Fury of the Demon

Chapter 39

The staff door of the house opened, and once again Asher and Idris came out and jogged toward the gazebo. Idris appeared stressed and disturbed, while Asher looked triumphant. Idris knows how fucked up this is, I thought, feeling equally grim.

Idris’s gaze flicked briefly to Mzatal, while Asher eyed the demonic lord with a great deal of wariness. I looked around carefully. If there were any snipers who could get me, they’d have to be hiding in the cattails surrounding the lake.

Rising slightly from my crouch, I shouted, “IDRIS! YOUR MOM IS SAFE!” If he only had a light dose of Farouche’s influence, that knowledge would hopefully give him much greater freedom of action.

Idris’s head snapped around at my shout, and relief bloomed on his face. Asher looked over at me as I ducked into the bushes again, but Idris didn’t give him any chance to speak or act. Without hesitating an instant, Idris seized Asher by the upper arm, swung him around and delivered a hard punch to his face. Idris was stronger and in much better shape than Asher, and it showed. Asher staggered and collapsed even as Idris dropped down to slug him again with his entire bodyweight behind the blow.

I held back an exultant cheer. Yep, that was definitely some freedom of action going on right there.

Idris stood and shook his hand out, face hard. He glanced my way, gave a slight nod, then turned and ran to the gazebo.

What the hell?

A low rumble rattled my bones, then waves—part arcane, part physical—spread out from the gazebo like ripples from a rock thrown into a pond. I staggered to keep my footing as they passed under me, then pressed my hand to my stomach as nausea hit. We didn’t exactly get a lot of earthquakes in southern Louisiana. This had to be instability caused by the node, and it wasn’t even open yet. Not good.

Another low rumble, and then the ground shook as if a giant jackhammer slammed into it about a hundred times a minute. I lost my balance and went sprawling. Idris fell in the gazebo but immediately scrambled to his knees and began to weave potency around the node. Not to open it for the Mraztur, I realized with relief, but to stabilize it.

Windows shattered with pops and cracks that sliced across the lawn. To my left, a statue toppled over and tumbled down the far set of steps. Asher staggered to his feet, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, and managed two steps toward the gazebo before falling again.

There didn’t seem to be any point in trying to get up with the ground still shaking, though Mzatal continued to dance the shikvihr as if nothing was amiss. Even if I hadn’t been able to see him, I’d have known he was there. His aura pulsed and flared like heat from an active volcano. Paul knelt a few feet behind him, his focus on his tablet. Mzatal completed the final sigil and ignited the full ritual, and I sucked in a breath as its power filled me in a delicious torrent through our connection.

“Kara!” Paul’s voice crackled in my ear, excited and nervous. “Sonny and Bryce are clear. Mama’s out the back fence, across the bayou, and away. Still no sign of Zack. Ryan’s going to wait where he is in case Zack comes back, and Bryce will be heading our way momentarily.”

“Got it,” I replied.

The jackhammer feel suddenly stopped, only to be replaced by the madly uncomfortable sensation of too much pressure, as if I was a hundred feet underwater. I dug my fingers into the grass, and a heartbeat later the pressure seemed to reverse, and I felt as if I was going to float away while my eardrums threatened to burst. Mzatal called to me, touched me through our connection, and I returned the touch, assuring him I was okay.

“Node is open!” Paul cried out, tinny and distant. “Node is open!”

I gripped the grass hard as I looked up and over at the gazebo. Tendrils of potency like vines of shimmering blue light flowed out of the center, twining up and over the structure until the whole thing glowed. It flared in an arcane blaze, and in the next breath a concussive blast ripped the gazebo apart and sent debris flying in all directions. I yelped and ducked my head down, glad that I was already prone. Rubble from the columns and shards of slate rained down around me, but the force of the blast left nothing big enough to cause me any significant damage.

“Paul! Idris!” I yelled, though my voice sounded distant to my own hearing. I swallowed to pop my ears and tried again. “Paul!” Peeking up, I tried to assess. No gazebo anymore, only bases of the columns like jagged teeth on the stone platform, and rubble scattered like gravel far across the lawn. Ice clutched at my chest. Idris. He’d been right there in the middle of that huge blast. “Paul! Are y’all okay? Answer me!”

