Текст книги "Fury of the Demon"
Автор книги: Diana Rowland
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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 35 страниц)
“One of Farouche’s people?” I asked.
He grimaced. “A top man. Worked out of Austin. If he’s babysitting Idris, Farouche is serious.”
I let out some inventive curses. “Great. Farouche and Katashi’s people are definitely working hand in hand,” I muttered. “Muscle andsummoners.” And Farouche’s controlling influence, I realized with dismay. Idris was brilliant and resourceful and his captors would want to be absolutely certain he was under control. If Farouche hadn’t already put the fear-whammy on him, he’d surely do so at the first opportunity. So why did he need Idris’s sister and mother as insurance?Farouche’s influence was more than powerful enough to keep Idris under control.
Realization dawned an instant later. It was likely the same reason Rhyzkahl couldn’t simply manipulate Idris to be compliant. That sort of mental adjustment interfered with summoning skills, and the same might very well hold true for Farouche’s fear crap. Therefore, they needed backup leverage, i.e. his family. Damn it.
“Got anything else?” I asked.
“There were five, including Idris,” Paul said. “Isumo Katashi right here.”
“Shit.”
“And then this guy,” he said. “Last off the plane.”
I peered at the distant image of the man, shook my head. “No clue.” His hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he wore a poet type shirt, but I couldn’t tell much else about him.
Bryce shifted beside me. “Mystery Man Twenty-two.”
I gave him a baffled look.
“Some of Farouche’s visitors remained anonymous,” he said with a shrug. “We had nicknames to keep them straight.” He leaned closer to the screen. “No doubt on that one. He’s been in and out for years.”
“I know the jet,” Paul told us. “Belongs to Farouche. And they loaded into cars that belong to Farouche. No GPS though. They’re being careful.” He clicked back to one of his screens displaying incomprehensible streams of numbers and text. “The plane is back in Louisiana, and I’m keeping an eye on the flight plans for it and Farouche’s other jets.” He glanced back at me. “That’s all I have for now.”
“Don’t suppose you found anything on that ring I drew?” I asked hopefully.
“Um.” He flushed, grimaced. “No.” He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, grimace deepening. I gave Bryce a baffled look in the hopes he could translate.
Bryce chuckled under his breath. “What he’s not saying is that the drawing sucks and there’s not much he can do with it.”
Paul smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, but yeah. That’s pretty much it.”
I gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s cool. My talent sure as hell ain’t art.” I knew my crappy drawing had been a long shot, so I couldn’t be toodisappointed. “Awesome job with the pics, Paul,” I added, totally impressed that he’d found the video. “Keep on it and let me know what you come up with.” Like I needed to tell him to keep on it. He was already typing away, totally absorbed and probably no longer aware we were even in the room.
Bryce headed off to shower while I went out back to tell Mzatal what Paul had found. It didn’t look to me as if Mzatal had moved since I last saw him, but the half-full glass of tunjen told me Jekki diligently tended to his needs.
I felt him acknowledge my presence, and a few seconds later his eyes opened. I quickly filled him in on the sighting.
“It’s two days old, which means they could be anywhere by now,” I said with a wince. “But it’s more than we had before.”
“The information is very useful,” he assured me. “Knowing his location within the last few days will allow me to narrow my searches through the flows, much as if tracking footprints.”
With a quick parting kiss, I left him to his work, and as I returned to the house I mulled over the various new information we’d gleaned over the past few days. Farouche was no saint, Katashi was busy on Earth, and now, thanks to Paul, we had confirmation of Idris’s cryptic StarFire clue and knew for certain the two were working together.
I stopped dead. Facts shuffled and re-ordered. How could I have missed this possibility? If Farouche was involved in holding Idris, surely he had a hand in related matters as well.
I broke into a run, burst through the back door and raced down the hall to the living room. “Bryce!” I called out as I shuffled through folders on the coffee table, found the one I needed. “Bryce!”
