Legacy of the Demon (31 page)

“Ashava didn't choose shit,” I said with heat. “She was born into this crap situation. And for the record, I'd rather go down whatever path Zack's on than follow your twisted lead.”

“Ashava chooses her path even now.” He flicked his hand as if shooing a fly. “Lamentably, it is the path to her destruction rather than to the salvation of all.”

“You're trying to tell me that if Ashava was with you, everything would be A-okay?” I asked, incredulous. “Good thing I don't believe anything that comes out of your lying mouth. Remember, I know all about your underhanded ways.” I held up my index finger. “
You
posed as a morgue tech and weaseled your way into my life and Tessa's bed.
You
—”

“Is this offense worse than Zakaar posing as a human, seducing your dearest friend, and getting a child upon her?”

“It wasn't like that,” I snarled, though I couldn't deny that the same worry had crossed my mind more than once. I lowered my index finger and lifted the middle. “
You
groomed a syraza to take over as Isumo Katashi to influence summoners and spread your diseased agenda on Earth. Did you kill the real Katashi?”

“
I
did not.” He leaned toward me. “A tragic outcome too often follows an attempt to summon beyond one's skill and knowledge.”

“I wonder who gave him the idea he could do it.”

“Not I,” he said, amusement in his eyes.

Sick bastard. Had the real Katashi—Mzatal's sworn summoner—proved to be an obstacle in Xharbek's plans? Dread settled in my chest. Xharbek knew I was here for the gimkrah, which most likely meant he knew of my intention to summon an
imperator. An imperator who could remove me from the game with a
tragic outcome
—while putting Elinor's essence in his hands to give him the ultimate weaponized summoner. Devious. “
You
used your puppet Katashi to set an arcane bomb and lay the groundwork for the Mraztur to . . .”

I dropped my hand, silent for a moment as puzzle pieces rearranged themselves. This asshole had been playing hardball for a long time. When I'd asked the Piggly Wiggly Jontari reyza what the lords wanted, he'd said
fuck the lords
and
ask Xharbek
. Rhyzkahl had been surprised by the amount of rakkuhr that flooded Earth, and when he denied alliance with the Jontari, I hadn't believed him. But I was starting to change my mind.

“No,” I said softly, “it's
you
behind all of it. You aren't helping the Mraztur along with their plans. They're just as much your tools as fake-Katashi, blind to it because you feed their own interests. Nice and indirect. What I don't get is why.”

His lips formed an infuriatingly enigmatic smile. “For the game to be won, it is best the pawns not know the designs of the king.”

“Seriously? King? That's the lamest super-villain goal
ever
.”

Xharbek's expression hardened. “You understand nothing of my goals, but it matters not.” He waved his hand over the basin. Above it, an image appeared of a half dozen reyza flying over a rift in a city street. “Too much is in motion for you to stop what is coming to pass. The Jontari have their own agenda.”

“Aided and abetted by a deceptive shithole of a demahnk with
his
own agenda.”

“Go home,” he said, expression compassionate but eyes dead and flat. “Help Earth adjust.”

“That's your idea of peace? Go belly up to the enemy and accept invasion?” I snorted. “For all your posing, you don't know jack shit about humans.”

He regarded me as if I was an insect that needed crushing. “Take what you came for, Kara Gillian, but tread softly. Yours is a fool's errand.”

“Bite me.” My tactical gear made mooning him impossible, so I settled for a two-handed crotch grab followed by a double bird-flip.

He swept the basin from the pedestal to shatter on the floor and was gone.

“Loser,” I yelled into the empty air. Wonderful. Now I was stuck in a black box. So much for going home.

Shards of glass from the basin crunched under my boots as I explored the perimeter of the chamber. Eleven sides, each faintly reflecting my image like a dark mirror. No obvious doors, but since Mzatal obviously frequented this place, there had to be a way out.

