“The ‘devil dog’ that animal control shot was Kuktok, a kzak I’ve known since I was a kid.” He said it matter-of-factly, as though having a cozy rapport with a vicious demon species was no more unusual than a rain shower in Louisiana. “Kadir told me Kuktok was shot before he made it to a valve at Leelan Park . . . but hasn’t arrived back home yet.”
I exhaled. “I’m so sorry.” I had no idea what would happen if a demon—or human—died in the valve system, between the two worlds.
Pellini shrugged it off, picked up a stick, broke it. Broke it again. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck’s going on?” he asked. “I got a glimpse of Kadir’s perspective, but I know there’s more to it all.”
“Can we do it over coffee?” I wasn’t trying to stall him, but Pellini set his mouth in a stubborn line.
“I need to know.”
Damn. Note to self: Don’t step outside the house without caffeine ever again. “Let’s take a walk to the valve by my pond,” I said. “I’ll tell you on the way.”
We proceeded to stroll through the woods while I inundated him with a crash course in the arcane and its bizarre politics: the Mraztur, demonic lords, Katashi, the demon realm, valves, and summoning. I told him about my history with Rhyzkahl and how he’d betrayed me, and even showed him the sigil scars that the lord had carved into my flesh with his essence blade. I stopped short of telling him about anything to do with Farouche and the plantation raid. Pellini didn’t need to know about that to understand the rest. Despite everything else, he was a cop—and the murder and mayhem at the plantation were crimes.
He seemed to take everything I told him in stride. When we reached the pond, I worked to symmetrize the valve while he filled me in on his experiences with Kadir. As I’d suspected, he’d received a “download” from the demonic lord, which imbued him with the knowledge of what to do on the nexus.
I finished smoothing out the irregularities and straightened with a pleased smile. My valve shimmered blue-green—quiet and stable. This symmetrization stuff rocked. Even if it helped Katashi and the Mraztur in the long game, we needed the short game fix.
Pellini scrutinized the valve. “You got it right first time out.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“Nah, Kadir said you’d ace it,” he said. “Makes sense, considering he created the simulator for you.”
A hint of uncertainty in his voice caught my attention. I stood and faced him. “Pellini, what’s up?”
“Not sure,” he said. A frown curved his mouth. “I wasn’t born to be a practitioner. Kadir said he created me.”
I couldn’t hide my surprise at that. An arcane implant or simulator was one thing, but to genetically engineer a practitioner through arcane means? The notion unsettled me, though I had trouble pinpointing why. It was more than unease over the concept of Pellini being a created practitioner.
“No use worrying too much right now,” I said to reassure him. “I’m sure we’ll find out more—” I froze.
Created. Kadir created Pellini.
Szerain’s words echoed back to me.
Slew Elinor. Created you.
A chill swept through my body. He’d said that after I confronted him about stabbing Elinor, but now I had a horrifying context for his words. Created me.
A flash of anger swept away the chill. What had he done? And when? Mzatal once told me the Elinor memories and influence clung to me like an afterthought, though they were also integral to my being. Szerain had held Elinor’s essence captive in his blade, Vsuhl, for centuries. Had he used that blade to alter me? If so, it would have been before his exile—without Vsuhl—to Earth, which was at least fifteen years ago. And with Szerain who the hell knew where right now, I had no way to find out.
“Kara,” Pellini said, and I realized it wasn’t the first time he’d called my name. “You okay?”
I put on a big smile. “I’m cool. Need coffee, that’s all. Everything will be right with the world then.”
What a lie.
? ? ?
Pellini followed me back to the house, but I got as far as dumping out the stale coffee before my phone rang. I glanced at the number then set the coffeepot in the sink and ran water into it.
“Who the hell’s calling you at eight in the morning on a Saturday?” Pellini asked.
“It’s Detective O’Connor from the Sheriff’s office,” I said as my phone continued to ring. I didn’t have to answer it, did I? Whether I talked to him or not wouldn’t make a difference in the long run. It wasn’t as if there was anything he could say that would change my mind about giving him a statement.
Then again the same reasoning supported taking the call. After all, what did I have to lose? Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as I expected. Y’know, like a root canal.
Pellini had questions in his eyes that I didn’t want to answer. I mumbled a “scuse me” then snatched up my phone and headed toward the living room as I answered. “Kara Gillian.”