Legacy of the Demon (46 page)

“Oh, that poor Giovanni,” I breathed, earning me a chuckle from Szerain and a low hiss of amusement from Turek. My eyes went to the shadowed forms of Giovanni and Elinor. “She doesn't know you're her father, does she.”

He was quiet a moment before answering. “I didn't transfer that information. She has so much to integrate already.”

More likely he wasn't ready to face it head on. I'd let it slide for now. “About the journal: I had a dream-vision where Mzatal took it away from Elinor—long before she did the ritual. She obviously got it back, but then how did it end up with Mzatal again?”

“Mzatal returned it to her before she left his realm,” Szerain said then smiled. “He'd have to be a
complete
asshole to keep her diary. After I developed the firewall, I stored it in the journal. None would think that such a frivolous thing could hold anything of worth.” He sobered. “When I knew I was to be exiled, I asked Mzatal to hold the journal for safekeeping. Mzatal
understood the journal's importance and gave me his word to protect it and the knowledge within.”

“'Cause he rocks,” I said with a grin then lowered my voice. “What did Elinor mean about not wanting to get pregnant in the demon realm and risk her baby?”

“There were no issues with pregnancies in the early days, but that gradually changed. By Elinor's time, the demon realm's much higher potency had a known teratogenic effect on developing human embryos, and pregnant women would miscarry if they remained past the second month.”

“Even if the father was a lord?”

“I don't know,” he said quietly. “All I've discovered is that, from the very beginning, if one of our partners became pregnant, the demahnk returned her to Earth with no memory of the relationship. Our memories were then adjusted to believe she had departed for a benign reason.”

“But why?” My eyes narrowed. “If it was like that from the beginning, it had nothing to do with the potency imbalance.”

“I have theories, nothing more. Zakaar still can't speak freely.”

Zack had risked himself too many times already in order to give me much-needed information. “Do you remember Elinor's mother?” I asked.

“Aphra. She was a summoner and, for a time, a companion and lover.” A smile lit his weary face. “She loved the grove. I'm certain Elinor was conceived beneath its branches.”

I let out a soft breath. “And Elinor ended up with an affinity for the grove that nearly ended the world.”

“A beautiful gift despite the tragedy.”

A pang of grief went through me. My loss of the Elinor essence surely meant the loss of my connection with the grove. I stopped and looked up into Szerain's face. “Why did you attach her essence to
me
?”

He took both my hands in his. “It wasn't my initial intention,” he said. “Your grandmother had agreed to host it.”

Gracie Pazhel. His sworn summoner and Tessa's mother. “But when Rhyzkahl killed her, he messed up your plan, and you ended up with me?”

“With you too young to give consent,” he said with a note of regret. “Tessa was unavailable, and your mother lacked the summoning phenotype.” His hands tightened briefly on mine. “Then you were born. The perfect vessel.”

“Vessel,” I said, voice acid. “Sounds awfully utilitarian.” My eyes narrowed to slits. “Gracie, Tessa, me. It was all because of our bloodline. Well? Which lord had the honor?”

“Not a lord,” Szerain said. “Not for the bloodline in question. It was Aphra.”

“Elinor's
mom
? I'm confused.”

“You're descended from Elinor's younger sister.”

I eyed him warily. “Were you her—”

“No! Aphra married after she returned to Earth and had Rebecca—your ancestor—two years later.”

My legs wobbled in relief. Having Szerain in my lineage would have been weeeeeeird. “That means Elinor is my great-times-a-million aunt.” I slipped my arm through his again and resumed walking. “And since Elinor didn't have any kids, you needed to attach the essence to the closest relative—a descendant of Elinor's mom.”

“Yes, though there's more to it. During the pregnancy, Elinor's presence subtly altered Aphra's DNA. The grove affinity and attunement to rakkuhr passed on to Aphra's descendants.”

Yikes. Like carrying a radioactive magic fetus. “Wait.” Hope flared. “Does that mean I still have the grove connection?” My hand flew to my leaf.

“You were born with it,” he said, giving my arm a comforting squeeze even as I felt the reassuring touch of Rho.

I had a billion more questions, but we'd reached the back yard, and the fatigue I'd denied for so long permeated every fiber of my being. Szerain was no better off. His eyes were sunken caverns, and he'd begun to lean at a perilous angle. Fortunately, Pellini was waiting at the edge of the woods and steadied me while I gratefully let Turek take over the job of keeping Szerain upright.

“I'm going to plug in and recharge,” Szerain announced with a drunken laugh. He lurched across Rhyzkahl's orbit to the inner circle of grass and the tree, flopped facedown with one hand on the pale bark, and went still. If not asleep, then darn close to it.