He emerged from the bathroom holding a towel around his waist with one hand and a toilet plunger in the other. “Kara?” Shaving cream covered half his face, but he had a look in his eye that said he was ready to take down whatever threatened me. With a towel and a toilet plunger, apparently. “What’s wrong?”
I winced. “Sorry. There’s something I need you to look at, but it can wait a few minutes,” I said. “Can you meet me in the kitchen when you’re finished?”
“No problem. Two minutes,” he said and ducked back into the bathroom.
I flipped through the case file folder and chose photos. Less than two minutes later Bryce came in, fully dressed and freshly shaved, with a piece of toilet paper stuck to a nick on his jaw, probably caused by my bellow.
“Reporting as ordered,” he said with a smile. “What’s up?”
“I want to see if you recognize any of these people.” I laid out a half dozen photos on the table.
He peered carefully at them, took his time with each one before moving to the next, then went through them all again.
“Only one of them,” he finally said. “This one.” He picked up a photo of a smiling woman in her late forties standing on a beach with the waves behind, and holding up a whole sand dollar. Laugh lines crinkled around hazel eyes set in an attractive face. Light brown hair with blond highlights waved to her shoulders.
It was the pic I’d hoped he would choose. “How do you know her?” I tried hard to keep my voice neutral, but Bryce was a sharp cookie and didn’t miss the tension and excitement that leaked through.
“She’s a detainee of Farouche’s.”
“Still? When did you last see her?”
“She was at the plantation on the morning of the day I was shot.” His eyes met mine. “Who is she to you?”
Adrenaline surged through me as a floodgate of possibilities opened. “This is Idris’s adoptive mother. We think she’s being held as a hostage to assure his good behavior.”
His expression went from curious to grim.
I pulled the wedding photo of Idris’s sister from the folder, passed it over to him. “What about this one? Was she at the plantation too?”
After a brief look, he nodded. “Yep. Until about a week ago.”
My pulse quickened. “Tell me everything you know about what happened to her.”
Bryce dropped both photos back to the table. “I wasn’t assigned so I don’t know a whole lot, but Sonny was their handler after they arrived,” he said. “They were brought in from out of state at the same time, but kept separately. Neither knew the other was there.” He tapped Amber’s photo. “I never talked to her. Jerry left with her about a week ago. He came back. She didn’t. I don’t know anything more.”
“Jerry?”
“Yeah. Jerry Steiner. Like me.” He shook his head, distaste curling his lip. “No, not like me. He never loses any sleep over the job. Gets off on it.” He sighed out a breath. “She’s dead?”
“Yeah, she is,” I said grimly. I touched the photo of her smiling and beautiful on her wedding day, then tugged out a crime scene photo of the young woman—naked and displayed with the sigils all over her torso and legs.
His expression went flat and cold. “Raped?”
I nodded.
“Jerry would do that,” he said tightly. He continued to examine the photo. “But the cuts? Jerry didn’t do that. Not that he wouldn’t, but those cuts are too careful. Controlled.”
“That’s specialty work with a big dose of the arcane,” I told him. “But he probably brought her to whoever did it.”
“What was her name?”
“Amber Palatino Gavin,” I told him. “I would dearly love to nail her murderer to the wall, but right now I want to get Idris’s mom to safety even more.”
Bryce’s expression remained dark, but I caught the flicker in his eyes. He wasn’t Amber’s killer, but twenty-seven other ghosts haunted him.
“The mom,” he said after a moment. “She was a nice lady. And being kept as a five-star captive.”
That much was a relief at least. “I can’t imagine Idris’s mom notbeing nice,” I said. “You know Farouche. Do you think he’d move her?”
He folded his arms, considered. “It’s not a black and white answer, unfortunately,” he finally said. “If he thinks she’s compromised in any way at the plantation, then yes, he’d move her. But he feels pretty invulnerable there. If I was to venture a guess, I’d say that she’ll be there until needed elsewhere.”