Mzatal got to his feet, expression hard, and his shikvihr still intact and glowing brightly in othersight. Static buzzed in my ears. “Yeah.” Paul’s voice crackled and popped through a suddenly horrible connection. “I think. Yeah.” Now I saw him about five feet behind Mzatal, struggling upright, his tablet clutched to his chest.

“Stay down, Paul,” I ordered, relieved to see him comply. The comms were in bad shape, but at least they hadn’t been knocked out entirely. My gaze swept the area and finally rested on the sprawled form of Idris about halfway between my position and the node. “I see Idris,” I said, voice shaky with relief. “He’s down, but breathing, and I don’t see any blood.” Though the blast had been a fierce combination of physical and arcane power, I stubbornly clung to the hope that he was merely stunned. After a few more seconds of searching, I located Asher lying face down on the bank of the lake, lower legs in the water. Maybe the lake had leeches. That would be cool.

Though a good half of the floodlights were dying in impressive showers of sparks, I caught sight of Farouche standing on the veranda above the steps with his bodyguard, Angus McDunn, right beside him. McDunn touched Farouche’s arm, spoke to him, and Farouche responded with a tight nod. I imagined it was something like, We need to get off the veranda while weird and dangerous shit is happening, since Farouche turned, and the two disappeared into the house.

I returned my full attention to the node. No longer a low, compact arcane weave, it rose a dozen feet above the platform, a disturbing column of potency that oscillated from blinding rainbow light to the utter blackness of the void. The ground shuddered and an eerie whine issued from the node. In the next heartbeat the whine crescendoed and then died as Rhyzkahl stepped out of that column of power, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breath, though appearing collected and confident otherwise.

My eyes went to Xhan in his right hand. The lurid red of rakkuhr wrapped around the essence blade and up Rhyzkahl’s forearm. My lips pulled back from my teeth as I dug my fingers hard into the ground and tried to clench my hands into fists. “Rhyzkahl’s here. Paul, stay down and behind Mzatal.”

“Mzatal says—I don’t know what he means,” Paul said, and I heard the stress in his voice even through the static. “Says no rules here and no way to contain Rhyzkahl? Shit!” Static filled the connection for several seconds as the node flared. “Says must incapacitate. Engaging.”

Cursing, I pushed up to hands and knees, easier now that the ground wasn’t shaking and nothing was blowing up. “As soon as Rhyzkahl is occupied, I’m going to get Idris and drag him over your way.” Mzatal needed me by him for combat support and so that his attention wouldn’t be split. In my peripheral vision, I saw Rhyzkahl tracing protections as he stepped off the gazebo platform and toward Mzatal.

I made it to my feet and began a slightly unsteady dash toward the sluggishly moving Idris. A heartbeat later a reyza appeared beside Rhyzkahl, spread his wings and bellowed. Not quite as large as Gestamar but formidable none the less.

“He called Pyrenth through!” I steadied my legs, but almost stumbled as the node whined. Another lord stepped from it, fierce smile and aura like a jungle cat on the hunt. “Jesral.”

“Oh, shit,” Paul breathed through the static. “Got it.”

Jesral took a step, staggered a bit, then shook his head as if to clear it and get his bearings. Had the sly lord ever been to Earth before? If not, I was ready to welcome him with a good hard kick in the balls.

I took a second to make sure Jesral’s attention was on Mzatal rather than me, then sprinted to Idris and did a super-quick injury check to make sure I wasn’t going to damage him irreparably by moving him. He was breathing easily, and I didn’t see gushing blood or protruding bones—though he had a glassy-eyed look of shock and a shitload of little blisters, likely an arcane affect of the blast. I flinched as the first potency strike of the battle burst with an ear-splitting crack. Heart thudding, I seized the back of Idris’s collar and began hauling him toward Mzatal and Paul. Easier said than done. Idris was a solid chunk of muscle, which made for a lot of dead weight. I sure as hell wouldn’t think of him as a kid ever again.

