Vengeance of the Demon (Kara Gillian 7)

Pellini shook his head in disbelief then leveled a frown toward where Idris knelt on the hardwood floor. “Hang tight,” he said and stepped out of the library. Mystified, I waited, and a few seconds later he returned with one of my aunt’s sofa cushions. He dropped it a few feet in front of Idris then lowered himself to kneel on it. “I’m a big guy in my mid-forties. I ain’t stupid.”

Idris flicked a glance to the cushion. I expected a disparaging look but instead it was more I wish I’d thought of that. Smothering a laugh, I dashed to the sitting room and grabbed another cushion, which Idris accepted with grace.

With the comfort of knees old and young accomplished, I took up a vantage in the kitchen doorway that gave me a clear view of the back and front doors as well as into the library.

“What first?” Idris asked Pellini.

Pellini leaned forward to examine the valve. “It doesn’t look or feel right,” he said then winced. “But I don’t know how to do what needs to be done.”

A whisper of pained frustration flashed across Idris’s face. Probably already regretting this. “Well, what do I need to use?”

Pellini stroked his mustache in thought then held his hands up and waved them around in an odd pattern. A few seconds later he made a pushing motion toward Idris. “Put that in.”

Frowning, Idris took the invisible-to-me potency construction from Pellini. “But where do I . . .” Idris paused then did his own hand-wiggling.

“Yeah,” Pellini said, “but a hair lower.” Idris waved his fingers, and Pellini nodded. “Cool. Okay, now the other side.” He pushed more Stuff to Idris. Again, Idris placed it, and Pellini told him how to adjust it. The work was tedious, a far cry from my own experience symmetrizing a valve, though to my eyes they knelt over a very unremarkable spot on the floor and fiddled their hands around like idiots.

After the sixth round, the two developed an awkward but effective collaboration with Pellini as the eyes and Idris as the hands. Higher, left, keep going, right there. Crap, too far, try the other side, yeah, that works. All while Pellini fed raw material to Idris like an operating room nurse handing instruments to a surgeon.

Or like the support I used to give Mzatal, I thought with a wistful pang.

The kitchen clock ticked an aggravating reminder of our limited time. Twenty long minutes passed before Pellini straightened. “There,” he said with satisfaction. “Put that last bit closer to the edge, and we’re done.”

Idris made another little wibbly-wobbly hand move. Pellini glanced my way. “Still clear?”

“Still clear,” I said with undisguised relief. “Let’s roll.”

They rose and moved toward the door, but Idris stopped halfway there. “Wait,” he said and spun back toward the valve. “I need to do one more thing.”

Pellini frowned at him. “What do you mean? It’s balanced.”

Idris dropped to his knees and spoke without looking up. “No. They can bypass the symmetrization if they warp the savinths,” he said. “I need to make adjustments to prevent that.”

Pellini turned a questioning gaze to me, but my attention was on Idris. He knew the valves backward, forward, and sideways, and if he said there was a vulnerability, I had no legitimate reason to doubt him. After all, I knew approximately jack shit about the use of savinths. I’d been in the summoning equivalent of “Intro to Calculus” while Idris kicked ass in “Advanced Partial Differential Equations For Really Smart People.”

Yet I noted a tremor in his hands, and his shoulders hunched with tension that I’d never seen in him, even during the most rigorous arcane rituals. Suspicion bloomed, bringing with it a buried hope of my own. “Idris, how long do you think this will take?” I asked, pulse quickening.

“Not sure,” he said, wiggling his hands over the valve. “Five minutes, maybe ten. But it’ll be worth it.”

Suspicion gave way to certainty. Five minutes, ten, or however long he needed to stall until Tessa arrived. He wanted to see his birth mother at least once face-to-face.

Going along with his ruse was no doubt a colossal mistake and horrible tactics, but . . . it would be worth it. Idris deserved a shred of satisfaction after everything he’d been through. Who was I to take that away from him? Besides, if I had to be brutally honest with myself, I had plenty of crap I wanted to unload on Tessa. She’d raised me and betrayed me. The desire to know why tore at my essence. With the way things were going, Idris and I might never have another chance to confront her.

“It’s cool,” I told Pellini with a smile that I hoped looked reassuring. “Those savinths can be damn tricky if not positioned right. Wouldn’t want to leave a back door.” Behind him, Idris snapped his head up, gratitude and relief shining in his eyes.

“All right, then how about I keep watch from the parlor,” Pellini suggested with a fatalistic shrug.

“That’d be great,” I said and returned to my former spot in the kitchen doorway. Idris ducked his head again and resumed his pretend work. Five minutes passed. Ten. My stress levels climbed higher along with second thoughts and heaps of doubt. No, this is stupid. I need to tell Idris we can’t do this, get everyone out—

I heard a light thump on the stairs right before Eilahn bounded down them and into the hallway.

“Tessa Pazhel’s vehicle approaches,” she said.

“Idris,” I hissed. He stood, face alight with anxious longing that resonated with my own desperate need for answers. My mind whirled. We still had enough time to cut and run. Idris would comply if I insisted. Except, I completely understood the mute plea in his steady regard.

Pellini stepped out of the parlor. “They’re in the driveway, and she’s pissed,” he said. “The lack of wards, I’m betting. We’d better scramble out the back, and quick.”

“We’re staying,” I said, dismayed to hear my voice crack. Idris moved to stand beside me and face Pellini.