Legacy of the Demon (19 page)

“Got it.” Fingers numb, I wove the last sigil on the bullets, reloaded the mag, slammed it home, and chambered a round. “Now!”

As the barrier dropped, I brought the gun up, sighted and squeezed off two rounds that struck Sprout dead center mass. In the blink of an eye, Elofir sent a spike of potency through the opening. It spiderwebbed on the inside of the demon's shield, destroying it before constricting to envelop Sprout in a tight potency net.

The demon squawked and flopped into the snow. I grabbed my glove and sprang up, sprinted past him and toward the Mzatal vs. Big Turd main event. Their battle flowed along the rooftop, brutal and beautiful like a perfectly choreographed dance of death between equal opponents. Bloody gashes marked the reyza, and Mzatal's face was a mask of red, likely from a scalp wound. Big Turd moved with a grace and speed in stark contrast to his size, using wings and tail, claws and teeth to hammer Mzatal with blows, both arcane and physical. Mzatal ducked and leaped, slashed and struck with both essence blades. It would only take one slip, one misjudged strike to tip the balance. How long could Mzatal hold so much power?

I slid to a stop in the middle of the street, dropped to my butt and tugged on my glove, then pulled my right knee up to use as a base to steady my aim.
Forty yard shot, minimum,
I thought as I settled into position.
Three shield piercers left
. I'd been an average marksman at best when I was a cop, and that was with a max target distance of twenty-five yards. But I'd gone through twice as many rounds in these past two months than in my entire police career.
I can do this.

My finger rested lightly on the trigger as I sighted down the
barrel and watched for an opening. The reyza was a whole lot larger than a paper target, but he and Mzatal were in constant motion, shifting position with inhuman speed. “Let's not shoot the wrong one, okay?” I murmured. Even though I knew our bond lay cold and silent, I
reached
to the core of Mzatal's essence, opened my mind so that he could feel my intent.

And hopefully get the hell out of the way of a bullet.

I pygahed and slowed my breathing. Mzatal took what had to be an intentional misstep, giving me what I needed. Big Turd lunged into the opening, and I squeezed the trigger.

The demon let out a roar that shook the earth and shattered windows even as the next two rounds found their mark. Mzatal drove lightning spikes into the punctures, and the shielding burst like shattered glass. Big Turd snapped out his wings and surged into the air, but Mzatal had clearly anticipated the retreat and leaped after the demon.

He sank one blade then the other into Big Turd's lower back. The demon bellowed and twisted in flight, clawing at his attacker in mounting desperation as, hand over hand, Mzatal used the knives like cruel climbing pitons to scale him. High between the shoulder blades, he buried Xhan in the muscle of the right wing then wrenched the knife, slashing flesh and membrane. Blood showered the snow as the demon faltered then careened toward the ground in a poorly controlled descent.

My breath caught as Mzatal reversed his grip on Khatur and ran the point alongside the demon's spine.
He's positioning for a heart-strike
, I thought with a mix of relief and horror.
He's going to kill him with an essence blade.
Even as the realization hit, Mzatal plunged Khatur between ribs and into the reyza's heart.

Bikturk howled like a tortured beast, head thrown back and limbs stiffening in rigid spasms. The terrible howl trailed off into a strangled croak followed by awful silence as he went limp and plummeted toward the street.

I hurried to back away, nearly tripping on the curb. With seconds to impact, Mzatal wrenched Khatur free and jumped clear. For an instant, he seemed to fly, then he landed in an effortless crouch that sent smoking cracks radiating across the pavement. The massive Jontari crashed behind him, the great wings collapsing last, perfectly framing Mzatal for a split second before they settled gently to the snow.

A ragged cheer rose from the people behind me, but it
quickly died away to uneasy murmurs as Mzatal straightened. Blood flowed over his face from a laceration along his hairline. His black gaze took in the bound reyza and the huddled humans, and his lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl. He advanced, malevolent aura rolling before him in a smothering wave like heat before lava, Khatur and Xhan still gripped in each hand.

No, it was the blades that had
him
in
their
grip.

