Текст книги "Touch of the Demon"

Автор книги: Diana Rowland

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 31 страниц)

Relief flooded me along with a pang of grief, and I threw my arms around him as a low sob caught in my throat. He returned the embrace and lowered his head over mine, his breathing unsteady. I trembled, absolutely knowing– knowing—my dad was murdered, yet trusting Mzatal fully in his oath.

After a long moment, he spoke, the words issuing as though they came at great personal cost. “Jesral would condone such.”

It took a moment for me to gather why saying as much would have such an effect on Mzatal; he had already suspected Jesral’s involvement. Then I realized, My Dad’s death was nineteen years ago.Whether Jesral had been involved with Katashi that long or had an independent Earth presence, I didn’t know, but both possibilities held their own brand of ugliness. Of course, there was always the chance that Jesral wasn’t involved at all, but given the clues and his behavior to me, his innocence seemed unlikely.

“I will have answers from Katashi tonight,” Mzatal stated, voice tight.

I drew a ragged breath, nodded, then released him to step away. He seemed reluctant to let me go, and I wondered if maybe he wanted comfort and reassurance as much as I did. Not that a demonic lord would ever admit something like that.

“Isn’t Katashi your sworn summoner?” I asked. “Wouldn’t you know if he was doing shit behind your back?”

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “He is. And I shouldknow.” He clasped his hands behind his back and turned to look out into the open space. “However with another qaztahl involved, and the possible use of rakkuhr, there are many possibilities for blurring and interference.”

“What will you do with—” I started to ask, then shook my head and turned away. “Nevermind.” I realized I didn’t want to know what he would do with a traitor of that depth.

He inhaled, expression hardening. “I have been blind.”

I shoved a hand through my hair, exhaling. “Yeah, well, I know how it feels.”

“Yes, you do.” He turned to face me and laid his hands on my shoulders, squeezing them lightly.

I looked up at him, my throat tight. “Betrayal sucks. I’m sorry you have to go through it.”

A muscle in his jaw leaped. “I have been many things, but rarely a fool.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Hang on now. You didn’t let me wallow in self blame, so you’re deluded if you think I’ll let you.”

He lowered his head slightly, and a smile ghosted over his lips. “You speak truth, Kara Gillian. I will cease to wallow.”

“That’s more like it,” I said, managing a smile. “How long before this damn summoning? Is there time for ice cream or junk food or anything good like that?”

“Idris should be ready very soon,” he said. “The ice cream will need to wait until after, unless you choose it over the summoning.”

I made a big show of hesitating and considering, then finally heaved a dramatic sigh. “Fine. I’ll do your damn summoning.” Especially since it looked like it was going to be a doozy of a confrontation with Katashi. The cop in me wouldn’t miss that for a million bucks. “But I do need to go change.”

Mzatal dropped his hands from my shoulders and raised an eyebrow. “What you wear is inadequate?”

“As if!” I rolled my eyes.

Mzatal smiled just a bit more. “Go then.”

I turned and headed out, but once outside the workroom, my smile quickly faded. The cop in me was ready for a confrontation with Katashi, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that some bad shit was coming our way.

Chapter 30

After grabbing a quick bite, I bathed and dressed in flowing crimson pants and a black wrap-type shirt that belted at the waist with a broad white sash. Apparently the zrila really liked the challenge of making clothing for someone new, and I wasn’t about to complain. I’d never been any sort of clotheshorse before—preferring the easy comfort of jeans and t-shirts—but I’d also never had a team of designers making custom clothing for me either. I could totally get used to this, and was already plotting ways to bring my new wardrobe back to Earth.

If I ever get back to Earth,I thought with a sudden burst of homesickness. I did my best to push it aside while I allowed Faruk to coil my hair up into something cool and intricate. By the time I finished preparing and stepped out into the main room, Mzatal had returned and was patiently waiting for me.