He let out a low groan, then began to thrash, disoriented. He was still too out of it to get free of me, but it made dragging him about ten times as hard. “Stop struggling, Idris!” I panted, holding on with both hands as I backed toward friendly lines. “Holy shit, how much do you fucking weigh?”

Pyrenth bellowed again, then bounded in my direction. Adrenaline dumped hard into my system as two things became crystal clear: Pyrenth would reach me in about five seconds and, unless I did something quick and decisive, he was going to recapture both Idris and me for Rhyzkahl.

I’ll never be me again! The terrifying thought surged through me in a flash. The rakkuhr virus held that potential. Rhyzkahl was a certainty. No time for my gun, and it wouldn’t be enough to stop the reyza anyway. In the instant I had to react, I realized I had only one possible course of action. I released my grip on Idris’s collar, jerked my hand up into the air and called Vsuhl to me.

In the next heartbeat Pyrenth was on me, clawed hand reaching to grasp and hold. But I’d practiced with Gestamar in all sorts of close-quarter fighting, and knew the balance points and the weak spots. As the blade coalesced in my hand, I snapped out a side kick into his hip, throwing him off balance enough for me to evade his grab. Moreover, it shifted his unprotected chest toward my right. Letting out a guttural cry, I took advantage of the instant of vulnerability, surged forward and buried Vsuhl to the hilt in Pyrenth’s chest.

He let out an agonized bellow and staggered back. The blade’s approval whispered through my mind as it made its insidious presence known. The hilt wrenched from my hand even though my grip on it was solid, almost as if it clung to Pyrenth’s flesh. Breathing hard in triumph, I watched him go to his knees and scrabble at the hilt. I’d taken one opponent out of the game, and dying on Earth simply meant he’d most likely return to the demon realm.

Except . . . this didn’t look like the other times I’d seen demons die here. There was no light spilling through the wound, no ripping crack or the smell of ozone and sulfur.

Pyrenth was bleeding.

Sick horror formed a knot in my gut. I moved forward and seized Vsuhl’s hilt. The blade howled in protest as I yanked it free, and it seemed to require ten times the effort it should have. Yet then I could only stare for several eternal seconds at the blood that spilled down Pyrenth’s broad chest.

“I don’t understand,” I croaked out. I dropped my eyes to the blade in my hand, felt and heard it urge more more more, then returned my gaze to Pyrenth. He sagged to his side, his expression calm, relaxed. He might have looked peaceful if not for the blood that bubbled from his mouth and darkened his fangs.

“Well . . . played,” Pyrenth breathed.

The fighting continued around me as I struggled to understand. I felt Mzatal’s focus on me, his insistence that I banish Vsuhl. Felt him take a strike for his distraction. I dimly noted that another concussion rocked the lawn, though not as severe as the first. Paul was shouting something in my earpiece, and it took me several seconds to comprehend the words.

“Kara! Mzatal says to send the blade away! Send the blade away! Jesral!”

I jerked my gaze up and saw Jesral’s eyes locked on the blade and me. Quickly, I banished the blade, and briefly reveled in the look of rage that came over him before I returned my attention to Pyrenth.

“I don’t understand,” I repeated, almost desperately. “I only meant to send you back to the demon realm!”

His lips pulled back from his teeth in a reyza smile. “Vsuhl. Takes all. Gives no mercy,” he rumbled, so low I doubted anyone else could hear him.

“Yaghir tahn,” I said, throat clogging. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”

“Kahl dar,” he said. “Juntek lakuna jaik. Srah lorvahlo. Haakir.”

I understood him. Or at least the basic meaning—perhaps because of the whisper of the grove I felt through the open node. All is well. I finished with honor. Well played. Then he drew a deeper breath, let it out, and was still.

Guilt and sorrow clawed at me, sharpened by a scalding wash of Rhyzkahl’s anger over the death of his reyza. This was not at all how I wanted revenge against Rhyzkahl. Never like this. I dragged a hand over my face, and it came away wet with tears.

“Kara!” Paul shouted though the earpiece.