Throat tight, I pivoted to Elofir. “I need you to get these people to safety.”

He looked at Mzatal with naked grief before giving me a weary nod. “Save him,” he said quietly.

Death and destruction roiled in Mzatal's eyes. For several nerve-wracking heartbeats, he watched Elofir shepherd the group up the street, but then he focused on the demon bound in Elofir's potency net.

Sprout let out a piercing whistle like I'd never heard from any reyza ever, and it took me a moment to realize it was a squeal of terror.

Because he knows he's about to be killed with an essence blade
, I realized. Death by essence blade meant death for real, with no chance of passing through the void. But the badass Jontari demon was all but pissing himself in fear, struggling violently against Elofir's bindings. I couldn't imagine a war-focused demon like Sprout fearing death—not after witnessing the suicide of the Piggly Wiggly reyza. Plus, I'd killed Pyrenth with Szerain's blade, and the reyza had shown no fear. A hideous realization slid icy fingers through my chest. Sprout wasn't afraid of death by the essence blades. He was terrified of a fate far worse than the mere cessation of life: whatever hellish doom he faced with those same knives in the hands of a nightmare Mzatal.

I put myself between the lord and the demon. “Mzatal,” I said in a loud, clear voice, mentally calling to the very core of his
essence.
“Is the rift secure?”

His only response was to call potency to him—both native and
rakkuhr
—until the air around him rippled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elofir carrying the little girl while he and the humans ran for the barrier. They were out of danger—for the moment—but I had a sinking feeling that if Mzatal succeeded in blading Sprout, he would turn on them next. No one would be safe.

“Mzatal!” Pulse pounding, I closed the distance between us and seized his bloody face in my hands. “Mzatal, leave the demon be.” My eyes sought his. He ripped his gaze from the reyza and looked down at me as
rakkuhr
rippled over him.

“I'll take care of the demon,” I said. “That's why you sent for me—to take care of . . . the situation.”
To take care of you
, I silently added.
That
was why he'd said he needed me. With two of the domineering essence blades in full use, he'd known he would need me to bring him back to himself.

Red flickered deep in his eyes. I kept my hands on his face. “I'm here to take care of things,” I said. “I'm here for you. You sent for me.”

His breathing quickened, and a deep shudder went through him. The knives spoke to him in ceaseless, insidious whispers. Xhan, possessive and demanding. Khatur, silky and persuasive. But Mzatal had sent for me to be the third voice, and now he had my words to listen to as well.

He spoke through clenched teeth. “I . . . need. You.”

“Yes. You need me. That's why I'm here. For you.” I stroked my thumb over the ridge of his cheekbone. “You can do this. I'll help you.”

Eyes never leaving mine, he sheathed Khatur at his waist then used the free hand to seize the hair at the back of my head in an iron grip. With the other, he lifted Xhan.
Rakkuhr
flickered over the blade as he brought it close to my face.

I didn't shrink from it. “I've felt the kiss of that blade before, zharkat,” I murmured. “I'll suffer it again if it calls you back to me, but I prefer
your
kiss.”

Mzatal remained utterly still for half a dozen heartbeats then crushed his lips to mine, grip still fierce against my scalp. I tasted blood. His. Mine. It didn't matter. I returned the kiss just as hard and wrapped my arms around his neck. My hand found his braid and gave it a sharp tug.

A shiver went through him, and beyond the kiss I was distantly aware of him drawing Xhan across his thigh.
Blooding it
. Distracting it enough to allow Mzatal to send it away.

The knife vanished. He wrapped an arm around me, holding me hard against him even as he tightened the grip in my hair. Relief and a zillion other emotions surged through me as I clung to him. “I have you,” I breathed. “I have you now.”

He potency-burned away the blood from his face, then simply kissed me again, hard and deep. I responded in kind, not
giving a shit that we were in the middle of a rift-broken street in Russia.

I sketch hurriedly in my journal under warm amber sigil-light. If only I can remember this last portion of the trancer glyph before the Conclave ends, Lord Szerain will—

“Elinor.”