“I’m ready,” I said, doing my best to keep at bay the insistent trepidation of being in the chamber with a ritual, any ritual. Fucking Rhyzkahl.

His eyes traveled over me, assessing. “You are indeed.” He took my hand. “Come.”

Mzatal’s hand felt good in mine. Strong, comforting, and simply present. And, as much as I hated to admit it, I was grateful for the contact. Some of the tension within me eased as we exited and headed to the summoning chamber. I didn’t have to participate, simply observe. That was safe enough.

Idris crouched in the center of an impressive pattern. He looked up as we entered and gave me a quick smile before returning his focus to the diagrams.

Mzatal gently disengaged from my hand to go examine a nearby section of the pattern. I crouched and peered at the tracings, fascinated by their beauty and complexity. I understood some of the sigils now, saw how they linked together. No way could I lay a pattern like this yet, but it was wonderful to start seeing that there really wasa pattern.

“Dude. This is amazing.”

Idris’s gaze jumped to me and then back to the diagram as a proud smile spread across his face. “Thanks.” He made a final tweak to a section, then stood. “My lord, it is ready.”

Mzatal rose fluidly to his feet. “And well done,” he replied with an approving nod. He began to add an overlay of tracings with impressive speed and elegance. I retreated to the wall to watch and stay out of the way, while I struggled, with a modicum of success, to follow what he was doing.

Mzatal glanced over to me. “To summon from here requires the addition of patterns not accessible to summoners.”

“So a demon-side summoning is, by its nature, a partnership?”

“It is most definitely a partnership,” he said, continuing an outer perimeter of tracings. “You will feel the shift in the energy as I lay the over-pattern. It becomes more central and focused.” With that he touched it, igniting the entirety of the already glowing pattern into a glittering, flickering, utterly beautiful construct.

It also reminded me way too much of Rhyzkahl’s initial diagram, even though the patterns were different. Palms sweating, I quickly looked away, found a spot on the opposite wall to focus on while I breathed deeply in an effort to slow my racing pulse.

“Idris,” Mzatal said, “go prepare. We will summon upon your return.”

Idris nodded and departed. As soon as he was gone, I dropped to a crouch and pressed my forehead to my knees, holding my fisted hands on top of my head. I shook and cursed under my breath, trying to focus on how much I hated Rhyzkahl instead of how much the patterns freaked me out. I’m a summoner, damn it, I railed at myself. I can’t do that, can’t protect myself if I can’t stand to be near a ritual.

I felt Mzatal’s presence, but he didn’t move to rescue me, for which I was strangely grateful. Simply knowing he was there and aware of me was enough for the moment. After a few minutes I lifted my head and forced myself to stare at the pattern, to look at the actual sigils and identify their purposes. Hey, look, I was getting better at this whole not-panicking thing.

Idris returned, dressed in black jeans, boots, and a black silk shirt. Confidence seemed to shimmer off him. This was histurf. There was no doubt he felt most comfortable working a ritual diagram. Gestamar entered behind him and crouched silently near the doors.

“We will bring Katashi in,” Mzatal said, “and I will assess him.” His voice remained intense, verging on scary. “Once the perimeter is down, Gestamar will escort him to secure chambers” He held his hand out for me, and I took it, grateful. After drawing me to his side, he headed around the diagram, pausing to lay a hand on Idris’s shoulder for a heartbeat before continuing to the opposite side of the pattern from him.

As soon as we were in place, Idris began. Mzatal spoke to me in a low voice as Idris initiated the call and proceeded through the ritual, explaining precisely what Idris was doing and why, and detailing the aspects that were different from Earth-side summonings. I listened intently, not only for the knowledge but also because the running commentary helped remind me that this ritual was nothing like the one I’d endured.

Idris anchored the portal with a smooth precision that impressed me deeply. Mzatal lifted a hand, focusing the diagram, continuing to explain what he was doing and why. Idris glanced up at Mzatal, saw that he was set, then made the call for Katashi.

