Touch of the Demon Read online

  My balance slowly returned, though I kept my hand on the wall. “I suppose you intend to enlighten me?” I asked, voice still unsteady, to my annoyance.

  “No. You bear his mark.” His eyes dropped to my left forearm where Rhyzkahl had marked me as his sworn summoner. A slight smile touched his mouth. “I simply hold you from him.”

  I went cold, wondering how far he’d go to keep me from Rhyzkahl. “Then why all this?” I said, gesturing to the room and the landscape. “If your whole intent is to keep me from Rhyzkahl, then why the theatrics and the grand reveal of—” I didn’t want to say the name. “—whatever that was?”

  He inclined his head toward me, smile increasing a touch, though it only served to make his expression colder. “Because I gleaned precisely what I wanted from it.” He turned and moved toward the stairs in long smooth strides. “And now, we purify you.”

  Chapter 2

  The reyza shepherded me down the stairs and along the corridor away from the summoning chamber, then down yet more stairs and corridors, and finally into a small bedchamber. From what little I saw in that hurried trek, the place was gorgeous. Neglected for sure, but nothing a little cleanup couldn’t fix. Glass crunched underfoot near broken windows which had either been patched with a ward or left open to the elements. Dust reigned supreme and minor debris littered most areas. But beyond all that, the absolute beauty of the architecture left me in awe. Spacious and sweeping, stone and wood wound together to form something that felt more like a rugged yet graceful entity than a building. Paintings and statuary lined walls and rested in niches everywhere, and I fretted that I wasn’t given the time to stop and look at them.

  The reyza continued through the bedchamber and into a room that held a broad stone tub. I would’ve said it was white marble, but there was a dragonfly-wing iridescence to it that I’d never seen in Earth marble. Demon-marble? Water half-filled the tub and was likely the source of a faint rotten egg smell.

  “Time is of the essence,” the demon growled. “You must be cleaned and prepared.” He reached for me, and I backpedaled to the wall, eyes widening.

  “I can do it!” I gasped. “I can wash myself.”

  His lip curled in a snarl. “You have three hundred heartbeats,” he said, flexing clawed hands. He settled into a crouch by the door, eyes never leaving me. “I am counting.”

  I shucked my nasty clothes off, kicked them aside and slid into the tepid water. Yep. Sulphur. Much of the well water where I lived had the same odor. I kept a running count while I ducked under and scrubbed at my hair with my fingers. I didn’t see anything resembling soap, so I figured that the standard for how clean I needed to be was mostly Without Bits of Body Parts Clinging to Me.

  I clambered out of the tub when my own count reached two-sixty and stood, naked, dripping and shivering, before the reyza. My own clothes and possessions were nowhere to be seen, and even though I had no desire to put any of them back on, it still bugged me.

  The demon tossed me a towel. “Dry yourself.” I quickly complied. “And don this.” He passed me a garment—a black knee-length shift that turned out to be little more than a sack with neck and arm holes. No bra, no underwear. To say I felt exposed was an enormous understatement.

  The demon snorted, rose from the crouch, gestured to the door. We headed back toward the summoning chamber. Scowling, I picked my way through the glass and debris in the corridors. It had been part of the ambience when I had shoes on, but now, barefoot, it was an up close and personal threat. I had no desire to entertain these motherfuckers with bloody feet and, miraculously, managed the walk without incident.

  He opened a door in the corridor near the summoning chamber and waited for me to enter.

  I paused in the doorway as an odd feeling of déjà vu swam over me. I’d been in that room before, it told me, dozens of times. In ghostly fragments, I smelled the clean ozone scent of a freshly activated portal, heard snatches of conversation both in demon and what sounded like Italian, felt shivers of excitement, trepidation, and wonder.

  A shove in the center of my back dispelled the sensation and reminded me to move.

  It wasn’t a large room. Maybe five feet by eight, with another door opposite the one I’d stepped through and a single stone bench along one wall. Maybe the purification involved a massage? Hey, a girl could dream.

  A large bas-relief reminiscent of da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man dominated the wall across from the bench. Around it, dozens of tassels, of what looked a lot like human hair, hung from silken cords looped over pegs along the wall. Sigils, only faintly visible to me due to the collar, flickered around the carving.

