Legacy of the Demon (30 page)

I envisioned a change in the outer loop of the aversion ward then reached, physically and mentally.

The loop shifted.

“Holy shit!” Pulse thrumming, I tried again. The loop bent to my will and reshaped into the new configuration. A cry of pure joy escaped me.

Beside me, Pellini gave a fist pump. “Fuck yeah, Kara! You show that ward who's boss!”

Laughing, I dashed tears from my eyes and continued to restructure the wards. I had no doubt the demon realm potency gave me a boost, but there was more to it than that. The nexus and the super-shikvihr and Pellini had all been vital to my recovery process, but perhaps I'd become too dependent on them.

I finished the adjustments then added the sigil that integrated Pellini's resonance.

“You did it!” His whoop echoed up and down the stairs. I staggered as he pounded me on the back then yelped when he lifted me in a giant bear hug.

“Erp,” I croaked.

Grinning, he set me on my feet. “Always knew you'd get it back.”

He meant it, I realized. He'd never once wavered in his faith
in me. I sniffled and gave him a watery smile. “Thanks. Now let's find the stuff.”

We proceeded through the arch and into the corridor—without any zaps to Pellini. Here on the top floor, the damage was most evident. A foot-wide crack ran the length of the basalt corridor that had once been covered in sumptuous blue carpet. Thick timber beams reinforced with potency shored up the ceiling, and all traces of home and comfort had been stripped.

But I couldn't let emotion overcome our mission. Chest tight, I led Pellini to the solarium. It had become an oversized open air balcony, with nothing but sky at the ragged outer edge.

Pellini gulped and stuck close to the back wall. “Jesus Christ. I'm not usually afraid of heights, but this is fucking unnerving.”

“I loved this room.” My voice quavered. “I wish you could have seen it before all the glass was destroyed.” Grief squeezed at my heart. Mzatal had loved it, too—the spaciousness of the glass ceiling and wall, and the . . .

A wry laugh escaped me. “Oh man,” I said. “I just realized that Mzatal would
love
how it is now.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack. He hates to be enclosed. This,” I spread my arms to indicate the extra-airy floor plan, “would be right up his alley.” I couldn't count the number of times I'd walked in to find him with the glass wall open to the elements, or out on the balcony—as if his essence was too powerful to be contained. I moved to within a couple of meters from the drop-off, where arcane reinforcements and shielding glimmered. “He has it warded so you can't fall off, even if you try.” A tremor rumbled through the palace and shook the cliff. I retreated,
quickly
, from the edge. “But let's not push our luck.”

Pellini shuddered. “I'm with you there. You said the journal's in a black enamel chest?”

“That's what Mzatal told me.” I knew which chest he meant, but it wasn't in its usual spot. I had a moment of panic that it had tumbled over the edge and into the sea then spied it shoved into a corner behind a cabinet and piled chairs.

Pellini helped me pull the furniture out of the way. Sigils danced over the shiny black surface of the chest, but I had my confidence back now, and it took me less than a minute to deactivate the protections.

The drawer whispered open beneath my touch to reveal a journal bound in indigo leather embossed with the purple
flowers I called demon roses. Familiarity whispered through me as I lifted it.

The heady fragrance fills my senses. I stretch in the tangled sheets.

Lord Rhyzkahl props on his elbow beside me. “Another bloom for you, dear one.”

Petals caress my cheek, raise gooseflesh as he draws the rose down my throat, between my breasts. He lowers his head to kiss me. I bury my hands in the fine silk of his hair even as he buries himself in me.

The journal tingled in my grasp. Elinor's memory, but I had lived it. Even now I felt the velvet touch of the flower like the breath of a ghost, the ripple of his muscles, the sensation of him filling me. I remained still and allowed her experience to unfold.

I writhe in pleasure, lost. Gasp for breath. Cry out as I pulse around him.

He wraps me in his arms, presses deep, groans.

We lie entwined, his hair covering us like a veil.

He murmurs in my ear. “Tah zhar lahn, zharkat.”

Cold fills my belly, and I bury my face against his neck. “Forgive me, my lord. I . . .”

He cradles my head, silent.

My heart flutters like a caged bird.

He kisses my forehead. Disentangles. “I will make the arrangements you desire.”

Then he is gone.

In his place, amaranthine petals lie crushed upon the sheet.