My hand tightened convulsively on Mzatal’s as the diagram flared. I quickly relaxed my grip, embarrassed at my reaction, but Mzatal simply kept his hand firm on mine.

A heartbeat later Katashi sprawled in the center of the diagram. The glowing pattern faded, leaving the room in comparative darkness.

Mzatal set a sigil alight in the ceiling, casting the room in a pale yellow glow. In the circle, Katashi struggled to his hands and knees, breath rasping. Despite everything, a whisper of sympathy stole through me. I knew how much summonings hurt.

Jekki bounded into the room as if on cue, slipped through the floor tracings to hold a basin and towel out for Katashi. He took it with shaking hands, murmuring thanks.

I shot a glance at Mzatal to see his eyes narrowed to slits. On the other side of the diagram Idris smoothly gathered the flows and sealed the conduit, a look of pleased satisfaction on his face. Mzatal released my hand to stand with his hands clasped behind his back, and I moved a few feet away to let him do the full Lord thing.

Katashi finished wiping his face and stood with the help of the faas. He turned to Mzatal and gave a formal bow. “My Lord Mzatal,” he said, voice shaking slightly, which surprised me. I’d never known the old man to show even the slightest bit of worry or strain. Across the diagram I could see Idris frowning, so apparently it surprised him as well. Well, what have you been up to, old man?

Mzatal lowered his head. “Katashi.” His voice was potent and terrifying, much like when he’d first summoned me.

Katashi flinched under the Scary Voice. “What is your will, my lord?” he asked, voice shaking even more. Crap. Was he about to have a heart attack? If so, I sure as hell wasn’t going to do CPR on him. But right now he looked guilty as hell about something.

Mzatal snapped his gaze to Idris. “Drop the perimeter.”

Idris quickly complied. Eyes still narrowed, Mzatal lifted his right hand and beckoned Katashi forward with a twitch of his index and middle finger.

The old man straightened as calm seemed to settle over him. His gaze flicked briefly to me, lit with a strangely desperate intensity. My cop-sense woke up. He’s about to do something.

Unfortunately, my brain was too slow to listen to my cop-sense. In the blink of an eye, Katashi lunged and clamped his hand on my left wrist in an iron grip. I let out a startled yelp and backpedaled, but an instant later recovered and slammed a fist into the old man’s face. Eilahn would be so damn proud. But Katashi was a lot tougher than he looked, and even though my punch caused him to stagger back half a step, it didn’t budge his grip. He bared his teeth and tightened his hold.

I hauled off to slug him again, but faltered as a too-familiar tugging sensation shot through me from his hand on my arm. A recall!Panic flared. I opened my mouth to cry out for Mzatal to help me, but he clearly sensed it as well. With a sharp flick of his hand, he whipped out a tether of potency to loop around Katashi’s forearm. He dropped back into a wide stance and yanked viciously on the strand, severing the wrist with a hissing sizzle. Katashi opened his mouth to scream as I staggered back, but in the next instant he was gone.

Katashi’s severed hand dropped to the floor, its end smoking faintly. Mzatal released the strand and turned to me. I suddenly realized I’d backed to the wall, and I had no doubt I looked like a panicked mess. But that shit had been way too close. Another second, I thought, still taking ragged breaths. Another second, and I’d have been gone.

“My lord! My lord!” Idris shouted. I dragged my gaze to him. He gripped a thin strand of potency in his left hand that led to the middle of the diagram and seemed to terminate in mid-air.

“Speak, Idris,” Mzatal said without taking his eyes from me. He reached out and grasped my hand.

“I’m tracking him!” Idris exclaimed, voice betraying excitement and terror as he gripped the thin strand. “My lord! I’m tracking him. I put a tracker on him right before he went!”

Mzatal pulled me over by Idris. I followed numbly while I tried not to think about how close I’d come to being taken again. Yeah, like not thinking about the pink giraffe.