  The reyza squeezed in, and his massive bulk shifted the feel of the room from small to damn near claustrophobic. When he closed the door, pitch black descended. I could still see the faint wards on the wall, but othersight didn’t do shit for real darkness, unless the sigils were ignited or specifically traced for light. My hands clenched into fists as I tried to keep from completely freaking out in the utter darkness. I sank to the bench, listening to the breathing of the reyza.

  “Come here often?” I said, managing a cheeky grin in case the reyza could see in the dark. I had no idea.

  To my utter surprise he spoke. “On rare occasions,” he said with a low snort.

  I chuckled, relieved at getting a response. “I’m Kara Gillian,” I said, even though I knew perfectly well the demon knew who I was. Names held a lot of power since they were an integral part of summoning, so I figured it would be better to offer mine first than to ask for his.

  “Greetings, Kara Gillian,” he replied. “I am Gestamar.”

  Holy shit. I knew that name. Gestamar was mentioned in texts dating back hundreds of years, and was one of the more popular high-level demons to be summoned. I’d never summoned him myself, but only because I was fairly new at summoning reyza, and I tended to be more comfortable with Kehlirik, one of Rhyzkahl’s demons and the first twelfth-level demon I’d ever summoned on my own.

  “I’m honored to meet you, Gestamar,” I said. “The lord who had me summoned, what’s his name?”

  The demon shifted with a rustle of wings. “Mzatal.”

  “Never heard of him.” Hell, right now my only weapons were Obnoxious and Snark, and I intended to use them whenever possible. Then again, it was true. The only lords I knew of were Rhyzkahl and Szerain. I had a feeling there were many gaps in my knowledge that would soon be filled, whether I wanted it or not.

  I started to ask him what the whole damn purification thing was about, but a deep thrum from the direction of the other door interrupted me.

  In the next instant Gestamar’s hands were around my throat, claws pressing into my skin but not piercing. I bit back a yelp of shock and clutched at his fingers instinctively, but a heartbeat later he pulled his hands away, taking the collar with him. I let out a shaking breath as the arcane leaped into focus around me. Sigils, like strands of intricately woven colored light, pulsed ever so slightly with the thrum from beyond the door. Gestamar lifted a claw and traced a sigil that hung in the air above us and lit the chamber with a golden glow. There’d been one of those in the summoning chamber when I arrived, and some in the room with the fissures, but with the collar on, I’d completely missed their beauty and radiant power. I stared, fascinated and grateful for the brief distraction from my circumstances. On Earth, I traced wards arcanely on surfaces like doors, floors, and walls for specific purposes: protection, aversion, warning, and such. With chalk and blood I crafted floor glyphs for summonings, but I’d never seen a sigil float like this in three dimensional vibrant, shifting color.

  Gestamar saw the look on my face and snorted. “The sigils of our world. Humans call them floaters.”

  I exhaled and nodded, sensing the thing as though my othersight had developed otherfeel. I finally dragged my eyes away from it to take in the rest of the room.

  Now I could really see the bas-relief on the wall in front of me. Despite being totally braced for some weird
shit to start, I was drawn to this in a more visceral way than to the floater. The stone looked much like the demon marble of the bath, except that it also had fine veins of gold running through it that picked up the sigil’s light and brought the surface to life. A life-sized naked man—human or lord, I couldn’t tell—faced me in a spread-eagle posture. The full perimeter of the disc writhed with entwined symbols that I couldn’t name, yet felt familiar. A bluish arcane glow ran from the top of his head to the edge of the disc in a widening pattern. The alien eyes were what got me though, sculpted into the background texture with such subtle strokes as to be almost overlooked. But once I saw them, I couldn’t not see them. They fixed me in their gaze, eyes shaped like slanted teardrops with eerie dual pupils and a haunting familiarity. What the hell?