Lord Mzatal! He will flay me while I yet breathe. I shove the journal closed, heart fluttering in my breast.

He grasps my shoulders and calls me a name I do not know. The world tips.

Cold. Snow. Rift-light.

Mzatal held me, grip hard and eyes narrowed. There was no need to tell him this wasn't the first time an Elinor dream had blindsided me. Though the demahnk and other lords were blocked from reading me, my mind and heart and essence were ever open to him.

He slowly relaxed his grip as if prying himself free then released me. To my relief, his eyes were his again, but a sliver of dread persisted at the sight of Khatur sheathed at his side rather than sent away.

“Elinor's journal,” I said, annoyed at how thin my voice sounded. “Do you know where it is?”

He regarded me for an oddly long moment before his head dipped in a slow nod. “The black enamel chest in the solarium.”

I had more questions, but the appearance of Helori stilled them.

“You are needed,” the demahnk said to Mzatal.

Mzatal reluctantly tore his gaze from me. Then, with a casual flick of his fingers, discharged a bolt that atomized Sprout. As the reyza bits discorporeated, Mzatal extended his hand to Helori, and then they were gone.

With Mzatal's departure, a blanket of silence seemed to drop over everything. It hadn't, of course. There was still plenty of noise. Cries of pain, sirens, the crackle of fire, shouted orders. But it felt as if a vital part of me had left.

Sappy much?
There was no time for that kind of handwringing. Besides, I couldn't be sad after getting to share that moment with him, after being here to help him withstand the influence of the two blades. I couldn't even imagine what Mzatal would be like with all three blades. Never thought I'd be glad that Vsuhl was safe and sound with Szerain.

Vsuhl is with Szerain. Duh
. Maybe I could find Szerain and the others by first finding his blade? I'd been its bearer for a short time, which meant I stood a chance of touching it and following the connection to Szerain.

The rift vomited a gout of flame, and I was relieved to see Elofir sprinting back from the barricade. Between us, the corpse of the massive Jontari lay crumpled in the street. This was only the second dead demon I'd ever seen, since on Earth they usually discorporeated—except when they were killed by an essence blade, as I'd done to the reyza Pyrenth at the Farouche Plantation. I hadn't known the knife would kill him dead, and it was the first time I'd ever killed a sentient creature. It was only a tiny consolation that Pyrenth had died on Earth before, so
any
death here would have probably been a true death. Still, I'd been the one to end him, and even though it had been in pure self-defense and as justified as a killing could get, I knew I would never forget that sick feeling, never lose that tiny pit of grief. Not that I should ever lose it or forget. The day
I could take a life without regret would be the day that I became a monster.

I shook my head to dispel the grim thoughts and considered the dead Jontari. Though I continued to have qualms about capturing a live demon, a dead one was fair game. With luck, an examination of the corpse might reveal a vulnerability that could perhaps even the odds.

I turned away and called DIRT HQ. I had no suggestions for their query of how to pack up the humongous corpse, except that they needed to bring something big enough to—

Heat washed across my back. I spun then had to throw up an arm to shield my eyes from the glare of arcane flames roiling over the Jontari.

“No . . . No!” I looked around in shock for some explanation. My gaze froze on Elofir a dozen paces away. “Elofir, stop!” I cried out in dismay. “Don't destroy it!”

“It is done, Kara Gillian,” he said, quiet voice somehow cutting through the noise. “Leaving it intact would threaten all demonkind.”

My dismay shifted to
pissed.
I yanked the phone to my ear. “Belay that pickup request,” I snapped at the DIRT person, jammed my finger on the disconnect button then advanced on Elofir. “My fucking world is getting torn to bits because of these demons,” I shouted. “We have to find ways to defend ourselves! And if that means the ‘good' demons can't roam free on Earth because they might get hurt, that's better than humans being sitting ducks for the Jontari!”

“I seek to preserve both worlds.”

“You think I don't?” I shot back, voice shaking. “I've been busting my ass—and getting it busted—to help save your world.” Blood pounded in my ears. “We
need
an edge, any advantage. Anything!”