But Rhyzkahl had eyes only for Elinor. In fact, it didn't look as if he'd moved a millimeter during our time at the valve.

Elinor's steps slowed as she and Giovanni neared the nexus. I heard her murmur to him that she needed a moment, then she moved to stand before Rhyzkahl.

He gazed down at her, face impassive. “I am pleased to see you restored.”

“So formal,” she murmured with a teasing smile then lifted a hand to his cheek. “Thank you for helping me.”

A barely perceptible shudder went through him. He covered her hand with his own. “And you are safe now, I see,” he said, relief blazing through the cracks in his lordly armor. He could sense the protection of the firewall, I realized.

Rhyzkahl placed a kiss in the palm of her hand before releasing it. “May your life be long and blessed, my lady,” he said quietly.

Elinor leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, stepped back and returned to Giovanni. Rhyzkahl watched them walk to the house then stalked around his orbit to the tree.

“I need to find Elinor clothes and stuff,” I said to Pellini. “Forgot to do that for Janice. And a bed. She needs a bed.” Damn, a bed would be nice right now. What else did Elinor need? Socks? Yeah, socks. Socks were good. And a towel.

“That's enough, Kara.”

“Huh?” I realized Pellini had been calling my name. I blinked since there were two of him, and they were fuzzy.

“That's enough world saving for now,” he said with a gentle smile. “You need sleep.”

“Sleep,” I agreed, though it came out more like
shleeurp
. I took a step and wobbled, and the next thing I knew Pellini had me swept up in his arms and was carrying me toward the porch.

I wanted to respond with something clever, but when I blinked again my eyes stayed closed.

“Kara.” Pellini's baritone hammered through deep and dreamless sleep. “Kara, I know you're exhausted, but you need to wake up.” A firm hand seized my shoulder and shook me.

“'mwake,” I mumbled. I was in my bed, though I had zero memory of getting there.

“Uh huh. Sure. Idris just showed up. He brought a big-ass crate and is currently putting it in the middle of the gun range so it won't mess up any of our wards.”

“Yass. Got th' makkas turtle.” I managed a wobbly thumbs up. “Gun range pew pew.”

“Uh huh. Well, Idris also said that as soon as he took care of the crate he was going to go say Hi to his dad.”

That
woke me up as effectively as a bucket of ice water. “Crap!” I lunged out of bed and grabbed a crumpled pair of fatigue pants off the floor, pulled them on in an awkward one-legged hop as I headed for the hallway. Pellini thrust a sweatshirt at me, and I stuffed it under one arm while I dashed for the back door and did up the last of the buttons. I'd known an Idris-Rhyzkahl confrontation was inevitable, but I was determined to keep it from escalating into a bloodbath.

Chilly air slapped my cheeks as I crossed the porch, and I hurried to yank the sweatshirt over my head. Szerain was nowhere to be seen. I had to assume he'd recharged sufficiently. He was the least of my worries at the moment. A decent-sized tent had been set up in Rhyzkahl's orbit a dozen or so feet from the tree. Since Rhyzkahl was out of sight, I suspected he was inside it.

Idris rounded the corner of the house and stalked toward the
nexus, aggressive stance shattering any possible hope that he was here for a friendly chat. Cursing under my breath, I started toward him, reminding myself that Idris knew Rhyzkahl's prison protected the lord from outside attack. I couldn't imagine Idris being stupid enough to strike out at him.

The dew-covered grass blazed like a million diamonds in the early morning sun, yet the prismatic spectacle couldn't hide the destruction wrought by the night's events. A battle-scarred reyza atop the security office outbuilding bellowed a challenge, sending a flock of sparrows into panicked flight from the nearby woods.

Idris's face was a stone mask, but he took note of the charred grass, the rift belching magenta flames, and the unfamiliar demons. I knew damn well he was aware of my presence, but he didn't so much as glance my way.

As he approached the edge of Rhyzkahl's prison, he slowed. For a brief moment I wondered if Rhyzkahl would simply stay in his tent and refuse to entertain Idris's desire for a confrontation. The whisper of uncertainty that crossed Idris's face told me he wondered the same thing. Though a huge part of me hoped for a nice absence of drama, I knew Idris would only be moodier as a result.

Idris stopped half a dozen feet from the perimeter. As if on cue, the flap on the tent flipped open. I came to a halt, watching and waiting.

Rhyzkahl stepped out and straightened with feline grace. Making an entrance. He gifted Idris with the barest of nods then swept his gaze over the back yard as if surveying his sovereign domain. The message was crystal clear: Idris's presence had been duly noted, and it was Rhyzkahl's decision whether to grant him an audience. It was an infuriatingly lordly tactic, yet I had to silently applaud Rhyzkahl for leveling the playing field.

