Touch of the Demon (45 page)

A faint smile touched his mouth but didn’t reach his eyes.
I trust him
, I told myself again.
Right?

Mzatal drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. I braced myself and tried to prepare for…I had no idea what.

When he opened his eyes, it was like looking through a window into a nightmare. Moving with demonic lord speed he seized my head between his hands, face abruptly and coldly vindictive and purposeful. The nightmare behind his eyes flooded out to inundate me, and I sucked in a breath, recoiling.

“No, wait!” I struggled against his hold, then cried out in shock as Gestamar moved swiftly in from the main chamber and wrapped an arm around my waist from behind. “No. Stop!”

Mzatal didn’t move, but I felt the stab of potency slide through me in a surgical strike, and in the next instant I went limp in Gestamar’s hold as Mzatal stripped my physical control.

But only the physical. I still had full awareness, still felt Mzatal’s hands on my head. I could still silently yell at myself for being the biggest goddamn moron who’d ever walked the Earth. I fought to move, to twitch,
anything
.

“Fool,” Mzatal snarled in a voice that was his, yet not his. “It could have been so easy for you.”

My body couldn’t move, but my Self jerked in shock as
what felt like a viscous goo began to rise around me. It wasn’t physical—there was nothing I could see or taste or smell, but it was cold. So incredibly cold. The arcane constriction continued to rise around my essence, everything that was me. I panicked as fully as if it was a corporeal substance threatening to drown me. My Self thrashed and flailed, but the advance was inexorable, and I couldn’t find any purchase.

Mzatal’s lip curled. “All in our grasp. All.” His teeth clenched harder. “And you choose—
choose
—to withhold it from me.” He pushed me lower while I thrashed and fought the submersion.

I felt the reyza’s strong grip, his hot breath on my neck. I hung limp as Mzatal held my head, while within I fought the unrelenting push.

He forced me down. The only way to describe it was as if I was in a narrow pipe, with barely any room to twitch or move, and that pipe was filled with icy goo, and then a grate placed over the top and sealed down. I had less than an inch of “space” between the grate and the goo, forcing me to constantly scrabble for purchase, to press my face against that grate simply to exist.

Mzatal drove the “grate” fully down upon me until it felt as if I was a hair’s breadth away from being lost completely, then blatantly and clearly sealed the prison. “How long can you bear this?” he hissed. “How long until even
you
break?”

Panicked, I pressed my Self against the barricade. I wanted to sob, scream, anything, but all I had was the total quiescence of my body in Gestamar’s arms.

Mzatal held my head for another ten heartbeats, then released me and straightened, face returning to its normal Mzatal-ness.

“Kara, I have some matters to attend,” he said. “Wait for me inside.” He turned and headed off down the balcony.

Gestamar released me, and I straightened. I glanced up at the demon, then moved inside to Mzatal’s chambers. Pursing my lips, I looked around, then began opening cabinets, methodically searching. I knew it had to be here somewhere.

This is me, I realize. I scrabble and press against the barrier. The confinement is horrific, but the rest isn’t so bad, is it? He called me Kara. At least I’m still me. But what the hell am I looking for? I extend, desperately trying to understand, and
as I do, it’s like sticking my finger into an electrical outlet as the jolt of connection slams home. I am fully myself, know myself, am myself, and I’m also this walking, breathing, thinking Pretender that seeks a confiscated bag of weed. I feel myself animating her through a slender tendril of essence that winds through the grate. Her thoughts, chaotic and irrational, tumble beside Mine in a confusing torrent, and I experience a new sort of drowning as they invade Me. Panic. I know her. Panic. I am her. Panic. I am myself. Panic. Who am I?

She found it in the bottom drawer and grinned. Not warded or protected in any way. She took the baggie to the table in the bedroom, sat, and began to expertly roll a joint.

Who am I? The Observer. Boundaries. Must set bound aries. I am myself. I am—she is—the Pretender. Thoughts are intimately entwined. I cling to mine and willfully keep hers at bay, still glaringly present, but separate. I witness the Pretender using my body. It’s been over fifteen years since I’ve done any sort of drugs. I know I can’t experiment or have one joint just for fun. She knows this as well, but denies it. Wake up! Don’t do this!