I forced myself back to the present. Rhyzkahl and Mzatal were deeply engaged in arcane battle. Jesral took a step toward me, then staggered back as Mzatal cast a heavy strike his way.

The ground shook again. I spun to see Idris stagger to his feet, swaying, eyes still seeming somewhat unfocused. Baring my teeth, I channeled my guilt into rage that I’d been forced into murdering Pyrenth. Yet with the rage came hurt and disappointment with Mzatal. Why didn’t he warn me? If he’d given me any training with the blade, like I’d asked him to, this wouldn’t have happened.

I seized the front of Idris’s shirt. “Come on!” I snarled, then had to yank him off balance as he resisted, disoriented enough that even Farouche’s mild influence had him fighting me. “Idris. It’s me, Kara. We’re going to Mzatal.”

He took a ragged breath and stopped pulling at my hand. “Kara! I’m . . . okay,” he gasped even though clearly he wasn’t. Wild confusion filled his eyes, and he shook from the arcane and physical damage from the blast.

“Sure you are, big guy,” I said, gritted my teeth, and ran-dragged him back toward Mzatal. Yet my thoughts kept circling back to Pyrenth. I’d killed a sentient creature. All these years of being a cop, and this was my first true kill.

But I had no choice, I realized with sick certainty. Training with the blade wouldn’t have changed my choice in that instant. No way could I have reached my gun quickly enough, and the chances of stopping him with a .32 were slim. If I hadn’t used Vsuhl on Pyrenth, Idris and I would be prisoners of the Mraztur again. Yet knowing it was justified didn’t ease the guilt one bit.

The node whined. “Three lords, Kara! Another just came through!” Paul’s voice, shot through with static and agitation.

“Three!” Shit. “Black hair or blond?” I snapped, too focused on keeping Idris upright and moving to look for myself.

“Black.”

“That’s Amkir,” I replied through gritted teeth as Idris began to balk again. “The King of the Assholes.”

“Gotcha, Kara. Bryce is near the Ops building and moving your way to help you.”

Idris abruptly gave a low cry and yanked back hard against my grasp. Cursing, I swept his leg and dumped him to the ground, then dropped down with a knee on his chest. He gave a whoosh of expelled air as I’d intended, and as he gasped for new breath I seized his arm and rolled him face down then held him in an arm-lock as I looked for Bryce.

To my relief, he was almost to me. He quickly closed the distance, scanning for threats as he pulled zip-ties from his belt and efficiently bound Idris’s wrists and ankles. A potency-burn marked the left side of Bryce’s face—an angry stripe of raw flesh from his temple to his jaw line. Othersight revealed a vicious little coil of potency clinging like napalm to his cheek.

“Hold still,” I ordered, then unwound and dispelled the thing.

“Thanks. Caught the edge of a blast,” he said. “Was wondering why it still burned. I’ll get Idris behind our lines,” he continued, clipped and efficient. “Mzatal needs you now. His attention is divided with you out here.”

I knew it to be true. Leaving Idris to Bryce’s care, I sprinted to a spot about ten feet behind and to the left of Mzatal. His braid swung in a rhythmic pattern as he engaged all three enemy lords, essence blade in hand—shielding, striking, and deflecting in a beautiful and deadly dance. Paul knelt on the ground to his right, fingers dancing over the tablet, eyes unfocused. I didn’t see Ryan or Zack anywhere, and could only hope they were okay.

A strike from Rhyzkahl rocked Mzatal’s shielding, and its residue peppered me like wind-blown sand. Turning to face the enemy, I sought to tap into Mzatal’s pattern. Yet the link that had been as easy as taking his hand evaded me now, with his movement and weaving of flows seeming more like a random jumble of sigils and potency.

I shook my head sharply. Pyrenth’s death had me badly rattled. I’ll angst later, I railed at myself, then pygahed, inhaled deeply, and once more tried to focus. What was I trying to focus on? I looked around, confused.

“Kara!”

I jerked as Paul shouted from nearby, his voice also cutting through the static in the earpiece.

