Diana Rowland: Touch of the Demon

He splayed his hand hard upon my chest. I opened my eyes to look up at him, nearly regretting it as I saw the dark expression on his face. He flicked his gaze toward Gestamar, said something in demon, lip curled. I heard the name “Rhyzkahl” as he increased the pressure on my chest, and I fought back panic.

“Idris, prepare,” he said, voice uncompromising and intense. He lifted his open hand to about six inches above my sternum.

Searing heat ripped through my chest. I screamed, arching my back as I pulled against the arcane bindings. Memory flared of another searing pain driving through my chest, and I screamed again as I fought to get free so I could scrabble at whatever had caused it and save myself.

And then pain and memory were both gone, leaving only echoes behind. I collapsed back, biting my lips against sobs. Tears trickled down the side of my face, and I tried to focus on how annoying it was that I couldn’t wipe them away. Anger was better than terror and, at the moment, it wasn’t that hard to be pissed off. Except for the part where I got to kiss Ryan, this had been a colossally shitty day from start to finish, and it wasn’t even over.

Mzatal’s eyes swept over me before they returned to mine. “Now your Lord is stripped of the means to retrieve you,” he said, voice dark with a deep vehemence. He slipped the collar back onto my neck before I had time to even flinch. An ache went through me as the arcane faded to a fraction of its fullness.

He stood smoothly, and with an efficient sweep of his arm erased all the patterns and released my bindings. I pulled my limbs in and struggled to sit up, clutching at my chest even though the pain was long gone. I hadn’t known that Rhyzkahl had a way to rescue me, but somehow, taking that hope away, even without my previous knowledge of it, cut even more cruelly. I wasn’t at all accustomed to feeling helpless and vulnerable, and I deeply despised it.

The lord stepped away from me, looked to Gestamar. “Take her.”

To my shock the demon simply scooped me up in his arms. I clung to him, weirdly relieved since I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk. Beyond all the other stresses of this gloriously shitty day, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, and my body was intent on reminding me of that fact. I leaned my head on Gestamar’s chest and allowed myself to wallow in misery for awhile, as he passed out of the chamber and down several corridors. He carried me through a musty common area with tables and sofa-like seating and into a small sparse room, maybe eight foot square, furnished with only a narrow bed and a side table with a mug on it. A single tiny window high on the far wall framed a patch of dusk-blue sky and a single winking star. Unlike the room just outside, this one was completely dust-free and the blanket was clean and freshly laid on the bed. A door to the right appeared to lead to a bathroom type of place.

The demon set me down, far more gently than I expected, and guided me to sit on the edge of the bed.

“What happens now?” I asked, too exhausted to hide the quaver in my voice.

He plucked the mug from the table and pressed it into my hands. “You drink,” he rumbled.

I didn’t know squat about antiques, but I was pretty sure the mug was the real thing. Silver, lined with gold, a vertical ribbed pattern around it and leaves etched on its gracefully curved handle. It sure looked like something from Earth. The murky brown contents weren’t nearly as appealing. I lifted the mug dubiously and took a careful sip. It reminded me of liquefied unsalted stew, but with a hint of bitterness that I couldn’t identify. My starving body probably wouldn’t have cared what it tasted like, but I had to appreciate that it didn’t completely suck. I finished the contents, then placed the mug back on the table, hand shaking only slightly. “And now?”

“You sleep,” the demon replied.

“And then what?” I asked, meeting his eyes. “What’s going to happen to me? Why am I here?”

He snorted. “Because Mzatal wants you here.”

I scowled at the non-answer, turned away from him, and curled up on the bed.

“You are not dead,” he said. “Consider that, Kara Gillian.” I heard him exit and close the door.

And I did. Every moment I continued to draw breath was a moment more to figure out how to get myself out of this shit. I listened carefully but heard no sound of a bolt or lock. I didn’t figure it could be that easy, but I had to try. I sat up, padded over to the door and laid my hands flat against it. A faint buzzing sensation cued me that it was likely warded, meaning arcanely locked. I pushed the handle down slowly so as not to make noise, then gave it a tug. It didn’t budge. Damn.

I poked around the room for anything of interest or of use, but found nothing pointy, sharp, or weaponizable. I looked up at the high window with its patch of darkening sky and a few stars. I shoved the bed under it, and lifted the table onto the bed, bracing it against the wall. Yep, that did it. I climbed up my makeshift scaffold and got to nose level with the sill, high enough to at least check it out.

I pressed my hand against the glass and found only the barest whisper of arcane. Since it had a latch begging to be tried, I lifted it and pulled. Holy shit! The window swung inward with a creak of hinges and a shower of dust. My heart pounded with the possibilities. Judging by what I could see from my position of barely peering over the sill—which was pretty much sky—I figured I was on at least the second story.

Okay, Jill, I’m going to use those muscles you’ve been trying to get me to build. Exercise and I didn’t get along, but somehow Jill—the crime scene technician who’d become my best friend—could get me going. Sometimes. I hauled myself up in a klutzy thrash and wiggle and managed to get a grip on the outside lip with my arms supported on the wide sill, and the rest of me dangling inside. Great. Now what?

I got an answer I didn’t want. The stars winked out to pitch black, and a pair of blood red eyes hovered a couple of feet in front of me. The faint scent of sulphur drifted in, and I had no doubt I was face to face with a zhurn , a tenth-level demon that was like shadow and night. Crapsticks.

“Greetings, honored one,” I said, voice strained as I struggled to maintain the awkward hold. “Nice night.” Obviously escape this way wasn’t happening tonight.

The zhurn’s voice crackled like flames on wet kindling. “No egress this way, summoner.”

“Yeah,” I said, easing back down to the tabletop. “I kinda get that.”

“Sleep,” it said, reaching with a shadowy extension to pull the window closed. The red eyes disappeared, but the stars didn’t come back. Damn zhurn had closed its eyes and camped over my window.

I climbed down and dragged the table off the bed. Weariness crashed in. It had been a long and particularly shitty day. Sleep wasn’t a bad idea. I needed rest to be sharp tomorrow and ready for whatever Lord Asstard had to throw at me. I curled up under the blanket and drifted off immediately, thoughts of Tessa, Jill, Zack…and Ryan, swirling.

“I’m coming back, guys, don’t worry,” I murmured. Even with all the uncertainty and misery, I knew I’d have no trouble getting to sleep. Thankfully, I was right.

I had no idea how long I slept. The small window high in the wall let sunlight in along with a glimpse of rich blue sky but no other clue as to time of day. It had been twilight when I went to sleep, so apparently it was a full night plus some, give or take a million years. I sat up, absently rubbing my chest, then scowled as I realized I was doing so. The memory of the pain still haunted me.