Legacy of the Demon (11 page)

I wanted to nap. Holy cripes, did I ever want to nap, especially considering that I'd been called out at around five a.m. this morning. But there was shit I needed to do before I could rest. Hell, there was always shit that I needed to do, but some needed doing more than others.

A call to Idris went to his voicemail, which I totally expected considering I'd just watched him battle demons live. I left a quick message on the order of, “Saw you on TV. Looking sharp, and I want to know how you did that thing with the slingshot. Pellini cheered when you cleared the gun jam. Bad news is that rakkuhr is leaking through ground zero and the rifts, and it might be causing mutations. Call me when you get a chance.”

That done, I called DIRT HQ to report the locations of the various new rifts I'd spotted from the nexus. I was often able to give DIRT a head start by seeing disturbances in the flows before a rift actually formed, but this time, it was too little, too late. After that, I sent an email to the other DIRT arcane specialists telling them about the rakkuhr. Though I didn't want to cause a panic by letting the general populace find out about an invisible magic mist that could mutate them, keeping this all to myself was impossible since the arcane users would see the rakkuhr for themselves. Besides, I wasn't the only arcane user in the world who might be able to come up with an answer. Of course that meant I had to officially include the Feds in the loop, since I had absolutely zero doubt they were monitoring all of my communications. I therefore shot off a carefully worded email to the various powers-that-be to whom I supposedly reported.

My final task was to call Dr. Patel and the CDC to let them
know what I'd discovered. Or I thought it was my final task. The instant I hung up, my phone rang from a number that had only called me twice before.

Gulping, I answered, “Good afternoon, Madam President,” and then spent a solid quarter hour telling the President of the frickin' United States what I knew and didn't know, and yes ma'am I completely agree that this would cause a huge panic if it got out, etc.

By the time I hung up I was so exhausted and wrung out that it took me several seconds to realize Jill was speaking to me in her mother hen naggy tone.

I blinked at her. “Huh?”

“Eat something that's not cookie-shaped before you fall over,” she ordered, pushing me to sit at the kitchen table. In front of me was a bowl of gumbo. I didn't think I had enough energy to even pick up the spoon, but after the first few bites, my body agreed that the whole fueling up thing was a darn good idea, and by the bottom of the bowl I had my second wind.

Good timing, since the gate guard radioed to let me know Knight had arrived with the mystery dude.

His car crunched to a stop in front of the house a minute later. I went out onto the porch and gave him a weary smile as he got out. He'd suffered a nasty ankle break in the valve explosion, so I was pleased to see that he'd graduated to an air cast.

“Thanks for doing this, Marco,” I said as I came down the steps. “Is he conscious?”

“No, thank god,” he said fervently. “The whole way here I kept muttering
don't wake up, don't wake up
. I could picture him coming to and freaking out, and then I'd get busted for not reporting it.”

Knight was risking his career by not following proper procedure—possibly even risking his freedom, given the current state of affairs. I owed him. “If this guy was saying my name, I don't want Xharbek getting his hands on him.” I filled Knight in about my encounter with fake-Zack at the command center, then added a quick rundown on Cory's situation and the plague victims.

“This is all so crazy. But for what it's worth, I got nothing as far as intuition about my passenger.” His expression briefly shadowed. He didn't like talking about his clairvoyance. “Anyway, come see your boy.”

Lying across the backseat was an unconscious man wrapped
in a blanket, belted down with all three sets of seatbelts. I leaned in to take a look at his face then jerked back so quickly I cracked my head on the edge of the door frame. “Shit!” Heart pounding, I rubbed my head while I struggled to comprehend what I'd seen.

“You okay, Kara? Do you know him?”

Cautious, I peered at the man's face again. “Sort of,” I said, mouth dry. “But he's supposed to be dead. I mean, everyone thinks he died.”

“Huh? Who is he?”

I looked at Knight. “An artist. Giovanni Racchelli, and he supposedly died in the seventeenth century.”