The memory faded, and I drew a slow steadying breath. Rhyzkahl
had
loved her. And he'd let her go. The arrangements had been for her to reside at Szerain's where her art could flourish and where her new friend Giovanni lived. Rhyzkahl could have kept her. She knew it. “But he didn't,” I murmured.

“Who didn't what?” Pellini asked.

“Oh. Nothing. Sorry.” I used the feel of the journal in my hands to shake off the spell of the memory. “This is the right journal.”

Wards shimmered over its cover—not only to protect it from the ravages of time, but also to discourage prying eyes. Yet the protections were far too elegant and sophisticated for Elinor to have placed them. Plus, I had admin access to these, just like all the other wards here. Mzatal's work. Interesting and puzzling that he would bother to ward it.

I slipped the volume into a thigh pocket of my fatigues. “All right, let's find the gimkrah. Makes sense that it would be up on this level, in his rooms.”

Pellini nodded. “If you don't mind, I'm going to let you search through Mzatal's skivvies.”

I gave him a bland look. “What skivvies?”

He groaned. “Okay, I did
not
need to know that the badass demonic lord goes commando.”

Laughing, I began my gimkrah-hunt. Yet a thorough search of the solarium and Mzatal's rooms turned up absolutely nothing. Frustrated, I went through the plexus then back downstairs to the summoning chamber, finally returning upstairs to go through his rooms one more time.

No gimkrah.

Now what?

At a loss, I sent Pellini downstairs to confer with Turek while I retreated to the rooftop terrace to consider my options.

Though the terrace itself remained intact, the parapet was gone, and no warding had been added to prevent an inadvertent plunge. There was no trace of the glass conservatory or potted plants, and the area had been swept clear of debris. I felt as if I was standing on a giant's table under the open sky.

To the west, the sea sparkled in the late afternoon sun, giving the illusion that all was right with the world. I eased to the terrace edge and peered over. Far below, waves rolled onto the tumbled basalt and black sand of the beach, nearly reaching the stone circle of Mzatal's nexus. I moved to the opposite edge and surveyed the forested hills to the east. For a mile, the trees were vibrant, safe within Mzatal's protections. Beyond that, a patchwork of unhealthy green and ashy black marked the ravages of fire, storms, and other unknown cataclysmic hazards.

Below, a shadow coiled and uncoiled at the base of the basalt training column. A demon—one of the
ilius
who kept company with Mzatal, though I couldn't tell which. From this height, the flat top of the column was clearly visible: dark grey stone surrounding a circle of utter blackness.

My stomach flip-flopped. I'd only been to the top once, but that was enough to last a lifetime. After I'd crawled my ass off the column, Mzatal told me that the dark core could consume the resolve of even the most stalwart, and hoo boy did I ever believe him. That inky nothingness hungered for life force. Being absurdly stingy, I preferred to keep my essence all to myself.

Too bad I'd eventually have to test my resolve again. The final trial for the full eleven-ring shikvihr required that it be danced around that life-sucking hole. Even though I told myself today wasn't that day, cold sweat still trickled down my sides.

I dragged my gaze away from the column and shook off its unsettling feel. Great, I'd successfully checked out the view from the roof. Why had I bothered to come up here? It wasn't as if admiring the scenery was going to find the stupid gimkrah. “Damn it, Mzatal,” I muttered. “Where did you hide it?”

For the thousandth time, I mulled over the clue Giovanni found.
The gimkrah lies in wait, surrounded by emptiness, deep in the heart of darkness.
I'd originally assumed that the emptiness and heart of darkness were metaphorical references to Mzatal, but what if I'd gone completely off the rails and the clue really did describe the location? Then again, it was possible whoever wrote that passage hadn't known shit or, even if they had, their info was obsolete by now. Maybe it had never been meant to be a clue at all and was simply a poetic attempt to capture both the literal and the figurative.

That was a useless line of thought. Stumped as I was, it couldn't hurt to focus on literal locations, places surrounded by dark emptiness—

I smacked my forehead. Duh! I'd been in a place surrounded by dark emptiness twice already. A dimensional pocket. Mzatal had created pockets to safely store the three essence blades. It made total sense that he would also hide the gimkrah in one.

My exultation was short-lived. How was I supposed to find that particular pocket? After Szerain hid his essence blade, Mzatal and I spent a whole month preparing a ritual to locate it. I didn't have the skill or the time for that.

Except I was looking for
Mzatal's
dimensional hidey-hole. I'd successfully tracked Szerain to his stronghold with only a trace of its arcane scent, and I had an even better chance of connecting with Mzatal's signature since it was a part of me. I could use his nexus as a starting point for the search. As much as I dreaded a trek down—and back up—the bazillion cliff steps, it was my next logical move.

