Trisk grimaced, wishing he wouldn’t prattle so. “His name is Kal,” she said impatiently. “He’s trying to steal my research. That’s why I summoned you. And I’m not afraid of him.”
Glancing at the humming power over his head, Algaliarept sat back down, his smaller guise of Kal looking odd on the floor in his suit and tie. “You are, or I wouldn’t be here. He wants your research? Is it that good?”
A flash of affront quashed her nervousness. “I found a way to fix the damage you inflicted on us before we left the ever-after,” she said, and the demon cocked his head, a mocking slant to his eyebrows. He looked so much like Kal—apart from the red eyes and blue-tinted glasses—that it scared her. “A donor virus. With it, I can insert healthy code into somatic cells to repair existing damage, or possibly the germ cells to improve the next generation even before they’re born.”
“Why would I help you with this, love?” the demon said, the image of Kal making talking-hand motions. “I would just as soon see you all dead. I am curious, though. Why did you let him do that to you? You are a dark elf. You are a warrior.”
“I’m not letting him,” she said, offended. “Did you not hear me say he was going to steal it? Did I not just summon you to be my sword and shield?”
He beamed at her show of anger. “I make a better mirror,” he said slyly, then sighed. “You want me to help make you famous. I thought you were special, granddaughter of Felecia Ann Barren, spawn of Cambri, but you want the same boring thing everyone who calls me does.”
“I want to keep what I earned,” she said, then louder when his shape became misty at the edges, “I have not dismissed you!”
His form solidified. “No, you haven’t,” he said calmly. “But you should.”
Trisk pushed away from the desk, and Algaliarept’s evil smile, looking odd on Kal’s face, widened. “Will you do it?” she asked, pulse hammering.
“To ensure you get credit for your research? Mmmm. I could kill him,” the demon suggested, eyes on his manicured fingernails.
“I don’t want Kal dead. I want to stop him from claiming my research.”
He looked up. “It would be easier to kill him. I’d enjoy it. You’d enjoy it. I’d let you watch. No?” Algaliarept sighed as if in regret. “Well, if I can’t kill him, I need something in return for my services. Your soul, perhaps?”
Trisk shook her head. If he had her soul, he had her body.
“Why not? You’re not using it,” the demon coaxed. “Take a bare moment. You think you have nice computers? I’ve got the entire power of your basement mainframe in the palm of my hand. I’d let you play with it in your downtime.”
“If you don’t take me seriously, I’m going to send you back,” she threatened, knowing he was bored out of his mind, and the demon predictably stiffened.
“Tell me his name. His full name,” he asked.
Trisk’s eyes widened. “You’d make sure my name is on my work for Kal’s given name?” she asked, shocked, but the demon shook his head, eyeing her over his glasses.
“Names are power, Felecia Eloytrisk Cambri, and you should swallow that stone you found my name on before someone else sees it. It won’t leave you. I promise that. Curiosity prompts me to know the name of this man you hate with so much of your heart. Call it a retainer to continue to entertain your dismally small aspirations until you’re ready to sacrifice your soul to retain your life’s work.” He smiled. “I give you a week.”
A frown pinched her brow, and she clasped her arms around her middle. She hated Kal, but giving a demon his name went against her morals. Algaliarept gestured from the floor with a Well? motion, and she licked her lips. “Trent Kalamack,” she said softly.
The demon’s eyes widened. He looked down at himself, then back to her. With a whoosh and thump of moving air, he vanished to reappear as the Victorian dandy. “Kal-l-l-l-amak,” he drawled, as if tasting the word. “Goes by Kal, you say?” the demon mused aloud, tugging his white gloves tighter onto his hands. “The little bastard is proud of his family name and insecure about his place among his kin. A man-child eager to make his mark.” Eyes fixed on hers, he leaned in until her circle hummed a warning. “Full name,” he demanded, and she blanched at the anger behind it.
“Trenton Kalamack,” she said softly.
“The boy has a middle name, does he not?” Algaliarept inspected his pocket watch.
“I don’t know—” she started, jumping when Algaliarept hit the wall of her circle with an angry fist. Stress lines rippled out, threatening to fray. “Trenton Lee Kalamack,” she said loudly, pulse fast.
“There. Isn’t that better,” the demon purred. And then he looked to the door and laughed, white-gloved hands clapping. “I do so love working with the novice. You forgot to lock your door.”
6