Legacy of the Demon (Kara Gillian 8)

“I can’t hear, silly.”

“Right. Sorry.” A man who Michael didn’t know. There weren’t a whole lot of those in the demon realm. He would recognize all the lords and the human forms of their ptarls. Maybe it was an enemy summoner?

Or a certain asshole ptarl who only recently came out of hiding. “Does the man have really light hair?” I asked. “And is he tall and slender?”

“Yep.” He gave me a hopeful smile. “Can you see him, too?”

“No. Just a guess.” Xharbek in Carl form. My worry became a physical ache. Mzatal craved wide open spaces, the freedom of the air and wind. He despised being confined and would never in a million years go sit in a closed-in, dark place like some emo-lord. Ilana had done something to throttle him back.

Lannist had specifically named both Ilana and Trask. With Ilana now firmly in the Enemy column, it was safe to assume that Trask could join her there.

“Whoops. They’re gone. Mzatal’s still sitting in that hallway, though.” Michael returned to sit on the steps. “Okay. That’s all I can see for now.”

“That was a lot,” I said warmly. “Was he sitting like that when you saw him before you ate cookies?”

Michael scooped up the ball and chucked it for the dog. “Nope. He was in a funny place with black all around it. There was a stump in the middle and big ol’ chains on the floor.”

The gimkrah’s dimensional pocket and the podium. “What was he doing?”

“He banged his hand down on top of the stump. BAM!” Michael slammed a fist into the palm of his other hand. “And two more times. Bam bam. Broke the stump all to pieces. Blood came out of his fingers. Then Ilana came and made it all better and took him away.” Michael dropped his hands. “That’s all I saw.”

Dread pooled in my belly. What did the loss of the gimkrah mean to Mzatal? And what had Ilana done to him after that to cause him to sit and stare in a darkened hall when worlds were at stake?

Oh shit. Xharbek. He’d dangled the gimkrah image to make sure I entered the column then, after I managed to escape the void trap, he left the way open for me to get the gimkrah. He’d wanted me to take it. I already knew he was in league with the Jontari on the invasion. It was no coincidence that those reyza picked that precise moment to risk an incursion into Mzatal’s realm to steal my backpack—and the gimkrah.

“You okay?” Michael asked, his face lined with distress. “I’m sorry I did it wrong.”

“No! You didn’t do anything wrong. You were absolutely perfect.” I threw an arm around his shoulders and gave him a hug, glad to see him brighten. “I have one more very important job for you. Szerain is lost. Can you see him?”

“Nope. He’s gone since the bad day when Earth went kablooey.”

The day the PD valve blew—when Szerain went into hiding from Xharbek. “I know it’s getting late, but maybe you could do some super-secret looking for him.”

“I can stay up and be a spy.”

“Good deal. I’m going to talk to Turek about it, but don’t tell anyone else, okay?”

“Secret agents don’t tell,” Michael said, low and serious.

“Jill left more cookies in the kitchen if you need a spying boost,” I said, though I wasn’t sure he’d heard me since he already had the distant look in his eye.

I found Turek crouched in the spray of a lawn sprinkler at the side of the house, oblivious to the chill in the air. I quickly filled him in on Michael’s quest then explained that I intended to contact Szerain in a few hours and would need his help. Turek, of course, offered his support without hesitation, which meant I could now focus my remaining energies on Mzatal’s plight.

I limped to my room and crawled into bed, propped my leg on a pillow and pulled the comforter over me. After setting my phone alarm for two a.m., I closed my eyes and focused on my breath, slow and easy, then sent a silent appeal to Rho, asking for any assistance the grove might offer.

I visualized my sigil scar on Mzatal’s chest while I held the leaf and ring against his sigil scar on mine. I reached mentally for Mzatal, through the silence of our connection and to the isolating walls he’d raised around himself. It was those walls that allowed him to maintain the will, focus, and control needed to marshal the lords through this crisis—and to wield the power of the essence blades.

Our connection was silent because of those walls. But it wasn’t dead.

And I had a plan. As their creator, Mzatal had a connection to all three essence blades—and I intended to use them as a backdoor, byp

assing his stupid walls altogether.

When I’d last seen him, he carried both his own blade, Khatur, and Rhyzkahl’s Xhan—and I had zero reason to believe he’d set either knife aside. Khatur was familiar to me, but Xhan . . . I knew Xhan with hideous intimacy, thanks to Rhyzkahl’s torture.

Now I needed to get its attention.

The scars covering my torso were a constant reminder of Xhan’s vile resonance and touch. I reached for that resonance, sent out a mental spear of mocking disdain and contempt followed by as many insults as I could think of to use against a semi-sentient knife. Useless, weak, and pathetic. You’re a tool, with no power of your own. Keeping my mental voice filled with sneering derision, I continued in that vein. I look forward to the day I can melt you down into hair clips.