Diana Rowland - Touch of the Demon

“He’s a nice guy. But.” I sighed and shook my head. “Not only is he way too young for me, it…” I trailed off and shrugged. “I don’t feel anything beyond friendship.”

Mzatal gave a decisive nod. “I will manage this. It cannot continue to interfere with his work. Too much is at stake.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How do you intend to manage it?”

“I will tell him the truth and outline the consequences.”

I was surprised Mzatal didn’t shrivel away from the look I gave him. “Dude. Seriously? You expect him to stop crushing on me because you forbid it?”

Mzatal frowned, contemplative. “Perhaps not ideal given the entanglement of human emotions, though there is no time for it to drag on,” he said, as if he actually knew what he was talking about. “If he knows you have no interest and sees how his distractions have affected his work, he will subside enough for now.”

My withering look became glacial. “Boss, you’re completely awesome in many ways, but you are so off-base with this it’s not even funny.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve already ramped ‘No Interest’ up to eleven on the dial and, at this point, he doesn’t care if his work suffers.” I took a big gulp of coffee, then ran my fingers through my tangled hair. “Let me deal with it. Normally I’m not into direct confrontation with this sort of shit, but there’s isn’t enough time for it to fizzle out on its own.”

Mzatal regarded me with that damned unreadable mask which he’d slipped on as I was talking. Great. Lords weren’t much on being told they were wrong, but it had to be said.

After a long moment he gave a nod. “You are correct. It will serve better—for all of us—if you are the one to do this.”

“Damn,” I said, taken aback. I gave him a wry smile. “I was hoping you’d tell me I was wrong, and that I should simply slap him or something.” I chuckled, then sighed and shook my head. “Does he have some sort of favorite food or escape or activity?”

Mzatal appeared to consider for a moment. “His focal activities in the last months have been physical challenges: the cliff stairs, free climbing, running, swimming. He loses himself and finds himself there. He does have a particular liking for fruit ices.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Helpful?”

I nodded and drained the coffee mug. “Have some of those fruit ice things ready,” I told him. I threw the covers off and headed to the bath chamber, only realizing when I was neck deep in the water that I’d been nude. Oh well. Making Mzatal see my flabby butt was more than sufficient payback for having to confront Idris.

After the awesome bath, I headed to the workroom with my notes. I totally was not looking forward to seeing Idris, but it needed to be done, and especially before Mzatal attempted to do it his way. I snorted in amusement at Mzatal’s surprising naiveté. Forbid the crush. Right. Had the dude never read Romeo and Juliet ?

The workroom was empty, and so I got busy. Mzatal had taught me each of the sigils for the foundation ring of the beacon, and even if I couldn’t align the thing yet, I could practice setting it up. It was new and pretty damn exciting. Except for the last part. Every time I tried to progress from the tenth to the eleventh, the whole series destabilized and collapsed. Every single time, and I had no idea why.

On the fifth try, I thought I had it. The tenth ring held stable. I paused, took a deep breath, and began to trace the eleventh, and before I could even blink the whole thing unwound and dissipated. “Fucking shitholes!”

Someone cleared their throat behind me. I cast a glowering glance back to see Idris. “I can’t get the stupid thing to set,” I said and brusquely started tracing anew.

“You’re starting out wrong, and by the time you get to the end, it’s propagated the error ten times,” he told me. “But you’re only missing one connection,” he said, as he moved in closer. “I’ll, um, show you if you want.”

“Sure, I’d appreciate that.” No denying he knew what the hell he was doing. And then we’d have The Talk. Yeah, that was going to be fun. Sigh.

Idris moved up close behind and to my right. He looked down at Mzatal’s notes on the table. “Think of each sigil as a section of code in a computer program,” he said. “If you don’t tell it how to move on to the next part, it won’t work.”

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Idris. I can barely turn my computer on. A different analogy please?”

He smiled and traced the first two sigils. “See? Just tie the final loop of the first into the initial one of the second, and you’ll be stable the rest of the way. Like, um, Christmas tree lights. Go ahead. Try it.”

I peered at his loops, then smiled as I damn near felt understanding click in. “Now that makes sense!” I finished the series and stood gazing at my accomplishment with pride. I glanced over to Idris to find him watching me, not the series, with a dreamy not-all-there look in his eyes.

Shit. I hate this , I thought as I took a half step away from him.

He blinked and looked from me to the series, then back to me. “Oh, yeah. You did it. Just needed that one tweak,” he said, then fidgeted. “Kara, have you ever been out to the little waterfall? Um, I wouldn’t mind showing it to you sometime. Maybe tomorrow. You’ll like it.” He stepped closer.

I took a deep breath and released it, steeling myself for what I had to do. “Idris,” I said, consciously keeping my voice very calm. “I’m about to say five words that no man ever wants to hear.”

Idris blinked at me.

“‘You’re a great guy, but—’” I shook my head. “Idris, this ‘you and me’ can’t happen for way too many reasons to count.”

He stared, mouth open for a moment. “But…but you’re not even giving it a chance! What about the hug the other day and the talks we’ve had. You can’t say all that didn’t happen!”

I pursed my lips. “I consider you a friend. And I’m from the South. We’re some seriously huggy folk down there.” I let out a sigh. “Idris, you didn’t even see that I’d finished the series. You’re totally distracted. I can’t afford any distractions, and neither can you.” My gaze narrowed, and I pulled the neckline of my shirt down enough to really show the sigils on my chest. “ This is how high the stakes are now. If you hadn’t been as focused as you were to retrieve me, Rhyzkahl and Jesral would’ve succeeded. I’d be their thrall, their weapon, and they’d probably have Szerain’s blade by now. Where do you think that would leave you and Mzatal?”

He looked shell-shocked, so I continued as I pulled my shirt back up. “They’re not giving up,” I told him. “I have to stay on my toes, and I need you to be at my back, as a friend and ally.”

The poor guy took a step back, looking as if he’d had a bucket of ice water thrown on him. He shook his head, face flushing, then turned and hurried out without another word.

“Fuuuuuuck,” I groaned. I hoped to hell that Mzatal had been monitoring and had the damn fruit ices ready.

Fretting about Idris, I settled into practicing the series. To my relief, I had no trouble getting it to remain stable. Even his computer program analogy began to make sense, now that I understood that the sigils and series were simply chunks of instructions, ways to shape potency for each step of the process.

I continued to practice and trace, losing myself in the focus and pausing only to grab a quick lunch that Faruk brought.

Shortly after the midday tone, Idris returned. I looked over at him, my brow furrowed, totally unsure what to say, if anything. He looked calm. Really calm. A curl of dread formed in my chest. Shit. Had he simply buried it all?