She moved to the balcony and leaned against the rail. She lit the joint easily with a quick sigil.

No. Damn it. I can’t smoke pot. I’m not going to go back to any of that shit. I know myself too well. I struggle against the grate, struggle to extend control through the connecting strand. It’s still my body! Surely I can stop me, her, us from doing this. But it’s like steering a car with my pinky while tied in the backseat.

She lifted the joint and took a long pull, then sighed out the smoke with a relaxed smile.

That’s what I needed.
Her thought rolls over me. Damn it! I witness the Pretender abuse my body. I want to smack her.

She jerked in surprise as Mzatal reached and plucked the joint from her fingers.

“You have dishonored my hospitality, taken that which is not yours, and do not have the control to use such without succumbing to it.” He glowered down at Us as he incinerated the joint with a flick of his fingers.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She scowled up at the lord. “It was my damn weed in the first place. I was merely
recovering my own property that you ‘confiscated’.” She made obnoxious quote marks with Our fingers.

Holy shit. I know this Pretender. I had that attitude when I was about nineteen or so. I was off the drugs by then, but She is the Me of then, still on drugs. I can’t live like this! I reach through the strand and it’s like fighting through a vat of tar, sticky, searing heat against the ice of my Self. Agonizing. Exhausting.

“And what the hell does it matter anyway if I smoke a joint?” she continued, rolling Our eyes. “This summoning shit is a pain in the ass and the pot chills me out.”

“I do not jest,” he replied in a hard voice. “For some it would not matter. For you it does. You lose yourself.”

He’s so right. Why won’t she listen? No, this isn’t me. This
…
this is a very small part of who I might have been. This isn’t me! I can’t do this.

“I don’t lose myself,” she said with a snort. “Oh my god, it’s just pot. And what the fuck do you care? You wanted a summoner. Well, here I am.” She gave a showy curtsey.

“Smoking breaks your agreement with me. This is of much relevance.” Mzatal looked to Gestamar. “Destroy the remainder of the herb.”

She gave a snotty laugh. “Oh no, I did something against the magic contract. Does that mean I get a spanking?”

You stupid little bitch, stop talking before you get into real trouble! I continue to struggle to reach through the strand.

Mzatal’s eyes were hard upon Us. “Gestamar, Kara will be leaving us. Tell Idris to prepare a diagram. We will proceed within the hour.”

Yeah. Trouble like that.

I press against the barrier. I can’t relax, can’t rest. All I can do is gasp in what existence I can through the seal. I can’t take much more of this.

She stared in shock. “You’re going to send me back for one fucking joint? You f-fu—”

I slam on the brakes! I force myself through the strand and manage to make her stop before she can call him a fucking asshole. The thought is there, the words formed, ready to spill. Stop it. I want to weep, but she has my body. Exhausted. This tiny influence exhausts me. I can’t do this. Please, you have to stop this. Mzatal, please! I’m trying not to panic, but there’s so little room. Please. Please.

Mzatal moved to me and took my head in his hands, unsealed the barrier. I sagged and clutched at him as he released it, eyes wide as the goo slowly retreated. He pulled me to him, kept one arm wrapped around me and the other cradling my head to his chest. I could feel him continuing to dismantle the suppression. With every heartbeat it loosened more, until finally it was completely gone. I was me again. Fully me.

But shudders spasmed through me, and I had to clamp down hard on the urge to cry. “That was me.” I whispered.

He continued to hold me close, even though the cruel submersion was over and dismantled. “Was,” he replied. “It was an aspect of you. You would not be who you are today without that aspect. It is a gift.”

A shiver raced through me. “You know all about that time in my life.”

“Yes,” he replied quietly.

Of course he did, I realized. He probably knew me better than I knew myself. He’d gone trouncing through my memories and life when he was deciding whether or not to snap my neck.

“Fuck,” I breathed. Shame coiled through me, but I pushed it down. I wasn’t that person anymore. And I could be damn glad that I didn’t have to live my existence watching me be that person, be something I despised. “This submersion,” I said, then paused, considering my words. He couldn’t answer a direct question, but he could, perhaps comment. “I don’t know how anyone could bear it for more than a few minutes, much less many years.”