I carefully gathered up all the photos and printouts and tucked them back into the folder, then pulled out a photo of Idris, smiling at his high school graduation with his mortarboard precariously balanced atop his unruly mop of curly blond hair. “This is Idris around two years ago. He’s had to grow up fast.”
“Poor kid. He’s in a bad spot.”
I let out a soft sigh. “I’m not sure yet, but I think he may be my cousin.”
Bryce stared at me for a moment then gave a sharp nod. “Kara, we’ll get him back.”
His voice held such conviction that I found myself wondering about his own family. What connections had he been forced to sever when he entered Farouche’s inner circle? Before I could ask, I felt Mzatal’s touch, and when the back door squeaked I looked up. “You got all that, Boss?”
Mzatal strode into the kitchen, his stance taut like a cat ready to spring. “Some, and the remainder now.” His eyes locked on Bryce. “Where is Angela Palatino?”
Bryce stood firm though I wouldn’t have blamed him one bit if he’d retreated a step. “On the Farouche plantation. About seventy miles from here.”
“I will go for her,” Mzatal stated. “I require transportation.”
“You can’t just gofor her!” I blurted out.
He turned his gaze on me, darkly intense and questioning.
“She’s a hostage,” I explained, fully aware that he wouldn’t know the Earth/human dynamics. “That means they’ll kill her before you get to her.”
“She’s right,” Bryce said. “I know the layout and operations of everything on the plantation.” He lifted his chin, impressing the hell out of me that he could do so in the face of Mzatal’s intensity. “Here’s the deal. If I was still Farouche’s man, as soon as I got wind that you were on or near the property, I’d hold a gun to the woman’s head, get on the PA and tell you to retreat or I put a bullet in her skull.” He shifted his weight and looked away, and I knew it was shame in the knowledge he’d have done exactly that. “Not to mention there’ll be plenty of armed men to take shots at you.”
“The projectiles are of little concern when I am prepared,” Mzatal stated. He paused and his aura flared like heat from an oven. “Yet, the other perspective is valid.” Anger born of frustration dropped his voice to quiet menace.
“We need a solid plan, Boss,” I said gently. “We’ll come up with a way to get her out of there.”
Mzatal gave a stiff nod, turned and swept out of the house. I watched him go, extended to him, and felt his answering touch. Inaction killed him. I knew that feeling all too well.
“Holy Christ, I’m glad I’m not his enemy,” Bryce breathed.
I snorted. “No shit.”
Chapter 30
Bryce and I headed into the living room. He sank into the chair, face once again in its practiced tough-guy mask, while I flopped onto the sofa, and practiced looking worn out. I found it surprisingly easy to do so. Maybe because I’d been going hard all day on only four hours of sleep?
I snorted. Nah. Too easy. That can’tpossibly be it!
My phone rang, and apparently Santa thought I’d been a good girl this year because my phone was in my pocket instead of a million miles away, like in the kitchen or on the coffee table. I pulled it out and smiled at the caller ID. “Hi, Aunt Tessa. You get in to Aspen all right?”
“Hello, sweetling,” Tessa said, voice perky and light. “We had a little confusion with the rental, but finally got it all straightened out. We only made it to the ski lodge a few minutes ago. The air up here is amazing!”
A few more knots of tension unwound. “That’s good to hear. What lodge are you staying at?”
“Snowy Snake Ski Lodge. Ten thousand feet elevation!” She laughed. “I was ready to take a nap after climbing the stairs. The rooms are absolutely lovely. Everything going all right down there with you?”
The lilt of her happy chatter wound around me like a hug. “Everything’s going great,” I lied. No way was I going to put the slightest dent in her good mood, and up in the mountains was a nice, safe place for her. “Careful with the altitude. Drink lots of water and take naps.”
“I’m chugging a bottle down right now. Oh, wait, I’m getting the signal that we’re heading to dinner soon. I’ll call you back as soon as I’m not altitude-fuddled.”
I smiled. “Do that. And don’t let the bears eat you.”
“I’ll eat them first.”