“Excellent work, Idris,” Mzatal said. I was pretty damn impressed myself. I’d barely had the presence of mind to punch the asshole. “What do you sense?”

Idris’s eyes unfocused. “Rhyzkahl. He’s at Rhyzkahl’s palace and—” Power shot up the strand in a blinding flash. Idris let out a sharp cry of pain and released the strand. He turned his hand over to peer at his palm, then paled. “Oh, fuck,” he breathed.

I tried not to show any reaction to the sight of the vicious burn, but I could see the white of the bone even from where I was. I moved to push Mzatal toward Idris, but I needn’t have bothered. He’d already moved with demonic-lord speed to clasp the injured hand between his own.

“That was very well done, Idris,” he said, voice carrying his sincerity clearly. Idris gave a very shaky smile, then hissed as Mzatal began the healing.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t hold it,” Idris said, clearly trying hard to be stoic. “But he went to Rhyzkahl. I saw that.”

“Idris, sit,” Mzatal commanded. The young summoner did so, collapsing into a cross-legged position. Mzatal crouched, maintaining his hold on the injured hand.

“My lord,” Idris said, “Jesral was there too.”

“All pre-planned,” Mzatal replied, exuding calm. “Though I do not know if Katashi knew Kara was here, or if he made the decision to take her when he saw her. Either way, it is clear he knew her worth to those two.”

I rubbed at my temples, still trying to rid myself of the vestiges of reaction. “If Katashi had a recall implant,” I said, grimacing, “it means Rhyzkahl probably set it during one of the times I summoned him.”

Mzatal nodded, shifting his gaze to me. “Yes, and he likely has much more in place as well.” His expression darkened. “With such unprecedented access to Earth, he would not have wasted even a tenth of a heartbeat of that time.”

I scowled at how thoroughly I’d been duped. Mzatal looked back to Idris.

“Pygah and breathe,” he said as the young man paled. Idris gulped, eyes unfocusing slightly as he deepened his breathing. After a few moments Mzatal released his hand to turn it palm up. “The strike was tainted with rakkuhr,” he said. “It will be scarred.”

Idris’s eyes dropped to the ropy scar that ran across his palm. I watched as he attempted to close his hand into a fist and wiggle his fingers, and my heart clenched at the deep dismay on his face as he clearly had difficulty doing either.

Fear flickered behind his eyes as he looked up into Mzatal’s face. “How can I do tracings?” he asked, voice trembling.

“You can trace with it now,” Mzatal assured him, “though not with the fluidity of before. With work you will increase the movement and adapt so that it is again natural to you.” Confidence and calm flowed from him as he placed a hand on Idris’s shoulder. “Of this I have no doubt.”

“Physical therapy, dude,” I told him with as encouraging a smile as I could manage. “You’ll be knitting sweaters out of potency in no time.”

Idris gave me a shaky smile of his own as he flexed his hand a few times. “Yeah. Knitting.” He drew a breath, then released it in a rush. “I gotta lot of work to do.”

My smile faded as I looked at the scar on his palm. Anger seared through me, burning away the last of the fear and panic.

“We all do.”

Chapter 31

I sat on the chaise on the solarium balcony, elbows on knees, with a glass of chilled wine held to my forehead. Mzatal stood a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides as he looked out into the darkness. He was pissed, and I didn’t need to be able to read his mind to know it.

I straightened and took a long drink, worry curling through me for Idris and for myself. “I’m really glad you chopped that asshole’s arm off.”

“I was blind and I was a fool.” He spat the words out, fists tightening. “And I am unaccustomed to being either.” He exhaled forcefully. “He was within a heartbeat of taking you.”

“Yeah, that part kinda sucked,” I said, trying to make light of it and failing. Sighing, I set my glass down, then moved to Mzatal and wrapped my arms around him from behind. “He didn’t take me. You stopped him. I’m still here to annoy the crap out of you.”

Some of the tension left his body as he folded his arms over mine. He drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “Annoy. Is that what you do to me?”

