Touch of the Demon Page 9

  “Kara,” Mzatal said with an undercurrent of command in his voice, reminding me of the tone cops used when trying to get and keep attention.

  Oh, right. He’d asked me a question. “Trees. Lords travel…” Muzzily, I realized he wanted me to stay awake and interacting. Likely for my own good or something. Damn it.

  Mzatal said a few words in demon to Gestamar. The reyza grunted and bounded out.

  He looked back down at me. “You have never been in a grove before.” It was a statement, not a question, so I didn’t waste energy trying to answer it. He lifted my shirt above the site of the impalement. “Idris, lay support.”

  The young man jumped at the sound of his name. “Y-yes, my lord,” he said, flicking a worried glance my way before beginning to sketch a complex pattern using nothing but shimmering threads of potency. I watched, fascinated, in a dreamy sort of way. This was the first chance I’d had to really see things happening without the collar on.

  Idris finished and ignited the pattern. Instantly, I saw it dim as Mzatal drew upon it. A low warmth spread through my side. Now I understood Idris’s worried look. If the demonic lord needed a support pattern for additional potency, that meant I was well and truly fucked up. Then again, it wasn’t news to me at this point.

  I pulled my unsteady attention back to Mzatal. His hair was braided in a complex weave that looked like it needed at least seven or eight strands. Did he do that himself? Or did he have a demon valet do it for him? And where did he get the tie that was currently tucked partially in his shirt to keep it clear of his work? And for that matter, where was I going to get new clothes? Especially bras. I knew the one I had on was pretty well soaked in blood.

  “The zrila Anak fashioned the tie, and the faas Jekki braids my hair,” Mzatal said as he slid a hand beneath me to reach the entry wound. Pain flared at the movement, and I hissed a breath. “When we return to my realm on the morrow,” he continued, “the zrila circle will create what garb you require. They are quite skilled.”

  I managed a slight scowl. “You’re reading…me.”

  Mzatal looked from the wound to my face. “Yes, of course.”

  “Rude.” I swallowed, breathing shallowly. “Stop.”

  “That I cannot do,” he replied. “It is as impossible as stopping the taste of wine upon my tongue, or the feel of your skin beneath my hands.” In the next instant heat flooded the wound, and I gasped, hands tightening in the sheet. Gradually, it subsided into a warm pulse, spreading in gentle flows from the wound to the rest of my body. I exhaled in relief as the pain faded, noticing that it was already far easier to breathe.

  “The sigils fascinate you,” Mzatal said almost conversationally, “but it is clear you do not know many of them. What training have you had?”

  “My aunt,” I replied. It was a lot easier to talk and breathe now, but I was as tired as if I’d run a marathon uphill. Not that I had any intention of ever finding out how tiring a marathon was. “She taught me protocols…rituals. I summon demons…to learn…ask questions.” I caught myself drifting and dragged my focus back to him. I didn’t want to sleep. Too much chance I might never wake up. “I’m…getting better?”

  Mzatal drew in a deep breath. He looked damn near as tired as I was. He shifted and placed a hand on my solar plexus. “Yes, better,” he said. “Gestamar will splint your leg. I have done much work with the impalement and the internal damage.” He gave me the barest ghost of an actual smile. “You will not die this day, Kara Gillian.”

  I smiled weakly, then slid my hand over his. “Thanks,” I mumbled as I allowed my eyes to drift closed.

  Chapter 8

  I came awake abruptly. “Eilahn?” I called groggily, before realizing where I was and what had happened to her.

  “Eilahn is not here, little one,” came a rumbled response. I blinked to focus and saw Gestamar crouched beside my bed, carefully knotting a splint around my injured leg.

  “You know Eilahn?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “She was killed on Earth.” My brow furrowed. “Yesterday, I think. Is today the same day as when we fell?”

  “Yes, it is the same day,” he replied. “You have been asleep for several hours. And yes, she has returned.”

  “She has?” I exhaled in relief, smiling weakly. “I was so worried.”

  Gestamar tightened another binding, then shifted and touched my cheek with the back of a claw. “Yes, though Ilana says that she will be in stasis for a time, to recover herself.”