Laughing, I made my goodbyes and hung up. Another member of my posse safe and sound. I liked that. Yet my thoughts now circled around the issue of Idris’s mother and how to get herto safety. As much as I wanted to see Mzatal storm Farouche’s plantation/compound and reduce it to smoking rubble, it simply wasn’t a feasible plan. And the same went for any other infiltration or attack. First sign of trouble, and a gun would go to Angela Palatino’s head.
Which meant that first we had to get her to safety, and thenMzatal could wring Idris’s location from Farouche’s scummy mind.
Zack could do it, the thought whispered. While on Earth, Eilahn and Steeev had limited ability to travel, or teleport, or whatever the hell the demons called it, and certainly couldn’t do so with a human in tow, but Zack was demahnk and had none of those disadvantages. However, the warehouse incident along with our “discussion” regarding his loyalty had made it painfully clear that, for reasons I had yet to fathom, his demonic assistance was by no means a sure thing. I figured it was a heads-or-tails chance he’d agree to help, but if I never asked, I wouldn’t even have those odds. I yawned and glanced at the clock on the wall. Six p.m. Zack would be home soon. I’d pounce on him then.
The second hand ticked its way around the clock face. Home. That meant something. I was sure of it. I dragged my gaze away from the hypnotic movement of the second hand, sat up and rolled my neck on my shoulders. The feline curled at the end of the sofa lifted her head and growled at me, low and throbbing and laden with menace.
I turned a feral smile on the creature as she stood, bristling. Her growl deepened, and she swiped bared claws toward me—
“Kara! Watch out!” Bryce scooped the cat up and away from me, and I jerked, blinked. “Did she get you?” His concerned gaze tracked over me in a search for claw marks as he expertly cradled her.
Kara? Oh, right. Of course I was Kara. “No, I’m good,” I said, though I checked my arm for blood just to be sure. “Thanks for the save, though.”
Fuzzykins abruptly ceased her growl, shifted to bump her head against Bryce’s chin. He gave a low chuckle and scratched behind her ears. “You silly girl,” he murmured, then glanced to me. “Damn, she really does hate you. I thought she was about to rip your face off.” He shook his head, shifted the cat in his arms then sat again and settled her on his lap. “She seems okay now though,” he said, regarding Fuzzykins with a puzzled frown, then he rolled his eyes as she looked in my direction and gave a bored hiss before snuggling into his lap with a loud purr. “Or not.”
I stuck my tongue out at Fuzzykins. Weird cat. I couldn’t think of anything I’d done to make her go off on me like that. “So, wow, Paul’s pretty amazing,” I said, shifting to a more comfortable subject. “Getting that airport vid was a huge break for us.”
Bryce smiled as he stroked the cat. “He’s a good kid. Got through to me.” His smile faded, and he blew out his breath. “I was the one who kidnapped him in Albuquerque. Sonny and me.”
I angled my head. “How’d you go from kidnapper to taking such good care of him?”
“I got assigned to him twenty-four/seven when we first brought him in,” Bryce said, then chuckled softly. “He grew on me. Farouche saw we had a good rapport, and, since he wanted to keep Paul happy and productive, he put me on as his permanent bodyguard and advocate.”
I smiled. “You two really care for each other. I mean, in a bromance sort of way.”
“Yeah. I think we’re family,” he replied with no trace of embarrassment.
“Does anyone miss him back home?”
He winced, then shook his head. “No.”
“What’s the deal there?” Please please, I thought almost desperately , please don’t tell me you killed them.
“Paul’s mom died when he was ten,” Bryce began, then his face hardened. “His dad, a cop, beat the shit out of him about a year and a half ago. Almost killed him.” Cold anger rose in his eyes. “No siblings. Any other family is distant with no contact or interest. He was on his own in a little basement apartment when we took him.”
“Damn,” I breathed. “Paul told me his dad beat him up, but that’s all.” I scowled. “Why? Paul seems like such a quiet guy.”
