Touch of the Demon

Chapter 3

I had no idea how long I slept. The small window high in the wall let sunlight in along with a glimpse of rich blue sky but no other clue as to time of day. It had been twilight when I went to sleep, so apparently it was a full night plus some, give or take a million years. I sat up, absently rubbing my chest, then scowled as I realized I was doing so. The memory of the pain still haunted me.

The adjoining room was, indeed, a bathroom type place, and though the facilities weren’t the usual flush-toilet sort, it wasn’t difficult to figure out how it worked. A low table held a basin, a cloth, and a jug of water, though nothing as pedestrian as a toothbrush. Still, I washed my face and used a corner of the cloth to scrub the worst of the fuzz from my teeth. I even stripped and washed the parts of me that were stinky. Putting the damn black shift back on wasn’t high on my list of favorite things to do, though. What, prisoners of demonic lords weren’t allowed underwear?

As I finished and came back out to the bedchamber, the door opened. Gestamar stepped in, carrying two mugs.

“Drink this quickly,” he said, holding one out for me. “You have been summoned by Mzatal.”

“Can I have some different clothes?” I asked. “A hairbrush? Anything?”

His lip curled, exposing sharp fangs that gleamed white. Apparently he had a toothbrush, or the demon equivalent. “No need for different garb,” he told me. “What you have is sufficient for now. And if you do not drink, you will go hungry. Your choice.”

Scowling, I took the mug and downed the contents. It wasn’t bad, but I definitely wanted solid food sometime soon. This was enough to keep me alive, and that was about it. Then again, my stomach was so queasy from nerves, solid food probably wouldn’t stay down for long.

I set the mug aside, and he passed the second one to me, simply saying chak, which I assumed to be the name of the beverage. The rich brown liquid steamed with a pleasantly fragrant nutty, earthy scent. I took a sip, then another. It wasn’t coffee, but it was hot and pretty damn tasty.

Gestamar pointed toward the door. I took that as my cue to move and, after one last gulp, reluctantly relinquished the mug and its precious contents. Sighing, I dug my fingers through my snarled hair as I exited.

Gestamar directed me to an antechamber, and inside was a set of double doors.

Two life-sized statues of demon-marble flanked the doors. On the left, a woman of mature but indeterminate years stood in tall grace. Though her face was serious, a smile played at the corners of her mouth. A single shoulder strap secured her masterfully carved close-fitting dress, revealing more than it covered. On the right, a young man in a RenFaire outfit stood with his arms folded casually across his chest and a mischievous smile lighting his face.

I peered at them, so exquisitely sculpted I almost swore they were breathing. “Who are they?” I glanced over at the reyza, then back to the statues.

“Nefhotep and Giovanni Racchelli,” he said. “Favorites of Szerain. Giovanni died young.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot and settled into a crouch. “Nefhotep lived here for over two hundred years.”

I blinked in surprise. “Humans?”

“Yes.” He adjusted his wings. “From the time long ago when the ways were open,” he said, lifting a claw toward the young man then toward the woman. “And fully open, very long ago.”

The weird déjà vu feeling crept through me again as I looked at the statue of Giovanni. I knew him, it tried to tell me. Even now I could picture his quick smile and infectious laugh, and for just the briefest instant it was as if the statue moved to turn his teasing grin upon me. My breath caught, my stomach fluttered, my heart pounded, and damn it all, my face heated in—a blush? What the hell?

I squeezed my eyes shut to dispel the illusion and turned away. The sensations lingered for another few heartbeats before fading.

“Szerain has always had the gift of capturing the very essence of his subjects,” the reyza said, peering at the statues.

“He carved these?” I asked in surprise. Gestamar nodded. Had I ever seen Ryan show any sort of artistic ability? I couldn’t think of a single instance, which sent a weird and sad pang through me.

