Touch of the Demon

Our footsteps on the stone path seemed loud in the still morning air as we headed to the grove’s tree tunnel. The others were there waiting—Idris, Safar, Ilana, a big reyza I didn’t know, as well as two zhurn and two kehza I also didn’t know. Gestamar was still recovering, his absence palpable. Everyone was so damn quiet that I had the brief urge to shout, “Let’s do this thing!” but I decided it wasn’t the right moment. Still, I smiled at the thought.

Mzatal paced beside me, contemplative. “If you remain open to me during the ritual, it will be helpful,” he said. “After last night, I am certain there is much we can accomplish together that we cannot alone.”

I smiled. “I know we can.”

Idris glanced up from his papers as we approached. His eyes flicked to our joined hands and then back up to my face. He gave me a nervous smile, one that I knew would vanish as soon as he was involved in the patterning.

“Hey, Kara,” he said. “Big day.”

I exhaled. “Yeah, not sure I’ll ever be able to top this.”

Puzzled, he furrowed his brow as he looked from me to Mzatal, then back to me, expression deepening into a frown.

“Yes, you will need to make adjustments,” Mzatal told Idris. “The shift is likely permanent.”

Idris cleared his throat and nodded, perplexity seeming to deepen.

Mzatal and I entered the tree tunnel, and the others fell in a few paces behind us.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

Mzatal smiled and squeezed my hand. “You and I are…different, and he must make adjustments in the ritual and support parameters.”

A slow smile spread across my face as I explored the connection and merging of the two powers. Our energy signatures had changed, as if we’d exchanged a portion of our auras, bringing us into a beautiful flow of connection. “Yeah.” I grinned. “We’re better, stronger, faster.”

“With all going as planned,” Mzatal said, “we will bring a measure of stability that is sorely needed.”

“Nothing ever goes as planned,” I said with a grimace. I’d been on enough search warrants and other operations to know that all too well. “What’s our worst-case scenario, Boss? Rhyzkahl, right? Are we ready for that?”

“Worst-case scenario would be Rhyzkahl intervening and our failure to recover the blade,” Mzatal said, but then he shook his head. “No. Worse would be if he captured the blade once we had it.” He gave me a look filled with confidence and reassurance. “I am prepared for Rhyzkahl this time, and we are together.”

“We will kick all the ass,” I told him, grinning.

Mzatal smiled back, eyes unveiled and filled with unaffected peace. “And the best case scenario is that there will be no ass to kick, and we return with Vsuhl.” He stopped in the center of the grove, eyes traveling over everyone and everything, assessing and assuring that we had all we needed. He took my hand to prepare for the transfer, but then paused and gave me a questioning look.

“What is it?” I asked.

He pursed his lips in thought. “You lead. I will support for the group.”

I blinked. “Me? Are you sure?”

Giving my hand a light squeeze, he nodded. “It feels right.”

“Right,” I echoed, then took a deep breath, soaking in the comfort of the grove to calm the sudden rush of nerves. It was here for me, ready for me when I needed it. And now I had a stronger understanding of it—its strengths and limits, and how to engage and control the semi-sentience.

“Right,” I repeated with a firm nod. “I can do that.” Extending, I asked the grove to take us to Szerain’s palace, and within three heartbeats we were there.

I drew a deep breath, tasting the subtle difference in the air. After traveling with Helori, I knew that sharp edge, like a faint continuous flow of arcane electricity, was localized here and likely exuded from the cataclysm-born rift to the east.

Mzatal drew my arm up to link with his, tucked his free hand behind his back, and we headed out of the tree tunnel. To the north, the honey-blond stone of Szerain’s palace shimmered with golden iridescence beneath a bright, cloudless morning sky. When we left nearly two months ago, Mzatal had closed and warded the double doors to the arched passage that led to the interior and the main courtyard. Now they stood open, so I had to wonder who’d visited since. The paved path rose toward the arch and, halfway there, split into three: one continuing on, and the other two branching right and left to flank the east and west wings of the palace.

“Juntihr, seek interlopers and warding,” Mzatal said to the reyza I didn’t know, voice focused and intense. “Idris, you know what to do, but—” He paused, frowned. “Add an additional layer. Double the pattern.”

Juntihr snorted assent and leaped into the air with a bellow. Idris’s brow furrowed with a quizzical look as though considering the implications. A second later he gave a sharp nod, likely having analyzed the possibilities in the time it took me simply to register the statement. With total focus suffusing his face, as if slipping into a second skin that fit better than his own, he turned and loped off down the path toward the passage. The zhurn scuttled on in Idris’s wake and the kehza took flight, heading up and over the palace. Safar and Ilana paced us some distance behind.