I placed my palm against the nearest wall, and Mzatal's resonance hummed through me. Around my fingers, the stone took on a golden glow that diffused across the surface, creating what seemed to be a shadowy window. To my delight, I could see the shimmer of a dimensional pocket through it. Empty, but this was progress. Encouraged, I moved to the next section and repeated the process with the same result. The third wall revealed yet another pocket, but this one wasn't empty. In what appeared to be a luxurious bedchamber, a woman dressed in voluminous sea green silk stood in the middle of a single shikvihr ring. Silver-white hair flowed unbound around her lined face as she traced and dispelled the beginning sigil of the second ring over and over. Practicing. Rasha Hassan Jalal al-Khouri, the elderly summoner who'd chosen to work with Mzatal. When I'd last seen her, her hands were crippled by arthritis, but now they swooped with grace as she finished the sigil and, finally appearing satisfied, continued to the second sigil. Mzatal must have tucked her into this pocket to keep her safe while he was away on Earth. A skilled summoner left unprotected in the demon realm was a treasure an enemy lord might dare attempt to steal. Apparently, this chamber was Mzatal's surveillance room where he could check in on his various pockets.

Though I felt as if I could step right into Rasha's pocket if I wanted, I pulled my hand away. My time was short. Plus I didn't want to risk disturbing the protections.

My pulse leaped as the view into the next pocket crystallized. Resting on a three-foot high podium was the gimkrah, exactly as it had appeared in Xharbek's trap vision. On the floor lay manacles large enough to fit around my waist along with a heap of chain with massive links, all forged of the same pinkish arcane-dampening metal that banded the gimkrah.
Makkas.
Goosebumps swept over my skin. Those were chains for a huge demon. But why?

I pushed aside the disconcerting questions and focused on my goal: Get the gimkrah, Get out, Get home. Only one problem: I was fairly certain I could enter, but what about exiting? The last thing I wanted was to trap myself in a dimensional
pocket. Mzatal was able to pass in and out at will, but he was a lord, and I was me.

His resonance whispered through me, and I steadied. We were as one, with everything attuned to me. If I had the ability to enter the pocket unaided, I'd have the ability to exit. Besides, I was too close to the gimkrah to wimp out now.

Decision made, I let my hand sink into the wall, then I was inside the pocket with only the barest sensation of movement. A shiver ran through me, and not only because the air was as cold as a meat-locker. Though I was several feet from the chains, their effect smothered my arcane senses like a thick blanket of wet cotton.

After taking careful note of precisely where I'd entered, I approached the podium. The core of the crystal globe had been dull brownish red when I arrived, but as I neared it flashed with scarlet lightning, giving the unsettling impression it was snapping at me. I unslung my backpack and pulled out a fleece jacket. I couldn't risk direct contact with the makkas bands on the gimkrah, and who knew what the runes on them might do. Using the jacket like oven mitts, I lifted the globe from the podium and stuffed into the backpack. Mission accomplished.

To my relief, the return to the main chamber proved as simple I'd hoped. But how was I supposed to get out of the column? The room had a serious lack of glowing EXIT signs.

“Doesn't Mzatal know about fire codes?” I muttered. Sign or not, a way out existed. All I had to do was find it.

I checked each wall in turn but found only more dimensional pockets—some empty, some like arcane attics filled with stored furniture and miscellaneous objects, but none with another living being. My gaze fell on the pedestal. Could it be that simple? As I placed my hands on the cool stone, a mild sensation of being inside an upward swirling vortex permeated me. This was it. I closed my eyes and envisioned the top of the column then let the vortex lift me.

“You all right?” Pellini called out from below.

I gave him a thumbs up then scuttled down the column steps. When I reached the grass, I kept going and beckoned him to hurry away with me. “I got the gimkrah, but Xharbek was there,” I panted. “That asswipe is the puppet master behind everything.” As we hustled down to the ravine path, I briefed him on the highlights. “I'm sure he wants me to get shredded in the summoning, but he practically gave the gimkrah to me, which makes me suspicious as all hell. I just want to be home. Now.”

“You won't get any argument from me.”

