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Fear coiled in my gut to replace the cramp-from-hell, and I took several ragged breaths. I badly wanted to ask what the fuck was going on, but I knew he wouldn’t answer. Mzatal’s hand slid back up to the center of my chest. Once again warmth formed under my skin, followed by a sharp cramp, but this felt much worse than the first. A whimper slid from me despite my best intentions. I kept my hands clenched into fists, shaking as the cramp deepened.
“Hold the flows as they are without wavering,” Mzatal said to the summoner. I heard the snarl beneath his words and had zero doubt that the blond man paled a bit. I knew I would have.
He splayed his hand hard upon my chest. I opened my eyes to look up at him, nearly regretting it as I saw the dark expression on his face. He flicked his gaze toward Gestamar, said something in demon, lip curled. I heard the name “Rhyzkahl” as he increased the pressure on my chest, and I fought back panic.
“Idris, prepare,” he said, voice uncompromising and intense. He lifted his open hand to about six inches above my sternum.
Searing heat ripped through my chest. I screamed, arching my back as I pulled against the arcane bindings. Memory flared of another searing pain driving through my chest, and I screamed again as I fought to get free so I could scrabble at whatever had caused it and save myself.
And then pain and memory were both gone, leaving only echoes behind. I collapsed back, biting my lips against sobs. Tears trickled down the side of my face, and I tried to focus on how annoying it was that I couldn’t wipe them away. Anger was better than terror and, at the moment, it wasn’t that hard to be pissed off. Except for the part where I got to kiss Ryan, this had been a colossally shitty day from start to finish, and it wasn’t even over.
Mzatal’s eyes swept over me before they returned to mine. “Now your Lord is stripped of the means to retrieve you,” he said, voice dark with a deep vehemence. He slipped the collar back onto my neck before I had time to even flinch. An ache went through me as the arcane faded to a fraction of its fullness.>“So, uh, if you’re going to cut my hair could you comb it out first?” I said, doing my best to keep my tone light and unconcerned, though my heart pounded. “I didn’t get a chance after my bath. No conditioner, and it tangles like a bitch,” I continued, harnessing the Mighty Power of the Snark to help me get through this.
Gestamar snorted. “No hair will be cut. These are of Szerain—treasured summoners and humans of his.”
A weird chill skimmed over me and down my spine. “Is that where we are? Szerain’s palace?” Only recently had I found out that my FBI agent friend Ryan Kristoff was actually the demonic lord Szerain, exiled from the demon realm with his memory stripped. I gazed at the collection of mementos and wondered what the oldest was, wondered what sort of people they came from. The demonic lords had been around for a few thousand years, and I sure as hell had trouble getting my head around it. Déjà vu washed over me again, stronger this time, as my eyes rested on one lock of reddish blond hair bound by a green ribbon.
“Yes,” the demon replied, voice seeming to lower an octave. “Szerain’s palace. In the secondary antechamber of the summoning chamber that birthed the cataclysm.”
My breath quickened as memory rose. Sigils light the chamber with a soft glow. I lift my hair and allow Lord Sze rain to neatly slice a lock. He gives me a kind smile and a kiss on the forehead….
I tensed, and the memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving me trembling and unsettled. Looking to Gestamar, I struggled for mental balance. “Cataclysm? You mean the fissures and the blasted landscape? That originated here?”
The demon peered at me, pupils narrowing to slits. “Yes. From the chamber to which you were summoned. A horrific event wrought by Szerain. And Elinor.”
I struggled to work moisture into my mouth. “What happened?”
He growled low and leaned close, breath hot upon me while I fought the urge to cower back. “Elinor lost control of a powerful ritual—an attempt at a permanent gate.” His voice was rich and slow, with ominous overtones that made my gut clench. “It thrashed out of control and she perished.” He drew out the last word in a way that sent shivers through me. “And our world broke apart, and the skies wept fire, and the seas lashed the high plains.” He tilted his head, eyes on me. “And the ways to Earth slammed shut, trapping humans here to die and severing us from your world for over two hundred years, while this world sought to emulate your vision of hell.”
The words tumbled over each other in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut as I struggled to make sense of it. My breath came in shallow pants as a ragged discord seemed to permeate his telling.
I shook my head to try and clear it. Something was wrong with his version, yet I had no idea what it could be. “How—” My voice cracked, and I tried again. “How did she die?”
Gestamar pulled back from me. “She was slain in the midst of the ritual as the gate spiraled out of control.”
I fixed my gaze upon him. “But how?” I asked, needing the answer beyond all reason. “What killed her? The gate? What?”
The thrum abruptly increased in tempo. Gestamar stood.
“Wait,” I said, pulse pounding. “Do you even know?”
In answer Gestamar bared his teeth, and in a move too swift for me to follow, pulled a thin cloth hood over my head.
My hands balled into fists at my side as he swiftly fastened the hood with arcane bindings. It wasn’t tight by any means, and it wasn’t difficult to breathe through, but the mere concept of being brought, hooded, into a ritual chamber was enough to give me a mild case of the freakouts. Okay, maybe a major case. Which, I realized a heartbeat later, was very likely this Lord Mzatal’s intent.
Anger needled me just enough to counteract the terror, though only a bit. I still had no reason to believe I was going to live through this ritual. I suddenly missed Ryan, even though I knew it had probably been less than half an hour since I’d seen him.
Since we kissed.
We’d worked together for much of the past year and had a good-friends relationship that always seemed to teeter on the edge of something more. In those unnerving seconds when both of us knew we couldn’t stop the summoning, he finally kissed me, and damn it I kissed him back. He told me he loved me, and I told him I loved him. And then I was here.
I smiled very slightly beneath the hood. Well, if I have to die now, at least we got that shit out of the way.
Gestamar took my left upper arm. “The floor is smooth,” he said as he moved me forward and through the door. “Simply walk.”
I complied. A few heartbeats later he released me, and someone else took my right arm in a firm but not harsh grip. Not the lord, I decided. This had to be the blond summoner.
The young man slowly led me around the outer perimeter of the ritual circle. Thankfully, the hood did nothing to block my othersight. Brilliantly ignited sigils floated from knee to chest height above the floor in a circle of beautifully interlaced patterns. The only kind of ritual diagram I’d ever drawn was with chalk on the floor, but I could feel the power of this and had no doubt it was the diagram. Looks like they do things in style in the demon realm.
