Lisa Shearin: The Trouble With Demons

“I’ve been dreaming about my dad,” I murmured.

My father, Eamaliel Anguis, was an elven Guardian whose soul was trapped along with thousands of others inside the Saghred. He’d been the stone’s protector until about a year ago when the Saghred decided to turn its protector into its next meal.

Mychael’s voice was low and controlled. “What kind of dreams?”

“Just talking kind of dreams.” I held up a hand, stopping his next question. “No, I don’t remember any of them. And no, I haven’t felt manipulated by ‘evil forces.’ ”

“I didn’t imply that you were.”

“Then you’re the only one on this island who wouldn’t think so.” I sat up, the front legs of my chair slamming into the floor. “That demon had himself an audience when he said he was

‘honored by my presence.’ I think Carnades won himself a dozen or so more converts to his Lock-Up-Raine Club.” I ran my hand over my face; it came away with dust from the dirt storm Vegard had kicked up. Great. “And the Volghul said that if I came to him, he’d let Piaras and Talon live.”

Mychael went dangerously still. “He wanted you?”

I waited a few heartbeats before answering, a little taken aback by his intensity. “He didn’t tell me what he had in mind, and I didn’t ask. From the look on his face, he was going to enjoy it and I knew I wouldn’t.”

The air around Mychael flared with power. It was magic, definitely lethal, and its target was that purple demon. Then in a blink of an eye, the aura was gone, clamped down tight by the sheer force of Mychael’s will, only to be replaced by something more primitive, more male.

“Are you all right?” he demanded.

“Shaken up, but he didn’t lay a claw on me.”

The power still flowing from him swept over my skin, and I forced back a shiver of pure sensation.

Mychael realized what he was doing and resisted touching me, even though not touching me seemed to take as much effort as not going after that demon. “Raine, I want you to come back to the citadel with me. You’re not safe on Phaelan’s ship.”

I’d stayed in the citadel since arriving on Mid a few weeks ago, but the past few days I’d been on the Fortune . The accommodations Mychael had provided for me had been luxurious, but with guards posted outside my door, a gilded cage was still a cage. My family doesn’t do cages very well.

“Mychael, I’m not safe anywhere, and you know it. Vegard never leaves my side, but if it makes you feel better, post a couple more Guardians, though with literally all hell about to break loose, I doubt if you can spare them. I may not be any safer on the Fortune , but I’m happier. If I can’t be safe, I’ll take happy.”

Mychael sat back and raked his hand through his hair. I knew I’d been one exasperation right after another since the day we’d met.

“I won’t allow myself to be locked up,” I told him.

“I would never lock you up. You know that.”

“If I went back, you wouldn’t let me leave, so what’s the difference?”

“You’d be alive.”

“Possibly.”

“No, definitely.” Mychael said it as if he dared Death to defy him.

“Mychael, I can’t let you-”

“Can’t let me what? Protect you? Save you? Keep the next Volghul from carrying you off? Dammit, Raine, I won’t stand by and-”

He took my hand and the shock of his magic raced up my arm. My breath exploded in a hiss, not of pain, but of every nerve ending suddenly and sharply aware. The air was crisp and alive and filled with scents magnified a hundredfold: the wood of the chair and table, the metallic tang of Mychael’s armor and weapons, and his unmistakably masculine scent. My magic surged forward to meet his, matching him, giving as good as I got. Our magics coiled and twisted, weaving us together, and I was keenly aware of his every pulse, every muscle, the surging of blood through his veins.

And he was just as aware of me-all of me. I was transfixed as his eyes darkened from sun-kissed tropical seas to ocean depths. As his power filled me, I saw what he’d done to the demons that had ambushed him and four of his men. When my magic rose to meet his, Mychael felt what I had done to that Volghul.

And he knew that Tam and I had done it together.

That thought broke whatever hold our powers had on us.

I pulled my hand away, dragging air forcibly into my lungs. “What the hell was that?”

Mychael’s eyes were like twin sapphires. “Magic most potent.” His deep voice was rich and vibrant; it was his spellsinger’s voice. He wasn’t doing it on purpose; it was simply remnants from the power that still roiled within him.

I was about to say “no shit” to his assessment, but the memory of what Tam and I had done froze the words on my lips.

It was my magic that had focused Tam’s power, and my magic that had just surged into Mychael. The Saghred hadn’t had a thing to do with either one.

I felt my hands start to shake and I let them. At least they knew what to do next. “What did you do?”

In response, Mychael tentatively reached out to touch me, but stopped when the air between us crackled with static. The sensation ran up my spine like a warm hand in a velvet glove. Damn, but that felt good. Too good. I held the breath I’d just taken and flattened myself against the back of my chair.

“Stop,” I managed. “No touching.”

Mychael slowly pulled his hand back.

We had touched more than each other’s hands before, but absolutely nothing like this had ever happened.

In that exact instant, Mychael had the same thought; I felt the echo from it flicker inside my mind.

My own thoughts skittered in panicked circles. “I can hear you thinking.”

Mychael sat unmoving. “It’s fading, but I can sense your thoughts, too.”

Damn.

“I agree,” he said.

I hadn’t said it out loud. Double damn.

“Anything like this ever happen to you before?” I asked him.

“Never.” Mychael’s eyes were on mine; they were slowly returning to their normal color. “Was this similar to what happened with you and Tam?”

I hesitated before answering. “Yes… and no. Yes, my magic felt the same as when Tam and I bottled that demon.” I paused. “But Tam didn’t feel anything like you.”

“I’m not Tam.” Mychael’s voice was deeper, huskier.

I swallowed. “I noticed.”

The air between us thickened, and then crackled with pent-up magic, among other things. With visible effort, Mychael pushed back his chair and stood. He put a few steps between us, then turned and leaned against the conference table, crossing his arms over his chest. To avoid temptation, get away from what tempts you. The paladin was back and he had a job to do.

“What happened with Tam in the Quad?” he asked.

“You just saw what happened-”

“Only flashes of image and sound.”

I told him everything, starting from spotting the blue demons in the street, to the elven mage’s murder, to the Volghul.

“I’ve never taken down a demon,” I said. “Tam said he had, so he told me how to channel his power.” I stopped. It took me more than a few moments to say what I didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone admit. “Tam and I seem to have some sort of connection since what happened last week.”

Mychael nodded, his expression grim. He knew only too well what had happened.

Six spellsingers had been kidnapped and held in a prison block deep under the elven embassy. They were intended as sacrifices to feed and reactivate the Saghred. There was a chance that Tam and I could save them, but only if we worked together. The Saghred had wanted to get its figurative hooks into Tam, and saving those spellsingers had given the rock a taste of Tam’s black magic. What we’d done had torn down the magical barriers between us. Tam had said that we weren’t separate anymore. Until today, I hadn’t realized what that meant.