My musing came to an abrupt end as Mzatal strode in, passing me without a glance. He still wore the Armani suit and white shirt, but had changed his tie to one of blood red, and the pattern of his braid seemed different. The double doors swung open before he even reached them, and he entered the room beyond without the slightest hitch in his stride.

Gestamar stood and gestured for me to go in. I did so, jaw tight, hating how grubby and foolish I felt in the damn shift.

With its vaulted ceiling and two huge unbroken windows on the far wall, the room felt spacious despite its small area—not much larger than my living room back home. I couldn’t tell what purpose the room had, though, since it was empty of furnishings. The only object remaining was what appeared to be a statue adjacent one of the windows, covered in a white cloth.

Mzatal stood facing the other window, hands behind his back. I stopped a few feet from him.

“So. Great,” I said, folding my arms over my chest, and doing my damnedest to marshal something resembling a strong attitude. “You have me. You’ve made sure that Rhyzkahl can’t get me back. I have a comfy cell, and crap food, and no toothbrush. Now what?”

Mzatal slowly turned to face me. His eyes met mine, and I suddenly realized that the absence of a toothbrush really wasn’t so bad after all, considering. My mouth went dry as he approached, and I had to steel myself against a shudder as he moved around and behind me. I felt his hands on my shoulders, and then a heartbeat later he lifted the collar from my neck. The arcane clarified and brightened. The room was well-shielded, though I didn’t really need to look at the patterns and sigils to know that. There was no way he’d take the collar off me in a room that wasn’t, and run the risk that Rhyzkahl could track me.

He remained behind me, unnervingly silent, though I could feel him there, his aura alone near overwhelming. Potency like a wave of nightmare engulfed me as he leaned in closer. “What now, you ask?” he breathed in a quietly menacing voice that sent terror streaking through me. “I decide if you live or die.” He paused. “I decide how you live, or how you die.”

My breath caught in a low sob. I hated him more than anyone or anything at that moment. “Okay, I get it,” I managed, nursing what dull anger I could. “You hold full control. You have me scared shitless. You win. Happy now? Whatever this is all about, whether it’s me living or dying, fucking do it already.”

He continued the circle and stopped in front of me, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Before I could get pissed at his amusement at my expense, he lifted his hand and looped a softly glowing strand of potency around my throat, then turned, drawing me behind him like a dog on a leash as he approached the covered statue. I seethed, but was nevertheless grateful for the over-the-top display of dominance. I could do anger a lot better than terror.

He stopped a few feet from the statue and moved behind me once again, but this time he gripped my head between his hands, as if to make absolutely certain I couldn’t look away.

“Elinor.” He spoke the word like an invocation piercing my essence as he stripped the cloth from the statue without touching it. And there she was. Elinor. Youthful. Slight of build with a sweet face that radiated innocence. Sudden swirling dizziness put a stop to my observation.

I jerked, and only the lord’s grip on my head kept me from staggering as memories flooded in, memories that I absolutely knew weren’t my own. Yet as they poured over me and through me, they drove my own existence and identity before them. The room melted and reformed.

“Come, dear one,” Lord Rhyzkahl says, holding his hand out to me, broad expanse of cloudless sky beyond him framed by columns. My stomach flutters, and I feel the blush rise in my cheeks. I smile and take his hand. Anything for his gaze, his touch. Will he kiss me? Breathless.

The memory shifted dizzyingly.

I wring my hands, banished for the moment to the antechamber. Fear. Uncertainty. I hate it when they argue. I listen to the words though do not understand more than that Lord Rhyzkahl dominates this one and Lord Szerain counters. Do not faint. Do not faint. Do not faint.

Shift.

The ritual seethes around me, tearing at me. Pain blossoms in my chest. Please. Pleeeease. I don’t understand. I don’t understand!

Shift.

Giovanni places the small cakes one at a time before me, counting. His eyes twinkle, and I cannot concentrate on the numbers. He will surely think me a silly little thing if I cannot even learn to count to ten in Italian. Uno. Due. Tre. Quattro. He touches the back of my hand and smiles. I am undone!