To my relief, our little group and Janice were waiting across the ravine on the path to the grove. Michael grinned and waved, but Turek let out a furious roar. Alarm swept over Michael's face as he pointed above my head. Hand on my Glock, I spun to see four reyza hurtle from a rift high in the sky. The instant they were clear, the rift snapped closed behind them.

“Pellini, incoming!” I shouted, drawing my weapon. Gold adorned one of the demons. Jontari.

“Sonofabitch,” he growled, already sighting on the approaching threat. “Not a single goddamn place to take cover.”

And no way in hell could we make it to the palace before they were on us. “Then we stand and fight,” I said, copying his stance.

As I sighted on the lead demon, an arc of lightning incinerated it. A killing ward of Mzatal's. No time to celebrate, though. The other three reyza shot through the dispersing ash-cloud of their dead brother, taking full advantage of his sacrifice and the brief hole in the defenses.

Kehlirik let out a fierce scream of defiance as he arrowed toward us from atop the palace. That evened the odds a bit, though it would be a race to see if he could reach us before the Jontari. A dozen feet ahead, the earth heaved upward and resolved into a hulking humanoid shape. One of Michael's golems. I breathed a
thank you,
hope for survival rising as Pellini and I ducked behind its bulk for cover.

“This is going to be brutal,” Pellini muttered, eyeing the quickly approaching Jontari.

“Good thing we're awesome.” Working the arcane at turbo-speed, I prepped six makeshift shield-busters. The quartz spheres that Idris used held the potency better than brass and lead, but my buster-bullets had done the trick against Big Turd in Siberia. I gave Pellini three, and we each loaded them into our respective magazines and chambered a round.

Peeking from behind the cover of the golem, I fired twice at the closest reyza then cursed as the rounds flashed and pinged off his shielding. “No good!” I said. “The demons can tap full potency here for shields.”

And then we were out of time. The reyza dove at us and raked claws over the golem, scattering dirt, but the golem snatched it out of the air, giant earthen hands twisting to break one wing. Demon and dirt limbs flailed as the two skirmished. Pellini and I scrambled away, and the other two attackers took immediate advantage of our loss of cover. A scarred yet agile reyza hit Pellini like an airborne freight train, sending both of them tumbling over the edge of the ravine.

“Pellini!” I cried out, running toward where they'd disappeared. I'd barely closed half the distance when the demon rose into view then swooped on me. I dodged and rolled, but he caught me with pathetic ease then tossed me in the air like a rag doll before slamming me face down on the grass.

My breath whooshed out with the impact, and my gun tumbled from my grasp. I struggled to fill my lungs then wheezed out a scream as the demon gripped my calf and wrenched, sending pain exploding through my knee. I scrabbled for my gun, but he pinned me down with a foot across the back of my thighs then ripped the backpack from me. With a scream of triumph, he pressed down harder on my legs. Heart racing, I steeled myself for the downward slash of claws that would finish me.

Kehlirik bellowed in fury. The weight on me disappeared, and the sting of arcane fallout rippled over me.
He just saved my
ass
. I lifted my head to see my attacker fend off Kehlirik with a vicious claw kick and tail lash then leap into the air with my backpack in hand. The other Jontari sent an arcane blast sizzling over me to strike Kehlirik, then both climbed high, wings beating hard.

Dazed, I flopped onto my back and sucked in precious air. Twenty yards away, Kehlirik struggled to get to his feet while ugly red arcane flickered over him. Nearby, the broken-winged demon thrashed out from beneath a pile of dirt, but Turek streaked toward it and swept two sets of claws out to lay open its throat. High above, a new rift swallowed the two departing Jontari then closed after them.

Despair squeezed my chest. In mere seconds, a single Jontari had not only dispatched Pellini and me with ease, but stolen the gimkrah as well. Bam, bam, bam.

Pellini!
I pushed up and limped to the ravine edge, knee threatening to give way with every step. He lay at the bottom of the ravine, crumpled on his side. It was clear he was hurt, but I couldn't tell how badly. His legs jerked, and he had his arms clutched around his middle. But he was alive.

