Touch of the Demon (14 page)

I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of hold Mzatal had over Idris to get him to cooperate so fully and eagerly. He seemed like a sweet kid. Had the lord messed with his mind somehow? The thought left me cold.

Mzatal released a sigil into the pattern and dropped his hands to his sides as he regarded me with the barest flicker of what might have been anger or annoyance. “Kara Gillian, you are ignorant and naïve in these matters, both of which are correctable. I will help you see things more clearly.”

My own anger flared in response. “Y’know, I’m not always the sharpest knife in the drawer, and I’m well aware that there are some serious gaps in my knowledge, but I
do
know that your people skills suck the sweat from a dead dog’s balls.” I clenched my hands, true fear of mind manipulation thrashing beneath the anger. “Don’t you dare fuck with my head. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“I do what I must,” was his infuriating—and terrifying—reply as he began to move around the pattern and behind me. “Proper training and perspective are crucial.”

His words dropped like acid into my belly. There was nothing to stop him from stripping my will and personality, and I realized I was far more terrified of that than of dying. “Don’t,” I said, disheartened to find myself begging. “Please don’t take my mind from me.”

I felt his presence close in on me from behind and let out a gasp as he took my head between his hands in a disturbing echo of when he’d been on the verge of snapping my neck. “It frightens you to your core,” he murmured. “Why?”

I fought to push down the terror with anger. “Because I like me,” I snapped. “Because I have goals and dreams, and if I’m not me then I won’t ever get there.” I swallowed hard. “I won’t know to…push and strive and learn. If I’m not me
I won’t fall in love or help others, and I won’t have my friends and Tessa anymore…and all that shit
matters
to me and other people.
I
matter!”

He held my head for a heartbeat more. “Then never lose yourself,” he said before releasing me and stepping back.

I took several deep breaths, more than a little confused by his mandate, though utterly determined to do just that. I tried to think of some possible way to resist, but my options were pretty damn scant.

Idris entered, silky white shirt stuck to his body with sweat. He looked at me, then his eyes skittered away to Mzatal. “The wards are laid, my lord.”

Mzatal moved around in front of me again. “Well done,” he told Idris. “I will assess them. While I do so, lay a
hakihn
perimeter here, and I will begin the mark removal upon my return.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he strode out, leaving me alone with Idris.

I kept my eyes hard on him as he began to work. “Mzatal’s going to hurt me,” I said, keeping my voice as even as possible. “You know that, right?”

Idris paled and shook his head. “I…No. I mean…” He trailed off.

My focus remained locked on him. “Nah, it’s cool,” I said with a casual shrug I sure as shit didn’t feel. “You’re just following orders. I get it.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I’m sorry. I gotta…” He traced a sigil, then dispersed it as it shimmered unevenly, clearly wrong. “He’s…well.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know enough about what’s going on.”

I wanted to flay him for that, lay him open with a verbal barrage about taking some personal responsibility. But I didn’t. I knew it wouldn’t make a difference in the end. It was obvious he was already torn and feeling guilty, yet he still continued to work the perimeter. I did take a not-insignificant amount of pleasure in the fact that every third sigil had to be dispersed and reset. Good. At least I was getting to him.

“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.

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.