Shift.

Cakes. Cakes. A statue. Birthday cake. Tessa grinning.

Pancakes. Lots of pancakes at Lake o’ Butter. Jill eating pancakes across the table. Dear One. Cinque. Sei. Sette. Jill. Jill. Otto. Nove. Dieci. Ryan laughing next to me, and Zack rolling his eyes.

Through the maelstrom of memories I became distantly aware of my own whimpering and an increasing grip on my head. My breath hissed through my teeth, and I struggled to focus on the statue as just that—a statue. These weren’t my memories. The dreams, the déjà vu, all this…This wasn’t from me. I was not Elinor.

My hands clenched and unclenched as I called up and galvanized my own memories: My mother and father, growing up with Tessa, learning to summon, graduating from the police academy, my first pursuit on foot, the first time I had sex, crawfish and beer, becoming a detective, the pride of putting bad guys in jail, the first time I got punched by a suspect and how I put him in handcuffs, becoming friends with Jill, giggling over reality TV, Christmases and birthdays, Ryan’s quick smile and Zack’s laugh, Eilahn and Fuzzykins…

My breath slowed as the chaos of intruder memories subsided. I felt the lord behind me, hands still on my head, and I knew in that instant that not only was he deeply reading my thoughts, but also that he was poised to snap my neck depending on his assessment of me.

“Please don’t kill me,” I said, voice calm and quiet.

His grip eased ever so slightly, though he didn’t release me. “Why?”

I didn’t hesitate with my reply. “Because I matter.”

He held the grip for another three heartbeats, then withdrew his hands and dissipated the strand of potency from around my throat. He replaced the collar, then stepped fully away from me and returned to his former position by the window, looking out, hands behind his back. I closed my eyes for a few seconds as I processed the undeniable fact that I’d been a hair’s breadth from death. I knew without a doubt that if I’d been unable to fight my way out of that storm of memories I’d be a twitching corpse on the floor at this moment.

But why?

I wasn’t out of the woods yet, but I fully intended to take a bit of ease in this tiny victory. I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Who was she? This Elinor chick.”

He surprised me by actually answering the question. “A summoner of adequate aptitude from your seventeenth century, trained by me for a short time, then fostered by Szerain and Rhyzkahl.”

“If she was merely adequate,” I asked, frowning, “then how the hell did she damn near destroy this world?”

“That, Kara Gillian, remains clouded.” He turned back to me, shaking his head. “Something of her nature, of her essence, escalated the ritual beyond recovery, and Szerain remains mute.” His eyes narrowed with a touch of what looked like disapproval. “I know it was not within her skills as a summoner to call such power.”

I put what few pieces I had together. “I’m not this Elinor, so what’s the deal?” I knew I wasn’t some sort of reincarnation of her, but I also assumed she and I had a connection. I just didn’t know what it was.

“No, upon assessment it is clear that you are not a direct essence transfer,” he said, echoing my own thoughts. “Your innate energy signature mirrors hers, but is fully yours.” He narrowed his eyes. “But there is another piece of your essence, one that has the feel of an afterthought. This is the part that holds and generates the memories of Elinor and houses a fragment of who she is. Its encapsulation is unconventional, yet it is somehow integral to you.”

I blinked and tried to make sense of that but gave up. “I have no idea what you just said.”

He leaned toward me a smidge, not seeming at all annoyed by my cluelessness. “An energy signature is much like a fingerprint, though not utterly unique. Close matches are possible. Though, without extraordinary means, the chances of locating a specific signature are infinitesimal given the sheer number of possibilities. I can only speculate at this point. It is as though this fragment of Elinor attached to you, became a part of you, because of the energy signature match. Why or how,” he said with a shake of his head, “I do not yet know.”

The fact that he took the time to explain it obviously meant something. Too bad I had no idea what.

“Like donating a kidney,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.

Mzatal lifted an eyebrow, head tilting a bit. “Perhaps, though with a deeper influence.”