I let out a soft laugh. “That’s what I keep tryingto do,” I said. “Not sure if I’m succeeding.”

He turned and wrapped his arms around me, a whisper of a smile on his face as he cradled my head to his chest. “You are failing utterly in the moment.”

Exhaling, I relaxed against him. “That’s cool. Failure builds character.”

He held me close for a moment, then released me gently and draped an arm over my shoulders. Heavy clouds shielded stars and moon, and only the surging crash of waves far below reminded me that I gazed into physical darkness and not the void. He tucked me in close, and moved his other hand behind his back. “In your perception,” he began, “what has shifted on Earth in the time since Rhyzkahl first came through?”

I considered for a moment. “Well, I suppose it starts, at least for me, with finding out last spring that Peter Cerise was the Symbol Man: a serial killer who was trying to summon and bind Rhyzkahl.”

“Yes. Cerise lost his balance and all reason decades ago when—” Mzatal stopped, and I could see him mentally rephrasing it, “when his foundation was stripped from him. He was a chosen of Szerain and quite brilliant. He disappeared, and Katashi claimed no knowledge of his whereabouts.”

That he was a chosen of Szerain’s made sense to me and helped explain why Cerise had attempted to summon that lord to aid his ailing wife. “Okay, well…” I hesitated, unsure how to go into the subject of Ryan. Then I snorted. Mzatal knewI knew, so dancing around the subject seemed ridiculous at this point. Mzatal was oathbound about pretty much anything to do with Ryan/Szerain, but I wasn’t constrained by any pesky oaths. “It was during that time that I met Ryan and Zack.”

“That would not be a coincidence,” Mzatal said with a nod.

“Yeah, I’m starting to realize that.” But engineered by whom?“Ryan and I have become close,” I said. “Friends and, well, more than friends, too.” I shook my head. “Anyway, it wasn’t long after Eilahn came to protect me that we had a case go to shit, and we ended up in a weird fight with a bunch of golems. Things went downhill, and at one point I got knocked down. I was about to get totally squished by a golem, and Ryan…” I took a deep breath. “Ryan’s face went to ice. He pulled potency and blasted the fuck out of the golem, saving me.” A shudder raced down my spine. “And then he collapsed. Zack ran to him—snarled at us and told us he’d take care of Ryan.” I paused, gathering my thoughts. “I didn’t see Ryan for a week, and by then he was back to—” I winced. “—normal.”

“You spoke to Turek at Szerain’s shrine,” Mzatal said after a moment. “And so you know something more than you did when you arrived.” A whisper of frustration touched his eyes. I had a pretty strong feeling that he wanted to ask questions, but was constrained by the damn oath that prohibited talk of Szerain’s exile.

“I know Ryan is Szerain,” I said. “And I know Zack is Zakaar. But Ryan doesn’t know. And Turek says it’s dangerous for him to know himself.”

“Because Rhyzkahl will take more definitive measures to—” Mzatal paused. “He would take more definitive measures.”

“Is he…” I trailed off. I desperately wanted to know if Szerain and Ryan were at all alike, but I knew that Mzatal wouldn’t be able to answer me directly. “If, um, a lord were to be exiled,” I tried instead, “would their exiled persona be very different from their true personality?”

Mzatal’s whole body tensed as a deep anger seemed to flow from him, though I was fairly certain it wasn’t directed at me. “I cannotspeak of this, of him,” he said through clenched teeth. “But I will speak of something else,” he continued, lifting the arm from my shoulders. “A mere story about possibilities with me and with you.”

The intensity in his voice sent a frisson of cold fear through me, but I had a feeling that if I didn’t find out all I could now, I might never know. And I need to know.

“Were I to diminish you,” he said in a low, dark voice, “to strip you of the ability to use your skills or to even maintain memory of yourself, there are many ways I could accomplish this. Some would leave you with nothing of yourself and some would leave you with more.” He lowered his head.