Shit. The virus. “Kara,” I confirmed through gritted teeth. Now I sank into the link, echoing and amplifying Mzatal’s dance with my own. I felt a deep touch from him—reassurance and stability. I returned it with one of my own and used his support and confidence to solidify my center.

The Earth flows seemed to bend toward us, enabling Mzatal to merely extend slightly in order to tap them. Curious, I tried to see why, then nearly fell over in shock as I found the answer: Paul. Somehow, he was nudging and adjusting the flows to give us that slight advantage. Hell, more than slight. I doubted Jesral and Amkir had any experience tapping the relatively weak Earth flows, so for Paul to divert what little was available to them would be like replacing their bullets with paint balls.

A smile curved my mouth as I wove my touches into our offense. No wonder Mzatal liked Paul so much.

Bryce loped behind our lines with the zip-tied Idris over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, then carefully deposited him on the ground. I continued to enhance Mzatal’s patterns, yet even with my support and Paul’s, I felt him weakening.

Mzatal deflected a hard strike, though the edges of it licked within his protections. He shifted, stepped back, and in that instant of movement Rhyzkahl lunged forward and sent a hammering blow into Mzatal’s shields. The shock of it slammed through us both. Mzatal stumbled back another step before recovering, breathing hard while Rhyzkahl smiled in triumph.

“Fuck this,” I muttered, then yanked my gun out of the thigh holster and fired three shots at Rhyzkahl. I knew he was shielded, but maybe it would distract him a little. Plus, it felt good to shoot at him.

As expected, the bullets stopped an arms length from him, then dropped to the grass in molten puddles of lead. His gaze snapped to me, and if anything his expression grew more triumphant. “Rowan.”

I stiffened as the name struck me like a fist, drove through my mind. I felt as though the earth tipped, lost my footing. Rowan?

“Kara!” Paul shouted in my ear as Mzatal spoke the name to my essence.

I sucked in a breath. Kara. Lifting my chin, I shook off the horrible feeling. I’m Kara, and he’s a parasite. I shoved the gun into its holster and continued to work Mzatal’s pattern.

He took another hard strike from Amkir, but riposted with a barrage of arcane spears, so quickly that I knew he’d allowed the strike. I understood Mzatal’s purpose, that he preyed upon the inexperience the others had with the Earth flows. Amkir let out a choked cry and stumbled back to fall sprawled on the grass. Immediately, Mzatal blanketed him in potency, pinning him to the ground and effectively taking him out of the fight, at least for the moment.

Without a pause in his flow, Mzatal deflected two strikes from Rhyzkahl, then blasted Jesral off balance and cast a constricting net of potency around him.

Another small concussion rippled across the lawn, joined by a rumble of thunder. I jerked my attention to the node.

“Ah shit,” I breathed.

The last of the Mraztur to make an appearance, Kadir swayed heavily as he stepped through the node, his expression an odd mix of anger and panic before he smoothed it. Though not completely smoothed away, I noted, even as I fought down my own panic at the idea of four lords against one. Anger still tightened his mouth and the skin around his beautiful eyes. I’d never seen Lord Creepshow display any sort of strong emotion. He must be seriously pissed, I thought. But at who? Or what? Not that it made a fucking bit of difference at this point. We were totally screwed.

Rhyzkahl’s expression grew even more triumphant with Kadir’s arrival, though I hadn’t thought it possible. Baring teeth, he flung another hard strike at Mzatal and followed it with two lesser bursts in quick succession. Mzatal deflected all, but I felt him reach deep into his reserves, and knew he didn’t have much more in him. Right now he had Amkir pinned and Jesral struggling with the net, but it took effort to hold them, and he had nothing left for any sort of offense against Rhyzkahl. Hell, he barely had enough to maintain his defenses.

Kadir swept his cold gaze around, then crouched beside the node, began working over it. He’s trying to stabilize it, I realized in shock. It was difficult to tell from this distance, but his work looked like an amalgam of what Mzatal did at the Nature Center valve and what Zack did at my pond.