Mzatal and I followed Idris in comfortable introspective silence, stopping only to close and ward the doors behind us. It wouldn’t stop Rhyzkahl, but it would delay him or encourage him to flank the palace. Either way, it bought a little time.

We exited the passage into the overgrown tangle of the courtyard proper. Nothing had changed, yet it felt as if every thing had changed. The raised circle of stone with its enigmatic eleven columns still stood among sorely neglected pathways and flower beds. The wings of the palace still angled off to the east and west. But me? I couldn’t even begin to quantify the changes in me since I’d last stood here. Blatant rape of naïve innocence tended to shake things up a bit.

Letting my cop-senses assess the area, I released Mzatal’s hand and headed toward the columned pavilion. I wasn’t the best tactician by any stretch, but it wasn’t tough to figure out that the pavilion was horribly indefensible except with the arcane.

Uneasy, I scanned the area, then looked back toward Mzatal. “Can you ask Safar to station himself on the tower there?” I asked, gesturing to a section of the palace above the arched passage that offered a good view of the grove on the other side. He nodded and turned to give the instructions while I continued on to the pavilion. Idris was already there, laying out the initial diagram. I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling, but doing something would help. I’d spent the last couple of weeks learning everything I needed to know about my part, and now it was show time.

“Watch out, dude,” I called out to Idris, “I’m coming in.”

He grinned and gave me a look of mock horror before slipping back into total focus. “Mzatal wants the patterns double-layered to amplify the resonance,” Idris said without a hitch in his flow of tracing. “That doesn’t change anything in the initial set-up, but when we start on the overlay, you’ll have to feel into it to get the two layers to mesh.”

I gave him a nod. “I can totally do that.” Creating the sigils by feel for the recovery of Gestamar last night had skyrocketed my confidence in my intuitive ability. I began to work the opposite side of the pattern from Idris, delighted at how smoothly the tracings flowed. All that practice with Mzatal this morning, I thought with amusement.

The main ritual pattern dominated the circle of stone, reaching almost to the columns themselves. With the double layer, it pulsed in multicolored beauty at about chest-level, quiescent sigils shifting subtly, primed and ready for ignition. Once we’d checked it over for continuity, Idris gave me a grin and thumbs up then moved out to his designated place about halfway between the pavilion and arched passage. I wasn’t keen on him being exposed like that, but it was the right place for the damn support diagram.

After a brief assessment, Idris traced a compact pattern and ignited it. With an impressive burst of heat that stirred my hair even twenty yards away, he seared a neat circle in the overgrowth, efficiently clearing the ground for his patterns. Damn, the dude had skill.

I still couldn’t shake the sense that I was forgetting or overlooking something. Nearby, Mzatal danced the overlays for the main ritual with such grace I couldn’t help but smile. I cast my gaze out, seeking the demons. Safar perched on the roof. Juntihr flew high above. One kehza stood atop the wall of the western tower, and the other flew circles above the ruined eastern tower. I didn’t see the zhurn or Ilana. Surely we have enough eyes, and I’ll feel it if Rhyzkahl comes through the grove, I reminded myself.

Before I knew it, the diagrams were prepared, and it was time to begin. Mzatal joined me in the center of the main diagram while Idris took up his position within the support structure. Smiling, Mzatal caught my face in his hands and kissed me, tender yet with a heat beneath it that whispered hints of what he’d done to me this morning. I relaxed into the pleasure and comfort of the kiss. I could trust him utterly. I knew this deep in my essence. Yes, we were lovers now, but we were still friends and partners, and that trust would never waver.

He gently broke the kiss and gave me a radiant smile. Releasing me, he turned and lifted his hand to trace the first sigil of his shikvihr, but before he could do so I took hold of his braid and gave it a not-very-gentle tug.

Mzatal froze with a sharp intake of breath, then turned on me with demonic lord speed, catching my head between his hands in a move that should have struck fear of neck-snapping death into my heart. Instead, I smiled up at him, meeting eyes that shone with playful heat over shadowy depths. He bent and touched his forehead to mine, closed his eyes and murmured, “Dak lahn, zharkat. Thank you.” I felt his gratitude far beyond the words, and encompassing so much more than this moment. He pulled me into a quick embrace, then released me, smiling. “Now, work. Vsuhl awaits.”