  “Good…good. What about Safar?”

  “Mzatal tends Safar’s damaged wing now,” he replied calmly.

  Pain shot through me as Gestamar shifted my leg. And Safar was messed up, too. Wow. Today was turning out to be an even shittier day than the one before. I hadn’t thought that was possible. And damn it, the fucking collar was back on. It’d been such a relief to have it off during the healing.

  “You roused him,” Gestamar said, and it took me a couple of seconds to realize he was referring to Safar. “Neither of you would have survived had you not.” He shifted and returned to knotting bindings.

  “Good thing he didn’t like having his ear twisted,” I said with an unsteady smile. The pain was beginning to make its presence known again, pulsing in waves like radio signals from my leg.

  Gestamar snorted. “Our ears are quite sensitive. You chose well.”

  “And what about the syraza?”

  “Olihr. Recovered enough to return to Rhyzkahl by midday,” Gestamar said casually.

  That got my attention. What was one of Rhyzkahl’s sy raza doing at Szerain’s palace? Hope rose. Did Rhyzkahl know I was here?

  “What happened?” I asked Gestamar. “I mean, why did we fall?”

  “Olihr is young and eager.” The reyza gave a low snort. “He sought to close the anomaly above on his own and became incapacitated by the backlash energies,” he explained. “When Safar touched Olihr, he received a jolt of it.”

  Like touching a live wire, I mused.

  A scrape of boot on stone gave me enough warning to be prepared as Idris entered and hurried to the side of the bed. It was obvious he was trying hard to not flutter, but the poor kid was clearly way out of his comfort zone. His eyes kept flicking to the swollen mess of my leg and skittering away, face pale and worried.

  “Kara, do you need anything?” he asked, practically wringing his hands. “Water? I have water. Or tunjen? Tunjen might be better.” His gaze shifted to my leg and away as he gulped. “I’ll get you some juice.” He wiped his hands on his trousers, scanning the table for anything that resembled juice.

  “Painkiller might be better,” I said, biting back the urge to tell him to find a Xanax for himself. My voice had an annoying rasp to it, and I grimaced. “Any sort of painkiller. That’d be good.”

  He stopped fluttering and blinked at me. “Ibuprofen! I have ibuprofen. Be right back!” He turned and headed for the door at a near run, coming to an awkward sliding stop about six inches before barreling into Mzatal.

  The lord stood still in the doorway, hands behind his back, as usual, as he gave Idris a hard look. Idris managed to straighten and get fully upright with some semblance of decorum, though the wild mane of his hair ruined the effect a bit. “Sorry, my lord,” he said and hurriedly stepped back out of the way.

  Mzatal kept his eyes on Idris for another few heartbeats before continuing into the room and allowing the young man to flee. He moved to the other side of the bed from Gestamar, face expressionless and gaze intense as he took in my overall condition. Even through the collar I had the sense he was probing, likely assessing my mental outlook as well as how mangled my physical body was.

  I bit back a cry of pain, hands clenching in the sheets as the reyza shifted my leg. Yeah, my mental outlook was just peachy right now.

  Mzatal’s eyes narrowed a hair. He shifted his attention to Gestamar, said something in demon, and received a deep-voiced answer. Neither’s face or manner betrayed the subject, to my deep
annoyance.

  Mzatal shook his head, spoke again in a slightly more commanding tone. Sick fear pierced through me as the reyza seemed to hesitate. Were they talking about amputating my leg or something extreme like that?

  Gestamar gave a huffing snort, replied in demon, then turned and exited the room.

  “What’s going on?” I asked as I worked on unclenching my hands from the sheet. “Can y’all fix my leg?”

  Mzatal slid his gaze to my face. “I have sent Gestamar to create a particular medicinal blend for you.”

  “Please tell me it’s a painkiller,” I said, swallowing. “Or at least an antibiotic.” I risked another look at my leg. I didn’t see any dirt anywhere, so apparently it was cleaned while I slept. “Can’t you do one of those sigil things again?”

