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I spent the rest of the day readying the diagram and making some last minute non-arcane arrangements for Mzatal’s arrival. By eight in the evening, I had plenty of power stored up, Zack and Ryan were off somewhere else, Eilahn was either in the woods or on the roof, and the house was nice and quiet and empty.
Most of my summoning superstitions had disintegrated after close to six months of training with Mzatal. I didn’t have special summoning clothing any more, and I certainly no longer felt the need to strip in the hallway and then go down to my basement naked. I smothered a laugh at the thought of doing so with Ryan still here. “Surprise!”
I did, however, shower, shave my legs, and dress in a nice zrila-made shirt and soft pants in gorgeous shades of blue. Hey, I was having a torrid love affair with a hot and sexy demonic lord who I hadn’t seen in a whole twenty-four hours. We were in the middle of a crappy, stress-laden situation. No way was I going to be less than my awesomest best to welcome him to Earth.
The summoning itself went smoothly and, while not exactly effortless, I again appreciated the value of the shikvihr and the intensity of my recent training.
I made the call to Mzatal, felt the strands coalesce through the portal, and pulled. A moment later he knelt on one knee in the center of the diagram, and I smiled as I saw he was wearing the charcoal grey Armani suit. My dude was ready to kick some Earth butt. Beside him, Jekki lay curled atop a small trunk with his tail tightly wrapped around a foot-high keg.
“Hello, Jekki,” I said. The ball of blue fur unwound, and the faas burbled a greeting. Mzatal stood as I moved to him. “Hi, Boss.”
“Zharkat,” he murmured, face serious in his I’m assessing everything mode. But he wasn’t so preoccupied that he ignored me. He slipped a hand behind my head and kissed me, then frowned. “You are troubled.”
I slid my arms around him, rested my cheek on his chest. “Other than finally having you here, it’s been a pretty crappy day.” I proceeded to tell him about the murder victim and the trap on her body, and also the issues with Ryan and Zack.
He cradled me close as he listened. “I am deeply relieved you are safe and that Szerain intervened.” He kissed me again. “Have you any information on Idris?”
“Nothing yet,” I said, enjoying the lovely tingle left behind by the kiss. “But I’ve put out feelers.”
He hesitated a split second before nodding, no doubt reading the meaning of the phrase from me. “I will begin adaptation to the flows here so that I am not as . . . crippled.”
Crippled. That was how it felt to him. In the demon realm, he was connected to the arcane flows through his own lord-ability and time in his plexus, which allowed him to track and monitor damn near anything that touched or involved the arcane. Here, he had almost none of that. Like losing the sense of touch.
I took his hand and started toward the stairs. “Let’s get out of the basement, and I’ll give you the grand tour.”
I watched Mzatal’s face and enjoyed his reactions as he took in everything: the fascinating Earth scents, my table with summoning tools, Ryan’s area with futon, table and dresser, and the very ordinary basement staircase. At the top of the stairs I stepped out into the hallway with him, then gestured around. “Welcome to my realm,” I announced grandly.
His face remained impassive save for a very slight wrinkle between his eyebrows, likely undetectable by anyone who didn’t know him fairly well. “It is very . . . compact,” he finally said.
My lips twitched. “Try imagining it with the standard ceiling height of eight feet. These are fourteen. But it’s not exactly a palace, that’s for sure.” I gave him a quick tour of the spacious living room, office, bedrooms, bathrooms, oh-so-cluttered dining room, kitchen, utility room, and all exits, while Jekki zipped from room to room in an excited blur of blue.
“You’ll probably like it better outside,” I told him as I led him through the kitchen and toward the back porch. In the kitchen Jekki happily explored, opening and closing cabinets and peering at items in drawers. He tugged the refrigerator open, made a quick assessment of the contents, then closed it and moved on to inspect under the sink.
I paused, though Mzatal continued moving to the back of the house, his brows drawn together in concentration. “Hey, Jekki,” I said, “if you need any supplies for Mzatal, you have to let me know so we can buy them.” Ahead of me, Mzatal strode across the porch and on into the yard.
“Have tunjen juice from home,” Jekki announced, and now I realized what the small keg was for. Juice of the tunjen fruit served as quick replenishment f
or the body, mind and arcane, and was a staple of the demonic lord diet. “Earth fruit here. Enough today!”
I grinned and followed Mzatal. I could only aspire to the near-perpetual enthusiasm of the faas. Mzatal’s steps slowed as he moved across the grass, both hands spread slightly in front of him, palms down and fingers slightly up. I hung back, watching with interest as he moved forward like a beachcomber with a metal detector, slowly sweeping his body back and forth in gentle, elegant arcs.
He paused, turned and backtracked, then shifted toward the right, shoulders tense with focus. Finally, he stopped, brought his hands to his sides, lowered his head and went still.
Goosebumps prickled over my skin as memory seared through me. Rhyzkahl had come out to the backyard and stood in precisely that spot, and for a bizarre instant the image of him overlaid that of Mzatal. Exact spot, exact stance. One light, one dark.
Vaguely unsettled, I walked out into the yard. He lifted his head as I reached him, and he inhaled deeply. “This will serve well,” he said.
“What is this place?” I asked. “Rhyzkahl also seemed drawn to it. Stood right here.”
He held his hand out to me, drew me to stand with my back to his chest. His hands slid down over mine, and he interlaced our fingers.
“Feel,” he murmured.
I forced myself to relax, leaned my head back against him as I extended my senses. For a while there was nothing but the sturdy beat of his heart, the warmth and security of his hands on mine. Cicadas and crickets rasped and chirruped from the trees and brush. An owl hooted, answered a few seconds later by another farther away. A soft breeze carried the crisp scent of pines, much more subtle than the evergreens of Mzatal’s realm, though perhaps still a vaguely familiar comfort for him.
And then I noted a warmth below me. No, that wasn’t the right description. A subtle glow of power like the potency I worked with, but more concentrated than I was used to on Earth. “What is it?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper, as if certain the sensation would shatter if I spoke too loudly.
Keeping our fingers entwined, he wrapped his arms around me. “It is . . . ” He paused, as if searching for a suitable English word. “It is a confluence, a convergence point of power flows, albeit different and of much lower intensity than in my own world. Such is the foundation of a nexus.”
