Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian 6)

“Not yet. That’s all I had time for.”

“You rock,” I stated. “Let’s go see what other surprises she has for us.” I picked up the cup of tea and turned toward the living room then stopped and stared at the notepad beside the phone on the kitchen counter. My name and number were written on it in awkward, shaky writing. She’d wanted to call me, to warn me, but hadn’t. Or couldn’t because of Farouche’s influence. Poor woman.

As I moved down the two steps into the sunken living room, I quickly took in the surroundings. A worn sofa, chaise lounge, and two wingback chairs. A fireplace, coffee table, and various shelves holding a host of framed photos. Everything neat and clean, with only a modicum of dust.

Face dreamy, Rasha sat in one of the chairs with Mzatal behind her, his hands on her head. It was clearly her usual spot to judge by the tissues, eyeglasses case, and books on the table beside it. Two framed photos rested by the books: one of teenaged Jade dressed in a blue and white cheerleading outfit, and one of a laughing girl about five.

I placed the cup on her table, then settled on the chaise lounge and waited for Mzatal to finish his work. Bryce maintained a watchful position by the arch that led to the entryway, and Paul settled onto the step beside him.

After a few minutes Mzatal lifted his hands from her head and moved to a position beside me, expression as unreadable as ever, though now he merely loomed instead of LOOMED.

Rasha’s eyes filled with tears as she looked from Mzatal to me. “Macklin was behind this? He came for a visit before. He seemed so concerned about me. So normal.”

Mzatal had apparently given her some basic halo-tarnishing information on James Macklin Farouche once he’d cleared the bastard’s influence.

“Yes, he was,” I said, not surprised by the visit. To lay the fear, no doubt. “At least for some of what’s occurred on Earth. I’m sorry.”

Grief deepened the lines in her face. “He changed after Madeleine was abducted. My beautiful granddaughter.” Her hand trembled as she touched the picture of the little girl on the side table. “But I never imagined he would go this far. I never saw that in him.”

“He’s hurt a lot of people,” I told her. “It has to stop.”

She drew a shaky breath. “I am deeply sorry for my part in this.”

“Rasha, we know you didn’t condone what happened.” I kept my voice gentle. She was like one of her china teacups—elegant and beautiful, aged and fragile. “I saw my number by your phone,” I continued. “I know you would have warned me if at all possible.” I pulled the sketch of the ring out of my bag. Though I suspected I knew whose hand I’d seen wearing it, we needed to be absolutely certain. “We’re still looking for Idris, and you might be able to help.” I showed her the drawing. “Where is this ring now?”

Rasha’s mouth thinned, and her eyes hardened. “Aaron has it,” she said, vehemence thick and sharp in her voice. “I saw it on his hand when he was here. I gave it to Jade on her sixteenth birthday. He says she gave it to him last year.”

“What did he do to her?” I asked as I tucked the sketch away again.

“When she was nearly seventeen, he came here to train her and also to learn what I had to offer.” She leaned forward, mouth twisting into a sneer. “He thought he knew so much. I had been summoning for more than thirty years when he was still a babe at his mother’s tit. Thirty years, back when it was dangerous and the flows more capricious.” She sat back, shook her head. “When Jade was barely eighteen, she and Aaron announced that they were together and assumed I would simply accept it.”

Great. The young, nubile Jade was a summoner too, and her boyfriend, who grandma didn’t approve of, was also a summoner except he was sort of evil. I’d seen soap operas with le

ss drama. As the Portal Turns?

“But you didn’t accept it,” I said.

“How could I and still have a conscience?” She drew herself up proudly. “He was and is an insufferable ass who lacked respect and restraint.”

I wasn’t about to argue that point. “She didn’t come with Asher last Monday?”

Sorrow clouded her eyes, and her shoulders slumped. “Five years ago I tried to talk sense into her, told her Aaron was no good, and I wouldn’t tolerate him in my house for training or otherwise.” She looked away. “She walked out with him and never returned,” she said, voice breaking.

“I’m sorry.” It was a story as old as time, and Rasha had played the role of disapproving elder with fervor. And even though her intent had been noble—to protect her lovely granddaughter from an untrustworthy man—she paid the price with crushing loneliness so deep she’d risked injury or death to summon Faruk, simply to play chess with her last . . . Christmas. My chest squeezed tight. She’d been completely alone for Christmas.

And how many Christmases have I spent with only my aunt? I pushed the unpleasant question away. I didn’t want to think about that right now.

Mzatal abruptly stepped forward. “Rasha Hassan Jalal al-Khouri.”

Rasha looked up at him, eyes wide, but with caution now instead of fear. “Lord Mzatal.”

He dropped into a crouch before her. “You carry heavy burdens, old and new,” he said, voice rich. “Aaron Asher has committed a great offense against me, and he has used you. I will find him, and I will extinguish him.”

Her mouth curved into a fierce smile. “I am in your debt, my lord.”

Mzatal gently took her gnarled hands in his, lifted them to touch his forehead before returning them to her lap. “No, honored summoner. You have served well for more than half a century. It is a gift.” He folded her hands between his. “As is this.” He glanced to me. “Beloved, will you assist me?”

I smiled, deeply pleased as I felt his intent. “You got it, Boss.” The rhythm of the healing patterns felt familiar now after working with him on Bryce, and I slipped into our connection effortlessly.