Pieces fell into place. “Ah, and that’s why I’m so popular—because I have Elinor’s magic kidney.”

Mzatal’s face shifted from the hint of curiosity to the impassive mask. This dude had zero sense of humor. “Yes, it is,” he said. “Some seek through speculation, and some through smatterings of knowledge.” His eyes were hard upon me. “You are a dangerous unknown, Kara Gillian.”

I lifted my chin, mouth tight. “And dangerous things are either used, destroyed, or—” I thought of my bare feet and black shift and obvious prisoner status. “—contained.”

“Unless the unknown becomes known,” he said. “Then the possibilities shift.”

And how the hell was I supposed to make the unknown known in a way that would keep me alive and whole? I sighed inwardly. Right now I wanted coffee and real food, in that order. Might as well wish for a personal visit from Santa Claus while you’re at it, I chided myself.

He approached me, intense and coiled and calm as he reached and gripped my chin in his hand. His eyes were like ancient pale grey flint shot with silver. A palpable potency radiated from him that sent goosebumps skimming over me. “What is your heart’s desire?” he asked, as if my life depended on my answer.

And it most likely did. I returned his gaze as steadily as I could. “To reach my full potential.”

He held my chin for several long heartbeats before releasing it, only to seize my left wrist and pull my arm forward. I clenched my teeth as he dropped his eyes to Rhyzkahl’s mark and laid a hand over it. He went utterly still for a moment, then drew a deep breath and brought his gaze up to mine.

When the lord spoke it was as if he forced the words out through gritted teeth, though his face betrayed no tension. “This mark does nothing to further that desire. Nor does it serve my purposes for you to bear it.” Mzatal released my wrist and clasped his hands behind his back. “I will remove Rhyzkahl’s stigma and determine what possibilities unfold,” he said with icy conviction.

I shook my head in denial at the thought of having the mark removed, an unnamed dread stilling my breath. “Use, destroy, or contain?”

The lord lowered his head. “Your parameters. Use is preferable. Destruction, if use is impractical or impossible. I choose not to maintain a prisoner,” he said with a smile that held no comfort.

My throat tightened, and my mouth felt full of sand. As he’d promised, he made the decisions on how I was to live or how I was to die. “And what sort of use would you make of me?”

Mzatal looked upon me as though seeking to determine some unknown. “The destruction aspect is far simpler. Slay and then disperse the essence.” He paused. “Use depends upon what remains of you when I remove the stigma,” he said, eyes dropping to the mark.

I fought to control the cold panic that thrashed within me. “‘What remains’? What the fuck does that mean?”

The skin around his eyes tightened. “Hostile removal of a mark is extremely rare and the process extreme. Madness is a possibility. Removal of this construct of Rhyzkahl’s risks essence sheer,” he said, with a shake of his head and a touch of a frown. “Nothing of use to either of us would remain.”

I stared agape then recovered enough to speak. “Are you fucking kidding me? Then why…?” I shook my head in disbelief that anything could be this convoluted. “You’re going to try it anyway, aren’t you? You don’t give a fuck if I end up broken. It accomplishes the same thing. My destruction. You have nothing to lose by trying.”

“No, I do not,” he said as though my destruction meant nothing. “And much potential to gain. As do you. The risk is worth the consequences to both.”

I snorted a laugh at the absurdity. “Oh, sure. A little madness or fucked-up essence is a walk in the park for me and totally worth it for some magic tattoo removal.” Sweat trickled down my sides beneath the damn shift.

“Your ignorance in the matter does not change the potentials or the values.” He shifted his attention to Gestamar and spoke in demon. I caught the summoner’s name twice—Idris—but couldn’t get any other sense of what was said. Gestamar grunted and bounded out.

Mzatal drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “Kara Gillian,” he said in a potent melodic tone that drove straight through to my core. “You are a dangerous unknown. I prefer you to become a dangerous known with possibilities other than death.” He paused and regarded me with keen intensity. “But if deep assessment reveals full essence-binding by Rhyzkahl, then I will have no option but to slay you.”

