Diana Rowland - Touch of the Demon

“Yes, we play games.”

I scanned the area for sticks or rocks or anything to decorate the snowman, but whoever had the job of cleaning up the lawn was apparently pretty damn meticulous. Giving up on the snow sculpture for now, I crouched and packed together a snowball.

“Do y’all ever do snowball fights?” I asked, eyeing him with a sly grin.

He spread his wings and dropped into a menacing crouch, low growl throbbing in his throat. I laughed and let fly with the snowball at him, but he ducked it with ease. In the next instant he took flight, letting out a trumpeting bellow.

“Hey, no fair!” I shouted, laughing as I hurriedly made more snowballs and threw them at the airborne reyza.

I yelped as a snowball smacked me in the back of the head. I whirled to see a faas ducking behind a pillar.

Apparently Kehlirik’s bellow had been a “game on!” signal to the rest of the demons. What followed next was the most insanely chaotic and glorious snowball fight in existence. Within less than a minute, the area filled with dozens of demons of damn near every variety. Chinese-dragon-faced kehza took to the air with reyza and zhurn in dogfights to rival anything out of World War I. On the ground, a cluster of luhrek—demons resembling a cross between a dog and a goat, with the hindquarters of a lion—whipped together a fort constructed of snow and arcane scaffolding, and proceeded to lob volleys at the airborne contingent. Graa darted with lightning speed between air and ground, weaving shields of potency that formed a sting-delivering obstacle course for all players, while young savik methodically dismantled and reformed said shields and slung snowballs at the faas who darted from pillar to pillar.

For my part, I quickly abandoned any attempt at strategy or skill and simply chucked snowballs at any available target.

Another snowball smacked into my head. I spun, expecting to see the devious faas, but to my shock it was a human who ducked behind a pillar.

I stared at the dark-haired man. Tall, a bit stocky, face maddeningly familiar. And then it registered. “Holy shit. Michael?” Michael Moran was the younger brother of Lida Moran, a goth-metal singer who’d ruthlessly used Michael’s abilities to create golems—actual creatures of dirt and clay—to get rid of her business rivals. Michael had suffered a head injury when he was young, which had made it far easier for Lida and her boyfriend to cruelly manipulate and use him. After the case had finally been closed—after the deaths of Lida and her boyfriend—Eilahn had suggested I send Michael to the demon realm. I’d agreed. I knew that if Michael stayed on Earth, he’d end up in an institution or even possibly jail for the rest of his life. I figured, if Eilahn said he’d have a chance at a better life, I had to go along with it. I trusted her.

He peered out from behind the pillar, smiling shyly. “Hi, Kara.”

I let out a laugh and tromped through the snow to him. “How are you? You look great!” He did, too. His face looked slimmer and far less slack, and his eyes practically sparkled with life.

“You’re through playing?” he asked, stepping warily out from behind the pillar in case I was still packing. “The faas are great with snowballs,” he added, with another wary look around for any lurking demons. My delight in seeing him grew. It was blindingly obvious that he was more stable and coherent than before.

“Yeah, I’m done,” I said, grinning, though I too scanned for faas. “And yeah, those little suckers know how to sling a snowball. They take their games pretty seriously!”

A broad smile lit his face. “And they always travel in pairs! Makes it hard to sneak up on them.” His face went abruptly serious, and he looked down and away.

“Michael? What’s wrong?”

He wiped at his face with the back of a gloved hand. “I’m really really sorry about all that stuff I did.”

“Ah, jeez, Michael, I know you are.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “I never blamed you. It’s why I had you sent here, so you could have a real chance at a life.”

He took a deep breath and let it out quickly. “It’s really okay?” he asked, worry darkening his expression as he finally met my gaze. “I mean…I’ve been thinking about it and…” He trailed off, swallowing hard.

“It’s okay,” I reassured him firmly, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “You weren’t the bad guy. You were used.” I peered at him. “Are you doing okay here? I mean, you’re being treated all right?”

He broke into a bright smile again. “Yep, it’s the best. They even fixed my head up a bit.”

“I can tell,” I said, deeply pleased for him. “It’s awesome. So, which lord are you with?”

“Seretis and Rayst. I even have my own piano!” He suddenly grimaced and bit his lower lip. “Uh, oh.”

“What is it?”

“Lord Amkir and Seretis,” he told me. “I hope he doesn’t get himself blasted. Pkkeeeww!” he added, making a sound like an exploding potency ball.

What the hell? “Wait, who might get blasted?”

“Seretis,” he said as if it was so obvious. His brow furrowed, and he seemed to be listening to something far away. “Rayst is in with Lord Rhyzkahl in the main hall, so no help there. Lord Vahl is in the far tower library. Lord Kadir is…” He grimaced, shook his head. “Elofir is out by the ruins.” He paused. “I mean, it’s most likely Seretis’s fault. He probably made Lord Amkir mad. He’s always messing with him. I just wish he’d do it when Rayst is around.” For an instant he sounded like a parent expressing the wish that his child would take his muddy shoes off outside.

I took a few seconds to process this. “Okay, so, you know where all the lords are all the time?”

“Well, yeah ,” he said, then we both flinched as the sound of some sort of arcane discharge came from within the palace—sounding almost exactly like the pkkeeeww sound Michael had made.

“Oh, shit,” I breathed.

“It’s okay,” Michael quickly reassured me, head cocked. “I think Seretis stopped it okay.” He rolled his eyes. “He won’t stop teasing Amkir though.”

“Teasing him about what?” I asked, deeply interested in any teasing of Lord Asshole.

“Seretis was teasing him about backing down from Lord Rhyzkahl yesterday.”

I tried not to grin too obviously. “I think I’d like Seretis.”

“He laughs a lot,” Michael said. “Says lots of funny stuff.” He winced as the sound of another arcane discharge reached us. “That one stung.”

“Michael,” I said, “can you see where Mzatal is?”

He nodded. “He’s at his palace.” His eyes unfocused. “Harder to tell when they’re far away. His palace…in a dark room. He’s drawing all sorts of sigils, I think.”

“Is he talking to anyone?”

“Don’t think so. Just scowling and drawing.” He shrugged. “Hard to see.”

I will retrieve you , Mzatal had said. A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the snow and cold. Was he working on that even now?

I dragged my thoughts away from that unsettling subject. “Do any of the lords know you can…hear them wherever they are?”

A frown puckered his brow. “I can’t really hear unless they’re pretty close, and then only sometimes,” he told me. “Sometimes I can see, and sometimes I just know where they are.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Seretis knows, and he said not to tell any of the other lords.”

“He’s right. Don’t tell any lord.” I grimaced. “And also be careful which demons you tell.” I gave him a worried look. “Michael, this is a really useful gift that could be used for the wrong reasons. I don’t want to see you taken advantage of again.”