Touch of the Demon
Page 19I 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.”
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.
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?”
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!” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">