I dragged my hand across my forehead. “Whew! And I thought today wasn’t going to be shittier than yesterday!”

“It is in truth a most fortunate day for you,” he said as he raked a gaze over me. “Wait here,” he ordered, then turned and exited, closing the doors with a flick of his fingers.

Silence descended, broken only by my unsteady breathing. Dispersal, essence sheer, madness. Right now the available options were all pretty fucking heinous. Even if I survived the removal fairly whole, I’d be nothing more than a slave. He’d stated quite clearly his desire to use me.

My fear settled into a weird acceptance. There was one other possible out. Mzatal had told me there was less chance of making it through the void a second time. Less chance. Not “no chance.” And why would he need to disperse my essence after slaying me if there truly was no chance? In other words, the available options are “shitty” and “shittier.”

I heard two demons conversing outside the door, and cold slammed through me again. Gestamar back from having Idris prepare some new, horrific ritual? No way was I just going to stand here twiddling my thumbs.

Oddly calm, my gaze swept the room, even though I knew damn well there was no convenient knife or noose. Only the damn statue, and broad thick windows covered in wards. I moved to the window near the statue and put my hand toward it. A tingle of pain shot through it, along with a surge of queasiness. But I’ve gone through wards before, I reminded myself grimly. I’m wearing the collar. It’ll suck, but dying for good or having my essence ripped apart will suck worse. What choice did I have?

None.

I couldn’t let myself think about it anymore. If I did I might lose my nerve and would probably never have another chance to take the plunge. Literally. My heart beat triple time, as if counting off my remaining seconds.

I set my shoulder against Elinor’s hip, dug my bare feet into the floor and pushed. She was a heavy bitch, but no match for my desperation. With a creak of stone, the statue slowly tipped, then toppled into the broad window with a satisfying crash, creating a sufficiently large hole.

Her head and shoulders protruded from the window into the open air. I clambered onto the statue, hissing as the first wards stung like a thousand bees. I pushed against them, feeling as if I was slogging through goo. A headache spiked as I forced my way forward. Only about a foot more and I could fall. Holy shit, it would suck, but staying here would suck worse. I dimly heard a bellow and the crash of the door being thrown open. Pain and nausea spiraled higher, and I gasped raggedly. I was on her shoulders now. Another inch and—

A different pain speared through my head as a clawed hand tangled in my hair. I let out a cry of pain and scrabbled to grab at the statue’s head. So damn close! Gestamar bellowed, pulling at me with a hard grip in my hair and on my thigh. Desperate, I tried to slash my forearm across a shard of glass. Oddly it didn’t break the skin any more than a piece of wood might, but the movement caused me to lose my grip on Elinor’s head. Pain from the wards seared through me again as the growling demon dragged me bodily back into the room and away from the window.

My knees buckled as the throbbing headache tripled in intensity, but Gestamar shifted his grip to my upper arms and kept me from completely collapsing. Maybe my head would explode and take care of the whole thing. That’d be convenient. Nausea rose, and I tasted bile. I’d almost made it through the wards. Another few seconds…

Mzatal entered and stopped before me. I dragged my gaze up to him, but the headache pounded so fiercely there seemed to be three of him. All three Mzatals lowered their heads and regarded me while Gestamar held me firmly before him. “Loss to wandering is a near certainty for death and a second passage through the void,” Mzatal told me, mouth pursing in a frown. “A poor choice. A poor option.”

Wandering. Like Tessa, I realized numbly. Not dispersed but lost in the void. Just as bad. Perhaps even worse.

I opened my mouth to tell him that he hadn’t presented any better options, but the nausea rose instead, and I spewed what little was in my gut onto the floor between us. Mzatal took a smooth half-step back to avoid the splatter, more of which ended up on me than him.