He glanced back over his shoulder toward the hallway, spoke quietly. “His dad found out Paul was gay. Lost it. I mean, totally fucking nuts lost it. Whaled on him for a while, left him for an hour or two then went back for more.”
My right hand tightened into a fist. “Where’s his dad now?”
“He got killed,” Bryce said after the barest of hesitations. “I drove Paul to the funeral about eight months ago.”
I heard the edge to his tone. “Got killed how?” I asked, attention fully on him.
Bryce rubbed his eyes, sighed. “A hit. Farouche ordered it. Set up to look like an arrestee recently released from prison did it.”
“You do it?”
“No.” He jerked his eyes to mine, denial firm within them. “No,” he repeated. “Jerry Steiner made that hit. Same guy who took Idris’s sister to get murdered. Paul doesn’t know, and I intend to keep it that way.”
“Yeah.” I gave a slow nod. “I can understand that.” Hard to believe I almost sort of barely agreed in a mildly sociopathic way with Farouche on this particular issue. “He won’t hear it from me.”
“I’ll be honest,” Bryce said. “I’d have pulled the trigger on the motherfucker and not lost sleep.” He let out a low snort. “That’s one of the reasons the hit wasn’t assigned to me. It would’ve been personal, and Farouche doesn’t operate like that.” He picked up the legal pad that had his security camera system proposal on it. “In retrospect, I’m glad I wasn’t the trigger man.”
“Keeps it a lot cleaner between you two.” I gave him a sympathetic wince. “As clean as it can be given the situation.”
The buzz of the gate alarm preceded the telltale crunch of gravel beneath tires. I shoved up from the sofa and tweaked the curtain aside to peer out. Zack’s Impala.
“I need to talk to Zack for a few,” I told Bryce and received a nod of acknowledgment. I headed out front and waited at the bottom of the steps as Zack parked.
He climbed out of the vehicle, keys and laptop case in hand, and quirked a smile at me. “Welcoming committee?”
“Yeah, it’s a new Kara’s Kompound perk,” I said. “Oh, and everyone gets a pony too.”
“I like it,” he replied with a chuckle. “Except for the part about who has to clean up after the ponies.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Okay, maybe no ponies. Anyway, you got a sec? I need to talk to you.”
“I have a ton of case files to go through tonight, but I always have time for you,” he said with a broad smile. “What’s up?”
“The super ultra mega big news is that we know Farouche is holding Angela Palatino—Idris’s mom—at his plantation.” Excitement flickered, but I did my best to hold it in check.
He let out a low whistle. “That’s definitely super ultra mega,” he agreed.
“Right. If we can get her to safety, it takes away much of the Mraztur’s hold over Idris.” I put a hand on his arm. “I was hoping you could give us some specialhelp.”
Zack went still, tilted his head. “What sort of special help?”
“Special help as in going and getting her out.” I gave him a hopeful smile. “Demahnk help.”
In an instant his face slipped from open and relaxed to grim and haunted. “Kara, I can’t.”
My smile melted, and I slumped. Even though I’d known his cooperation wasn’t a sure thing, the pang of disappointment remained sharp. “I don’t understand.”
He shook his head. “I know you don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Can you at least try to explain it to me?” I asked, baffled.
He looked away and remained silent.
My confusion increased. He’d helped us in so many ways before. Even though Zack had initially balked at bringing Mzatal to the warehouse, in the end he haddone so. Why was this so different? “Zack, all you have to do is go get her and bring her back,” I said. “What am I missing?”
“I can’t,” he repeated and met my eyes again. “It’s complicated.”
I gripped my head, certain it might explode from frustration. “Would you pleasestop doing that?” I snapped, far more harshly than I’d intended. Releasing my head, I smoothed down my hair, tried again. “Please stop evading me. Please stop giving give me lame shit like ‘It’s complicated.’ I’m not a child, so could you grant me some basic courtesy and at least help me try to understand?”
I expected him to look defensive or chagrined, but instead his entire posture slumped into apparent weary sadness. “Even that crosses the line.”