A louder roll of thunder swept over us, and I suddenly understood the subtle undercurrent I’d felt. Mzatal knew he had no way to contain all of the Mraztur. His only hope—our only hope—was to incapacitate them. He’d been calling the storm to us. But would even lightning be enough?

Movement near the lake drew my eye, and I saw Asher doing a low-crawl toward a cluster of bushes. But then my gaze went to a figure standing a few feet beyond the remains of the gazebo: Zack.

His expression might have been carved in stone, and I felt the tension in him even at this distance. He wanted to end his bond with Rhyzkahl. I knew that. Logic—at least, my human logic—weighed heavily in favor of his doing so. Yet logic didn’t factor in the terrible price he’d pay.

What would I do in his place? I tried to imagine a life of complete isolation from my kind—never enjoying another silly meal with friends at Lake o’ Butter, never being able to even talk to another human. I’d felt the ache of it during the months with Mzatal, with only demons and lords for company. Yet even that had been tempered for a while by Idris’s presence, and after that the notes and letters exchanged with my aunt, Jill, Zack, and Ryan had been a solid reminder that, even though I wasn’t with them, I was always welcome back.

I watched Zack, waiting to see what he would do. In front of him, Kadir stepped off the gazebo platform and strode toward Asher.

Mzatal’s touch stroked the edge of my awareness, and I shifted more focus to him though I kept my eyes on Zack. I have no more, his meaning came through. I will call lightning.

“Call, but don’t strike yet,” I murmured as Zack took a step forward, and then another. Rhyzkahl shot a quick glance over his shoulder, and victory shone in his eyes as he faced us again. I felt Mzatal’s cautious acknowledgment of my request as he continued to call the storm to him. My focus remained locked on Zack as he moved toward us. I walked forward, then paused at our implied line of scrimmage, and looked over at Mzatal. I’d be beyond his protections if I continued, and I felt the worry in him, sensed his distraction through the shudder in our defenses.

“Boss,” I murmured. “Trust me.”

He gave me a single nod. “Eturnahl,” he replied softly in demon and sent a confirmation of it through our bond. Eternally. I smiled, returned the touch with a loving one of my own, then turned to watch Zack again.

Zack continued forward and up to Rhyzkahl’s right, laid a hand on his shoulder. Rhyzkahl smiled and lowered his hands, confident. With his demahnk ptarl at his side, he knew he held victory and apparently wished to savor the moment.

“Parasite,” I muttered under my breath, but otherwise remained utterly still, watching Zack. I trust you, I thought to him. I had no idea if he could read my thoughts from a distance, but I sent the assurance out to him anyway. I know you won’t betray us. I’m here for you, no matter what your decision or the outcome. Then I murmured, “Tah agahl lahn, eturnahl, Zakaar.” Agahl—the love of friends.

He inclined his head very slightly to me in acknowledgment, whether to my words or my thoughts, I didn’t know, nor did it matter right now. Either way, he knew where I stood.

Zack continued past Rhyzkahl into the space between the combatants and turned a slow circle. Amkir lay pinned on the ground, utter hate in his glare. Jesral stood immobile on the other flank, eyes narrowed impatiently as if wishing Zakaar would get on with whatever he was doing so that the Mraztur could go ahead and claim victory. Kadir siezed Asher by the hair then stood and watched the tableau.

Mzatal spread his hands to his sides to show his lack of aggression in the moment, though he made no move to release either of the restrained lords. Rhyzkahl observed all with an air of utter confidence. I watched the dynamics with wary amazement. Clearly a demahnk held a shitload of clout to be able to bring everything to a halt like this, and as the lords couldn’t read a demahnk, none knew his purpose. Though, for that matter, neither did I, not for certain.

Zack . . . Zakaar came to a stop barely on our side of the halfway point between Mzatal and Rhyzkahl, then turned and faced the latter. As Zakaar’s eyes passed over me, his gaze lingered for the barest fraction of a heartbeat—long enough for me to feel his need and desire for support.

In the lull of the cease fire, I moved forward. Zakaar’s gaze went from Rhyzkahl to the node and then back to him. “What have you done?” he asked Rhyzkahl, voice as mild as if inquiring whether the milk had expired. He spoke in demon, but the whisper of grove touch through the node was enough to let me comprehend meaning, and I had a feeling Zakaar was boosting my ability to understand as well.