Mzatal went very still. “I do not know how it could be endured for so long.”

Again, I chose my words carefully. “I wonder if anyone else could be as…reviled and shamed by the actions of their outer personality as I was.” Did Szerain detest how Ryan conducted himself?

“Yes,” he said, exhaling. “Perhaps not as instantaneously, since your overlay was drawn from a painful era of your past. But without the control, without the influence, any actions could emerge. Surely you have watched another and judged their actions. It is similar with a foreign overlay.”

I struggled to process it all. Now I knew—or at least had a taste of—what Szerain endured. But Szerain had been
submerged under the overlay of someone else’s life. It was bad enough under a shadow of myself. What would it be like to have the superficial memories of Jane Doe overlaid and my features shaped into hers? And Szerain chose this. Surely, he didn’t know how bad it would be. Turek’s words came back to me.
He despised being submerged. He will not willingly submit to it again.

“There were a couple of minutes there where I thought you’d really done it. I thought you’d really submerged me.” I looked up at him. “I’m sorry I doubted.”

He met my eyes steadily. “You wanted to know what it was like. That aspect was crucial to your understanding. I reinforced it with specific intention.” He shook his head. “There is no need for apology.”

Reinforced with specific intention.
The words he spoke when he submerged me. They’d made little sense at the time, and now I thought maybe I knew why. Were those Rhyzkahl’s words when he submerged Szerain? Was this the only way Mzatal could tell me?

I tensed as the grove flared. “Someone’s coming.” I paused, feeling the resonance. “It’s Lord Vahl. Were you expecting him?”

“No,” he said through clenched teeth. I winced in sympathy. Mzatal was having a Bad Day. I knew those far too well.

“Do you need me to leave?”

“Only if you choose to do so,” he replied. “Otherwise, I would have you abide.” Left unspoken was the implication that, while he wanted me with him, he would not mandate it.

“I’ll stay then,” I said, pleased and oddly flattered. I gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m kind of a nosy bitch.”

A smile ghosted across his face. He leaned down and kissed my forehead, then released my hand. “I need a moment to prepare.”

“Of course,” I said. He’d want to be in top form to face another one of the lords with their perpetual head games and intrigue. “Would you like me to get wine?”

“Wine would be excellent.” He faced the balcony railing and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

I headed inside to the demon realm version of a wet bar and grabbed wine and three glasses. I also wolfed down a
couple of pieces of cheese and a slice of fruit since I was starving. Clutching the glasses and wine carefully, I returned to the balcony and set them out quietly so as not to disturb him.

A moment later he opened his eyes and regarded me. “Fog yourself, Kara.”

“Huh?”

“When you hold grove power it is far more difficult to read you,” he said.

I blinked. “Oh, right.” Rhyzkahl had said something about my being fogged right before the big bad ritual. Reaching for the grove, I pulled a trickle of power, then looked to Mzatal.

He shook his head. “Draw more,” he instructed. “I can still read with a very slight probing. Learn how much you need and pull only that.”

Complying, I pulled slightly more, then brought up an image of me doing an obnoxious booty-shake.

Mzatal gave a nod. “Perfect.”

I hoped he meant the fogging and not the booty-shake itself. “Where do you want me?” I asked. “Standing? Sitting?” I grinned. “Sprawled suggestively?”

“You already stand with me,” he said quietly. “But for this, sit.” He gestured to a chair.

My smile widened. I poured a glass of wine for myself and settled into one of the big comfortable chairs.

“He comes,” Mzatal said, face shifting with unnerving speed into a cold, hard mask. Radiating a feral potency, he turned to look out over the rail, hands clasped behind his back. I composed my own face and held my glass of wine.

I felt Vahl’s approach before I saw him. He stopped in the balcony doorway, dark eyes on Mzatal’s back. He still had that “dangerously appealing” feel about him, which was certainly helped by the snug black shirt and pants he wore. Due to the angle, he didn’t appear to see me, and since I’d fogged myself, he couldn’t pick me up through reading.

He spoke in demon to Mzatal, and with the grove power I got the gist of “meetings are complete” or something to that effect. I remained quiet and still, only moving to take a sip of wine.