“Not like that.” He exhaled softly and shook his head. “There is too much risk to the demons—”

“I'm the best fucking advocate the demons have! But in the meantime, Earth is getting fucked because you lords couldn't clean up your own goddamn mess!”

He stiffened. “We render aid now.”

“Yeah, for this rift. Gold star for the lords. What about all the incursions during the past two months? What about the ones tomorrow and the next day? Are you going to fight every demon that comes through
before
they can kill more people?”

Grief flashed across his face, and guilt speared through me in response. But though I felt bad for trampling on his sensibilities, I wasn't sorry. “You want to be a pacifist? Then don't get in my way when I'm trying to save human lives. Standing by and cockblocking our efforts isn't preserving peace. That's condoning genocide.”

He jerked as if I'd slapped him then went lord-still, expression smooth as marble. In the next instant Helori blinked in between us. Whether by chance or design, I didn't know, but it broke the tableau.

Helori looked from me to the burning Jontari then to Elofir. His face betrayed nothing.

“If there is time,” Elofir said, voice unspeakably weary, “I will remain to seal the rift while you take her home.”

Without a word, Helori extended his hand to me. At least he wasn't giving me the finger. I knew damn well he'd read the gory details of what had just happened, if not from me, then from Elofir. I took his hand, and a heartbeat later the sights and sounds and smells of Siberia disappeared to be replaced by those of my back yard. The pleasant fall air felt like a furnace after the frigid temps of Ust-Ilimsk.

I expected Helori to release me and go, but instead he shifted to take my other hand as well.

“Yaghir vahn,” he murmured.
Forgive us all.
With that, he kissed me lightly on the forehead and vanished.

Rhyzkahl strode to the edge of his circuit, face twisted with frustration. “What is happening? Where did Helori take you?”

“Your buddies Jesral and Amkir aren't on Earth.” I shed my coat, gloves, and rucksack, then stepped up onto the nexus and gave him a cool look. “Which means you know as much as you would if you were free of my tender loving care.”

He scowled and turned away. Score one for Kara.

Within the super-shikvihr loop, I began my own shikvihr. I didn't bother putting up a shield of potency or telling Rhyzkahl to go to his house. I didn't care if he knew what I was doing, with this or anything else, as long as he didn't interfere. I finished my seventh ring and ignited the series.

“A pity Mzatal cannot spare the time to grant you the eighth,” Rhyzkahl said, not sounding the least bit upset on my behalf.

“Yeah, it's almost as if he's been occupied cleaning up after you,” I shot back then forced myself to pretend Rhyzkahl wasn't there. I had more important things to focus on. The shikvihr was a foundation and only the beginning. To have any chance of
touching Szerain's blade, I'd need to do more than simply holler for it. I needed to have some
oomph
to my call.

I'd called Vsuhl once before. I still remembered the ritual that Mzatal and Idris and I used to gain the blade, and it was those sigils that I traced now to hang in the air. When I ignited the new pattern, a subtle energy shimmered through me like an echo of electric current, its potential harnessed and ready to be unleashed.

Visualizing the essence blade, I recalled every nuance of its form and feel. Though I held no illusions of wresting Vsuhl away from Szerain, there was no wiggle room in the ritual for wishy-washy thinking. The call had to be a pure laser beam of intention to summon the blade. All I needed was a touch, an opening to find the knife—and by extension, Szerain.

As my breathing deepened, I tapped into the ritual and thrust my hand into the air, willing Vsuhl to me. At the edge of my awareness, I heard Rhyzkahl shout something—disparaging or warning, I didn't know. Didn't care. I shut him out. Shut out the world and focused on the blade.

Familiar power, a furnace of potency, teased at the edges of my senses.

“Vsuhl!”

A whisper of a touch. An acknowledgment. It knew me, remembered me, and its power vibrated my bones like the buzz of a thousand angry bees. And there, beyond the blade, Szerain—turmoil beneath a calm exterior. Surprise, wariness. A hint of Zack and even Sonny. And, like a white hot sun, Ashava. I trembled with the effort of maintaining the tenuous connection, even as an exultant grin stretched across my face.
More
, I thought, drawing potency through the ritual to widen the channel. They were on Earth, in the Beaulac area, but—

I throw out my hands for balance as the summoning chamber shakes. The ritual has become a maelstrom, and I cannot stop it. Potencies flash red and purple as fire races through my veins. My lord, help me!