“Pellini!” Gritting my teeth against the pain, I clambered over the edge and slid-staggered down to him. “Hey, man, did you break something?”

He rolled to his back, breath coming in short, agonized rasps. For an instant I thought he was cradling a small, bloody creature—a mishmash of lumpy dark yellow and rust brown and whitish-pink coils.

“Oh fuck,” I breathed. Abdominal fat and liver and intestines. A vicious gaping wound ran from just below his right ribcage to his left hip. Several feet of intestine lay in the dirt beside him.

He focused on me with effort, eyes glazed and shocky. “Kara,” he wheezed. “I think this is bad.”

“We'll help you,” I told him in a shaky voice then screamed, “Turek!” Dropping awkwardly to my uninjured knee, I ripped my jacket off and tried to cover the gash. Blood pooled and spilled over my hands. “Pellini, it's going to be okay.”

Turek leaped down and landed beside me. He took a fraction of a heartbeat to assess, shouldered me aside, then sunk four sets of claws into the edges of the horrible wound to pull it as closed as possible. Pellini was still conscious, but there was too much blood.

And dying in the demon realm probably won't save his life
like it did mine
, I thought with numb dread. With the ways between the worlds so screwed up now, dead was dead at least eighty percent of the time.

Janice scrambled down the ravine. “Is he—oh, Jesus.”

I fully expected her to turn away and puke, but to my surprise she ran to Pellini's other side, yanked her own jacket off and wedged it under his neck to open his airway. His awful wheezing eased a bit, and I spared her a brief nod of gratitude. Still, Pellini had minutes, at most. “Turek, can we get him to the grove?” Even if Rho couldn't help, perhaps it could at least get us to the realm of a friendly lord. Except that all the lords and demahnk were likely either battling the big southern anomaly or on Earth.

Turek growled. “Moving him would but hasten his demise.”

Pellini's hands went slack and slipped to the ground.

Fear clawed at my chest. “Shit! Pellini, don't you dare die on me!” I mentally reached for Mzatal in the desperate hope that my need could penetrate both the screwed up interdimensions and the walls between us. But I might as well have been shouting into the void. I fumbled a shaking hand beneath my shirt and pressed it over his sigil on my chest, tried again.

Nothing.

Blood burbled from Pellini's mouth. Cursing, I shifted my hand to cover Kadir's sigil scar. Pellini was his protégé, and I knew damn well the clever lord had learned to teleport. He had the best chance of getting here in time.

I focused on Kadir—the feel of his aura, the sound of his voice, the violet of his eyes—and sent out a call through the sigil. Nothing. Not the slightest tingle. I grabbed Pellini's hand, pressed it to the sigil, and willed the lord here. More nothing. “I . . . I'll go to Kadir's realm and run to the gate. I can call Kadir from there.”

Before I could get to my feet, Pellini jerked beneath our hands then went limp.

“He's not breathing,” Janice said.

“CPR,” I managed to fumble out. I moved into position and began compressions. Buying time at the most.
One, two, three, four, five.

Janice grabbed my elbow. “Kara, it's just making it worse.”

“No. That can't be right.” I pushed again to prove it then saw the pressure forcing blood from the wound. Horrified, I yanked my hands back and looked from Turek to Janice for a solution.

Her eyes swam with sympathy. “He's lost too much blood. I'm sorry.”

Turek released his hold and edged back.

I can't save him.
The thought careened through my skull. Even if I ran flat out, I couldn't possibly get to Kadir's gate to call him before Pellini finished dying and discorporeated. Utter helplessness threatened to drown me.

“You stupid fucking asshole,” I croaked. “You weren't supposed to fucking get killed here. That wasn't part of the plan.” Any second now the light would start to consume him, and he'd be gone. In a week or two he'd reappear on Earth. His body would, at least. But not his essence, unless he was very lucky. “I need you. Don't you know that? You're—”

Janice let out a shriek. I jerked my head up to see Kadir standing only a couple of feet away with Paul beside him.

“Save him,” I gasped out, scrambling back to give the lord room. “Please.” I turned an imploring look on Paul. “Please.”

