Diana Rowland - Fury of the Demon

“I’m simply asking you to consider that you held the blade twice. He held it for millennia.”

Feelings I couldn’t identify tumbled through me. “Whatever the deal is, I don’t want to go through that with him again,” I said with a shake of my head. “Maybe you can, um, get him to chill.” Chill? That was a pretty insensitive request, I realized with chagrin. Zack already worked his ass off to keep Szerain controlled and sane. “Crap. That was unfair of me. Forget I said that.” I shifted, grimaced. “Szerain told me what you’ve done for him. Do for him.” I gave him an apologetic wince. “I jumped your ass pretty hard earlier. You think we could call a truce?”

Relief I hadn’t expected shone in his eyes, and a faint smile touched his mouth. “I’d like that.”

“I can’t say it doesn’t still bug me—the whole Rhyzkahl’s ptarl thing, and you not spilling everything you know about Tessa,” I said, “but we all need to stick together right now. There’s too much at stake.”

“You’re right,” Zack replied. “This isn’t a time for division. I know you don’t fully trust me, and may never again.” He scooped Ryan into his arms and lifted him. “But I’m here,” he went on. “And I don’t intend to bring harm to you. My presence here is . . . complicated.”

I stood and nodded. “Okay. Fair enough for now. If I actually stop and think about it instead of flying off the handle, I can see the difference in actively helping Rhyzkahl and keeping your mouth shut about things you can’t—for whatever reason—share.”

Zack gave me a relieved smile, then headed toward the house with me. I opened the back door and held it for him to pass. “Szerain acted like this ptarl bond thing was forever and irrevocable. Is that true?”

“The qaztahl have no memory of a time without the bond,” he said as he passed through the kitchen, “and despite ptarl grievances, as with Rhyzkahl and Kadir, no bond has ever been broken.”

I followed him in. “So, hypothetically, a ptarl bond could be broken?”

Zack glanced at me as he made his way down the hall and toward the basement door. “Hypothetically, theoretically, yes. Practically, realistically, no.”

“Why?” I opened the basement door for him.

Zack stopped on the top of the stairs, turned to face me. “Unknown consequences. Disruption of the arcane flows. Potentially deadly effect on the qaztahl. Inconceivable loss. Ripples in all directions for many.”

But if no one had ever done it, how did he know for sure? It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him. It was simply that it was so far away from anything I’d experienced, I had no reference. “If it was a little more practical and realistic,” I pressed, “would you break the bond?”

A wave of agonized distress passed over his features. “I don’t know.”

I accepted that as a victory over a flat out No. “Go take care of Ryan,” I said with a smile. “If you’re lucky, I might even start dinner.”

Zack let out a weak laugh. “I’m not sure I’d call that luck.”

“My cooking isn’t that bad.” My mouth twisted. “Or maybe it is. I’ll keep it simple.”

“I’ll be right back to supervise,” he replied with a hint of mock-panic in his voice. Or possibly real panic.

“Maybe you can pick up some culinary secrets,” I said sweetly, then closed the door behind them and headed for the kitchen to forage for something “simple.” In other words, Kara-proof.

Szerain and Zack had given me a lot to think about on top of the Idris issue, Farouche, and Tessa’s manipulation. Oh yeah, and let’s not forgot the evil demonic lords trying to take over the world. On top of all that, I needed to talk to Jill and see if I could convince her to move into what was rapidly becoming a compound. Kara’s Kompound. I muffled a laugh, then mulled over what I’d say to her while I tried to decide between frozen lasagna or waffles with bacon for dinner. Or bacon lasagna. Yum.

Zack returned with a stack of files and his laptop as I closed the oven door on the frozen lasagna. “I have Ryan sleeping. Szerain is in turmoil,” he said. “I’ll do some intense work with him tonight.” He set the laptop on the kitchen table and passed over a file folder. “I made copies of all the Symbol Man case file notes for you, as well as everything we have for Amber’s murder. Figured it couldn’t hurt for you to have it all.”

“You rock,” I said and took the folder. “I’m going to grab a shower while the lasagna cooks. Twice through the obstacle course. I think I stink a little.”

“More than a little. You’re ripe.”

“It’s much more gentlemanly to deny my stench.”

“Then you’d doubt it was me,” he said with a low laugh.

“You got that right.” The familiar banter was a relief and reminded me that, while the problems weren’t gone, they were manageable. “I’ll call Jill first and see if she wants to meet me tomorrow for a lovely early morning walk. Not only will it shock the hell out of her—me, exercise, morning—but I’ll have her as a captive audience to sell her on the benefits of her potential new temporary home.”

He grinned. “She won’t be able to resist it, not with your smooth sell.”

“Riiiiiight.” I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Seriously though, I’ll do my best. Too much shit going on right now to risk her.”

“Thanks,” he said fervently, and the worry and love for Jill in his eyes was another bit of reassurance for me. “I’ll get to work on the deeper mysteries of my open cases,” he said and headed for the living room.

I put the case files by the stack of Tracy Gordon journals, then made a quick call to Jill to invite her over for a persuasive sales pitch—disguised as a stroll around my property—for the next morning. I also gave her a summary of the harrowing roadblock incident with Farouche. I figured it couldn’t hurt to prime the danger pump.

No new crises emerged during my shower, to my relief and delight. The lasagna smelled great, and I had chocolate fudge ice cream to spare in the fridge. What the hell? A quiet night kicked back at home?

Don’t get cocky, I reminded myself. Best to take it minute by minute and not get my hopes up for the whole night.

I opened my eyes to sun slanting through the blinds. No alarm clock. No phone call. The smell of something baking. I glanced at the clock, pleased to see that I’d slept over eight hours. I could get used to this.

I had about thirty minutes before Jill arrived for our walk and talk. When I wandered out to the kitchen, I found Ryan at the table, already dressed and with his laptop open.

“You made coffee,” I observed. Plenty of time for coffee. Hell, I’d make time for coffee.

He looked up and gave me a smile. “I sure did. It shortens the Grumpy Kara time if it’s ready to go when you wake up.”

“I’m never grumpy,” I protested unconvincingly. “Ever.” I filled my cup and dumped in sugar and cream. “How are you feeling this morning?” I had no idea if Ryan felt any residuals of the convulsions Szerain had yesterday.

“I’m feeling fine,” he said giving me a wary look. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t be?”

I smiled sweetly. “No! Not at all. Can’t a girl ask about your well-being?”

“You? Nope,” he said with a grin, then gestured toward the oven. “I made some bacon-topped maple roll things. They’re done, but I’m sure you’re not hungry. Zack and I will manage to keep them from going to waste.”

“Nice try.” I pulled the oven door open, and the sight and smell of the rolls set my mouth watering. I grabbed a potholder and moved the baking sheet to the stovetop, transferred one of the delectables to a plate, then took a bite. “Holy shit. You’ve been keeping these secret all this time? I’ll have to run the obstacle course three times, but it’s worth it.”