A chill crawled through me. “Go on,” I managed.

“One very particular way would leave you with all memory of yourself, but only the ability to express that which fits a certain predetermined model.” The tension returned to his body, and he breathed a word that was most definitely a demon curse.

The cold in my gut deepened. “S-so, I would be completely aware but trapped behind a wall?”

“No,” he replied, voice going even more intense. “That is far too mild of a description for how I would submerge you.”

My hands tightened into fists. “How would you do it?”

Mzatal turned to me, potency flaring. “How deeply do you wish to understand, Kara Gillian?”

I hesitated, then straightened, lifting my chin, though my heart pounded. “I needto know. Show me what was done to Szerain.”

He shook his head, eyes never leaving mine. “I cannot speak of that, nor do that.” He paused, and the air around us seemed to grow heavy and charged. “I canshow you precisely how I would submerge you were I to do so to bring about the greatest torment.”

My mouth went dry as my resolve wavered. It’s only a demonstration, I told myself. I can trust him.I dragged in a careful breath. I’d survived Rhyzkahl’s torture. I could endure this submersion for a few minutes. And I neededto know, for Ryan, and for myself.

“Yes,” I heard myself saying. “Show me that.”

A faint smile touched his mouth but didn’t reach his eyes. I trust him, I told myself again. Right?

Mzatal drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. I braced myself and tried to prepare for…I had no idea what.

When he opened his eyes, it was like looking through a window into a nightmare. Moving with demonic lord speed he seized my head between his hands, face abruptly and coldly vindictive and purposeful. The nightmare behind his eyes flooded out to inundate me, and I sucked in a breath, recoiling.

“No, wait!” I struggled against his hold, then cried out in shock as Gestamar moved swiftly in from the main chamber and wrapped an arm around my waist from behind. “No. Stop!”

Mzatal didn’t move, but I felt the stab of potency slide through me in a surgical strike, and in the next instant I went limp in Gestamar’s hold as Mzatal stripped my physical control.

But only the physical. I still had full awareness, still felt Mzatal’s hands on my head. I could still silently yell at myself for being the biggest goddamn moron who’d ever walked the Earth. I fought to move, to twitch, anything.

“Fool,” Mzatal snarled in a voice that was his, yet not his. “It could have been so easy for you.”

My body couldn’t move, but my Self jerked in shock as what felt like a viscous goo began to rise around me. It wasn’t physical—there was nothing I could see or taste or smell, but it was cold. So incredibly cold. The arcane constriction continued to rise around my essence, everything that was me. I panicked as fully as if it was a corporeal substance threatening to drown me. My Self thrashed and flailed, but the advance was inexorable, and I couldn’t find any purchase.

Mzatal’s lip curled. “All in our grasp. All.” His teeth clenched harder. “And you choose– choose—to withhold it from me.” He pushed me lower while I thrashed and fought the submersion.

I felt the reyza’s strong grip, his hot breath on my neck. I hung limp as Mzatal held my head, while within I fought the unrelenting push.

He forced me down. The only way to describe it was as if I was in a narrow pipe, with barely any room to twitch or move, and that pipe was filled with icy goo, and then a grate placed over the top and sealed down. I had less than an inch of “space” between the grate and the goo, forcing me to constantly scrabble for purchase, to press my face against that grate simply to exist.

Mzatal drove the “grate” fully down upon me until it felt as if I was a hair’s breadth away from being lost completely, then blatantly and clearly sealed the prison. “How long can you bear this?” he hissed. “How long until even youbreak?”

Panicked, I pressed my Self against the barricade. I wanted to sob, scream, anything, but all I had was the total quiescence of my body in Gestamar’s arms.

Mzatal held my head for another ten heartbeats, then released me and straightened, face returning to its normal Mzatal-ness.

“Kara, I have some matters to attend,” he said. “Wait for me inside.” He turned and headed off down the balcony.

