Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian 6)

I also didn’t mind being overdosed with coffee this morning. Weird dreams had awakened me a number of times during the night. Not exactly nightmares, but somehow worse, since they continued to hang around in jumbled bits and snatches. Idris was in them. And Tessa. And Tessa’s fruity tea. A swimming pool full of it. And the damn ring I’d glimpsed as Idris was sent to Earth, the ring I couldn’t sketch for shit—though, in the dream, it was more of a ring-shaped dirigible that hovered over my house.

The bizarre images floated through my head while I nursed the latest cup of coffee. Every ounce of intuition I possessed told me the ring was a key clue, a link to the specific person who had received Idris on Earth, which would then—hopefully—lead to a location.

Right now, however, we had it narrowed down to “someone working for Katashi and/or Farouche.” Yeah, that was useful.

I needed an artist. An artist who could draw it from my description. Like a police sketch artist, I thought, then immediately dismissed the idea. Dinky little Beaulac PD didn’t have one of those. For that matter, New Orleans was probably the closest place with a trained police sketch artist, and I’d have a hard time explaining why I needed their services to find a damn ring.

What about Ryan? Beneath the overlay of Ryan was Szerain—the sculptor, painter, and consummate artist, as demonstrated by the hundreds of works of his I saw while in the demon realm, all brilliant and evocative. I had yet to see Ryan show any sort of artistic ability, but I’d also never seen him try.

Frowning, I lowered my mug. There were two problems with asking Ryan to do it: The first was that I had no idea if Szerain’s talent was accessible to Ryan. Second, he’d have to read me to get what the ring looked like, and I wasn’t even certain he could read me as Ryan. I only knew he had the ability to shift memories around. And, if he could actually read me, it would be disastrous if he happened to pick up the whole, “Oh, by the way, you’re also an exiled demonic lord.” Of course, if Ryan could read that info, Zack never would have allowed him to do the memory-shift thing after my encounter with Farouche, which meant that, either way, Ryan was out of the running.

Jekki gave a delighted burble as he refilled my mug, then a trill of unparalleled glee as I took a quick break to “unget” coffee. One point for Jekki.

On my return to the kitchen, I took my musings on a different tack. What about Szerain? Perhaps he could sketch the ring from my memory if he was unsubmerged enough? He’d surfaced on the confluence before, so logically, he’d do even better on the mini-nexus—as long as I kept well away from any touchy subjects relating to ptarls or his essence blade.

“Jekki, have you seen Ryan?” I asked as I dug in the kitchen junk drawer for a pencil.

“Climb and run and jump,” he burbled with a flick of one hand toward the back of the house. The obstacle course.

I found a partially chewed pencil with a bit of eraser left, then slugged down the rest of my coffee, thanked the faas and headed out back. I saw Ryan by the wall at the end of the course; he was smeared with mud and his t-shirt dark with sweat, but to my surprise Mzatal was there with him. The two stood face to face, obviously having words of some sort to judge by the expressions on both faces.

I stepped off the porch to approach them, and as I did so Mzatal turned abruptly and strode off down the path that led to the pond.

What the hell was that all about? I moved towards Ryan. “Hey, everything okay?”

His body jerked, and he took a stagger step back. He turned and blinked at me, disoriented, and I realized with a start it had been Szerain having angry words with Mzatal.

“Ryan,” I said with force, hoping the name would help him get his mental balance. “You okay?” Sure, I wanted to talk to Szerain, but in a more controlled manner.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then lifted a hand to wipe sweat from his face as he opened them and focused on me. “A little dizzy, that’s all.” He gave me a rueful smile that was very much Ryan. “Coffee, no breakfast, and a hard workout. I’m smart like that.”

I laughed in response, though I didn’t feel very amused. “Go shower and get some food, and then I need to use you.”

He gave me a comical leer. “Your place or mine?”

Snorting, I smacked him in the shoulder. “You have no place. I’m the mean landlady in this scenario.”

“Ooh, roleplay!” He laughed as he ducked my punch. “Yes, mean. Very mean. Okay, fine, I’ll go clean up then meet you in the kitchen.” He turned and jogged to the house.

A fierce ache bloomed in my chest as I watched him go. I was going to lose this. Ryan wasn’t real, and I was going to lose this awesome friendship, this person I could joke around with and tease. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it but keep the smile fixed on my face while one of my best friends slowly disappeared forever.

I followed him inside and heard the water already running in the bathroom. A search of the fridge for leftovers revealed half a pan of lasagna, some sort of chicken salad, guacamole, and half a cheesecake. After a moment’s hesitation, I pulled out the lasagna. Probably more calorific than the cheesecake, but I wouldn’t have a sugar-rush crash half an hour later.

By the time Ryan returned, dressed in khakis and a black t-shirt, I had two plates of lasagna heated up and on the table. He gave me a smile and dropped into one of the chairs. “For a mean landlady, you’re pretty nice.”

“I’m lulling you into a false sense of security,” I told him as I sat, and we both fell silent for a few minutes while we downed the perfect combo of carbs and protein and fat.

“Damn, Zack can cook,” Ryan finally said, scraping up the last bits. “Okay, what do you need to use me for?”

I stuffed the last bite into my mouth and gulped it down. “Can you come out to the mini-nexus with me? I need to know if you can sense something.”

He leaned back, patted his stomach. “Sure, now that you’ve bribed me with food.”

On our way outside I paused to grab the pad and pencil as well as a tarp so we wouldn’t get wet butts from sitting on the ground. I spread the tarp over the mini-nexus and sat, then gestured for Ryan to sit in front of me. He gave me a questioning look but complied.

“Now, close your eyes and chill,” I said. “I’m trying something.”

He closed his eyes, frowned. “Trying what?”