Vengeance of the Demon (Kara Gillian 7)

Luminescent green clouds boiled into existence in the sky like an unholy time lapse of radioactive ooze. “No,” Rhyzkahl whispered, the single word both denial and plea for mercy.

“What?!” I asked, and the clouds answered.

Droplets of flickering yellow-green fire rained down in a nightmare torrent of destruction. Though wards protected the terrace where we stood, the outer surface of the balustrade burned and pitted with the arcane fire. Horrified, I shrank back against Rhyzkahl even though my head told me the fire could do me no harm. Yet an instant later I flung my hand toward the grove as it writhed under the deluge. A scream-not-a-scream resonated through me, and within a heartbeat its leaves vanished as if sucked into the branches. A sob of agonizing loss wrenched from my throat at the sight of the once-glorious and vibrant grove now standing eerie, skeletal, and bone white.

Sickened, I dropped my gaze to the lords. Fire laced their flesh, yet still they danced, igniting their shikvihrs as one on Mzatal’s command. I pressed both hands to my mouth, tears streaming at the destruction. Paul moved in bizarre counter-rhythm beside and with Kadir. Though protective wards flickered around him, charred and blistered scores marked his shoulders and back like those of the lords. The stench of burnt flesh rose in a nauseating tide, driven by the wings of the demahnk ptarls. Their iridescent forms swooped and rose in flight around the anomaly as they wove complex patterns of potency.

It is not enough. The thought, not mine, flooded me. Mzatal’s assessment. Yet he continued to dance and call out orders, never wavering even as a droplet seared over his face and one eye.

Rhyzkahl gripped me close, shuddering against my back as the anomaly savaged his realm. “Awaken me. Awaken me!”

Perhaps he knew a way to help counter the anomaly, even in his diminished state? Or maybe he simply didn’t want to be helpless and asleep on the terrace in the midst of catastrophe. I gave a jerky nod and prepared to withdraw then froze as Mzatal spun and met my eyes, touched me. Through him, I saw what he saw—the ghostly vision of me on the terrace with Rhyzkahl at my back. My heart leaped as I reached for him and connected, gaining in an instant complete awareness of the situation.

A heavy tremor shook the realm and knocked me from my feet. Rhyzkahl sprawled beside me then struggled to rise while keeping his hand pressed to his mark. With single-minded determination, I kept my eyes on Mzatal even as he pulled his attention back to directing the lords and the shikvihr wheel. A craaack of stone accompanied the crumbling of a twenty-foot section of the balustrade, and I scrabbled back with Rhyzkahl. “No, I can’t wake you yet,” I shouted to Rhyzkahl over the din. “I need to stay!” I had no idea how I could help, but surely with Mzatal I could—

“GILLIAN!” The word ripped through the dreamscape, shredding it to leave me gasping for breath and devoid of the arcane in the chill of a smelly holding cell.

Chapter 32

Mouth dry and hands shaking, I blinked to focus on the guard who scowled at me from the door of the holding cell.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” he ordered. “You got yourself a visitor.”

“Yeah, I’m awake,” I said, wobbling as I stood. The jarring shift from hellacious destruction to industrial beige concrete and steel had me reeling, physically and mentally, and it took me several seconds to regain my equilibrium.

A clock high on a wall told me I’d slept less than an hour. The only person who I figured would visit me so soon was Pellini’s lawyer guy.

I was wrong. When the guard opened the door of the interview room and escorted me in, it was Boudreaux who occupied the chair on the other side of the table.

Oh, hell no. I planted my feet and shook my head. “I’m not speaking to anyone but my lawyer,” I told the guard, nicely but firmly.

The guard shrugged. “Makes no difference to me.” He took my arm to lead me back out.

Boudreaux stood. “Gillian,” he said. “Kara, wait.”

“Give me a break, Boudreaux.” I shot him a withering look. “I know how this works, and I know how good you are at interrogation. Sorry, not falling for it.”

“I’m not here to interrogate you about the case,” he insisted. Stress wound through his words, but I’d seen Boudreaux put on that act before.

“Nice try,” I said with a smirk. I had no intention of letting the “frazzled cop” information gathering tactic sway me.

“Give me two minutes,” he urged before I could move toward the door. “Please.”

I regarded him. His bloodshot eyes were shadowed with distress. That much wasn’t faked. “Fine,” I said. “Two minutes. For you to talk.”

Boudreaux sat again. I dropped into the chair across from him, remained silent while the guard unlocked the cuff on my left wrist and snapped it closed around a thick eye-bolt set into the table.

The guard left and locked the door behind him. Boudreaux fidgeted and rubbed the fingers of one hand together as if he wanted a cigarette in them. He glanced at me then away while his heel tapped a nervous staccato on the floor. I adopted my best bored expression, leaned back and resisted the urge to break the awkward silence—yet another effective interrogation technique. At this rate, the two minutes would be up before he said word one.

“She’s gone,” he finally said, voice low and strained. “My mom’s gone.”

Damn. Boudreaux could be sneaky and underhanded when it came to questioning, but I was sure he’d eat broken glass before using his mom as an interrogation trick. I chose my words with care before speakin

g. “Do you know where she went?”

He jammed a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said, voice cracking. Uncertainty skimmed over his face. “No one knows. She just . . . vanished.” He shot to his feet, sending the chair skittering back several inches with a screech of metal on tile. “There was surveillance on the house,” he continued as he began to pace. “They saw her go inside last night, but she wasn’t there this morning. No one saw her leave, nothing shows on the videos, and her car is still in the driveway. They even checked for a tunnel!”

Anger roiled my stomach. Catherine McDunn pulled an amazing disappearing act—as if by magic!—and did so after she dropped the information that led us to the nature center ambush. Yet my anger fizzled after only a few seconds of consideration. Katashi had coerced McDunn, so why not Catherine as well? My gut told me she was with Katashi, either as his guest or his hostage—an insight I needed to keep to myself or risk opening a godawful can of worms. Boudreaux eyed me with the desperate expectation of a starving dog in a butcher shop. Regardless of his mother’s complicity in Katashi’s schemes, his distress was genuine. I couldn’t remain pissed in the face of it. Even so, I couldn’t drop my guard. The interview rooms had video and audio recording, and anything I did or said in here could potentially be used against me. “Why are you telling me all this?” I asked.