  “You need not worry about infection,” he continued, tone unnervingly mild. “And yes, the draught will ease the pain. It is too soon for you to tolerate another analgesic sigil. The bleeding has been stopped and the break set as well as is possible.”

  As well as is possible? What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Wait…you can heal this, right?”

  “It is a serious break,” he said, clearly watching for my reaction. “I will assess it to see what action will be taken.”

  I did my damnedest to keep my expression even, but I didn’t think I could completely hide the deep fear that took up residence in my gut. “Can’t you do some healing now? Or just send me home. Let me go to a hospital. They can fix it back home.” I locked eyes with him. “Don’t you let me end up a cripple.”

  His gaze remained steady on me. “I have already done some healing,” he stated. “No, I will not send you home or to a hospital. And you will end up as you will end up.”

  The wash of fury that swept through me helped to drive back some of the pain, but I kept silent and refused to look away. I fucking hated how completely I was at his mercy, and I wanted him to know it.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Idris come back in. He stopped dead, likely feeling the level of tension in the room, and began to slowly back out, grimacing as the pill bottle rattled. I snapped my gaze to him and held out my hand for the bottle with a give-me-the-goddamn-pills-now expression on my face. He gulped and looked up at Mzatal. He must have received the okay, because he continued to my side.

  “Here you go,” he said with a wary flick of the eyes at Mzatal before he set the pill bottle in my hand. “Two hundred milligrams.”

  “Thank you,” I managed, fumbling with the top. My hands shook, and I ended up dropping pills on the bed before I managed to get four in my hand. That would bring it up to prescription strength and hopefully put a dent in this pain. “Could I have some water, please?”

  “You will not be able to take the draught as well,” Mzatal said, calm and conversational, “and the pain relief will be far less with the Earth medication.” He lifted one shoulder in a graceful shrug. “It is, however, your choice.”

  I went still, clutching the pills in one hand. He could have said that before I spent a couple of shaking minutes trying to get the damn pills out of the bottle. He’s fucking with me, I realized. Pushing my buttons. I didn’t know if it was to test me or to torment me, but either way, now that I recognized it, I knew how to deal with it. Buttons got pushed all the time when you were a cop, especially as a female.

  Sweat trickled down the side of my face from the pain, but I smiled, replaced the pills in the bottle, and snapped the cap back on. This good lord/bad lord game sucked. Wasn’t it just a few hours ago he was healing me and telling me about how the zrila made his ties? “That’s very kind of you to share that information,” I said, voice dripping with honey and false gratitude. “It warms the very cockles of my heart to know that you hold such a deep concern for my well-being.”

  The lord’s face darkened. “You will remember your place, Kara Gillian.”

  I gave him my best wide-eyed innocent look. “Oh, I know my place, Lord Mzatal,” I said, and tapped the collar with my middle finger. A crash to my right told me that Idris had dropped the water glass he was holding, but I kept my smile in place and my finger extended.

  He narrowed his eyes but then turned and departed without blasting me into several squishy bits. I exhaled as the door closed behind him and dropped my head back to the pillows. Maybe, possibly, I won this round?

  “Holy shit,” Idris breathed. “Holy shit!”

  “First off, try saying ‘fuckballs’ every now and then for variety,” I said, breathing a bit raggedly as the brief adrenaline surge wore off. “Second, could I please have some water?”

  “Oh, water.” He looked down with dismay at the broken glass at his feet, then swung back to the table. A near-comic sigh of relief escaped him as he found an intact glass. He poured water and brought it back to me. “Fuckballs,” he said, trying out the new word. “Fuckballs, Kara, but you’re insane.”

  My hands shook as I took the water, but I managed to drink some before handing it back to him. “Idris, at this point, what do I have to lose? If I roll over, I’m dead. Might as well let him believe I have a spine.” I met his eyes. “Remember, fake bravery is better than none at all.”

  “Yeah, but…” He shook his head. “I mean, that’s Mzatal!”

  I let out a breathless laugh. “And I’m Kara. And you’re Idris.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” He glanced at my leg, grimaced. “I mean, more than you already are.”

