“You’re telling him too much,” Quen said tightly, and her shoulders stiffened.
“I don’t care, Quen,” she shot back, then spun to put her back to both of them, staring at the candle flickering in the middle of her circle. “Septiens,” she whispered, and without warning or fanfare, a shimmering wave of something sprang up from the sand, coming together at the top to form half a sphere. It shimmered like a heat wave, and Daniel would’ve gotten up to investigate, but Quen was glaring at him to stay put.
“Algaliarept,” Trisk whispered. “I summon you.”
Daniel’s lips parted as a sudden haze in the middle of her circle solidified into . . . “A hippie?” he questioned, seeing a thick, somewhat tall man in baggy but exquisitely embroidered clothes. He wore a full-sleeved red shirt under a long vest. His dark hair was pulled back and his beard was thick. But then Daniel saw his eyes, and his breath caught. It wasn’t that they were red and slitted like a goat’s. There was anger in them—and a need to hurt.
“It’s not a hippie, it’s a demon,” Quen said, grim-faced. “He looks like that to lull you into thinking he’s safe.”
“He doesn’t look safe to me,” Daniel whispered, and the man with his mix of casual disregard and brute strength gave him a knowing smirk as round blue-tinted glasses misted into existence, perched on the bridge of his strong nose. The scent of burnt tree sap grew cloying. Daniel stared, memory tickling the top of his brain. He’d seen this before . . . smelled it.
Trisk shifted from foot to foot, her shoulders up around her ears. “I like the Victorian dandy better,” she said, and the demon looked down at himself, sniffing as he eyed his bare toes.
“You lust after dangerous subtext,” the demon said, his deep, noble British accent familiar. “I can scratch that itch, little bird, scratch it until you writhe for more.” Smiling to show flat, blocky teeth, the demon tapped the barrier with a finger, and the haze between them dimpled. “You’d enjoy what I’d do to you. Promise.”
My God. I remember this, Daniel thought as a feeling of vertigo cascaded over him. Pulse hammering, he tore his attention from the demon to look at Trisk, then Quen, in horror. It was all real. It hadn’t been bluster, Quen really wanted to kill him! Buried-in-the-back-of-the-barn kill him!
As if pulled by his fear, the demon’s gaze fastened on him, his thick shoulders cracking as he leaned closer to the barrier. Daniel swore he could hear a thrum of warning, and indeed, a wisp of smoke seemed to rise where the demon touched it, and the scent of burning sap became strong. “Two elves and a human walk into a barn.” The demon grinned. “Sounds like a joke to me, Felecia Eloytrisk Cambri.”
Elf, Daniel thought, looking at Quen and Trisk. Not witch. Would that make Kal an elf as well? They all went to the same school, apparently. Why are they geneticists?
“I need something,” Trisk said, seemingly breathless.
The beach guru crossed his arms across his middle, eyes rolling. “Of course you do,” he said, and then all three of them jumped when the demon lashed a fist into the barrier. Black smoke rolled up to show the curve of the circle, and with a start, Daniel realized the choking burnt-sap smell was coming from the demon himself.
“Trisk?” Quen exclaimed, and she waved his concern off, missing the demon’s eyes flicking up to the rafters at a faint clatter. Daniel followed the demon’s gaze, his brow rising when he spotted a tiny glow of light seeming to spill from the thick beams, dissipating before it fell more than a few inches. It was that tiny woman, and Daniel looked back down, startled to see the demon watching him, grinning wildly.
“You need something,” the demon said as he ran a hand through the thin ribbons woven into his beard. “Seeing a human staring at me, I can guess.” He hesitated, his feet in his rope-and-wood sandals spread confidently. “I like this. So sure of your skills that you summon me in a barn. Aboveground. Where I might see something other than the ceiling of your lab.”
Trisk took a breath to say something, and again the demon jabbed out at her circle. White-faced, she took a step back, the barrier she’d made humming with a stronger force.
“Let me guess,” Daniel said, ignored. “If he gets out, we all die.”
“Only if you’re lucky,” the demon said.
“Ask him,” Quen said, and Trisk stepped forward, an odd, stiff surety in her.
“How much for a memory charm?” she said, her mood an even mix of worry and frustration. “To cloud both the first time he saw you, and about an hour ago up to now.”
Ignoring her, the demon blew the char from his burned knuckles to show new skin beneath. Head cocked, he looked at Daniel. “What is your name, little man?”
“Dr. Daniel Plank,” Daniel said, peeved as he realized he’d been living in a world of magic his entire life, blind to it. Somehow, that made him angry.