Gestamar released me, and I straightened. I glanced up at the demon, then moved inside to Mzatal’s chambers. Pursing my lips, I looked around, then began opening cabinets, methodically searching. I knew it had to be here somewhere.

This is me, I realize. I scrabble and press against the barrier. The confinement is horrific, but the rest isn’t so bad, is it? He called me Kara. At least I’m still me. But what the hell am I looking for? I extend, desperately trying to understand, and as I do, it’s like sticking my finger into an electrical outlet as the jolt of connection slams home. I am fully myself, know myself, am myself, and I’m also this walking, breathing, thinking Pretender that seeks a confiscated bag of weed. I feel myself animating her through a slender tendril of essence that winds through the grate. Her thoughts, chaotic and irrational, tumble beside Mine in a confusing torrent, and I experience a new sort of drowning as they invade Me. Panic. I know her. Panic. I am her. Panic. I am myself. Panic. Who am I?

She found it in the bottom drawer and grinned. Not warded or protected in any way. She took the baggie to the table in the bedroom, sat, and began to expertly roll a joint.

Who am I? The Observer. Boundaries. Must set boundaries. I am myself. I am—she is—the Pretender. Thoughts are intimately entwined. I cling to mine and willfully keep hers at bay, still glaringly present, but separate. I witness the Pretender using my body. It’s been over fifteen years since I’ve done any sort of drugs. I know I can’t experiment or have one joint just for fun. She knows this as well, but denies it. Wake up! Don’t do this!

She moved to the balcony and leaned against the rail. She lit the joint easily with a quick sigil.

No. Damn it. I can’t smoke pot. I’m not going to go back to any of that shit. I know myself too well. I struggle against the grate, struggle to extend control through the connecting strand. It’s still my body! Surely I can stop me, her, us from doing this. But it’s like steering a car with my pinky while tied in the backseat.

She lifted the joint and took a long pull, then sighed out the smoke with a relaxed smile.

That’s what I needed. Her thought rolls over me. Damn it! I witness the Pretender abuse my body. I want to smack her.

She jerked in surprise as Mzatal reached and plucked the joint from her fingers.

“You have dishonored my hospitality, taken that which is not yours, and do not have the control to use such without succumbing to it.” He glowered down at Us as he incinerated the joint with a flick of his fingers.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She scowled up at the lord. “It was my damn weed in the first place. I was merely recovering my own property that you ‘confiscated’.” She made obnoxious quote marks with Our fingers.

Holy shit. I know this Pretender. I had that attitude when I was about nineteen or so. I was off the drugs by then, but She is the Me of then, still on drugs. I can’t live like this! I reach through the strand and it’s like fighting through a vat of tar, sticky, searing heat against the ice of my Self. Agonizing. Exhausting.

“And what the hell does it matter anyway if I smoke a joint?” she continued, rolling Our eyes. “This summoning shit is a pain in the ass and the pot chills me out.”

“I do not jest,” he replied in a hard voice. “For some it would not matter. For you it does. You lose yourself.”

He’s so right. Why won’t she listen? No, this isn’t me. This… this is a very small part of who I might have been. This isn’t me! I can’t do this.

“I don’t lose myself,” she said with a snort. “Oh my god, it’s just pot. And what the fuck do you care? You wanted a summoner. Well, here I am.” She gave a showy curtsey.

“Smoking breaks your agreement with me. This is of much relevance.” Mzatal looked to Gestamar. “Destroy the remainder of the herb.”

She gave a snotty laugh. “Oh no, I did something against the magic contract. Does that mean I get a spanking?”

You stupid little bitch, stop talking before you get into real trouble! I continue to struggle to reach through the strand.

Mzatal’s eyes were hard upon Us. “Gestamar, Kara will be leaving us. Tell Idris to prepare a diagram. We will proceed within the hour.”

Yeah. Trouble like that.

I press against the barrier. I can’t relax, can’t rest. All I can do is gasp in what existence I can through the seal. I can’t take much more of this.