Lifting his hand, he traced a pattern high in the air. Scintillating golden light followed the path of his fingers and settled into a slowly spinning sigil that cast a soft amber glow over us. “I do what I must,” he said through clenched teeth. With a swipe of his hand, he burned away the blood that flowed from his nose, though it remained as dark blotches on the burgundy of his shirt. Black hair threaded with strands of gold hung in a thick tightly woven braid over his right shoulder.
Searching his face, I stood. “We are stronger together.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, but his face remained otherwise inscrutable. Only his eyes—flint grey, ancient, and beautiful—hinted at the turmoil within. “The potency flows of my world have degraded more. You felt the effects during the summoning. Why have you interrupted my work?”
I mentally reached through the pinprick in his wall, caressed him. “The valves are unstable, and I can’t maintain them on my own.” I lifted my chin. “We need Idris here. Has he recovered enough?”
“Sufficiently to work with me,” Mzatal said. “He is needed in my realm.” He moved toward me, and I took in his familiar scent like a sea breeze laced with musky spice.
“And what happens to your world if the valves collapse?” I narrowed my eyes. “Katashi is still here and continues with the Mraztur’s plans.” Mzatal could read my thoughts, so there was no need to offer lengthy explanations. “Only this morning a kzak was pushed through. What if that was a precursor for another incursion by Jesral or Amkir?”
Mzatal touched my bloody forearm and sent healing warmth into it, then lifted his hand and ran his fingers through my hair in a tender gesture. An instant later his hand tightened to grip my hair close to my scalp at the back of my head, holding me fast. The pinprick widened to a crack. “Without the valves my world would die. Yet it shakes itself apart now with anomalies and disruptions in the flows.”
“Then send Idris to me,” I said, pulse thrumming. “You have the other lords there.” I basked in the glimmer of our connection and yearned for its fullness. “I have no resources other than Eilahn. Zack is out. Szerain is a loose cannon. Bryce and Paul are in the demon realm. I only know the basics about the valves, and Katashi and his crew are out there somewhere. I need—” I leaned closer, pulling against his hold on my hair. “I need . . . Idris.”
His grip tightened as he drew my face close to his. “What you need is what I need,” he growled, breath hot on my cheek, and his lips almost brushing mine. The crack widened a fraction more. I could feel him on the verge of shattering the walls to open to me. In the resurgence of connection I silently urged him on. Together we could rise above anything.
We stood thus for several pulse-pounding seconds, then he released me and took a step back, narrowed the crack to the width of a hair. “But we must both be denied,” he said.
I dragged in a breath as he withdrew. “Why, Boss? Why?” My head knew the answer, but I had to ask for the sake of my heart.
“Because I do what I must.” The intensity of his voice drove the words through me. “I can remain no longer. Matters are dire in the demon realm, and I abandoned Seretis and Amkir in the midst of the repair of an anomaly.” He backed to the center of my summoning diagram. “Idris is best equipped to engage the valve issues here, but I will not be without a summoner. Contact Rasha Hassan Jalal al-Khouri. Tell her to be in her summoning chamber at dawn.”
“I’ll ask her.” No way would I order the elderly summoner to go to the demon realm. She might leap at the opportunity, or she might prefer tea and solitude.
Mzatal inclined his head. He understood that I intended to allow Rasha to choose whether to go or not. “Prepare to receive Bryce in the third hour after sunrise tomorrow,” he told me. “If I have acquired Rasha, I will send Idris as well.”
Dread flooded through me at Bryce’s name. He’d been Paul’s bodyguard and handler ever since the young computer genius had been kidnapped to work for Farouche. Over time Bryce had come to care for Paul as deeply as if they were the closest of brothers, and his role as bodyguard had transformed from a duty to a labor of love. No way would he leave Paul behind. “Is Paul . . . dead?”