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Katashi murmured to Tsuneo in Japanese, then passed strands—and the lead—to me. I accepted potency from all three summoners and continued to sculpt and place it as needed.
“Kadir’s influence,” Katashi said after several minutes with an unmistakable undertone of annoyance.
Tense and composed, I continued to symmetrize while the others contained, collected and recycled the outflow from the valve. “Yeah, Kadir and I are tight, y’know,” I snarked.
“No,” Katashi said. “That is untrue of any.”
Memory rose of Paul kneeling at Kadir’s side. Though Katashi had interpreted my sarcastic comment literally, he was still wrong. I didn’t understand the relationship between Paul and the demonic lord, but I knew in my gut they were, in fact, tight.
At long last the valve emitted harmonious tones, and the raging red-orange emanations settled into a gentle blue-green flow. Absurdly pleased, I worked the final strands to complete the process. Tsuneo released his hold on the flows, and Katashi strode to the far side of the picnic area.
An arcane shockwave jolted through me as dozens of floating sigils ignited around Katashi. In the next instant a familiar prickle swept over my skin like a million running ants. A ritual, and I’m the target!
I lurched up in an attempt to escape the epicenter. “Idris! Pellini! Run!” I choked out as an unseen weight crashed into me, plastering me to the ground as if I weighed a billion tons.
Sick horror clawed at me as I struggled in vain to free myself. This was like the arcane-draining ritual Idris used on Pellini—only Katashi’s had to have been prepped and readied long before we arrived. A trap. And we walked right into it—cocky and certain that we had the jump on them.
Idris was beyond my line of sight, and I had no idea if he’d managed to get away. I saw Pellini bring his gun to bear on Katashi. At that point I had zero problem with Katashi getting shot in the leg, and so fucking what if it shattered his femur and he bled out.
I fought to reach my own gun, but the crushing pressure held me almost immobile. The simple act of moving my hand felt as if I hauled a loaded pickup truck. One millimeter, two. Pellini got a shot off, and bark flew from a tree not far from Katashi, but the old summoner stood unfazed at the center of his ritual. Behind Katashi a black man I recognized from Farouche’s plantation stepped out of the brush. Leo Carter. He fired at Pellini, but Eilahn tackled the detective to the ground with milliseconds to spare then leaped to her feet and bounded my way. Carter shifted his aim to her while I watched in rising dread.
“Do not kill the syraza!” Katashi ordered. Because of Rhyzkahl, I thought with relief. The syraza and the demonic lord remained connected, and if she died it would debilitate him even more.
Yet with Katashi’s ritual in effect, she still wasn’t safe. As she started toward me, I croaked out a warning for her to stay back, but her stubborn loyalty drove her onward despite the danger. Ten feet away, she dropped to her kn
ees as the ritual sucked away her already scant arcane resources like a swarm of leeches. She went prone and extended her hand toward me, wriggled across the ground as determination glowed in her eyes. With every inch she paled more and her movements grew weaker. I struggled to scream at her to stop, to get out of the vicious ritual, but the words wouldn’t form. Go back, I shrieked at her in my head. I’d never known her to read my thoughts, but it was all I had. Stop hurting yourself!
Pellini started to rise, and Carter fired in his direction with an insultingly casual air. Pellini dropped flat again, rolled to his side and squeezed off two quick shots. The air shimmered golden in front of Katashi, and none of the men so much as flinched.
“Fucking hell,” Pellini shouted. “They have some kind of goddamn forcefield shit!”
A smile spread across Carter’s face as he put a bullet into the tree behind Pellini, keeping him pinned down. A broad-shouldered man with red and grey hair stepped out from the brush behind Katashi and moved toward me. Angus McDunn.
I saw a flicker of sigils around him before Katashi’s ritual drained the last bit of my arcane sense. Pushing against the unseen power, I forced my hand a few millimeters closer to my gun and touched the holster, muscles trembling. I managed to get my hand to the butt of my gun and wrap my fingers around it, then had nothing left to pull the gun free of the holster.
McDunn appeared unaffected by the overwhelming weight of the ritual as he approached. Frustration and anger coursed through me. The sigils protected him like arcane armor. Yet more evidence that Katashi had planned this in advance.
McDunn crouched at my side, unconcerned by my hand on my gun. He reached for my shoulder then hesitated, his mouth drawn down by indecision. My breath hissed through my teeth as I continued the futile attempt to draw my weapon. I knew it was hopeless since I’d be unable to bring the gun to bear and fire it, but no way was I going to lie there and take whatever it was these assholes intended to do to me.
Angus enhances talents. That’s what Idris said. But it made no sense that he’d want to beef up my abilities.
McDunn regarded me with keen hazel eyes set in a craggy face but remained motionless, hand inches from my shoulder. His inaction freaked me out more than if he’d attacked me. What the hell would a cold-blooded killer be reluctant to do?
“McDunn!” Katashi spoke his name like a slap. “Do it now!”
“No,” I tried to gasp, and when McDunn’s eyes swung to mine I knew he’d heard me.
He closed his hand into a fist and withdrew it. A pale flicker of hope ignited within me. Was he having second thoughts? He shifted his weight to stand, but Katashi’s voice cracked out again.
“Jesral.”
McDunn flinched and drew a sharp breath. Regret lingered in his eyes, but his expression tightened with a determination that gutted my hope. Whatever threat the demonic lord Jesral held, McDunn was no match for it.
He gripped my shoulder, firm and heavy, and a wave of dizziness swept over me. Eilahn let out a shriek of rage even as a second, harsher wave crashed through me like the stab of a live wire. Blood roared in my ears, muffling all other sound. Yet another electroshock wave struck. And another. Color faded to shades of grey. In desperation I locked my eyes on McDunn’s face and sought to anchor myself against his assault.
His hand tightened on my shoulder. Wave after wave pounded me, deadening my senses as if wrapped in smothering layers of wet cotton.
“St-stop . . . please.” I forced the words out.
