Legacy of the Demon (Kara Gillian 8)

“A sincere offer of peace between us.”

Sincere, my ass. “Unless it involves Szerain, Zack, Ashava, and Sonny safe and sound and free, you’re wasting your breath.”

“They have chosen their path and will drag you down with them if you are naïve enough to allow it.”

“Ashava didn’t choose shit,” I said with heat. “She was born into this crap situation. And for the record, I’d rather go down whatever path Zack’s on than follow your twisted lead.”

“Ashava chooses her path even now.” He flicked his hand as if shooing a fly. “Lamentably, it is the path to her destruction rather than to the salvation of all.”

“You’re trying to tell me that if Ashava was with you, everything would be A-okay?” I asked, incredulous. “Good thing I don’t believe anything that comes out of your lying mouth. Remember, I know all about your underhanded ways.” I held up my index finger. “You posed as a morgue tech and weaseled your way into my life and Tessa’s bed. You—”

“Is this offense worse than Zakaar posing as a human, seducing your dearest friend, and getting a child upon her?”

“It wasn’t like that,” I snarled, though I couldn’t deny that the same worry had crossed my mind more than once. I lowered my index finger and lifted the middle. “You groomed a syraza to take over as Isumo Katashi to influence summoners and spread your diseased agenda on Earth. Did you kill the real Katashi?”

“I did not.” He leaned toward me. “A tragic outcome too often follows an attempt to summon beyond one’s skill and knowledge.”

“I wonder who gave him the idea he could do it.”

“Not I,” he said, amusement in his eyes.

Sick bastard. Had the real Katashi—Mzatal’s sworn summoner—proved to be an obstacle in Xharbek’s plans? Dread settled in my chest. Xharbek knew I was here for the gimkrah, which most likely meant he knew of my intention to summon an imperator. An imperator who could remove me from the game with a tragic outcome—while putting Elinor’s essence in his hands to give him the ultimate weaponized summoner. Devious. “You used your puppet Katashi to set an arcane bomb and lay the groundwork for the Mraztur to . . .”

I dropped my hand, silent for a moment as puzzle pieces rearranged themselves. This asshole had been playing hardball for a long time. When I’d asked the Piggly Wiggly Jontari reyza what the lords wanted, he’d said fuck the lords and ask Xharbek. Rhyzkahl had been surprised by the amount of rakkuhr that flooded Earth, and when he denied alliance with the Jontari, I hadn’t believed him. But I was starting to change my mind.

“No,” I said softly, “it’s you behind all of it. You aren’t helping the Mraztur along with their plans. They’re just as much your tools as fake-Katashi, blind to it because you feed their own interests. Nice and indirect. What I don’t get is why.”

His lips formed an infuriatingly enigmatic smile. “For the game to be won, it is best the pawns not know the designs of the king.”

“Seriously? King? That’s the lamest super-villain goal ever.”

Xharbek’s expression hardened. “You understand nothing of my goals, but it matters not.” He waved his hand over the basin. Above it, an image appeared of a half dozen reyza flying over a rift in a city street. “Too much is in motion for you to stop what is coming to pass. The Jontari have their own agenda.”

“Aided and abetted by a deceptive shithole of a demahnk with his own agenda.”

“Go home,” he said, expression compassionate but eyes dead and flat. “Help Earth adjust.”

“That’s your idea of peace? Go belly up to the enemy and accept invasion?” I snorted. “For all your posing, you don’t know jack shit about humans.”

He regarded me as if I was an insect that needed crushing. “Take what you came for, Kara Gillian, but tread softly. Yours is a fool’s errand.”

“Bite me.” My tactical gear made mooning him impossible, so I settled for a two-handed crotch grab followed by a double bird-flip.

He swept the basin from the pedestal to shatter on the floor and was gone.

“Loser,” I yelled into the empty air. Wonderful. Now I was stuck in a black box. So much for going home.

Shards of glass from the basin crunched under my boots as I explored the perimeter of the chamber. Eleven sides, each faintly reflecting my image like a dark mirror. No obvious doors, but since Mzatal obviously frequented this place, there had to be a way out.

I placed my palm against the nearest wall, and Mzatal’s resonance hummed through me. Around my fingers, the stone took on a golden glow that diffused across the surface, creating what seemed to be a shadowy window. To my delight, I could see the shimmer of a dimensional pocket through it. Empty, but this was progress. Encouraged, I moved to the next section and repeated the process with the same result. The third wall revealed yet another pocket, but this one wasn’t empty. In what appeared to be a luxurious bedchamber, a woman dressed in voluminous sea green silk stood in the middle of a single shikvihr ring. Silver-white hair flowed unbound around her line

d face as she traced and dispelled the beginning sigil of the second ring over and over. Practicing. Rasha Hassan Jalal al-Khouri, the elderly summoner who’d chosen to work with Mzatal. When I’d last seen her, her hands were crippled by arthritis, but now they swooped with grace as she finished the sigil and, finally appearing satisfied, continued to the second sigil. Mzatal must have tucked her into this pocket to keep her safe while he was away on Earth. A skilled summoner left unprotected in the demon realm was a treasure an enemy lord might dare attempt to steal. Apparently, this chamber was Mzatal’s surveillance room where he could check in on his various pockets.

Though I felt as if I could step right into Rasha’s pocket if I wanted, I pulled my hand away. My time was short. Plus I didn’t want to risk disturbing the protections.

My pulse leaped as the view into the next pocket crystallized. Resting on a three-foot high podium was the gimkrah, exactly as it had appeared in Xharbek’s trap vision. On the floor lay manacles large enough to fit around my waist along with a heap of chain with massive links, all forged of the same pinkish arcane-dampening metal that banded the gimkrah. Makkas. Goosebumps swept over my skin. Those were chains for a huge demon. But why?

I pushed aside the disconcerting questions and focused on my goal: Get the gimkrah, Get out, Get home. Only one problem: I was fairly certain I could enter, but what about exiting? The last thing I wanted was to trap myself in a dimensional pocket. Mzatal was able to pass in and out at will, but he was a lord, and I was me.