  “I’m at his mercy, Idris,” I said quietly. “He doesn’t need a reason to hurt me. I might as well show that I won’t go down without at least the semblance of a fight.”

  “Yeah. Shit.” He sighed. “I don’t think I could be like you.”

  I snorted. “Of course not. You should be like you, but the best you you can be.” I frowned. “Not sure that made any sense, but hopefully you get the idea.”

  “It kinda made sense. I guess,” he said, though his forehead puckered in mild confusion.

  Gestamar returned carrying a mug. He moved to my side and held it out for me. I took it warily and sniffed the watery green contents. It reminded me of freshly mowed grass but didn’t smell vile or anything, which surprised me. I was certain Mzatal would find a way to make any meds he gave me utterly nasty.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the mug. “I should drink all of this?”

  “As much as you can,” he rumbled. “Mzatal requested this amount.”

  I took a deep breath and began to chug it down, then had to stop, nearly gagging. Smell was definitely no way to judge. “Holy…gah! That’s like drinking a diaper.”

  The reyza crouched. “If you do not drink it, it will not help with the pain.”

  I didn’t even bother scowling. This was another test or torment, depending on point of view. Steeling myself, I managed to chug the rest of it down. The nasty shit had better kick the pain’s ass. Shuddering, I handed the empty mug back to Gestamar. “Idris, water, please.”

  He pressed a glass into my hand. I drank, but it didn’t seem to do much good. Fuck Mzatal, I thought sourly. What the hell was Idris doing with this asshole?

  “If you’re here fostering with this lord, then doesn’t that mean you’re pretty hot shit in some way?” I asked Idris,

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I do okay with the summoning stuff.”

  I took another drink of water in a futile attempt to clear the slimy vile taste from my mouth, then gave Idris a sharp look. “Wait. You do ‘okay’? Do you really believe that?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You summoned me, damn it. You’re more than ‘okay’ if you managed that.” I sighed, shook my head. “Idris, it’s okay to be proud of the shit you can do well. Trust me, there are plenty of people more than ready to tear you down. Why give them a headstart?”

  He stared at me, then flushed. “Yeah, I did good with that,” he said, smiling with—at last—a touch of pride. “It was hard.”

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t going down without a fight.
”

  Movement in the doorway caught my eye, and I did a double take as an ilius coiled into the room. The waist-high demon curled and spiraled within a haze of confusing multicolored smoke. Flashes of teeth, or an eye, or sinuous body appeared and disappeared seemingly at random. I’d summoned an ilius a few times before, finding them very useful as trackers in my police work, kind of like a demon version of a bloodhound. I didn’t know much about them except that they consumed essence as their sustenance and, according to Rhyzkahl, didn’t have a taste for humans. I’d always sated them on nutria as payment for their services, and they seemed content enough. Though the thing didn’t appear to touch the floor at all, it was definitely more substantial and colorful than the ones I’d summoned to Earth.

  “Um…Idris? Why is there an ilius in here?” I asked as the demon drift-coiled its way to the balcony.

  Idris glanced over at the creature then back to me. “That’s just Dakdak looking for Mzatal. Well, not actually looking for him,” he said. “Since the ilius is here, it means Mzatal will most likely arrive within a minute or two. I don’t mind. It’s kinda like an early warning system.” He grinned.

  That was just too damn funny, and I laughed outright, though it may have had something to do with the shit I just drank. “So you’re telling me big bad Mzatal has a pet ilius named Dakdak he hangs with?” I lifted the glass for another cleansing drink of water.

  “Yeah. Four close ones actually—Dakdak, Krum, Tata, and Wuki—and a bunch more that just hang out at his place. They’re not pets though.”

  I snorted water out my nose, laughing so hard it hurt. “Tata? And…Wuki?” I managed to gasp out. Then the room abruptly tilted. I dropped my head back and clutched at the bed.

  “What’s wrong?” Idris asked, aflutter again.

  “I think—” I shook my head, instantly regretting it. “The green shit works,” I slurred, right before the world fell away.

  Chapter 9