Touch of the Demon

Rhyzkahl stood before me, glorious and beautiful. “You left too soon, dear one.” Dark fire flickered over his blade as he stepped closer, and a terrible smile curved his mouth. “We were not finished… Rowan.”

I tried to back away, but ropes of potency held me immobile. The bindings cut into my wrists, and pain seared my shoulders. A strangled cry of horror slipped from my lips as he brought the blade close to me.

He stroked the back of his hand over my cheek, tilted his head as his eyes met mine. “Ah, Rowan, you are meant to be thus.” I tried to protest, to say my name, but I couldn’t make my mouth form the word. His smile widened as he lifted the blade and touched it to my flesh.

I screamed as the pain tore through me, and I writhed in the bindings.

Kara!

A hand on my shoulder. My name. I held fast to it. Reached for them both.

“Kara!”

Rhyzkahl fractured and dissipated as strong arms pulled me from him.

“You are dreaming, Kara,” the voice said, gathering me close. “I am here.”

I clung to him, to Mzatal, I realized as the nightmare shattered and dispersed. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding me securely, but gently. To my horror I burst into tears, but he simply shifted to cradle my head to his chest. He murmured something as I felt the unmistakable touch of the pygah, but he did nothing more. Didn’t tell me to breathe or chill or anything like that. Simply held me, radiating a solid security while I wept.

Gradually, I calmed down, but I continued to hold on to him even after I got control of the stupid sobbing. I hated feeling like this, despised this weakness in me. And right now I desperately needed this feeling of safety.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He shifted so that he sat up against the headboard, keeping an arm around me so that my head was cradled on his shoulder. “There is no need to apologize. I know something of nightmares.”

I let out a ragged breath and felt as if I should pull away from him now, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it just yet. “Guess you’re regretting letting me stay in your rooms now,” I said, trying for humor but not quite reaching it.

He gave me a light squeeze. “No, Kara,” he said, voice calm and melodious. “I have no regrets in that.”

I sighed against him. “Good thing, ’cause I think you’re stuck with me.”

He was fully clothed, in dark grey pants and a white caftan-style shirt covered with intricate silver embroidery. A comfortable chair and ottoman had been pulled near the bed, and a small side table held some papers and a half-full wine glass.

He’d been sitting there only moments before, I realized. Watching me sleep. But somehow the thought didn’t creep me out at all. Instead I found myself deeply appreciating the care, especially now, after the nightmare.

I was definitely calmer now, but I still wasn’t quite ready to shift away from him. “How much did you know about me before you had me summoned?”

Mzatal drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “I knew you were Rhyzkahl’s marked summoner,” he said. “I knew what Katashi had told me of you. I knew from reports of demons that you function as a Guardian—police person—to maintain order in segments of the human populace. I had more details from closer surveillance in the weeks leading up to your summoning.”

I still had my head against his upper chest, calmed by the steady beat of his heart. “I kind of wondered, especially when I saw that the, uh, feminine supplies that you had here were the same brand I usually use.” I smiled, finding that stupidly amusing, and I had to bite back a giggle as I had a sudden image of a reyza poking through the cabinet beneath my sink and holding up a tampon in confusion.

Mzatal gave my shoulders a squeeze. “It was my desire to be prepared for your arrival. I did not know—” He paused, and I felt him give a low sigh. “I did not know when I summoned you if you would be with me indefinitely or for a very short time.”

My amusement faded as I remembered how close he came to killing me in those first few hours after I was summoned. Though I appreciated his candor, the topic unsettled me. I shifted to sit more upright, wrapped my arms around my legs, and rested my chin on my knees.

“Rhyzkahl wanted to use me to get Szerain’s blade.” A shiver passed over me at the memory. “Why? I mean, why me? And why does he—and you for that matter—want it so goddamn badly?”

“The most likely reason he chose you as a ritual surrogate is your demonstrated ability to summon a qaztahl single-handedly using only chalk and blood. That, coupled with the similarities to Elinor’s energy signature, were compelling reasons.” Mzatal drew a deep breath and released it in a slow sigh. “Control of a single blade offers a substantial increase in potency and focus. With control of two,” he said, shaking his head, “there is an exponential increase in power.”

My eyes narrowed. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

Mzatal met my gaze steadily. “Yes. Szerain, Rhyzkahl, and I stood long unchallenged and unchallengeable.”

Holy crap. I’d known they had the blades, but hadn’t put it together that they had their own little power bloc. That called for more investigation later, both on its nature and its dissolution. Those three sure as hell didn’t stand together now.

“Rhyzkahl wants it for someone else, doesn’t he?” I asked. “Jesral or Amkir, to set up a new regime.” Kadir had a hand in there too, but my gut told me he wasn’t a candidate.

Mzatal nodded. “With Rhyzkahl bearing Xhan, and Vsuhl likely destined for Jesral, they would hold much influence and be in a position to advance other plans, including designs on Earth.”

“But they can’t get Szerain’s blade without me, can they?” I asked. “Otherwise, wouldn’t they already have done it?”

Mzatal remained silent a moment, his mouth drawn in a tight line. “With you, the task would be far easier. What I do not know is if Rhyzkahl gained enough from you in the ritual to make an attempt by another means.”

“Well that sucks,” I said, hugging my knees a bit tighter as I considered everything. “Back in that fucked-up time when you tried to remove the mark,” I continued after a moment, “you told me you wanted to get the blade. Is it possible for me—us—to get it first? I mean, without it being really painful or horrible or anything like that?”

Mzatal laced his fingers over his solar plexus. “When I first said that, all I knew, based upon what I sensed from the mark, was that Rhyzkahl sought the blade. His methods proved to be brutal, though ultimately would have been effective. He sought to forge you into a tool for greater purpose, and may yet seek to finish that task. One of the uses of that tool would have been to retrieve Vsuhl.” He gave me a gentle smile. “However, based on my observation of his ritual, I do not believe he ever sensed your subtle affinity to the iliur, the essence energy that ignites the blades. I sensed it clearly in the close contact of the healing.”

I frowned in thought, considering this new tidbit. “What does that mean? That makes it easier?”

“I believe that it does. I have deep connection with all three blades. Working with that, in tandem with your unique gifts, we have an excellent chance of securing Vsuhl with minimal complications.”

I shifted to sit cross-legged and absently rubbed the scar on my left forearm with the palm of my other hand. “Okay. Well, that sounds promising,” I said. “Turek showed me the image of Szerain’s blade. Why are his and your blades so beautiful and Rhyzkahl’s so—” I grimaced. “—hideous?”

A shadow of what seemed to be grief passed over his face. “It did not always appear thus.” He lifted a hand and traced a sigil. A heartbeat later a slightly translucent image appeared of Rhyzkahl’s knife, but without the thorns on the hilt. A softly glowing blue gem adorned the pommel, and the oily blue sheen I’d seen on the blade shone here as a clear, shimmering layer of potency. “Rhyzkahl dabbled secretly with the rakkuhr for many years, bringing the taint upon himself. The corruption of Xhan is recent.” He dispelled the image with a sharp flick of his fingers, as if it pained him to see what the blade had once looked like.

“This rakkuhr,” I said. “Is it like a ‘dark side of the Force’ sort of thing?”

A flicker of question lit his eyes, but then it cleared as he no doubt read the meaning of the reference from me. He shook his head. “No. It is not ‘evil’ any more than the potency you and I use is. But, while powerful, it is insidiously disruptive.” He paused. “You have felt it. It is anathema. I do not fully understand it. Szerain knows