“The removal will take place in two days, after we return to my realm,” he told me, completely unperturbed, as if I hadn’t just tried to jump out of a window and then puked on the floor. “Until then, Safar is your guard and guardian.”

My head pounded as I shakily wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Holy fuck, but I’d never hated anyone as much as I hated this fucking lord at this moment. Misery coiled in my empty stomach as if taunting me that it was there instead of food.

Mzatal regarded me. “It serves your purpose and mine for the unknown to become known, and Szerain’s realm holds many keys to unlocking your value. Do not waste the opportunity, Kara Gillian,” he said, tone rich and intense. His eyes remained on me for a moment more, then he turned and departed, hands behind his back.

Gestamar released me as another reyza entered, smaller and sharper in features than Gestamar. I swayed and rubbed at my temples, trying hard not to whimper as the two had a brief conversation in demon. I’d never had a migraine before, but I could only imagine this was what one was like.

Safar took hold of my arm in a careful grip, steadying me. “I am Safar, summoner.”

“I’m Kara Gillian,” I managed.

“Fair greetings, Kara Gillian,” he rumbled as he gently moved me toward the door. “Come.”

I didn’t resist and moved where he directed. A numbness descended on me as he led me through corridors, and my headache receded somewhat as we moved further away from the room and broken window. It still hurt, but now it was more like bad-hangover than alien-about-to-burst-from-my-forehead. Even my nausea retreated. Now I was mostly starving.

“Gestamar is having a draught prepared for your headache,” the reyza told me as he maneuvered me through a debris-strewn hallway.

“Oh. Thanks,” I said. Not Mzatal. Gestamar. Maybe Mzatal didn’t give a fuck how miserable I was. Hell, there was no maybe about it.

My heel came down on a shard of glass as we walked but, to my surprise and relief, no slicing pain came with it. Remembering, I lifted my arm and peered at the long scratch from the window. It was an owie and little more.

“What is this stuff?” I said, nudging a piece with my big toe. “It’s not real glass, is it?”

Safar snorted. “It is very real, though not made like the glass of Earth. It is closer to a resin. Stronger, insulates against heat and cold more effectively, and does not cut like your glass.”

Without Gestamar breathing down my neck I could slow down enough to take in more of Szerain’s palace. I had to wonder how much of a hand he had in its actual creation since the whole thing was like a work of art, mostly curves and graceful arcs—even the doors—with sharp angles kept to a minimum. Portraits, paintings, and statues were ubiquitous—humans, demons, and some—well, I didn’t have a clue. Déjà vu integrated like an extra sense. At first it freaked me out; little things like knowing how many windows would be in the next room or which hallway might lead outside. It wasn’t always right, but enough for me to have no doubt Elinor had spent some time here.

Safar finally entered a chamber that wasn’t my cell. A big window draped in dust-free emerald silk dominated the far wall of a room about the size of my bedroom at home. In other words, not very big. A comfy looking chair of golden velvety stuff nestled by the window. A larger table and matching chair of heavy oak or similar wood dominated the center of the room. Déjà vu reigned supreme in here, and I knew without doubt that a bedchamber was beyond the closed door on the wall to the right.

Safar guided me into the chair at the table and then released me. I sat gratefully, rested my elbows on the table and rubbed at my head, grimacing. He stepped back into the corridor for a brief moment then returned with a mug that he placed before me. “From Gestamar,” he stated.

I took the mug and peered briefly at the contents. Couldn’t tell a damn thing about it except that it was liquid and it had a weird and tangy scent. Fuck it. It wasn’t as if this day could get any worse if the stuff turned out to be foul.

I slugged it down with only a slight grimace. It wasn’t vile, though I doubted I’d be asking for seconds.

“Your chambers are here,” Safar said as I placed the empty mug on the table. “Bed and bath there.” He gestured toward the door with a claw.

“My chambers?” I said. “You’re not taking me back to that other room?” My spirits dared to rise a few millimeters.

He crouched and shook his head. “Dahn.”

