Diana Rowland - Fury of the Demon

“I am not your babe, ” he began, eyes narrowed, and then continued in demon which I couldn’t follow without the grove. There was a brief pause, no doubt to give Ryan/Szerain time to get away from other people, and then more conversation, some of it heated. Finally Mzatal touched the end call button and handed it back to me.

I replaced it on the nightstand, sobering as I returned to him. There was no mistaking that part of their conversation had held anger. “Boss, he saved me,” I said quietly. “Him and Bryce both.”

His expression softened some as he met my eyes. “I know, and I expressed my gratitude for such.”

Of course he’d known. He’d likely read the details of the event from me the instant he arrived.

Mzatal shifted his attention to Bryce. “I am in your debt, Bryce Thatcher,” he said, “for this and because I violated our agreement concerning Paul.”

Agreement? I wondered, then realized that even a simple “I’ll keep Paul safe,” from Mzatal to Bryce would count as such.

Face like stone, Bryce simply gave a micro-nod, while I wondered if any other human had ever heard those words from him.

Mzatal took my hand. “Then let us depart.”

While Fuzzykins yowled her evil lungs out, Mzatal draped his arm over my shoulders and pulled me close. The feline protests cut off as he made the transfer, then started right back up again the instant we arrived in Mzatal’s plexus. In front of us, Elofir startled visibly at our sudden caterwaul-enhanced appearance and nearly fumbled the iridescent potency strands he had woven into a stabilizing coil. Beautiful but complex and difficult as well, to judge by the sweat that plastered his shirt to his torso.

He quickly recovered his composure and anchored the strands, flicked his gaze to me along with a smile thick with relief. There’d obviously been discussion of me in the past day.

I returned the smile. “Lord Elofir. Good to see you again.”

“Kara Gillian. Welcome back,” he said warmly even as he returned his attention to the complicated stabilizer.

“Where’s Paul?” Bryce asked Mzatal tersely, clearly in no mood for chit chat.

Mzatal said something to Elofir in demon with a rough meaning of I’ll be right back to help with this mess , then gave Bryce his full attention.

“This way,” he said and swept from the room with Bryce right on his heels. I followed a few steps behind, while Eilahn removed the cat carrier from the plexus. The sound of growl-hiss-screeched complaints gradually faded as they moved away.

We didn’t have far to go. About thirty feet down the hall from the plexus, Mzatal gestured to a doorless arch that led into a room I remembered as empty when I was last here. Now its glass wall, which normally looked out over sky and sea, was covered with a makeshift heavy curtain, and a bed had been moved in. Instead of bright natural light, a soft amber glow from sigils placed in the corners of the room gave the space a homey, comfortable feel. Nurturing. Even without monitors and wires and IVs, it felt like a place of healing, a refuge for someone ill or injured. Like a hospital room should be.

Paul lay on the bed, eyes closed, pale, and looking weirdly delicate, as if the slightest touch would shatter him. To my surprise, Seretis sat on the other side of the bed with one hand on Paul’s shoulder and the other on his thigh. Healing him, I knew, and in another heartbeat of consideration, I realized that Mzatal had either called in favors or incurred debt to help restore Paul.

Though I didn’t know much about how the debt game worked among the lords, I had a feeling that Mzatal was far more accustomed to holding a debt than owing one. That he would do so for a human—not even a summoner human—told me a great deal about his affection for Paul. And his guilt.

Gone were the hideous burns that had covered most of Paul’s body. No scars replaced them, nor even healing flesh. His skin was smooth and unmarred, as if the terrible injury had never happened, and a shadow of peach-fuzz new hair growth covered his scalp. To look at him there on the bed, he appeared perfectly fine, simply resting.

Yet he felt profoundly damaged, a weird, uncomfortable non-physical sensation, almost as if he didn’t belong in his body. Though I couldn’t identify the cause, it was clear Bryce sensed it as well. I stopped in the doorway while Bryce continued in to crouch by the bed, his eyes never leaving Paul’s face as he oh-so-gently took Paul’s hand.

“Hey, kid,” he said, voice cracking, and I wasn’t at all surprised to see tears on the man’s face.

Paul smiled—a barely-there movement that seemed to boost his vitality despite its faintness. “Bryce,” he breathed, not even a whisper, but it seemed to be an ocean of reassurance for Bryce.

I backed out of the doorway to give them privacy, even as Seretis rose silently and moved to exit, no doubt with the same thought in mind.

Seretis gave me a warm yet weary smile, then surprised me by leaning to brush his lips across my cheek. “Welcome back, Kara Gillian,” he murmured. He then turned to Mzatal, met his eyes and put a hand on his forearm. Neither said a word, simply locked gazes for well over half a minute, but when Seretis finally turned and walked away, I sensed that Mzatal’s tension was ever so slightly less than before.

He took a deeper breath then looked to me and laid his hand alongside my face. “I must work in the plexus for a time, beloved,” he said softly. “The Mraztur’s actions with the valve have had numerous repercussions in the flows. I must relieve Elofir, but I will be complete at sunset.”

I kissed him lightly, nodded. “We’ll talk then.”

Mzatal held my gaze for a heartbeat before inclining his head to me. He proceeded to the plexus while I went the other direction and made my way to Idris’s room on the level below.

I paused in the doorway as a faint hint of nostalgia settled over me. Not much had changed since he’d last occupied it several months ago. Though I’d been in the process of recovering from Rhyzkahl’s torture, it had been a simpler time. The room suited Idris. Spacious and airy with a window wall overlooking the sea, and furnishings in varying shades of blue accented with silver. A scatter of books and papers topped his worktable, undisturbed since he’d been taken.

He lay on his back atop the covers of his bed, left arm thrown over his eyes, and right knee cocked to the side. He wasn’t asleep though. The fingers of his right hand tapped on the bed in an uneven tempo, but I couldn’t tell if it was in frustration or impatience or something else entirely.

I knocked lightly on the door frame. “Hey, dude.”

He pulled his arm away from his eyes, looked toward the door. “Kara?” he asked, voice hoarse and raw.

Moving into the room, I gave him a smile. “Yeah, it’s me. How you feeling?”

He let out a humorless snort. “Like my insides are scrambled, and my head’s exploding.” One corner of his mouth twitched up. “Y’know . . . not too bad.”

I sat on the edge of the bed and peered at him. He looked like he’d been dragged through hell—which he had, now that I thought about it—but to my relief he didn’t have any of the damaged feel Paul radiated.

“Well, Mzatal says you’re going to be fine,” I told him firmly. “You’ll be running the stairs in no time.” I smiled. “And I know you don’t want me to catch up to you in the shikvihr, right?”

He gave a wry and somewhat pained smile. “Not much chance of that. Look.” He traced an unsteady sigil that fizzled out in about two seconds.

I lightly smacked the back of his hand. “Then stop doing that. You need to rest. It’ll come back.” But then I rested my hand on his and sobered. “Idris . . . I’m so very sorry about your sister. The rest of your family is safe, though. We got your mom out, and she’s fine.”