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We headed inside, and Bryce detoured to the guest room to drop his satchel. He and Paul had stayed at the house before, which meant I didn’t have to show him around. After a few minutes he returned to the kitchen.
“Coffee?” I asked him as I shoveled cream and sugar into my own cup.
He dropped into a chair. “Actually, I’d love juice, if you have any.”
“Sure do. You have a choice between orange and orange.”
He chuckled. “I’ll take the orange, please.”
Smiling, I poured a glass and passed it to him. “How’s Paul?” I asked as I settled in the chair across from him. “Mzatal said Kadir took him.”
Bryce hesitated only an instant before replying. “He’s doing okay now,” he said, all humor gone. “Seretis, Elofir, and Mzatal did everything they could, but . . .” He took a sip of juice as if needing the strength to get through the painful memory. “Paul wasn’t getting better,” he went on. “He kept fading away, and finally Mzatal called for Kadir’s help.”
In other words, Mzatal had exhausted all other options. “Why did Kadir take Paul away? He wouldn’t agree to help him in Mzatal’s realm?”
“He couldn’t,” Bryce said. “From what I understand, Kadir and his realm are ‘out of phase’ with the rest of the world, like a piano key out of tune.” Grief shadowed his face. “And, ever since the plantation, apparently so is Paul.”
I fought down a shudder. I could barely tolerate Kadir’s presence for a few minutes. What kind of hell would it be to live with him? “Psychopath” didn’t come close to describing Kadir. Neither did “creepy, brilliant, tormented, sadistic, and unpredictable.” Not long after Mzatal’s flare of rage accidentally burned Paul, I’d worked side by side with Kadir to mitigate the damage. In the process, I unwittingly activated Kadir’s sigil scar on my side and merged with his consciousness. That link had lasted only seconds, but I gained uninvited and unwanted insight into the mental chaos the lord endured.
But surely Mzatal had forged an ironclad agreement that would keep Paul safe from the horrors of Kadir-style torment. Otherwise, why bother saving his life? “I’m glad he’s doing okay,” I said and tried hard not to let any of my apprehension show. “He’s a good guy.”
“Yeah.” Bryce met my eyes. He saw my worry and echoed it back tenfold, but neither of us voiced it. That would make it too real.
“What about Rhyzkahl?” I asked in a sharp change of subject. “Anything new with him?” Not that I gave two shits about the treacherous lord’s health, but curiosity drove me to compare reality to the dream visit.
Bryce seemed grateful for the shift in topic. “The demonic rumor mill says he hasn’t left his quarters since his return from the plantation and that he’s dependent on megadoses of pain concoctions.” He snorted. “I don’t know what Zack did to him, but it knocked him out of action.”
“Gee, that’s too bad,” I said with a syrupy smile. Fuck Rhyzkahl.
Bryce grinned. “I had a feeling you’d be real torn up by the news.”
The basement door opened, and Idris stepped out, messenger bag slung over one shoulder. I gave him a smile as he strode our way, but to my surprise he continued through the kitchen and toward the back door.
“Idris, wait,” I called after him. “I need to get you caught up on a few things.”
“I have to do something first,” he said tersely as he stalked out.
Bryce spread his hands and shrugged. Groaning under my breath, I moved to the sink and peered out the window. Idris crouched in the center of the nexus, then placed an oddly shaped object swathed in red cloth on the concrete and carefully unwrapped it.
I squinted to be sure I really was seeing a human forearm and hand there on the cloth. A second later, Idris dispelled my doubts by lifting the thing and holding it up like an offering to an unseen god of the sky.
“Are you shitting me?” I blurted.
“What’s wrong?” Bryce asked.
I pushed away from the sink. “Apparently I cut summoner class the day they taught Ritual Use of Body Parts for Fun and Profit,” I said, then ran ou
t the back door and across the yard.
At the edge of the platform I paused to make certain Idris hadn’t activated the nexus. He held the severed arm aloft, his head tipped back and gaze locked onto it. Sweat glistened on his face, though I didn’t know if it was from whatever he was doing or the midday Louisiana summer sun. I eased closer then stopped a few feet away and waited. The arm had been severed below the elbow and cauterized, but more disturbing was how fresh it appeared, as though it had been attached to its rightful owner only minutes before. A thin-skinned and wrinkled owner.
A shimmer on the inner arm caught my eye.
No freaking way. Shock and disgust roiled through me as I stared at the arcane symbol that glinted like a fine tattoo of delicate golden light. Mzatal’s mark—which meant this was Katashi’s arm. A vicious smile tugged at my mouth. About six months prior, Katashi betrayed Mzatal and tried to capture me for the Mraztur. In what I considered a perfectly appropriate response, Mzatal sliced off Katashi’s arm right before his allies teleported him away. The Mraztur had since regenerated the missing limb for Katashi, but apparently this original arm—which bore Mzatal’s mark—had been arcanely preserved to keep it from rotting.
Idris remained in that position for several minutes, then lowered the arm and set it on the cloth. “Goddammit. Nothing.”
“What did you expect it to do?” I asked tartly. “Fly to Katashi like a homing appendage?”
