“No, Kadir took him five days ago,” he said to my combined relief and horror. The creepy and unsettling Kadir had been instrumental in saving Paul’s life, but for Paul to go live with him was a different matter. Yet I couldn’t imagine that Mzatal would let Paul go with the psychopathic Kadir unless it was only possible option. “Bryce currently abides with Seretis,” he continued, “but he requires distraction from his worry for Paul and can be of use to you. Third hour after sunrise. Summon from our nexus, zharkat.” And with that he vanished in a flash of light.
I shielded my eyes, feeling his caress as the word whispered to my essence. Whether he was open or closed, I knew I would always be zharkat—beloved—to him. Dear one. That’s what Rhyzkahl used to call me. The difference between my connection with Mzatal and my so-called relationship with Rhyzkahl was as stark as the difference between moldy bargain-shelf white bread and gourmet New York cheesecake. I’d never fully trusted Rhyzkahl, even though I’d been needy and gullible enough to fall victim to his ploys. Not so with Mzatal. Our union had stripped away all pretense and guile. I knew without a whisper of doubt that he would never betray me with intent.
Wearily, I gazed with pride at my diagram and my summoning chamber. I lived a life that mattered, and right now that was more than enough. Had my grandmother felt the same way? She must have, otherwise why do it?
I wiped down the knife and sheathed it, placed it in the cigar box and put it away. I needed Idris, and the only way for that to happen was for Rasha to go to the demon realm. Weighing the various aspects, I climbed the stairs and emerged from the basement to a silent house. Jill was probably already asleep in her mobile home, with Steeev not far from her side. Eilahn was most likely on the nexus. I headed to the living room and plopped onto the sofa. Without Idris to manage valve repair, we’d lose ground to Katashi—with potentially catastrophic results. It had to be Rasha’s choice to go to the demon realm, but I sure as hell needed to get my sales pitch in order before I called her so she’d make the right choice.
As it turned out, I needed the preparation. Relocation from Austin to the demon realm was a brand-new concept for her, and she was firmly settled in her ways and her home. A twinge of guilt twisted my gut when I presented the end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it argument, but by the time I got to the part about how her arthritis would be cured and she’d be summoning again, I was in the flow of the debate. After some sweat on my part and tears on hers, she got on board, and an edge of excitement came into her voice. My guilt slid away, and I couldn’t help but smile as I listened to her list of what needed to be done and what mementos she wished to take with her. I made sure she understood what time she needed to be in her summoning chamber, then made my goodbyes and disconnected.
I reclined and gazed up at the ceiling, exhausted but pleased with the outcome. In a minute I’d get up and go to bed. Yep, any minute now.
Screw it. The sofa was comfortable enough.
Chapter 6
Sleep didn’t come immediately, and I drifted in a state of don’t-want-to-move. Thoughts tumbled sluggishly. What if the Rasha-Idris deal goes wrong, and Mzatal doesn’t send Idris? No. It can’t. She’ll come through. Bryce and Idris need a vehicle. Jill has an old car that she rarely uses. I’ll ask her if I can borrow it. Sheets and towels. They’ll need those. Clean ones. Bryce in the guestroom, and Idris in the basement. That’ll work. If Ryan comes home and wants the basement back, he can suck eggs.
What does that even mean? An image rose of Ryan tapping a hole in one end of an egg and slurping out the contents. That doesn’t seem all that dire.
It’s probably something filthy. Dirty eggs.
Chickens are messy.
And who put a stupid nightlight sigil on the ceiling?
A voice brushed me, like a whisper of breath on my cheek. Familiar and unwelcome. I twitched physically and mentally, awake enough to ward off the encroaching nightmare.
“Kara?” Again. Clearer. Seeking.
Heart pounding, I jerked fully awake and sat up. Rhyzkahl. That was Rhyzkahl’s voice. What the fuck?
I looked around me. My living room. My sofa. The afghan in a heap on the floor. Fuzzykins perched on the recliner. The song-rasp of crickets. The whirr of the air conditioner cycling on. Normal.
I was definitely awake. I’d experienced enough dream visits from the treacherous Rhyzkahl to know the difference. I drew the afghan up and hugged it to my chest. My pulse slowed as the familiarity of my home embraced me. Fuzzykins hissed, her eyes round and locked onto me. She flattened her ears, hissed again. Yep. Normal.
Or not.
A dim amber sigil glowed on the ceiling. Not my sigil. Not my ceiling. A mosaic dome with its apex and sigil just below my tongue-and-groove paneling. Transparent, like an overlay.
“Kara?” Thin. Weak. “Are you . . . here?” In front of me.
My gaze snapped down. Superimposed over my fireplace was a ghostly image of Rhyzkahl upon a bed, naked except for a twisted sheet draped over his hip.
“What’s going on?” I demanded, breathing shallowly. “What the fuck are you doing?” Panic clawed within my chest as I recoiled on all levels.
The vision faded to little more than a shadow. “I . . . am here.” Distant. Desperate. “Stay. Kara.”