Guilt flickered for a bare instant in Rhyzkahl’s eyes. Although Zakaar and the other demahnk had created the valves and nodes, Rhyzkahl obviously hadn’t expected a need to defend his actions. “We have joined the worlds,” he answered, also in demon, recovering his aplomb. “Now we take what is ours.” His gaze lingered on me before returning to Zakaar. “Come, ptarl. Let us finish this.”

I moved up to stand beside Zakaar. He set a gentle hand on my shoulder, then pulled the neckline of my dress aside and set the sigils on my body aglow with the red wash of the rakkuhr. I drew a shuddering breath and lifted my chin.

“What have you done?” Zakaar repeated, and this time there was no mistaking the vehemence and disappointment and anguish in the words.

Rhyzkahl narrowed his eyes. “I have forged a tool for the good of us all,” he stated. “What does it matter what means I use?”

“I made no secret of my view on the use of rakkuhr for any reason,” Zakaar said, voice carrying far. “For this reason,” he nudged his head toward me, “using this means, I am vehemently opposed.” He released the neckline of my dress and quenched the glow of the sigils, then laid his arm across my shoulders. “I have counseled you before not to take this path. Now I simply say,” he lifted his head and fixed his gaze upon Rhyzkahl, “turn from this path.”

A muscle flexed in Rhyzkahl’s jaw. “Your counsel is unreasonable and needlessly conservative,” he retorted. “This means,” he flicked a hand toward me in an impatient gesture, “is viable and brings Earth into our grasp with minimal conflict.”

“It is . . . unacceptable,” Zakaar replied, voice low but with an intensity that carried it far. He hesitated, and I felt a tremble go through him. This was the moment of decision: continue as Rhyzkahl’s ptarl or stand ground and face possibly unbearable consequences.

I slipped my arm around his waist. I’m here for you.

Rhyzkahl sneered at my gesture, then he gave a slight nod. “Your opinion is duly noted, Zakaar. Perhaps it is time for you to leave your duties here and return to my realm.” He looked pointedly at my arm around Zakaar’s waist. “I fear you have formed unwise attachments that have warped your perspective.”

Zakaar tightened his arm around my shoulders, needing a support that went far beyond the physical. “I will gladly return to your realm if you turn from this path,” he announced, then extended his hand. “Take my hand, and we will go together.”

A low wind swirled around us, lifting Rhyzkahl’s white blond hair and setting the cattails on the lake swaying. The lord remained silent for nearly a full minute while he looked at Zakaar as if not quite certain who he was. The delay told me that Zakaar’s offer at least had him considering. More than I expected. “Zakaar, you have lost your direction,” he finally said. “It is you who must turn away, abandon these,” he waved a hand to encompass all that was Earth and humanity, “mayflies.”

Zakaar lowered his extended hand. Another bone-deep tremble went through him. “I am . . . so very sorry, Rhyzkahl,” he said, voice thick with pain.

If Rhyzkahl noticed Zakaar’s anguish, it didn’t affect him. “As am I,” he replied, mouth tight. “It is time to finish my business here. Step aside, ptarl.” He paused, smiled. “And bring Rowan to my side where she belongs.”

A burst of static had me wincing. “Kara!” Paul all but shouted in my ear. “Your name is Kara.”

I masked a smile and kept my arm firm around Zakaar’s waist. My posse was awesome. And Rhyzkahl was a parasite.

Off to my right I saw Kadir throw Asher to the ground hard. He planted a booted foot in Asher’s back then stared at Zakaar and Rhyzkahl with a look of combined horror and fascination on his face. Kadir was acting almost human, which was really starting to weird me out.

“No, Rhyzkahl,” Zakaar said. “I cannot, will not continue to be party to your machinations. I . . .” He paused, shaking, though it was only apparent to me because of my physical contact. When he spoke again his voice was strong and clear. “I renounce the ptarl bond.”