I peered at him. “How hard is it to learn y’all’s language?” I asked, pretty sure it was hard as hell given the gutturals, stops, and sounds that were just plain weird. Kri meant “yes” and dahn meant “no.” I’d picked that up from my dealings with demons through the years but not a lot else, since the demons I summoned all spoke or at least understood some English.

Safar spread his wings in a bone-popping stretch then settled them again. “Difficult for humans. Most who spend time here learn some words and phrases. Few become conversant. Only three have gained fluency.”

Most Who Spend Time Here. Well, let’s just hope I’m not here long enough to learn more than a few phrases. I grimaced and amended my mental statement. And not because some asshole lord decides to kill me because he thinks I’m a threat to his world.

“So, what do I do now?” I asked.

He peered at me. “Eat, bathe, rest, whatever you choose short of killing yourself or leaving the grounds.”

“Eat?” I asked as my stomach gave an accompanying growl. “Real food?”

He bared his teeth. “Kri…yes. It will be here soon.”

I eyed him dubiously. “Not that broth stuff, right? Real, solid food?”

Safar rumbled in what might have been amusement. “Real, solid food.”

My spirits rose a couple of inches this time. “Any chance I can get clothing? Underwear? Nifty shit like that?”

“In the bedchamber, awaiting.”

Now for the money question. I pursed my lips. “What about a toothbrush?”

“You will find the basics in either the bedchamber or the bath chamber.”

Hot damn. I pushed up from the table and headed for the bedroom, along the way realizing that my headache had vanished in the past couple of minutes.

Relief wound through me when I found my own clothing and shoes on the bed, obviously clean. I checked out the bath chamber next and stopped dead in my tracks, eyes fixed on the graceful gold-stone bath tastefully adorned with a pattern of leaves.

“You carved this for me?” I hear myself say, barely able to contain my delight.

Szerain sits on the edge of the tub, fingers idly tracing patterns of light on the surface of the water. He looks over at me, smiles. “Finished only yesterday. You will abide for some time to come. Rhyzkahl and I came to agreement.”

“And what of Giovanni?” I ask, barely daring to breathe or hope. He looks away, and my heart sinks. “My Lord?”

And there I was alone in the bath chamber staring at a tub already full of steaming water and no clue what happened to Giovanni. Like a fucking cliffhanger. Gah! I tried to get the image back but no luck.

Well, there was no doubt that Elinor had a thing for this Giovanni. How did all that turn out? I wondered. Elinor died. I knew that much. Murdered? Was that it? I couldn’t shake the utter certainty that there was something more to her death than simply being consumed in a gate. Not that there was anything simple about that, but still. And then the biggest mystery of them all: How had a slip of a girl with only adequate summoning skills come so close to destroying the world? There was a missing piece to all of this. I knew that. Even if no one else knew what had really happened, surely I could figure it out, right? After all, I had the best eyewitness camped out in my head.

And then there was Szerain. I took a step forward and touched the carvings on the lip of the bath where the memory-vision had been. He didn’t look anything like Ryan in the face, but his build, green gold eyes and hair were right. Well, Szerain’s hair was longer than Ryan’s FBI-regulation cut, but the color and texture were a match. What else about him was different? Elinor hadn’t been afraid of him. That was some consolation at least.

Every answer seemed to raise two more questions. I gave a mental shrug and dipped my hand in the water. Plush towels, basic toiletry items—including the much-desired toothbrush—and a full hot bath. Looked like just what I needed. Yeah, a nice long soak could make up for a lot.

I stuck my head out of the bedchamber. “I’m going to bathe, okay?”

Safar snorted and crouched, which I took for acknowledgment.

I returned to the bath, stripped quickly, and sank to my neck in the water. For a moment I wondered who the hell filled the damn thing since there was nothing resembling a faucet, but then decided I really didn’t care. It was completely awesome. Would’ve been better if I didn’t have a death-or-madness sentence coming up in two days, but what the hell. All the more reason to enjoy the shit while I could.