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“Um, okay.” I gave a mental shrug. With Mzatal monitoring him for anything treacherous, I had no reason not to trust him at this point.
I hurried out and brought the car closer. Eilahn carried Thatcher out, showing no more strain than if he were a child. Paul followed her, clearly impressed and amazed by what surely seemed like a superhuman feat.
Through the open door I saw a blue-green shimmer as Mzatal burned the rest of the blood from the floor of the warehouse. Ryan passed me with the body of Tito slung in a fireman’s carry and gave me a tight nod as he headed to his own car. “See you back at the house,” he said over his shoulder.
I didn’t ask what he and Zack intended to do with the body. Some things were best left undiscussed.
Eilahn climbed into the back of my car and cradled the unconscious Thatcher to her, while Paul settled in beside her and took hold of the limp hand again. Eilahn’s eyes closed, and I knew she would arcanely support the wounded man until we could get back to the house.
I turned to Mzatal as he exited the warehouse, his hands clasped behind his back. “Boss, you’re going to have to ride with me since Ryan and Zack are . . . cleaning up the mess.”
“With you is my desire, zharkat,” he said, voice lacking its usual fullness which only served to increase my worry for him. He kissed me tenderly then slid a hand down to take mine.
I walked with him to the car, got him settled in the front passenger seat and prayed that Paul wasn’t feeding us a line of bullshit about the cameras. “Everyone good?” I asked with a glance into the back before I slid into the driver’s seat.
“What about Bryce’s car?” Paul asked, brow furrowing with renewed concern as he looked over at the white SUV. “Oh man, they’re gonna freak out no matter what.”
“We’ll deal with it,” I said. Somehow. It was all too probable that we’d deal with the SUV by leaving it right where it was.
I started the car and headed
home. I couldn’t even be relieved that we were leaving a mess behind. I flicked a quick glance at the rear view mirror. No, we were bringing this mess home with us. All I could do was hope it would be worth it.
Chapter 12
We made it home without further incident. I parked and got out, opened the back door to let Eilahn carry Thatcher inside. I watched her go in, Paul trailing her, then took Mzatal’s hand as he got out of the car.
“Boss,” I said softly. “You’re drained.” I looked up at him with deep concern.
He gave a weary nod. “I will go to the confluence now,” he said, starting to walk around the house. “It will help.”
I tightened my hold on his hand as we walked. “It won’t be enough. You need to return.” I hated it, but I didn’t want him to overextend or get hurt, either due to the drain itself or by being ambushed by a hostile lord upon his return to the demon realm more depleted than he already was.
“I will rest,” he said again, shook his head. “It is too soon to leave.”
“I don’t want you to go,” I said, turning to face him as we reached that spot in the backyard. “But I’d rather kick you off Earth than see you do yourself lasting damage.”
Exhaling, he sank to his knees in the grass, then shifted to sit cross-legged. I crouched before him and kissed him. “What’s the deal with Paul?” I asked, changing the subject. There was only so much arguing I could do with Mzatal. “You said he was coerced into working for Farouche by that fear. Is he a prisoner?”
“I do not know more of his status with Farouche,” Mzatal told me, expression darkening. “He carried deep, pervasive fear of the man and of the consequences of betraying him.”
My knees began to ache, so I plopped down cross-legged. “Is his devotion to Thatcher also influenced or implanted by Farouche?”
“The attachment to Bryce Thatcher seems genuine, beloved,” Mzatal said. “It continues even though I have unwound the compulsion.” His brow creased. “Paul was at war with himself, both wanting and not wanting to return to this Farouche. He found a deep sense of security and fulfillment in Farouche’s service, even though it carried with it a strong undercurrent of fear.”
I carefully mulled all of this over, including the very selfish consideration that Paul and his apparent genius hacker computer skills could be really useful to us. “Thatcher needs a lot more healing, doesn’t he?”
“He does. I will continue after I rest.”
Seriously? Mzatal had to be the stubbornest lord ever. “No, Boss,” I said. “I think that after you rest you should return to your realm and take those two with you.” I took a deep breath, fixed him with a hard look. “That will allow you to recharge, Thatcher to get completely healed, and will keep Paul away from Farouche for a couple of days—hopefully long enough for us to figure out what the real deal is.”
“I will rest,” Mzatal replied, but before I could open my mouth to argue with him again he added, “and then I will reassess.” He took my hand, stroked his thumb over the cracked stone of my ring. “We have no information on Idris,” he said, the ache in his voice palpable.
I lifted my hand and kissed his fingers. “I know.” I gave him a slight smile. “Why the hell do you think I want to get a hacker on our side?”
His eyes met mine, and I saw him read the implications from me. “Ah, I understand.” He considered it, gave a slight nod. “Useful, yes.”
“You’ll do it? You’ll go home and take them with you?”