Kadir regarded me, his head tilted and lips parted slightly, as if I were a perplexing problem.

“Lord Kadir,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice strong and steady. “We need your help. He's dying.”

His laugh sent a chill through my bones. He sidled close, nostrils flaring as he took in my scent. “Dead.”

“No,” I said with conviction. “You wouldn't have come here for a dead man.”

He traced the line of my jaw with his index finger. “I tend my children.”

With that, he went to one knee beside Pellini and placed a pale hand on the exposed liver. Paul knelt by Kadir's side, then both went stone still. I realized with a start that Kadir wore Earth jeans and a polo shirt, and his golden-blond hair was woven into a braid.

Seconds ticked by while nothing happened. At least nothing I could see. Pellini hadn't discorporeated yet, which I hoped was a good sign. But he wasn't breathing, either.

The seconds stretched to minutes, and I clamped down on my urge to demand an update. I pressed my fist to my mouth, unable to tear my eyes away from Pellini.

After several agonizing minutes, Paul lifted his head and met my eyes. “I need you to do the shikvihr with me.”

“Huh?” I said, caught off guard by the nature of the request. Do the shikvihr with Paul? He had the ability to interpret and
subtly influence energy flows, including potency, but his skills weren't the “make sigils and wards” kind.

“I need you to do the shikvihr with me,” he repeated. “To support Kadir. Please.”

Okay, so I hadn't misheard him. “Yeah,” I said, shaking off my surprise. I staggered to my feet, nearly going down again when my knee gave way. “Hang on.” I quickly wove a binding that had a secondary property of radiating cold and placed it on my knee, then I wrapped a band of potency around the whole thing. It was a sucky brace, but better than nothing. “How do you want me to do this shikvihr?”

“Dance it like normal.” He positioned himself beside me so that only a few feet separated us. “I'll do the rest.”

More questions crowded in, but I shoved them aside. I took a few seconds to pygah to help mask the distraction of the knee pain, then I began tracing the glowing curves of the first sigil in the air. I faltered as Paul joined me, matching my movements as if he'd danced the shikvihr a thousand times before. Quickly regaining my focus, I moved on to the next sigil. Though Paul danced the ring precisely, he wasn't forming actual sigils—which baffled me. What was the point? My sigils tingled in my awareness like mini-beacons of various frequencies, but I sensed nothing from his efforts.

Of course it wasn't as if I had anything better to do at the moment, and I'd provided support diagrams for lords before, just not through a shikvihr.

I completed the first four rings, igniting each in turn. On the fifth ring, a whisper-touch of Kadir resonated in the pattern. Paul's expression—lips parted and head tilted—reminded me more than a little of the lord.

They're using their essence bond
, I realized. Mzatal and I had worked together countless times, each an extension of the other, to create an outcome greater than combined individual efforts. It was how we'd created the super-shikvihr. Paul didn't have the ability to trace sigils but, through the union of minds and beyond, Kadir guided his movements and used him as a proxy. In a way, it was like how I'd been using Pellini as an arcane proxy for the past two months, talking him through needed arcane manipulations. Yet these two didn't need words.

Kadir's resonance in the ritual increased with each new sigil I traced, though there was something different about the feel of it that I couldn't quantify. It wasn't until I ignited the fifth ring
that comprehension hit me.
His resonance doesn't make my skin crawl as much as usual
, I thought in amazement. That was Paul's doing. He influenced potency flows as easily as breathing, and in ways that differed from how lords or summoners worked. Right now, not only was Paul acting as a shikvihr proxy, but he was also modulating the resonance of my rings so that out-of-phase Kadir could draw from them. Freaking awesome teamwork.

And together, we'll save Pellini
, I thought fiercely. Already the lord worked to close the last of the horrific wound.

Halfway through the seventh ring, a faint echo of Pellini filtered through Kadir's resonance. I finished the ring and ignited it then gasped as the sigils pulsed in time with Pellini's heartbeat. Hope lifting, I started toward him, but Paul took my arm.