Fury of the Demon

“Game on, assholes” I muttered to myself. I gave Ryan a determined and humorless smile. “Thanks again for the save,” I said. “I’m heading home. I have work to do.”

Chapter 7

The drive home left me wrung out and bleak as both the nature of the murder and its purpose gnawed at me. And how the hell had the Mraztur managed to get an elaborate trap set for me so quickly? The body had most likely been planted in that semi-trailer mere hours after I arrived on Earth.

As I drove, I considered the possible explanations. Okay, so Katashi’s people could easily summon a demon to pass messages on a daily basis. Perhaps they really were lucky enough to get a demon-memo about my trip to Earth immediately after my arrival? That was the only explanation I could come up with for how they had enough time to set a complex rakkuhr trap for me—one that required ritualistic murder and skills far beyond my own.

Not that it really mattered how they accomplished it. They’d damn near succeeded, and would have if not for Ryan. I missed Mzatal, wanted him here—not to tell me everything was okay when we both knew it wasn’t, but to share this with him, get his perspective, his support, and simply feel his arms around me. This whole having a partner thing was damn nice, but I felt his absence keenly right now.

As I parked near the house, I glanced in the rear view mirror and caught sight of Ryan’s car rounding the first curve of the driveway. I didn’t wait for him but trudged into the house and then to the kitchen, determined to do whatever it took to shake the numb, sick horror that threatened to swamp me. I opened and closed cabinets, stared into the fridge looking for something besides fresh fruit or leftovers. Something . . . perfect.

Ryan came in and set his laptop bag on a chair by the table. I didn’t look over at him but I felt his eyes on me. “Isn’t there any plain ordinary squidgy white bread in the house?” I demanded.

“Uh, no,” Ryan said, a hint of apology his voice. “Zack gets a sprouted grain and a really good multigrain bread. On the top shelf of the fridge.”

Sprouted grain? Why would any sane person want plants growing in their sandwich? Did nobody realize what happened when you swallowed a watermelon seed? I didn’t want a friggin’ bread garden growing in my gut.

My scowl deepened until it felt as if my face would break. I pulled out the multigrain, laid two slices on a paper towel and squirted liberal amounts of honey on each one. “It’s a fu

“It sucks. I’m really sorry.” He let out a heavy breath. “Is there anything I can help with to follow up on the arcane part?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest.” I dumped a layer of brown sugar on the honey and pressed the two pieces of bread together. “I have no idea how to track that shit.” I directed my scowl at the newly made honey and brown sugar sandwich, then flicked a burner on and set a skillet on it. I rummaged in the fridge, found the butter, dropped a quarter stick in the skillet.

“It needs bacon on it,” Ryan offered.

I turned a scathing look on him. “That’s a completely different unhealthy comfort food sandwich,” I said with a curl of my lip. “It’s like when you add olives instead of little onions to vodka. Totally different drink.” I plopped the sandwich to fry in the butter.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” he said, his voice laden with concern. “I’m going downstairs to get started on my report. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Smart boy to retreat. He knew me well enough to know I needed a little space but not abandonment. “I will.”

He picked up his laptop case, turned to go.

“Hey, Ryan?” I looked over at him as he glanced back. “Thanks.” A faint smile shifted my scowl. “This whole thing would be worse if I didn’t have a friend like you.”

He smiled and gave me a wink. “I’m one in a million, baby, and don’t you forget it.” And with that he left.

I finished frying my multigrain sugar fest, dismally aware that it would have been far better on good old reliable squidgy white bread. That was going at the top of the grocery list.

Still, even multigrain bread fried in butter and covered with honey and sugar wasn’t bad at all, and while I felt a teensy bit ill upon finishing it, I didn’t mind one bit, and my mood was somewhat improved.

After cleaning up my mess, I looked at the clock and exhaled. Over six hours before Mzatal would be ready to be summoned. I wanted him here now, wanted to feel his strong reassurance that we would get through this—all of this—together. I put the clean skillet away, then headed down to the basement to check the storage diagram. It brought him one step closer, plus Ryan was down there, and I was ready for the company of a friend.

Ryan glanced up from his laptop and gave me a smile which I managed to return.

“I’m going to check the storage diagram,” I told him. “Nothing fancy, so it shouldn’t disturb you.”

“No problem,” he said. “Do what you need to do.”

I crouched beside the diagram, assessed it. Ryan sat with his laptop in a pretense of industry, but I felt his eyes on me. I gathered wisps of potency, fu

I let out a long soft breath. The routine focus of the work had eased the trauma of the morning a bit more.

Ryan shifted and cleared his throat. I stood and turned to him, amused to see him looking a little guilty for watching me instead of working.

“All done?” he asked.

“For now,” I said, keeping my humor well hidden. “I’ll come back in a couple of hours and top it off.”

Ryan nodded, his eyes still on me. “God, I’ve missed you.”

I moved to the futon and sat beside him then leaned my head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you too.”

He set the laptop aside. “Like I said, it’s been a weird few months. Sometimes when I think of you being off with him, I get so pissed I do stupid shit like hit the wall.” He winced. “Or kick a concrete barricade. Not one of my brighter moments.” He dropped his head back. “Most of the time it’s not like that, though. I can think of you with him, and I’m . . . happy for you.”

I had no doubt Szerain maintained the calm as best he could, which supported my suspicion that he didn’t have a problem with my relationship with Mzatal even if Ryan did. And those times when Szerain couldn’t resist the submersion enough to influence Ryan were the times when the Ryan aspect lashed out in jealous frustration.

Submersion. Revulsion shuddered through me at the reminder. A few months ago I’d talked Mzatal into submerging me so that I could understand Ryan/Szerain better. It was a nightmare—like being placed in a shoulder-width vertical tube with cold, viscous gel up to your chin, then having a grate pushed down until you had to press your face against it to keep from drowning. To add to the torment, you were forced to witness yourself living and interacting, but with little direct control over it. Never sleeping. Never knowing the relief of oblivion.

Szerain had existed thus for the past decade and a half. Horrific. I had no idea how he remained sane. I doubted I’d have lasted more than a week.

I slid my arm around him. “Mzatal’s very good to me. And for me.” I let out a low sigh. “I’m still a bit of a mess from what Rhyzkahl did to me, and I really believe Mzatal wants me to be, well, whole again.”

Ryan continued to stare up at the ceiling. “Yeah. That’s good. Can’t deny you look and sound better.”