Touch of the Demon (Kara Gillian 5)

Some of the uncertainty faded from Mzatal’s expression. He downed half a glass of wine, his other hand resting on the back of the chair. “The faas have prepared a meal that they assure me contains your favorites from here and even some from Earth,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “It is unlikely anything will be burnt unless I specifically asked for it, and then it would be under protest.”

“No, that’s quite all right.” I shook my head emphatically. “Not-burned sounds good to me.” I looked up and gave him a teasing smile. “Mzatal, sit the hell down so we can all relax, okay?”

He gave a slight nod and pulled the chair out. Finally.

With that the mood eased enough for us to engage in some light conversation while we waited for the food. I told the others how Tessa and I always went to Lake o’ Butter pancake house the morning after Christmas, before hitting the stores for the day-after-Christmas sales. Idris told us about how his family had a tradition of getting together on Christmas eve, making cocoa, and taking turns at verses of Christmas carols with on-the-spot, fabricated lyrics. He grinned so much in telling the story—and during his rendition of a snortingly funny verse of Silent Night—that I knew he really considered them family, though they’d adopted him as a teen.

Mzatal finished his wine and set the glass aside to be speedily refilled by Faruk. He reached into his pockets and pulled out two little boxes of delicately carved wood, then placed one before each of us. “I do greatly appreciate your work and your efforts.”

I set my glass down, hesitated, then reached for the box and opened it. Inside was a ring. Uh oh. I slid a glance to Idris. With relief, I saw he had a ring, too, and with that the weirdness factor evaporated.

Intrigued, I lifted the ring out of the box. Silver and gold interwove to form an intricate yet solid band, and a rich blue stone sparkled in the setting. I exhaled and lifted my gaze to Mzatal. “It’s beautiful,” I said, smiling. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Kara,” he said. “It suits you well.”

Idris sat, stunned to silence, staring at his ring. His was silver and a dark grey metal, with a deep red stone. He looked up at Mzatal and back at the ring. “Holy shit,” he breathed, then looked up again, a smile lighting his face like a kid at, well, Christmas. “My lord, wow. Thank you,” he said and carefully removed it from the box.

I wasn’t one to wear jewelry much, but I knew I’d wear this. I slid it onto the middle finger of my right hand, instantly loving the look and feel of it. It wasn’t girly or prissy at all. It was almost like a man’s ring but for a woman—solid and strong, yet still utterly lovely. “Mzatal,” I said, guilt tugging at me, “I didn’t get you anything.”

He shook his head, face betraying nothing of expectation or disappointment. “You did not know. Enjoy.”

Idris, in his own world, slipped his ring on. “Holy fuck,” he said in an extended exhale. I grinned. Apparently he liked his ring.

Jekki, Faruk, and two other faas brought the first wave of food. They burbled and fussed so much over everything, I had no doubt that they got a kick out of the whole concept.

We settled into some serious eating. Mzatal sat and watched us with a small, steady smile on his face. He drank wine and picked at a plate of fruit, cheeses, and some sort of custard drizzled with what looked like honey, while Idris and I stuffed ourselves and swapped more silly Christmas stories. Gestamar listened and rumbled in reyza-laughter periodically.

I’d had a little wine, and Mzatal was way too quiet. “Y’all ever have parties or celebrations here?” I asked him. “I mean back before the cataclysm, when there were more humans.”

Mzatal twirled the stem of his glass between his fingers. “Yes,” he said with a slow contemplative nod. “In the atrium and the rooms that open from it.”

I tilted my head and peered at him. “And what were those like? Did those seventeenth-century folks know how to get down?” I asked, grinning.

Mzatal lifted an eyebrow and hesitated a second, likely reading the meaning of “get down” from me, then smiled. “They were lively indeed. I tended to observe from the mezzanine,” he said, his smile widening. “Unless, of course, a reveler caught my eye.”

Okay. Now that was interesting. “Oh? Do go on,” I urged.

He took a drink before continuing. “It was usually a smooth process. I would catch the glances thrown my way and note which appealed most in the moment,” he said with a slight shrug. “Later I would descend to the atrium and rescue the chosen one from the throngs.” Amusement lit his face. “They did so love to be rescued.”

“I’m sure they did,” I said, laughing.

Gestamar snorted, and I slid a glance to him. “I bet you saw some interesting shit,” I said.

“Much,” the reyza said, rumbling. “Bedding a qaztahl ranked highly for many, and wine loosened inhibitions and dampened fear.” He bared his teeth and looked at Mzatal. “I know a story they will enjoy. Tell them of Marguerite Deshayes.”

Go, Gestamar. I leaned forward. “Yes, tell us about Marguerite.”

Idris sipped wine and waited, a look on his face as if he couldn’t believe we might get a story from the lord.

Mzatal gave Gestamar a look then stared down into his glass. I kept my eyes on him, knowing how to play the waiting game. He shook his head and lifted his eyes to me. “It is a truly silly tale,” he said, a smile playing on his lips.

“The best kind,” I said, grinning. “Spill it!”

Gestamar rumbled, and Mzatal settled back in his chair. “It was your year, sixteen thirty-two,” Mzatal said. “When I arrived in the atrium, Marguerite, a busty and hitherto unobtrusive woman in her late thirties, approached and sought to press her advantage, obviously quite inebriated.”

Gestamar elaborated. “She threw her arms around his neck and pressed everything against him. Including her advantage.”

Mzatal gave a grudging nod. “I simply put her aside and thought the matter done,” he said. “However, when I ascended to my chambers later, I found her naked at the top of the stairs unable to get past the warding to my bedchamber, which had likely been her goal. And I never bed in my bed.” He shook his head and smiled. “She was spread, and ready, and reaching for me.”