•   •   •

It was a good thing I'd included “lots of really weird shit happens” in the job description for the security personnel, because once again I needed help moving an unconscious man. Fortunately, Giovanni weighed a lot less than giant gummy bear Cory, and the strong and burly Jordan Kellum scooped him up with ease and got him settled in the guest room. And, to my relief, scrounged a t-shirt and shorts and dressed him.

After Kellum left, I adjusted the blanket over Giovanni then flopped into the recliner beside the bed. In the kitchen, the microwave dinged—Knight heating a well-earned bowl of gumbo. I nestled into the cushions and told myself I could sit without moving for five whole minutes. Surely I deserved that much. I needed to let Idris know about Giovanni, but that wasn't mega-urgent. He had enough on his plate already. Besides, it was, what? Three in the morning or something in Mumbai? I tried to do the mental math to figure out the time difference, but my tired brain shot me the finger and refused to cough up anything useful.

As crazy as things were two months ago, they'd still been kind of normal. But now Cory lay encased in arcane rubbery goop in the living room, and Giovanni slept like the dead a few feet away. Would the world
ever
feel normal again? I let my head drop back and closed my eyes. Five minutes. I could pretend the world was fine and dandy for five minutes . . .

•   •   •

Warm comfort, nestled close to his side. His arm around me, my head on his shoulder. The scent of flowers is like the breath of heaven.

“Elinor! Wake up! There are stars to count.”

I smile, only pretending to sleep. “And if I am weary of counting cakes and tunjen fruit and stars? What say you?”

“That you are the most contrary of all women.” Giovanni laughs, and I laugh with him. How can I not?

The grass cushions us amidst the flowers of Lord Szerain's plexus garden. I open my eyes to the canopy of endless stars in the moonless night.

“Uno. Due. Tre,” Giovanni says.

“Quattro. Cinque. Sei,” I continue. “You have taught me the numbers to one thousand. Let us not fritter away this night counting. What other game shall we play?”

“Whatever we can imagine.” He tightens his arm around me.

My breath catches. “I have a rich imagination.”

“What is it you imagine in this moment?”

I pull away and leap to my feet. In a heartbeat, I kick free of my slippers and take hold of my skirts. “That when I flee, you will pursue,” I shout and dash for the grove.

“Always,” he calls out.

Laughing, I run, the grass softer on my feet than the finest carpet. Starlight yields to the gentle amaranthine glow of my beloved grove. I pass into the tunnel of trees that leads to the heart. The leaves murmur, and I feel as if I could fly, as if Giovanni could dance among the stars with me.

He catches my arm in the central clearing, draws me around to face him. His smile is brighter than a night full of stars. “And in this moment, what shall we play?”

“A game.” Heat spreads through me. Has his voice ever sounded so rough, so beautiful? “One where you strive to touch your lips to mine.”

He bends close. “And should I win this game, what then is my prize?”

The heat turns to fire, and I can barely manage the words. “Then, you may kiss me.”

He smiles and nuzzles my cheek. “This game is much to my liking.”

“Of course it will then be my turn to play.”

Giovanni brushes my lips with his, softly. Invitingly.

I shiver, pulse thrumming. “Ah . . . you play this game well.”

“I would play it with no other, my precious Elinor,” he murmurs against my lips then kisses me.

I moan as I sink into the kiss. He deepens it, and I lose myself for an eternity.

He breaks the kiss and caresses my hair. “Now it is your turn.”

My breath shudders. “I should do well after experiencing your masterful play.” I nuzzle him, almost touching my lips to his, teasing. He tries to capture them, and I evade but care not to resist longer. I entwine my fingers in his hair and pull him into my kiss.

He wraps me in his arms and kisses me as never before, then pulls back to gaze into my eyes. “You are my lifeblood and my laughter.”

This is, in truth, heaven. I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder. “You are my light and my heart.”

“As the stars and the grove are my witness, I will never leave you. I swear to you upon my essence. Never.”

“Nor I, you,” I murmur. “I love you, Giovanni.”

“And I love you, Elinor.” He holds me close, nuzzles the top of my head. “You are such a silly girl. What will I do with you?”

I smile against the demon-silk of his shirt. “You shall grow old with me and sit by the fire as we watch our grandchildren play.”

