Legacy of the Demon (Kara Gillian 8)

“Giovanni worries, and I love him all the more for it. Yet I am doing this for him, for us. I adore this world, but I dare not quicken here and risk the babe. Confined to Earth, Giovanni would pine without the Lord’s company and friendship, and my art would surely suffer. If the ritual succeeds in raising the Earthgate then mayhap my love and I can build a home on Earth and begin a family. The gate will give us both worlds, allowing free return here during those times when I am not with child.”

Though I wanted to stop and process the whole “risking the babe” thing, I kept going and read the last bit. “I am prepared. I will succeed with the ritual. I will grow old with Giovanni and sit by the fire with him while our grandchildren play around us.” I barely got the last few words out as my throat clogged with emotion. I’d thought of her as weak, but here was a woman who not only had the strength to tell Rhyzkahl that she couldn’t be his zharkat, but was ready and willing to literally move heaven and earth to start a family with the man she loved.

Giovanni wept openly, murmuring softly in Italian as he cradled Elinor close. I reverently closed the journal and placed it on the grass between us, then looked up at Szerain. To my surprise, a dozen or more rakkuhr lace-spheres now spun around us, all rotating in different directions and orientations, like a gyroscope gone mad. Red and black sparked and flashed throughout it all, and the dizzying effect made me slightly nauseous.

Szerain ceased pulling from the valve and released the rakkuhr around him, letting it drift to the ground. “And now the answers to many questions,” he murmured and called Vsuhl to his hand.

My gaze fixed on the knife. Parasite and power source in one. The living prison for the entity Vsuhl.

The spheres spun faster and faster until we floated in a disorienting blur of red. I clutched at the ground for balance—

I was in a summoning chamber, one I knew all too well from seeing it through Elinor’s eyes. Except this time Elinor was standing a few feet away.

Holy shit. This is Szerain’s perspective. It wasn’t a dream-vision—I didn’t become Szerain—but it was darn close.

Giovanni let out a choked cry of surprise, and I realized we were both seeing and experiencing the event, like two people watching the same show on different TVs. No, three. I had the distinct sensation of Elinor’s essence peering over my shoulder.

In the vision, Elinor, clad in a brilliant green robe, wove sigils and lay ritual anchors with no hesitation or uncertainty. She might have been “competent enough” in typical arcane ventures, but it was clear she’d worked hard to prepare for this ritual and knew it inside out and backward.

Szerain moved in concert with her, and I sensed his deep satisfaction with Elinor’s work. The ritual progressed and built, all aspects in perfect harmony. Even though I knew what was coming, I found myself silently cheering her on. I carried this woman’s essence, and now I felt strangely honored that I’d been allowed to do so.

Szerain assessed. All was stable, ready. Elinor invited the grove energy, and it came to her in a rush of power that filled her with palpable vitality. She smiled, radiant. Szerain wove delicate ropes of rakkuhr, enhancing the ritual. Triumphant, he called to the Earthgate, felt it answer—

With no warning or discernible cause, a tremor shattered the protections. Utterly inexplicable. The screaming whine of the ritual signaled that the exquisitely controlled event was about to cascade beyond control like a sea of falling dominos.

Szerain called Vsuhl to his hand, needing more potency to help Elinor release the ritual and disengage.

The power flared. Her mouth opened in a scream.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. I felt Szerain’s horrified awareness as the world began to unravel.

In that instant he knew that, to temper the impending cataclysm, he had no option but to slay Elinor. The surest way was to sate Vsuhl with her blood and her essence, destroying her utterly—and losing Elinor and her potential forever.

Or he could slay her to save her. More risk, less certainty, but she would have a chance to survive, and damage repair would be swifter once he recovered her.

The world shook and tilted. Szerain moved to Elinor as she burned from within, seized her from behind with an arm around her waist.

The door to the antechamber hung on its hinges. Giovanni stumbled in, face twisting in horror as he took in the sight of his beloved.

“Call her!” Szerain shouted through the din of clashing energies.

“Elinor!” Giovanni struggled to move against a howling wind.

Szerain plunged Vsuhl into Elinor’s chest, fought the blade’s will and ignored Giovanni’s shout of horror. “Call her!” he yelled and pulled the knife free, he hoped in time. “Do not cease calling!” Her blood sizzled on the blade. Szerain trembled with focus.

“Elinor!” Grief twisted Giovanni’s face, but rage drove him forward.

Szerain bore Elinor to the ground then battled through the gale to reach Giovanni.

“Call her!”

And he sliced Vsuhl across the throat of his dear friend.

I let out a cry of shock. Current-day Giovanni exclaimed what sounded like a seventeenth century Italian version of What The Fuck.

Vision-Giovanni crumpled, and blood spread across the floor. A thread shimmered between the dying man and the essence blade.

“Call her.”