Legacy of the Demon (Kara Gillian 8)

He was better, I realized. Even more so than when I’d seen him a year ago. Back on Earth, his childhood head injury had left him able to understand simple instructions and situations, and not much more. The lords’ healing and a caring environment had made all the difference in the world.

Seretis moved to him. “There is great peril there.”

“There’s big peril here, too! All the fish ran smack dab into peril.” Michael sighed. “You’ve been real nice to me, but I did some bad bad stuff. Maybe helping out is how I’m supposed to make up for the bad.”

“Hang on, Michael,” I said. “You were used by your sister, no ifs ands or buts. You have absolutely nothing to atone for.”

“See? You’re nice, too,” he said with a sweet smile. “But both of you listen up, and I’ll explain it so you can understand.” He crouched and traced a finger across the tile. “Snails make a shiny trail behind them, y’know? They don’t clean it up, ’cause they don’t know any better. They’re snails.” He drew another line with his finger. “I made a trail behind me, too, but it’s real ugly, and people got dead.” He looked up, first to Seretis then to me. “I gotta help clean up, ’cause I’m not a snail.”

“Because you know better,” I murmured.

Though Seretis tried to look serious, his lips twitched. “How am I meant to counter the snail argument?”

“You’re not!” Michael said. “It’s the best.”

Seretis gave him a fond smile. “And if I were to forbid your departure, I would be making you more a pet than a companion.”

Michael grinned and leaped to his feet. “You’d need a big litter box!”

Seretis tipped back his head and roared in laughter then pulled Michael close in a fierce hug. “My realm is ever open to you, ghastuk.”

“I’ll come back ’cause this is my home, and you’re my friend,” Michael promised. “But I gotta help save the world first.”

“I understand completely, and you have my eternal support,” Seretis said warmly. “Cheytok, will you please help Michael pack a travel bag?”

Cheytok trilled an assent and scurried off with Michael right behind him.

“I can’t get over how much he’s improved,” I said. The Mraztur could learn a thing or two from Michael.

“Incredible, is it not?” Seretis said. “He has far exceeded all expectations, though it is unlikely he will ever be as he would have been had the accident never occurred. But I believe that neither would his gifts have manifested.”

“Really?” I cocked my head. “Talent can be, er, knocked into place like that?”

“It can be awakened.” Seretis spread his hands. “Humans have fascinating innate abilities—though in most cases they are forgotten, dormant, or suppressed. In Michael the talent was always there, but his injury allowed it to blossom unhindered, given the favorable conditions.”

Like the gradual increase in potency on Earth over the past few years, I mused. I was positive that particular favorable condition had also led to the expression of talents in others, such as Bryce’s intuition, and Paul’s computer flow connection. But before I could press Seretis for more details, Eilahn swooped in and landed on the terrace, a shoebox-sized bundle of shimmering, deep orange cloth in her hands.

“I crafted these so that you might properly decorate your abode.” She thrust the bundle at me, violet eyes sparkling, and wingtips quivering. “I am truly pleased that I am able to gift them to you in time for the festival of All Hallows’ Eve!”

“I’m not sure I could ever hope to match your decorating enthusiasm and skill,” I said, carefully unwrapping the demon silk. “But I’m sure this is—Whoa!” Tucked within the folds of silk was a delicate silver chain, and upon it hung dozens and dozens of exquisitely crafted crystalline miniature skulls and carvings of what I could only assume were species native to the demon realm. “Holy shit, Eilahn, these are incredible!” I gingerly lifted a length of chain to appreciative oohs and aahs from Pellini and Giovanni. Sunlight caught the crystal and sent flecks of colored light dancing over the terrace.

“I believe there is sufficient length to drape your front doorway,” Eilahn said. “I apologize if the figurines are not sufficiently terrifying for the hordes of children who will descend upon your house to demand sweets.”

“I don’t think we’re going to get too many children this year,” I said absently as I continued to marvel at the artistry.

“No children?” Eilahn said in the same horrified tone a child might say No Santa?

“Oh, but it’s all right!” I hurried to reassure her. “Er, because . . . all of the security guards will trick-or-treat. And I’ll, uh, pass out cookies to my squad.”

She trilled in relief. “That is very good. Remember to teach Fuzzykins how to assume the correct arched back posture, and she then will teach Fillion and Bumper and Cake and Squig and Granger and Dire.”

“I’ll get right on that as soon as I’m home,” I said with what I hoped sounded like conviction. My breath caught. I’d almost forgotten. “Steeev. Eilahn, did Steeev make it back?” Steeev was the syraza who’d agreed to be Jill’

s guardian. Not long before the valve explosion, he’d died on Earth after being shot by a sniper.

Her smile dimmed. “He returned alive,” she said. “But the ways closed while he was still in passage through the void. He remains yet in stasis.”

“Will he recover?”