Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian 6)

I backed out of the doorway to give them privacy, even as Seretis rose silently and moved to exit, no doubt with the same thought in mind.

Seretis gave me a warm yet weary smile, then surprised me by leaning to brush his lips across my cheek. “Welcome back, Kara Gillian,” he murmured. He then turned to Mzatal, met his eyes and put a hand on his forearm. Neither said a word, simply locked gazes for well over half a minute, but when Seretis finally turned and walked away, I sensed that Mzatal’s tension was ever so slightly less than before.

He took a deeper breath then looked to me and laid his hand alongside my face. “I must work in the plexus for a time, beloved,” he said softly. “The Mraztur’s actions with the valve have had numerous repercussions in the flows. I must relieve Elofir, but I will be complete at sunset.”

I kissed him lightly, nodded. “We’ll talk then.”

Mzatal held my gaze for a heartbeat before inclining his head to me. He proceeded to the plexus while I went the other direction and made my way to Idris’s room on the level below.

I paused in the doorway as a faint hint of nostalgia settled over me. Not much had changed since he’d last occupied it several months ago. Though I’d been in the process of recovering from Rhyzkahl’s torture, it had been a simpler time. The room suited Idris. Spacious and airy with a window wall overlooking the sea, and furnishings in varying shades of blue accented with silver. A scatter of books and papers topped his worktable, undisturbed since he’d been taken.

He lay on his back atop the covers of his bed, left arm thrown over his eyes, and right knee cocked to the side. He wasn’t asleep though. The fingers of his right hand tapped on the bed in an uneven tempo, but I couldn’t tell if it was in frustration or impatience or something else entirely.

I knocked lightly on the door frame. “Hey, dude.”

He pulled his arm away from his eyes, looked toward the door. “Kara?” he asked, voice hoarse and raw.

Moving into the room, I gave him a smile. “Yeah, it’s me. How you feeling?”

He let out a humorless snort. “Like my insides are scrambled, and my head’s exploding.” One corner of his mouth twitched up. “Y’know . . . not too bad

.”

I sat on the edge of the bed and peered at him. He looked like he’d been dragged through hell—which he had, now that I thought about it—but to my relief he didn’t have any of the damaged feel Paul radiated.

“Well, Mzatal says you’re going to be fine,” I told him firmly. “You’ll be running the stairs in no time.” I smiled. “And I know you don’t want me to catch up to you in the shikvihr, right?”

He gave a wry and somewhat pained smile. “Not much chance of that. Look.” He traced an unsteady sigil that fizzled out in about two seconds.

I lightly smacked the back of his hand. “Then stop doing that. You need to rest. It’ll come back.” But then I rested my hand on his and sobered. “Idris . . . I’m so very sorry about your sister. The rest of your family is safe, though. We got your mom out, and she’s fine.”

His hand clenched in the covers, and tension surged through him. “They didn’t have to do that,” he said, each word infused with a rage I’d never seen in him before. “They didn’t have to DO that.”

“No, they didn’t,” I said, voice choked. “Idris, I’m so sorry.”

Filled with pain and fury, his eyes went to mine. “Where is Aaron Asher?” he demanded, voice still hoarse but with a razor edge I’d never heard in him before. “Aaron Asher and Jerry Steiner.” His neck corded as he snarled the names out. “Do you know where they are?”

“Kadir has Asher,” I told him. “Farouche is dead. Bryce killed him.” My eyes dropped to my hand resting on his fist. “There were a number of casualties and injured, but we spotted Jerry on a news clip.” I lifted my gaze to his pain-wracked face. “I swear to you, I’ll make sure you get him.”

The black rage spilled away from him like water from a torn balloon. He let out his breath in a long and shaking exhalation, then he unclenched his hand and turned it over to take mine. “Thanks,” he murmured. He simply looked exhausted now, and in that moment I wanted nothing more than to find some way to wipe away the dark circles beneath his eyes and smooth away the lines of grief and fear and anger. “Kadir won’t damage Asher,” he said after a moment, words beginning to slur. “Need summoners.”

“Maybe he’ll just hurt him a lot,” I offered and got a short breathless laugh back. His eyelids were starting to lose the battle against gravity, though. “You should get some sleep,” I said, then smiled softly. “Glad to have you back.” Cousin, I added silently.

“Yeah . . . good . . . back . . . home,” he mumbled as his eyes drifted closed.

So many questions I had for him. About his work with the Mraztur, about what he did in Texas with Asher, and so much more. All on hold for a while. The same way I felt on hold until Mzatal and I could talk about our own issues.

I sat with Idris for a few more minutes, until his breathing deepened and lines of stress in his face eased, then gently pulled my hand from his and crept from the room.

• • •

After that, I felt a need to move my body. I briefly debated going for a run, but a sluggish rain changed my mind. There were times I enjoyed running in the rain, but today wasn’t one of them.

I finally settled on a long, steady swim in the glorious indoor natural rock pool. Once my muscles were the consistency of limp noodles, I sank into the hot springs basin beside it, traced a triple pygah to float above, and set it spinning. Sometimes I came here to think. This time I came to not think. I focused on breathing, the rush of the river falls below, and the melodic chattering hiss of the small waterfall that fed the pool. And it worked. I lost track of time and emerged feeling cleaner.

Hair still damp, and dressed in a comfortable demon realm version of designer sweats, I made my way to one of Mzatal’s favorite places, the roof terrace. As always, when I stepped from the stairway into the spacious glassed conservatory, I felt as though I stood on top of the world. Two levels above that of the plexus, it commanded a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the surrounding area. Plants filled the space, none over chest high so as not to obstruct the view, and the soft, sweet scent of a variety of flowers filled the air.

Rain slid down the glass in graceful rivulets, but a slash of blue sky to the west, far out over the sea, told me it would end soon. I made my way to the luxurious sitting area, intending to simply relax until sunset, a rare luxury these days.