Time to regroup my thoughts. “All right, then let’s take a step back,” I proposed. “Tell me what the lineis.”
He regarded me for a second, then swept past me to his car. At first I thought he was walking away from the discussion, but instead he yanked the driver door open and dumped his laptop case onto the seat. He closed the door with a little more force than necessary, though his demeanor made me think it was more general frustration than anger at me. He jerked his head toward the back of the house, then briskly strode off.
I followed, though at a more ordinary pace. No way could I match that long-legged stride without running. As I rounded the corner of the house, I saw him heading toward the pond trail. Mzatal sat motionless on the mini-nexus as I passed, and I sensed him deeply involved in the flows. Sparrows twittered their business in the trees as though all was right with the world, and a crow announced its presence with a raucous triple caw. When I reached the pond a ripple of potency touched me, like a breeze through an open window. On the far side of the water, Zack crouched beside the valve and worked his hands over it in unfamiliar patterns. I felt shifts in the potency, but othersight revealed nothing more than transparent shimmers in the air above the coruscating blues and greens that marked the valve itself.
Puzzled, I slowly made my way around the pond. “What are you doing?” I asked quietly.
“Pulling some potency before I collapse,” he told me with a low sigh that I realized was born of exhaustion. After a moment he looked up. “I created this branch valve. It’s one of thirty-three off the valve trunk in the north of Rhyzkahl’s realm.” A sad, nostalgic smile touched his mouth. “The first full system in place after the cataclysm.”
Zack had to have been in a near-constant state of damage control since that catastrophic event centuries ago, I realized. And now he had the care of Szerain on top of that? No wonder fatigue seemed to permeate his every cell—far beyond any sort of normal tiredness.
He continued to work his hands over the valve. I sat cross-legged beside him, reminded of an orchestra conductor as I watched him move. After a time he brought his hands together, and the rippling potency breeze died away, as though he had closed the window.
He sighed softly, lifted his eyes to mine. “You asked what the line is,” he said. “It’s those ancient agreements, oaths, and decrees that frustrate the hell out of you.”
Decrees. That implied an enforcer. I filed that away. “That’s an understatement,” I said with a wry smile. “I’d like to move beyond that.”
He shifted from the crouch to a sit with one knee up. “You’re right.” He rested his forearm on his knee as he regarded me. “You’re not a child. Not anymore. You’ve grown so much, through betrayal as well as love.”
“I’m not the same person I was a year ago, that’s for sure.” My throat tightened. “Sometimes I’m not sure who I am anymore.” I shook my head, scowled. “And not because of Rhyzkahl’s stupid rakkuhrvirus either.”
Zack plucked a long and heavy-headed piece of grass and rolled the stem between his fingers. “No. And I know it’s hard to find your footing.” He let out a soft snort. “My being a confusing pain in your ass doesn’t help.”
“You’re not.” I did my best to smile, but I had a feeling it ended up more like a rictus of pain. “I don’t understand what the rules are, so I feel like I’m trying to find the walls of the room with all the lights off, and I keep bumping into furniture and knocking shit over.”
A dragonfly zipped and hovered around Zack’s head like an iridescent green helicopter. Off to my right a frog croaked and entered the water with a plop.Further into the woods a squirrel chattered its displeasure at some other creature.
“I said earlier that any explanation crosses the line,” Zack said quietly.
My mouth drew down into a scowl. “Right, so my dark room has no light switch.”
To my surprise he shook his head. “The switch is there. But I keep moving it.” He dropped the piece of grass and lifted his hand. The dragonfly alighted on his index finger as though he’d called it to him. “I’ve spent most of my existence walking that line and others, sticking my toes over.” His eyes remained on the elegant insect. “In law enforcement terms, I’d have a rap sheet full of misdemeanors, a fistful of felonies, and be wanted by Interpol.” He gave a light shrug. “I’m a troublemaker.”
“No wonder I like you.” This time a faint smile curved my lips. “How about we back up one more step. Can you explain why there’s a line at all?”
