Legacy of the Demon (Kara Gillian 8)

“I don’t think you want to do that,” I told Captain Hornak—and Paul. I slipped my hand beneath my shirt and pressed it over Kadir’s sigil scar on my side.

“You’re in no position to make threats, A.C. Gillian,” Hornak replied, but his gaze had turned to the Spires. “A gate to the demon realm, eh? About damn time we have a way to reconnoiter and get some worthwhile intel on the ugly sons of bitches.”

“We don’t know if the gate works both ways yet.” I casually set my free hand against the nearest crystal spire. “There’s research that needs to be done first.” Before Hornak had a chance to realize I was stalling, I tapped into Kadir’s ubiquitous potency signature in the gate. With every bit of focus I could muster, I concentrated on touching Kadir through both the sigil scar and the crystals with a simple message: Paul needs you. Gate. Earth.

• • •

I edge close enough to Lord Szerain’s library window to glimpse the lords gathered in the courtyard below during a recess of the Conclave. Uno, due, tre, quattro . . . only ten. I bite my lip.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Not as pleasant as grandfather’s bracket clock. Yet there is no clock here in the library. Daft I am. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The malaise of a thousand plagues descends upon me. Dread sucks the strength from my body. I cannot breathe. Cannot move. He is behind me.

He wraps his arm around my waist, pulls me back against him. Were it not for his hold, I would surely collapse.

“Elinor.” His breath is hot against my ear. I dare not recoil lest he take offense.

“L-lord Kadir,” I whisper.

He inhales deeply, close to my neck. “I know your scent, baztakh.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

My knees fail. My senses flee.

Kara!

Get a medic over here.

No! She’ll be all right. Give us some room.

“Buhllini,” I mumbled. “What’re you doing in the demon realm?”

“You gotta get up, Kara. C’mon.” Strong hands dragged me to my feet, out of Kadir’s grasp.

No. Only a dream-vision of Kadir. I slammed into full awareness. “I’m okay. Rebound potency knocked me silly.”

Pellini had a firm grip on one of my arms and stood with his free hand extended protectively in front of us. To my dismay, Paul struggled facedown on the asphalt in the midst of a knot of soldiers, his hands cuffed behind him. An abrasion marred one cheek, but he appeared to be free of bullet holes, at least. And, other than tingling all over, I didn’t seem to have sustained any lasting damage. “How long?”

“Thirty seconds.”

And no sign of Kadir.

Captain Hairball turned from Paul to face us with an annoying gleam of triumph in his eyes. I glared at him. “You need to let him go. Don’t make me put on my I-outrank-you-on-arcane-decisions hat.”

His gaze narrowed. “What the fuck is going on, Gillian? I need an explanation yesterday.”

I proceeded to spew a ridiculous mass of arcane terminology to rival Paul’s technobabble, real and fabricated. After half a minute he held up his hand, clearly unimpressed.

“You’re coming to DIRT HQ with us where you can discuss your ‘hat’ wardrobe with the General.” He flicked his hand, and two soldiers hauled Paul to his feet. “What we have here is an intruder who needs to be locked down until he’s been fully debriefed and cleared, and a couple of DIRT specialists who need checkups.”

Shit. There was no denying Hornak had the manpower to “escort” us in. Short of trying to dive through the gate, I was out of options.

Pellini shifted his weight beside me. “They aren’t backing down,” he murmured.

My breath caught as pins and needles prickled through Kadir’s sigil scar. A grim smile curved my mouth. “Neither are we.”

The web of lightning flared over the Spires, and a single tone sounded, long and low. Heart in my throat, I watched the space between the crystals. C’mon c’mon c’mon, you creepy weirdo. Don’t you dare let Paul down.