  I finally managed to drag my eyes away to the dozens and dozens of tassels. They were most definitely hair, and it sure as hell looked like human hair, at that. Was that part of this ritual? Would this lord cut my hair? Damn it, I just got it to a decent length! I thought with a grimace. But at the same time I steeled myself for just that possibility. My fate might very well depend on my ability to roll with weird or unpleasant shit like that. And I’d rather think that ending up with a bad haircut is the worst it could be.

  “So, uh, if you’re going to cut my hair could you comb it out first?” I said, doing my best to keep my tone light and unconcerned, though my heart pounded. “I didn’t get a chance after my bath. No conditioner, and it tangles like a bitch,” I continued, harnessing the Mighty Power of the Snark to help me get through this.

  Gestamar snorted. “No hair will be cut. These are of Szerain—treasured summoners and humans of his.”

  A weird chill skimmed over me and down my spine. “Is that where we are? Szerain’s palace?” Only recently had I found out that my FBI agent friend Ryan Kristoff was actually the demonic lord Szerain, exiled from the demon realm with his memory stripped. I gazed at the collection of mementos and wondered what the oldest was, wondered what sort of people they came from. The demonic lords had been around for a few thousand years, and I sure as hell had trouble getting my head around it. Déjà vu washed over me again, stronger this time, as my eyes rested on one lock of reddish blond hair bound by a green ribbon.

  “Yes,” the demon replied, voice seeming to lower an octave. “Szerain’s palace. In the secondary antechamber of the summoning chamber that birthed the cataclysm.”

  My breath quickened as memory rose. Sigils light the chamber with a soft glow. I lift my hair and allow Lord Sze rain to neatly slice a lock. He gives me a kind smile and a kiss on the forehead….

  I tensed, and the memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving me trembling and unsettled. Looking to Gestamar, I struggled for mental balance. “Cataclysm? You mean the fissures and the blasted landscape? That originated here?”

  The demon peered at me, pupils narrowing to slits. “Yes. From the chamber to which you were summoned. A horrific event wrought by Szerain. And Elinor.”

  I struggled to work moisture into my mouth. “What happened?”

  He growled low and leaned close, breath hot upon me while I fought the urge to cower back. “Elinor lost control of a powerful ritual—an attempt at a permanent gate.” His voice was rich and slow, with ominous overtones that made my gut clench. “It thrashed out of control and she perished.” He drew out the last word in a way that sent shivers through me. “And our world broke apart, and the skies wept fire, and the seas lashed the high plains.” He tilted his head, eyes on me. “And the ways to Earth slammed shut, trapping humans here to die and severing us from your world for over two hundred years, while this world sought to emulate your vision of hell.”

  The words tumbled over each other in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut as I struggled to make sense of it. My breath came in shallow pants as a ragged discord seemed to permeate his telling.

  I shook my head to try and clear it. Something was wrong with his version, yet I had no idea what it could be. “How—” My voice cracked, and I tried again. “How did she die?”

  Gestamar pulled back from me. “She was slain in the midst of the ritual as the gate spiraled out of control.”

  I fixed my gaze upon him. “But how?” I asked, needing the answer beyond all reason. “What killed her? The gate? What?”

  The thrum abruptly increased in tempo. Gestamar stood.

  “Wait,” I said, pulse pounding. “Do you even know?”

  In answer Gestamar bared his teeth, and in a move too swift for me to follow, pulled a thin cloth hood over my head.

  My hands balled into fists at my side as he swiftly fastened the hood with arcane bindings. It wasn’t tight by any means, and it wasn’t difficult to breathe through, but the mere concept of being brought, hooded, into a ritual chamber was enough to give me a mild case of the freakouts. Okay, maybe a major case. Which, I realized a heartbeat later, was very likely this Lord Mzatal’s intent.

  Anger needled me just enough to counteract the terror, though only a bit. I still had no reason to believe I was going to live through this ritual. I suddenly missed Ryan, even though I knew it had probably been less than half an hour since I’d seen him.

  Since we kissed.

  We’d worked together for much of the past year and had a good-friends relationship that always seemed to teeter on the edge of something more. In those unnerving seconds when both of us knew we couldn’t stop the summoning, he finally kissed me, and damn it I kissed him back. He told me he loved me, and I told him I loved him. And then I was here.