“Explaining that would be like running across the line and shooting the bird at the ones who drew the line.” He raised his dragonfly-free hand with middle finger extended and others folded to clarify that he didn’t mean a sparrow. “I can’t go there. Not now.” He paused. “Not yet.”
“Ones? Not Rhyzkahl?”
“No, not Rhyzkahl. The Demahnk Council,” he paused, looked away. “And others.” The last two words came out as a near breathless whisper.
My frustration degraded to something closer to despair. I could barely comprehend the oaths he had with Rhyzkahl. How was I supposed to understand more beyond that, of the Council and of others he wouldn’t even name? “I don’t know what to do, Zack,” I said, brow furrowing. “Should I stop asking you for help?”
The dragonfly whirred away as Zack snapped his head toward me, gaze sharp. “No!” He drew in a breath. “No,” he repeated a bit more calmly. “Let me see how I can put this.” He closed his eyes, and I imagined him sifting through words to find the least incriminating ones. “It is so very complex. In the convoluted insanity of the agreements and decrees, some interventions—such as using the demahnk ability to travel—carry consequences in certain Earth situations.” True distress creased his forehead. “I know a woman’s life is at stake right now, but I mustweigh the consequences against the benefits.”
“What kind of consequences do you mean?” I asked, determined to get somesort of useful info. “Are we talking volcanoes and locusts? Or, you get in trouble and get put in time out?”
“Volcanoes and locusts if I went too far,” he said, expression grave. “Extensive consequences. But every transgression carries personal consequences. Very personal.” He retrieved the dropped stem of grass. “If I extract Angela Palatino, we win the battle, but I cripple myself for the greater war.” He gripped his temples between his thumb and fingers, shook his head. “Kara, this is . . .”
I reached over, gently pulled his hand from his head, and wrapped my fingers around his. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry I’m stressing you out. I don’t understand who has you boxed in like this, but I get that you are. That’s more than I knew before, and it’s enough for now.” I peered at him, smiled. “So tell me how I can help you, other than not asking you to blip out and pick up my dry cleaning.”
Relief eased his features. “You’re doing it right now,” he assured me, then tipped his head back “The other night you said that if a bond isn’t mutually shared, symbiotic, then one party is a parasite.” He cast the stem of grass away like a spear into the water, watched the ripples spread from it. “You’re right,” he continued. “The bond in question was never intended to be mutually beneficial. However the imbalance now is . . . intolerable.”
I felt myself frown. “Whenever I mention breaking the ptarl bond to Mzatal or Szerain they kind of freak.”
“Because it is inconceivable for them,” he stated.
“It’s inconceivable to them,” I said, “but not to you. Why?”
He regarded me, eyes unveiled and ancient. “Any inferences that you make from that are yours, but I can’t go there.” He lifted his hand, middle finger extended, but I didn’t take offense. This was his way to signal that the answer was too far over the line and into shooting-the-bird territory. “And in all fairness,” he added, “it’s almost inconceivable to me.”
I mulled over what little I’d learned so far. Okay, so the bond between a lord and his demahnk ptarl was never intended to be mutually beneficial, but the demahnk clearly weren’t at the beck and call of the lords. So what was the deal? “The demahnk initiated the bonds with the lords, not vice versa,” I said after a moment of thought.
Zack offered no verbal or physical cues of affirmation or denial, and that on its own spoke volumes. “I don’t know if I could do it, even if it is . . .” He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion.
“Even if it’s right?” I asked. I shuffled the bits and pieces of clues into what I hoped was a logical order. “I guess you’d have to weigh the long-term effects of doing it,” I assumed he meant breaking the bond with Rhyzkahl, “against the long-term effects of letting the parasite continue to feed.”
“Plus the short-term effects, and medium-term effects. And if it is indeed ‘right.’” He looked away, exhaled. “Throw on top of that a sincere desire to protect and cultivate the parasite, and it gets more twisted.”