Idris twitched with tension, eyes glaring hatred. But Rhyzkahl wasn't toying with him or making him wait just for giggles. He was making a point, subtle though it was, and once he finished his calculated perusal of his surroundings, he made his way around the circle to stand before Idris.

Seeing them together like this, no one could ever doubt a strong familial connection. This was the first time the two had looked upon each other with the knowledge that they were father and son, and I watched as each took in the similarities, the echoes of features seen in the mirror.

“Let's get one thing straight right now,” Idris said through bared teeth. “You
aren't
my father. Jerome Palatino, the man who raised me, has that honor.”

Rhyzkahl inclined his head. “Truly he deserves it. He reared a fine young man. It pleases me to know that my blood courses through your veins.”

Translation: Yeah, he raised you, but you still came from me, kiddo.

A flush swept up Idris's neck. “Your
blood
? You and the Mraztur have spilled
my
family's blood. My sister was tortured and murdered! I was forced to
watch.
Because of you. Fuck your blood!”

“I knew nothing of the plan to sacrifice your sister,” Rhyzkahl said, unruffled. “I assure you, I would never have condoned or allowed it.”

Idris shifted closer, like a tiger positioning to pounce. “Why?” he asked. A strange smile tightened his mouth. “Tell me
why
you wouldn't have condoned my sister's murder.”

Rhyzkahl gave a slow nod, as if in acceptance. “I could tell you that I would not have condoned or allowed her death because it was needless torment. A waste of a beautiful life. A tragedy visited upon all who hold her dear.” He met Idris's eyes. “But you already know that to be false. You asked this question, despite knowing my true answer, because you wish to hear it from my lips. You hunger for me to speak it aloud and thus stoke your hatred and fuel your rage in the hopes that they will burn fiercely enough to illuminate the void that is your grief.”

Idris recoiled, face paling.

“Here is my true answer, then,” Rhyzkahl continued with barely a pause. “My gift to you, to do with what you will. I did not condone your sister's murder—nor her torment, nor your own as you bore witness to it—because it was
messy.
” He hissed the word, eyes flashing with anger he no longer deigned to hide. “It was gratuitous, and it was foolish. It accomplished nothing that could not be gained by far less tangled means, and it courted exposure of carefully laid plans before all was in place.”

Face dark with rage, Idris stepped into Rhyzkahl's orbit, trampling irises. He cocked a fist, ready to strike. “If it hadn't been messy, if it
had
served your purposes, you would have tortured her yourself, just like you did Kara.”

Rhyzkahl's gaze bore into Idris. “Given dire circumstances, yes.”

Idris let out a feral cry and launched his punch at Rhyzkahl's face. In a move like a striking snake, Rhyzkahl caught and held Idris's fist. Potency crackled around them in white-hot lightning bursts as they faced each other, eye to eye, tense and immobile.

Shit! This was exactly what I'd feared would happen. Rhyzkahl couldn't attack Idris, but what if the “rules” of his prison said all bets were off if he was defending himself?

Muttering curses, I drew on the nexus and formed ropes of potency with the plan to drag the two apart. Yet when I tried to lasso them, the potency ropes stopped several feet short, as if a force field stood in the way. No matter how much power I drew, the result was the same.

But was it Mzatal's doing? Or Rhyzkahl's?

After an eternity, Rhyzkahl exhaled a soft breath that wasn't quite a sigh. “Idris Palatino, I regret that who and what I am has forever garnered the enmity of a gifted summoner. Of my son.” The lightning died around them even as he released Idris's fist.

Idris stared at Rhyzkahl, stricken and wide-eyed. After several agonizing seconds, he wrenched his gaze free and staggered to the grass beyond the prison. He made it three steps before dropping to his knees with a barely audible sound of despair.

Shock held me motionless—which was fine since I currently had zero desire to draw anyone's attention during what was obviously an incredibly private moment. I'd rushed out here braced for an ugly conflict and nasty fallout, and instead had witnessed . . . Well, I wasn't sure what I'd witnessed.

Rhyzkahl silently regarded the kneeling Idris. If the tremors that shook his son's shoulders moved him in any way, he didn't show it.

This is the fallout
, I realized with a pang. Forcing myself into motion, I stumbled toward Idris, yet before I'd made it halfway he took a deep breath and pulled himself to his feet. Relieved, I slowed to an amble to give him time to finish gathering himself.

The hard expression he'd worn these last months had eased, and he seemed lighter now. He'd given his pressure cooker of suppressed anger an outlet and, I hoped, come out the better for it. An air of vulnerability clung to him, but it was as if he'd accepted that everyone was vulnerable, and realized it had nothing to do with being weak.