I wrapped both arms around Zakaar and held him firmly, letting him know I was here, would always be here for him. This was Rhyzkahl’s last opportunity to capitulate, and Zakaar’s last to back out.

But Rhyzkahl could only stare blankly, as uncomprehending as if Zakaar had suddenly announced he was a goldfish. “I do not understand.”

“I am breaking the bond,” Zakaar said, his trembles slowly easing. “Breaking the oath.”

Horror spread over Rhyzkahl’s face. “You cannot!” He shook his head in denial at the very idea. “The bond is inviolate,” he practically sputtered. “Zakaar, your time on Earth has driven you mad.”

Off to my right, Kadir reached down without ever shifting his eyes from us, gripped Asher by the hair at the back of his head then expertly slammed his forehead into the ground to leave the summoner stunned and limp. That done, he straightened, stepped over Asher and moved several feet closer to—as far as I could tell—get a better view. It reminded me oddly of tying up a pet dog to make sure it doesn’t run off while the owner steps away to look at something interesting.

Paul’s voice crackled in my ear. “Oh, man, the feeds are nuts! They totally shifted when you went up by Zack.” I flicked a quick glance over to Kadir as I realized it was the feeds—the potency flows—that had him so fascinated.

Zakaar slowly shook his head, eyes never leaving Rhyzkahl. “No, my time on Earth has brought me a breath of sanity.” He closed his eyes, and his focus grew palpable. Undoing the strands that held a several-thousand year old bond wouldn’t be an easy task, much like picking the lock of long-rusted prison chains, but I knew Zakaar was determined to find a way. I pygahed for both of us, supporting him physically and emotionally.

“Whoa, coooool,” Paul breathed. “Now things are coiling and going all over the place.”

Kadir took another step forward. Rhyzkahl jerked as if stung. “Zakaar!” For the first time fear flickered in his eyes. “Cease!”

“There is no stopping now,” Zakaar said in a voice full of sorrow. Uncertainty flooded to me from Mzatal, as if echoing Rhyzkahl’s experience. I touched him, sought to soothe him.

A weird non-physical vibration went through me, and Rhyzkahl jerked again, harder. Kadir’s eyes narrowed, head swiveling this way and that as he tried to assess the shifting flows. I caught a hint of movement behind me and to my right, and I glanced back to see Paul on his feet, lips slightly parted as he focused on his tablet, a bizarro mirror of Lord Creepshow’s fascination.

Abruptly, Kadir spun and moved back to Asher, seized him by the hair and dragged him to the node, then literally threw him in. The summoner disappeared with a weird pop, but Kadir remained and turned back to watch, having put the pet dog in the kennel.

Rhyzkahl dropped to his knees, face a mask of anguish and loss. “No. No! Come back to me,” he pleaded, voice breaking. “Zakaar!”

A sliver of pity wormed its way in, and I allowed it to remain for now. None of the lords had ever been without a ptarl. Ever. I couldn’t even think of a human parallel. Divorce? Not even close. Losing a limb? Horrible, but not unthinkable. Losing a loved one? A tragic part of existence, but an accepted one.

Zakaar’s arm tightened around me as I felt him reach for the last strand. One final cut to sever an unbreakable bond. “Tah si firkh. I’m here for you,” I said softly, held him to me.

His breath came in short gasps as he remained poised above that last strand. Then he tensed, every muscle rigid as iron, and made the final cut to free himself.

Rhyzkahl let out a strangled cry and fell to his hands and knees. His blade, Xhan, tumbled out of his grasp as he stared at nothing, face stricken with unimaginable loss. “Zakaar,” he pleaded.

The tension abruptly fled Zakaar, and his knees buckled. Taken off guard, I managed to lower him to the ground with a bit of control, then knelt beside him and cradled him to me while I murmured I am here, I love you over and over.

Zakaar, his face twisted in tormented sadness, jerked heavily, much as Rhyzkahl had done, as a low anguished noise issued from his throat. A wave of desolate despair swept over me from him. Eyes still on Rhyzkahl, he gave me a brief mental touch, like the brush of a phantom’s fingers, then vanished.