In Lord Szerain's hand, Vsuhl flashes with the energies of the vortex. A savage wind tears at my robes, snatches the scream from my lips and hurls it into to void. My lord steps behind me and wraps his arm around my waist, steadying me against the breaking of the world. He will save me.

The fire fills my eyes, and through the flames I see my love, my Giovanni, waiting for me.

“Call her!” Lord Szerain's words reverberate through my essence and beyond the world.

The walls crack. The sound drives through my existence.

Pain sears my chest.

Crack.

A dark-haired woman in white robes frowns down at me.

“Elinor!”

“Call her!”

A bald man in blue.

Blinding light.

Crack. C-c-crack.

“Do not stop calling!”

A blond man smiles. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“Nobody knows who she is?”

“Elinor!”

The man in blue grips my wrist.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Kara!”

My entire body jerked as awareness slammed into me. Blinking, I struggled to orient myself as my breath burned my lungs, and my heart hammered. The stone of the summoning chamber cooled my cheek. No, the nexus. I was crumpled on my side on the slab. Shit.

I pressed up to sit, gritting my teeth against the low throb of a headache.

“Kara.”

Rhyzkahl stood at the inner edge of his orbit, eyes narrowed at me. He'd called me out of the dream, I realized. Again. Even after what I'd done to him.

“Thanks,” I said in nearly a growl and climbed to my feet.
Elinor, you're starting to be a real pain in my ass.

The ritual sigils tumbled in place, dark and fractured, and I dispelled them with annoyed sweeps of my hands. Lousy timing for that fucking dream-vision. I'd been a hair's breadth away from truly connecting with Vsuhl and . . .

My annoyance abruptly shifted to outrage. No, it wasn't lousy timing. Elinor—meek, sweet little Elinor—had purposely interrupted my attempt to reach Vsuhl. Because of her own fear of it? I could totally relate to having an aversion to the knife that had been shoved into your chest. Really, I could. What I couldn't tolerate were hissy fits that fucked up important and possibly unrepeatable work.

Scowling, I stepped off the nexus then paused. I was missing something.

The tree whispered beside me, leaves rustling like a hundred voices. The leaf warmed between my breasts.

The dream.
Setting my hand on the smooth white bark, I closed my eyes and murmured, “Clarity. I need clarity.” My palm tingled, and a hypnotic vibration like a distant heartbeat pulsed through me. I immersed in the dream. Not the ritual and Elinor's death. What came after.

The dark-haired woman. White robes and pale walls. Bright light.

No. Disengage. Fly. Be the drone camera.

A beige-walled room. The dark-haired woman. Not white robes. A white coat. Beyond her, a wall clock ticks.

Fly back more
.

The bald man is wearing blue scrubs and stands beside a bed. He shines a light into the patient's eyes. Takes her wrist to check the pulse.

He looks up as a blond man opens the door. “Nobody knows who she is?”

Tick. Tick. T-t-t-tock.

The blond man.

Zoom in on him. Zoom in on the blond man. Easy smile. Tanned face.

Zack. No, not Zack.

Xharbek.

I opened my eyes and gazed up at the purple and green canopy of the grove tree. “Thanks.” I smiled as the leaves rustled an answering song. Mind clear, I headed inside.

The kitchen was empty, but a brief search turned up an odd party in the war room. Giovanni sat sketching at one end of the table, while Jill slowly flipped through a thick and ancient book and took pictures of the pages with her archive camera. Between them, Pellini and Bryce cleaned guns.

Pellini glanced up. “How was Siberia?”

“Siberious,” I said. “But I was just on the nexus and discovered two things.” I had everyone's attention now. “First off, Szerain, Zack, Ashava, and Sonny are definitely alive and on Earth. And, second, so is Elinor.”