His careful scrutiny of the ground told me he was still processing it all. I doubted he'd be ready to talk about it any time soon.

“Hey, cousin,” I said lightly. “You missed all the fun last night. You planning on joining us for breakfast?”

He met my eyes almost reluctantly, but then he let out a tiny, breathless laugh. “Does Pellini still make those bacon maple roll things?”

I smiled. “Sure does, though since real maple syrup is pretty hard to come by nowadays, he uses heaps of brown sugar instead.”

“I guess I'll choke them down somehow,” he said with a tragic sigh. I pretended not to notice the exhaustion that bled through his words, but at least he wasn't vibrating with tension anymore. The ever-present anger had retreated as well. It was far from gone, but he no longer appeared driven—and consumed—by it. Rhyzkahl had faced Idris's anger then calmly reached in and ripped out its roots.

Tears sprang to my eyes, and I threw my arms around Idris. “I'm so glad you're back.”

He held me close. “Glad to be back,” he replied, voice rough. A faint shudder rippled through him then was gone.

Only a few minutes had passed since I'd dashed out here. Everything felt different now, but I had no idea why or how much. Or what to do about it.

Together, Idris and I headed to the house. When we reached the steps, I snuck a glance back at Rhyzkahl in time to see him pass a hand over his face. I quickly looked away, but the image was seared into my mind. Was he simply tired? Weeping? Brushing away a mosquito?

Pellini was slouched in a chair on the porch, kicked back with a book in his hand. He gave every appearance of being there simply to enjoy the morning, but I had no doubt he'd deliberately remained outside for the entire debacle, watching my back and ready to intervene as needed. “There's coffee if y'all want it,” he said, as if Idris and I were simply returning from a pleasant stroll.

“You know I do,” I said. “Thanks for taking care of me last night.”

“Any time. You were a bit faded.” He stood and dropped the book onto the side table then followed us inside.

Szerain was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in one hand. I was
mostly
sure he hadn't been there during my frenzied dash to the back yard, but with my focus locked on the impending Idris-Rhyzkahl smackdown,
pink bald eagles could've been roosting in the sink and I wouldn't have noticed.

Szerain looked a thousand times better than last night, though a faint sense of “meat-grinder survivor” still lingered about him. He lifted his mug to me in greeting then pushed off the counter and extended his hand to Idris. “It's good to finally meet the greatest living summoner on Earth or the demon realm.”

Idris looked discomfited by the praise but took the proffered hand. “I suppose I should thank my . . . sire for that,” he said with a flat, not-quite smile.

“Hardly.” Szerain gave a derisive snort. “It's not as if he did a damn thing except ejaculate at the right moment. Everything else has been your own efforts.”

Idris stared at the very un-lordlike lord. “Ejaculate at the . . .” A sound that was almost a laugh slipped from him. “That certainly puts things in a different perspective. Thank you, my lord.”

Szerain gave a mock shudder. “Let's not do the ‘my lord' crap.” He plopped into a chair at the end of the table. “Besides, we're all on the same team. Hell, I was one of the original members of Kara's Posse.” He grinned.

“You and Zack were the first,” I confirmed as I hunted for a clean mug.

Pellini set a bowl of dough and a baking sheet on the table. “Special Agent Ryan Fucking Kristoff,” he drawled. “Jesus, you were an arrogant shit.”

“And you were an obnoxious asshole,” Szerain shot back with humor in his voice.

“Still am,” Pellini said proudly. “Only way to stay sane around Kara.”

“Truer words were never spoken!”

I rolled my eyes as the two fist-bumped in solidarity. “Oh, give me a break. I'm the one who has to deal with you two pricks.”

Szerain clucked his tongue. “And verbal abuse, too.”

“Wimps,” I said, though I couldn't help but smile. The verbal sparring felt
homey
, like good-natured family squabbling.

Pellini dragooned Idris into helping make the faux-maple biscuit things. After locating a clean mug in the dishwasher, I poured myself a cup of coffee then set about doctoring it properly.

Now that the crisis was past, I was increasingly aware of a
not-quite-rightness, as if I was forgetting something. Or that the room had changed subtly. The world felt slightly off, but I couldn't put my finger on precisely what it was.

Thud

I turned with a frown. “What was that?”

Thud thud thud thud

The others shared similar wary expressions as the noise continued in ominous rhythm. “It's coming from down the hallway,” Idris said, eyes narrowed.

“The pods?” Pellini said, rising to his feet. “Could it be Corey and Knight hatching?”

“Maybe.” But hatching as what? My memory of the tentacle-handed monster at Fed Central was all too clear. I reached for a steak knife but paused at the sound of a feminine cry.

Thud thud thud thud thud thudthudthudthud

Szerain began to snicker.