Movement caught my eye as the ilius scaled the column in a fluid motion that was little more than flashes of color in camouflaging smoke. At the top, it turned my way and stretched itself tall and straight, reminiscent of a meerkat. A greeting posture. I
waved and suppressed the urge to holler at it to be careful so close to that horrible darkness.

Darkness.

Deep in the heart of darkness.
Deep in the void-core of the column?

I did a fist pump and ran downstairs.

•   •   •

Turek, Michael, and Giovanni went to round up Janice, while Pellini and I exited and made our way around the palace.

“You're sure about this?” Pellini asked as we followed the path along the ravine's lip, away from the cliff and sea.

I winced. “I can't be positive the column is the key to finding the gimkrah, but it fits the clue, and it fits Mzatal.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “You don't know what you're getting into.”

“I'm not getting
into
anything,” I retorted then took a deep breath. “If I'm right, I should be able to sense the gimkrah from up there. I won't do anything stupid.”

“Not on purpose,” Pellini grumbled. “But you getting sucked into a soul-hungry void could put a hitch in our plans.”

Scowling, I stuffed my fists into my pockets then had to unstuff them to clamber over a boulder. “We need the gimkrah.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he muttered.

“What's gotten into you?” I shot him a disparaging look. “If you don't want to back me up, don't.”

“It's not that,” he snapped.

We hiked up the hill to the base of the column in silence. At the top, I turned to him and folded my arms. “What is it then?”

He looked away. “I have a bad feeling.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“Not with anything substantial.” He pulled out a camo bandana and mopped his face. “Sorry, Kara. I know we need the gimkrah. I just can't shake this feeling of a crap storm on the horizon.”

I exhaled. “Fair enough. I'm the last person to dismiss a bad feeling as bullshit. All I can do is promise to be quick and doubly careful.” I offered him a reassuring smile. “Trust me. I don't want to be up there any longer than necessary.”

“I'll be here,” he said, folding his arms over his broad chest.

I ran my hands over the basalt of the column, murmured to it. In answer, the stone flowed and morphed, creating narrow stairs that wound up around the thirty-foot column. As I
climbed, I kept my eyes on the steps ahead of me. The last time I'd made this ascent, falling was my only worry. This time I knew what awaited me at the top, and a misstep seemed a minor concern.

But knowing what to expect meant I could prepare, and by the time I reached the top I had four pyghahs drifting around my head like a glowing special effects crown of chill-out. Calm and cool. That was me.

I eased off the steps and onto the foot and a half wide circle of stone that surrounded the void hole. The blackness pulled at me with invisible fingers that promised eternal un-life in death. Breath shuddering, I added a fifth pygah sigil to the others. Better. Somewhat. At least I could concentrate without imagining the Icy Claw of Doom reaching for me out of the depths.

Faint traces of arcane flickered around the edge of the hole—not that I was even sure it
was
a hole. Not a bit of light penetrated, which made it appear less like a shadowy well and more like a two-dimensional circle of unrelieved black. I knelt to get a better look, absurdly pleased that I did so by choice rather than because my legs buckled in fear—like the last time I was up here. Thousands of teensy sigils no larger than sugar ants formed a barely detectable band around the perimeter. Mzatal's work, and I marveled that he could create so many so small. I peered closer then straightened.
Pellini was right. It's stupid for me to risk myself up here. We should go home.

No.
I caught myself before I stood. Aversion wards, and seriously powerful ones at that. Fortunately, as with all of Mzatal's wards, they were attuned to me. Yet even so, they emitted a muted aversion—the cumulative effect of their sheer numbers, I suspected.

Interesting. This was clearly Mzatal's next layer of protection in case anyone got past the initial fear of the void itself. I sat back on my heels, daring to hope. With a security system this meticulous, he had to be protecting something, and that something just might be the gimkrah.

Now to tap into the core and see what I could find. I pushed down the incessant gnaw of the aversions and focused on the center of the darkness, visualizing and feeling everything I could remember of Lannist's dimensional pocket. A whisper of familiarity brushed my senses. Encouraged, I closed my eyes and recalled the description of the gimkrah, creating my best-guess vision of it in my mind's eye. First, a ball of crystal. Then
pulsing red at its center. So far so good. I had a nice, clear image. The last part was to form a cage around it with bands of pinkish metal. How many bands though?