A hissing growl from the direction of the tree tunnel stills his response. “Come, summoner.”

Giovanni tenses. I try to turn, to face Lord Szerain's essence-bound demon, but Giovanni holds me fast. “Who bids this, Turek?” he asks.

“I do,” Lord Szerain says.

Giovanni loosens his hold such that I may turn, but does not release me.

Turek crouches, toothy and fearsome, beside my lord. Xharbek, behind them, his iridescent wings folded close. My heart seeks escape from the confines of my breast. What dire need brings all three?

“What do you require of her?” Giovanni demands, his voice unwavering.

“The time for the ritual is upon us.”

“But, my lord,” I say, “it is not meant to be for a fortnight.”

Lord Szerain extends his hand toward me, waiting. “The plans have changed, my dear.”

“Szerain,” Giovanni says, “she is not ready.”

“I am!” I say. “I . . . have worked hard. Studied. Practiced.”

Lord Szerain steps closer. “You have indeed. You are ready. Trust me.”

Giovanni tightens his arm around me. “Elinor,” he murmurs, “tell him no. Not tonight.”

I twist to look into his face. “How can I deny him?”

He moves in front of me. “My lord, grant us until the sun rises. I beseech you.”

Lord Szerain hesitates. Xharbek lays a hand upon his shoulder, and the lord draws a deep breath. “I cannot risk Rhyzkahl's interference. It must be tonight. It must be now.”

I trust Lord Szerain with my life. Though ice fills my core, I incline my head to him. Trembling, I turn and lay my hands on each side of Giovanni's face. “When this is done, we shall watch the sunrise from atop the eastern tower.”

“Elinor. Beloved. I will join you there anon,” my love says with such tender earnest that my heart breaks to leave him thus.

Before I can tell him to be at peace, Lord Szerain loops his arm around my waist and propels me down the tree tunnel.

“Elinor!” Giovanni calls after me. “Elinor!”

Kara.

“Kara!”

I startled awake to Knight shaking my shoulder. In the bed, Giovanni murmured in his sleep,
“Elinor
 . . .
Elinor,”
then fell silent again.

I grabbed Knight's wrist. “She went with him. She's going to die!”

“Who?” Knight said. His eyebrows drew together in question, yet his tone remained calm. “Was it a dream? Or a vision? It took a whole minute to wake you.”

I gripped my head and stared at Giovanni. “A dream. I don't know. It was so real.”

“A nightmare?”

“No. Just a dream. It was like I was experiencing Elinor's memory.” At his puzzled look, I lifted my chin toward the bed. “His girlfriend. She died in the demon realm, and I have a glob of her essence hitchhiking on mine. Don't ask me how.”

He peered at me with interest. “Could you control the dream?”

“I didn't even try. I was just there. I was
her
.” I sorted through the experience. “I've had memory flashes from her before, but never this vivid. I felt what she felt.” I managed a weak snort. “And trust me, it wasn't anything like what I'd've felt in the same situation. She was timid, without a shred of snark. Afraid. Trusting. But at the same time, strong.”

“I get it.” A note of excitement crept into his voice. “I really get it. You were seeing through her eyes, but was there more? Was there another perspective?”

“No.” Gooseflesh crawled over me as the images whispered. “Maybe. It's weird. The dream was through her eyes, but now I can also see it as if from a camera nearby. How is that possible? I don't . . .” And then it was gone, leaving me with memory of only her perspective.

Knight grinned and slapped me on the back, startling me with both. “That's a dream-vision, Kara! That camera view will be there during the dream, too, but it takes practice to separate enough from the subject—Elinor in this case—to fly with the camera.”

“Fly?” I'd had plenty of dream experiences thanks to the dream links Rhyzkahl had forged with me. Some were fully lucid, with others like flashes of memory. I'd even had Elinor dreams, but never where I'd
been
her while also having a separate perspective. Knight lived with visions and “feelings,” so I had no reason to doubt him. Yet I also wasn't sure his experience applied to me.

“Flying is what I call it,” he said. “Once I learned to separate from the person, I was able to use that camera view to fly around and get more information. Stuff they couldn't see or hear.”