  I smiled very slightly beneath the hood. Well, if I have to die now, at least we got that shit out of the way.

  Gestamar took my left upper arm. “The floor is smooth,” he said as he moved me forward and through the door. “Simply walk.”

  I complied. A few heartbeats later he released me, and someone else took my right arm in a firm but not harsh grip. Not the lord, I decided. This had to be the blond summoner.

  The young man slowly led me around the outer perimeter of the ritual circle. Thankfully, the hood did nothing to block my othersight. Brilliantly ignited sigils floated from knee to chest height above the floor in a circle of beautifully interlaced patterns. The only kind of ritual diagram I’d ever drawn was with chalk on the floor, but I could feel the power of this and had no doubt it was the diagram. Looks like they do things in style in the demon realm.

  A golden glow occupied the far side of the circle. Lord Mzatal. I was certain of it. Under any other circumstances I probably would have thought this was some really cool shit. Actually, I did think it was some cool shit. I simply didn’t like the idea that this particular cool shit was about to be used on me for who the hell knew what.

  The summoner stopped in front of the golden glow, released me and stepped back. Now the lord ran his hands over me in a thorough search that reminded me of a patdown but without steering clear of any areas. Nor did he feel the need to use any “back of the hand” crap. I remained perfectly still, jaw clenched tight.

  The lord finally stood from a crouch after running his hands down each of my legs. “To the center,” he said, voice even more intense than before. He said something in demon, and Gestamar gave a rumbled response in kind.

  The summoner took my arm again and firmly guided me to the center of the circle, maneuvering between some of the sigils and passing straight through others. Where they touched, my skin tingled, and some tugged at me as if reluctant to let me pass.

  “On your back,” he said, voice lofty, though it held the faintest touch of a waver that made me think his entire attitude was an act. More games to keep me off balance? If so, the combined effect was certainly working.

  Sweat stung my armpits and lower back as I obediently lay supine in the middle of the diagram. The lord approached and crouched, pulled the hood off. I blinked and looked up at him as I tried my damnedest to hide how very scared I was.

  He lifted a hand and with a casual flick toward each of my limbs, arcanely
bound me spread-eagled, much like the bas-relief. My fear spiked with the sudden restraint, and I bit back a noise of dismay. At least I wasn’t naked.

  Mzatal looked down at me for a few more heartbeats, then stood and moved to the perimeter of the circle above my head and out of my sight, unless I wanted to do some serious neck-craning. Which I really didn’t. I lightly tested the bonds and confirmed that I wasn’t getting free of this until the lord released me. Instead, I focused on regulating my breathing and tried, unsuccessfully, to not wonder what was about to happen.

  The patterns of the diagram brightened even as an intense white light flared into existence above my head. I squeezed my eyes shut as the light seemed to permeate every cell of my being, pulsing with the thrum of the room. It didn’t hurt, but it was definitely odd.

  After what felt like a few minutes, Mzatal crouched beside me again. His hand trailed from my throat down my torso, in a light probing touch so clinical that it left zero impression of sexual intent. His hand paused at my belly. A slow warmth formed just beneath my skin, almost pleasant at first, but soon progressing to distinctly uncomfortable. I swallowed hard, felt his hand tighten into a fist on my stomach as the warmth shifted to a sensation not unlike a side-stitch, though about three times worse. I tensed as the stitch increased, clenching my teeth against making any sort of shit that hurts noise. Right when I was ready to give up on the whole being stoic thing, a flash of heat went through my abdomen and the cramping sensation vanished.

  Fear coiled in my gut to replace the cramp-from-hell, and I took several ragged breaths. I badly wanted to ask what the fuck was going on, but I knew he wouldn’t answer. Mzatal’s hand slid back up to the center of my chest. Once again warmth formed under my skin, followed by a sharp cramp, but this felt much worse than the first. A whimper slid from me despite my best intentions. I kept my hands clenched into fists, shaking as the cramp deepened.

  “Hold the flows as they are without wavering,” Mzatal said to the summoner. I heard the snarl beneath his words and had zero doubt that the blond man paled a bit. I knew I would have.