Eleven
, I thought on wild impulse. The lords' magic number. I mentally added eleven bands to my structure.

I startled as the image snapped into 3D crystal clarity. The red deepened to a maroon shot with flickers of crimson lightning. Unfamiliar runes marked the bands like etchings made with ink born of the void. Okay, I had my gimkrah. Concentrating, I called in the feel of a dimensional pocket around it. A bubble of golden light in utter darkness.

The gimkrah hovered in that bubble, so real I felt sure I could reach out and simply take it. Was it possible I'd somehow called it to me? I didn't want to open my eyes and break whatever mojo I had going. I tried reaching for it, but it lay inches beyond my fingertips. I stretched farther. Just a little more, and . . . I'd . . . have it.

My eyes flew open as I tipped forward. I scrabbled at the lip of the hole, but it might as well have been greased ice. Before I could draw breath to cry out, the darkness swallowed me.

•   •   •

Nothingness. No sense of my body. No sense of falling.

Silence.

Every thought an eternity.

Shit.

•   •   •

Voices whisper. Thousands upon thousands. A few that I recognize surface in the sea of murmurs.

“Zharkat.” Mzatal.

“This is not as it should be. What is happening?” Elinor.

“There must be another way.” Rhyzkahl.

“You wouldn't do it unless you were confident of success.” Jill.

“Kara! Get your shoes on. Time to go!” My mom.

“Believe that you're already there.” Pellini.

“Sweetling, pay attention.” Tessa.

Somewhere in my nothingness, I remember anger.

I'm not your sweetling! I'm not—

I remember myself.

I am. I am here. I am Kara Gillian.

And I had no intention of becoming the late Kara Gillian.

Pay attention.
I opened my non-physical senses and
reminded myself what it felt like to have a body, to breathe, to see. Reminded myself of the feel of stone beneath me.

The stone of the column
. I'd been on top reaching for the gimkrah and lost my balance . . .

Realization slammed home. The vision of the gimkrah had lured me closer—and straight into a trap. Like the opposite of an aversion ward. Mzatal's third layer of protection? But it had been so powerful, as if intended for me rather than attuned to me. Whatever it was, I had no intention of waiting around to die like a mouse on a glue board. Screw that.

I
believed
I was on solid ground, and stone chilled my palms and knees.
I am here.
My breath hissed through clenched teeth. Shadows flickered. Where there were shadows, there was light. I commanded the light to intensify, and it obeyed.

There was still blackness everywhere, but instead of the void's nothingness, it was that of a dimly lit obsidian chamber no larger than my living room. A scattering of blue-white sigils twinkled on the high ceiling, giving an impression of the openness of a night sky. The only furnishing was a black glass pedestal topped by a matching basin. Mzatal's signature frequency permeated everything, like a familiar and comforting scent.

“Well, aren't you a clever girl.” Zack.

Except I knew it wasn't Zack.

I scrambled to my feet and peered into the gloom for Xharbek. “Can't you come up with your own persona?”

“Is this more to your liking?” A lanky man with short, nearly colorless hair appeared beside the basin. Carl the morgue tech.

“Not really,” I said. “But it might look better if you were a few billion miles from here. Let's try it and see.”

He laughed—a disturbing sound, especially coming from the customarily dour Carl. “I wouldn't want to miss the entertainment.” He passed his hand over the basin, and an image of the gimkrah appeared above it.

“
You
lured me into the trap,” I said.

“I only tweaked Mzatal's wards. You were the one who reached.”

For the bait Xharbek had dangled, damn it. “Fine. Whatever. All my fault. Why the trap?”

He waved away the gimkrah hologram. “It seemed the easiest solution.”

“It must really burn your bacon that you have to resort to a namby-pamby void trap.” I made a
tsking
sound. “Here you are,
a big bad demahnk, desperate to take me out of the game, but your demahnk constraints prevent you from acting directly unless you want to end up shredded into a billion sparkly bits.”

He rewarded me with delicate applause. “Bravissima. Molto bene.”

“So instead you whisper poison, influence people, and let them do your dirty work for you.” I gave him a look of unreserved disgust. “And now, here we are. What's your next move, hot shot?”

“A sincere offer of peace between us.”

Sincere, my ass. “Unless it involves Szerain, Zack, Ashava, and Sonny safe and sound and free, you're wasting your breath.”

“They have chosen their path and will drag you down with them if you are naïve enough to allow it.”