young man seemed completely oblivious to what was happening in front of him. “Interesting,” he murmured, then stepped out of the circle. I expected him to go to Michael, but instead he moved to me. He put a hand beneath my chin and gently tipped my head up, then very lightly touched the lump on the side of my head. I winced, but a soft warmth quickly replaced the slight pain and my barely-perceptible headache faded.

  “I sent Eilahn here to protect you, and yet you are injured,” he said, voice low and rich.

  “I’d be dead if not for her,” I replied. And Ryan, the thought whispered and I quickly shoved it aside. I didn’t want to think about that right now.

  “Then I am well pleased with her service,” he murmured. His fingers traveled to stroke my cheek and brush my lips lightly. “I do not wish to lose you.”

  Lose me as his sworn summoner? I found myself wondering. Or something more?

  He bent and kissed me, not deeply or passionately, but with a strange and unexpected tenderness which only served to deepen my sudden confusion. Then he straightened abruptly and moved to Michael.

  The demonic lord crouched before the young man, regarding him silently for several heartbeats before lifting a hand to Michael’s cheek. He remained motionless in that position for what had to have been several minutes, while I stood as quiet and still as possible, not wanting to do anything that could interrupt whatever was going on.

  Michael suddenly took a ragged breath as if he’d woken up, then focused on the face of the demonic lord. He stared in astonishment for several heartbeats, then smiled tentatively.

  Tension coiled through me as I watched the exchange. There was something different about Michael’s expression now, as if he was more aware than he’d ever been before. Could Rhyzkahl heal his brain damage? I thought in sudden shock. I had no idea if that was within the realm of possibility or not, but I knew firsthand that the demonic lord had the power to heal. The no-longer-hurting lump on my head was evidence of that.

  Rhyzkahl dropped his hand from Michael’s face, then turned and walked back to the diagram. A second later Michael scrambled to his feet and followed. Rhyzkahl set his hand on the young man’s shoulder, and in the next heartbeat they were gone.

  I exhaled softly. “Wow. That was . . .” I trailed off.

  Eilahn lifted her head and stood in a smooth motion. “Heartening? Enlightening?”

  I gave a light shrug, unsettled at the strange twist of envy and longing in my gut. I’d been to the demon realm once, albeit only for a couple of minutes. But do I envy Michael because he gets to stay in the demon realm, or because he’ll be with Rhyzkahl?

  I didn’t want to think about that right now.

  “I was thinking ‘touchy feely bullshit,’ ” I said with a deliberately snarky grin, “but yeah, I’ll go with heartening and enlightening.” I headed for the stairs. “So, Eilahn, do you drink alcohol?”

  Her low laugh told me all I needed to know.

  Chapter 36

  I picked at my pancakes and tried not to keep sneaking glances at Ryan. At least he looked like he’d been through hell. If he’d been acting perfectly fine and chipper, I’d have been completely freaked.

  But, no, he seemed as normal as I could have expected. Or as normal as I’d ever known him to be.

  We were at Ryan’s house, and it had been a week since the incident at the landfill. The reports had been filed, the cases closed, and the bodies buried. Ben Moran had resigned from the board without any prompting or pressure, citing grief and shock after the machinations of Lida and Trey had been revealed. I remained convinced that he’d known nothing of the schemes.

  I’d heard nothing from Ryan or Zack in all that time until this morning, when Zack had called to invite us over for a pancake-fest. But the atmosphere was remarkably non-fest-like, and the silence at the breakfast table was brittle and awkward. Zack had pulled me aside and told me that everything was all right, and that Ryan was recovering well from his “concussion,” yet had refused to give me any further hint or clue as to what was going on, or what might happen next.

  He’s still Ryan, I tried to tell myself. Except . . . I wasn’t so sure of that anymore.

  Finally Zack threw down his napkin. “Eilahn, care to take a walk with me?”

  Eilahn gave him a grave nod in return and stood. Neither looked back at us as they strode out of the house.

  “God, those two are subtle,” Ryan remarked dryly. He met my eyes and gave me an unsteady smile. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

  “Ditto,” I replied. “I was really worried about you.” I poked at my pancake for a few seconds. “What do you remember, Ryan?”

  He looked off into the distance, brow drawing down into a frown. “I remember swinging at the golems, then Eilahn screamed my name. I turned and saw that you were down, and . . .” He swallowed hard. “And then I woke up back at the house. I don’t remember anything else.”

  Except that it wasn’t “Ryan” that she screamed, I thought. It was a different name. A name I’ve heard before.

  The pain in Ryan’s face was so clear that I put my hand on his before I could think about it. He looked down at my hand. “When I woke up, all I could think was that I’d failed you,�
�� he said, voice unsteady. “I thought you’d died and that the reason I couldn’t remember was because there was no way I’d ever want to remember seeing . . .” His voice broke, and he bowed his head, unable to go on. I squeezed his hand even as the tightness I’d been harboring in my chest began to loosen. I didn’t have all the answers, but at least I truly knew how he felt about me.

  “You saved me, Ryan,” I said softly.

  He gave a jerky nod without looking up. “Zack told me that.” He took a ragged breath, then straightened. I could see him consciously regaining his composure, and after a few seconds he gave me a more normal Ryansmile. “Sorry.”

  I cocked my head at him. “For saving me?”

  He snorted. “You are such a dork. No, for being . . .”

  “Human?”

  “God forbid,” he muttered, shuddering in mock horror.

  “Now who’s the dork?”

  He grinned and fell to eating.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said after a moment. “I need to talk to Zack.”

  I found Zack on the porch, leaning against a post with his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. I moved up to the post and leaned on the other side of it.

  “So, Ryan had some sort of blackout, huh?”

  “Moments of great stress will sometimes do that, I’ve heard,” he replied evenly.

  “Uh-huh. Y’know, I asked you once if Ryan was a demon.”

  “I told you then that he is not. Nothing has changed.”

  I nodded. “Right. I get that. And I know you wouldn’t lie to me.” I pursed my lips. “My aunt said something strange to me the other day.”

  I heard him take a sip of his coffee. “From what I gather, your aunt says many strange things.”

  I gave him a chuckle. “True! But this time she was talking about demons and things that were and weren’t demonic, and vice versa,” I continued conversationally. “It didn’t make any sense at the time. But I think now it does. ‘The demons are not demonic, and the demonic are not demons.’ ”

  Even though I wasn’t looking at him, I could feel Zack tense.

  “Is Ryan a demonic lord?” I asked, pleased that the question came out calmly and smoothly, and that none of my inner turmoil had been revealed.

  I felt his shudder. “Kara, I am oathbound,” he replied, barely above a whisper. “I cannot answer that.”

  I pushed off the post, blood roaring in my ears as I walked back inside. “It’s all right, Zack. You just did.”

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