Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian 6)

I dumped the dryer contents into a basket, hefted it, and returned to the kitchen. I could fold while I figured out what to cook. Yet when I returned I saw Bryce staring out the window, still unshowered, and with a troubled expression on his face.

A glance out the window showed nothing but my backyard in the late evening light. I plunked the basket onto the table. “Bryce? You okay?”

He turned, leaned back against the counter. “Did you see what they’re saying on the news about the plantation incident?” he asked. “Or rather, what they’re not saying.”

I nodded. “The official line is that it was a big fire with several suspected dead, and that a body resembling James Macklin Farouche was found at the scene although ID has not yet been confirmed.” I pulled out a towel and started folding. “Investigations are already ramping up, but I doubt you’ll be seeing any stories on the ten o’clock news about a wizard calling lightning, especially since the eyewitnesses have so many conflicting stories.” I shrugged. “People always find a way to explain weird shit and make it something rational. And with everything from ‘alien invasion’ to ‘secret government experiment conspiracies’ popping up on the Internet, anyone who tells the truth about what happened will be labeled a nutjob and dismissed.”

He gave a slow nod of agreement. “Makes sense.” He picked up a shirt, flipped it right-side out then folded it in a crisp series of moves. “I saw Lon Harris get electrocuted when a power line fell at the compound,” he said as he set the folded shirt down and picked up another. “He’s the one who tortured and killed Dickey, the security guard who shot me at the warehouse.”

“Remind me to send flowers to his funeral,” I said, sticking to the towels since Bryce’s folding skills were vastly superior to mine. “Dead ones.”

“Jerry made it out though,” Bryce continued, muscle twitching in his jaw. “I caught him on some news footage coming out of the hospital with his arm in a sling.” He snapped a shirt out with a sharp crack. “Too bad he didn’t go down.”

“With the investigations in full swing, he will, one way or another,” I reassured him.

Bryce gave me a predatory smile. “Yeah, he will,” he said, and I knew he’d make sure of it if the official channels failed.

I started on the dishtowels. “There’s more bothering you,” I said. “Spill.”

He exhaled. “Paul wiped all digital evidence that he, Sonny, and I had ever been involved with Farouche.” He stacked the folded shirt with the others, grimaced and looked up at me.

“But you’re still worried,” I finished for him. “Paper and off-line records are still out there, and will lead investigators right to you.”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

&n

bsp; I met his eyes. “What if there was a way for you to have a clean slate?”

He began to pair socks, adroitly avoiding several pairs of undies. “I’ve done some really bad shit, killed a lot of people in cold blood. But I’m not that man anymore. Could I still kill? Would I still kill? Yeah.” Sadness whispered through his voice. “But not like that. Never again. I won’t do someone else’s dirty work.” He neatly tucked two socks together in a ball. “That said, I don’t want to rot in prison. I don’t want to stop doing what I can against the Mraztur. I don’t want to leave Paul or Sonny. They’re my family. If I can get a clean slate, I’ll take it.”

“I’ve already been thinking about it,” I told him, “and I have some ideas on how to pull it off. Once Zack is back in the swing of things, he can help get new identities for you three.” If Zack is ever back in the swing of things.

Bryce dropped the socks to the table. “That’s . . .” he trailed off, shaking his head. “‘Thanks’ doesn’t cut it.”

I handed him the stack of dishtowels to put in the drawer. “If it wasn’t for you and Sonny and Paul, we wouldn’t have Idris back, and the Mraztur would be full steam ahead with their dangerous node-gate bullshit.”

He tucked the towels away. “I sure as hell want to do more. I’m in the game.”

“Good, then we’re stuck with you,” I said and thrust a bath towel at him. “And there’s a no-stench rule for my posse. Go. Shower.”

He smiled, took the towel, and turned toward the bathroom. “Kara’s Kavalry?”

“No!” I shouted at his back. “Posse.”

Still smiling, I put the rest of the laundry away. I was putting the empty basket in the laundry room when I heard the front door open. Ryan.

My heart pounded. It was only Ryan. At least that’s what I tried to tell myself. I returned to the kitchen and peered down the hall, wanting to see and feel for myself who he was before he reached me. I didn’t want to misstep and say something I shouldn’t.

He approached with a smile, completely Ryan-like in looks and manner and walk. “You look better than you did when I left,” he said.

Well, shit. That didn’t give me a clue. “Um, how did I look?”

“Laid out on the sofa. Wasted after the ordeal.” He took off his suit jacket and laid it over the back of a kitchen chair.

“Uh huh,” I said, watching his every move. “The, um, ordeal of the stuff at the plantation?”

“That and what happened out there last night.” He nodded toward the backyard. “It’s okay. You can talk about it.”