Vengeance of the Demon (Kara Gillian 7)

Bryce shook his head. “No can do, because he’s right.”

“Traitor,” I growled.

He dried his hands, challenge glinting in his eyes. “You want to get Pellini’s take on it?”

I started to say yes, that was exactly what I wanted, but stopped before the words left my mouth. “No. He’ll agree with you both.”

A sound that might have been a chuckle came from Idris, but he took another bite of toast before I could be sure. Bryce gave me a wink then headed down the hall to the computer room. I masked a smile. Bryce was a damn good addition to the team.

“For what it’s worth,” I said to Idris after a moment, “apart from being victims of the overall machinations, you and Pellini have at least one common goal.”

Idris shoved up from the table, took his plate over to the trash can and scraped his crusts into it. “Fine, I’ll bite. What’s our common goal?”

“He’s hell-bent on nailing the perps in his latest case—your sister’s murder.”

He went still, fork poised above his plate. “Okay,” he finally said then took plate and fork to the sink. “Will you tell Bryce I’ll be ready to go in fifteen minutes?” It might have been wishful thinking on my part, but I detected less of the jagged edge in his voice than before.

“Sure thing.”

He met my eyes and nodded once then went down to the basement. When the door closed I blew out a breath. It was a truce of sorts. I hoped.

I headed to the computer room—formerly a junk room that I’d pretended was a home office. The majority of the equipment was Paul’s from when he was briefly our resident computer supergenius. Unease whispered through me. Paul was with Kadir. But for how long? He was “out of phase” and would die if he left the matching out-of-phase-ness of Kadir’s realm. Would he ever be able to return to Earth or was he damned to spend his entire life kneeling at Kadir’s feet?

I pushed the unsettling questions aside. The answers would be worse than not knowing.

Bryce sat at the desk, fast-forwarding through surveillance video from my driveway gate and fence-line cameras.

“Idris will be ready in fifteen,” I said then lifted my chin toward the screen. “Anything good?”

“Family of raccoons on the northwest side. Nothing else of interest.”

“Baby raccoons?”

“Three of ’em. I took a screen shot.” He pulled it up so that I could make the obligatory awwwww noise. He snorted. “Adorable rabies factories.”

“I’ll gush over them from a distance,” I said as I settled in the chair beside his.

“Agreed. That’s why I’m not . . .” He trailed off, eyelids fluttering as he stared off into space.

Seizure? Worried, I grabbed his arm and shook him. “Hey, Bryce! You still with me?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he said to my relief then smiled wryly. “Seretis. Checking in, so to speak.”

Releasing him, I replayed his words in my mind, but they made no more sense the second time around. Why would a demonic lord be checking in with Bryce? And how? “Huh?” I asked oh-so-brilliantly.

Bryce beamed then swiveled his chair to face me. “The connection you have with Mzatal?” he said, leaning forward. “I, uh, kinda have that with Seretis. It’s not like we talk with words, but we can sense and understand each other.”

I stared at him, stunned. I’d have been right on board if he’d told me Seretis had placed a sigil on him or given him an artifact. But comparing it to my unique and intimate essence connection with Mzatal? A number of possible explanations ran through my mind, though none seemed to fit the scenario. Seretis and Lord Rayst were partners, but that meant little since the demonic l

ords weren’t much into the whole jealousy thing. After a few thousand years of existence, those sort of insecurities went out the window—if they’d ever had them in the first place. However, Seretis was bisexual and, as far as I knew, Bryce was firmly heterosexual. Not that it had ever come up. More than possible that I’d jumped to conclusions.

“Oh, okay,” I said as I readjusted my assumptions. “You and he are . . . lovers?”

Bryce laughed. “No,” he said, sitting back. “There’s no sex. But we hit it off from the start—like that childhood friend you wanted to do everything with and couldn’t imagine living without, only as adults.”

“Gotcha. A major bromance.”

“I guess,” he said reluctantly, “though I wish there was a more, er, macho description.”