Vengeance of the Demon: Demon Novels, Book Seven (Kara Gillian 7) (15 page)

Without warning, Idris grabbed the front of Pellini’s shirt with both hands to yank him away from the nexus. My gut clenched as potency shimmered on Idris, but I’d underestimated Pellini. The surly detective was overweight and out of shape, but he knew his training. In quick, reflexive movements, Pellini trapped Idris’s hands against his chest, twisted, swept his leg, and shoved him facedown on the grass with his right arm up and held in a wrist lock.

“Fucking snot-nosed know-it-all punk,” Pellini growled. “Do
not
lay hands on me unless it’s a Heimlich or CPR.” He released Idris and stepped back.

Idris rolled away and sat up, features twisted in anger and humiliation. “Won’t happen. I wouldn’t be able to get my arms around you to do the Heimlich.”

Hurt flashed across Pellini’s face before he buried it under a scowl. “That shit won’t last long.” He jerked his head toward the sigils. “Make the most of it.” With that, he stomped away toward the woods. “Sammy!”

Bryce offered Idris a hand up. “I hope you know you brought that on yourself,” he said to Idris—to my enormous relief because that meant
I
didn’t have to say it.

Idris took Bryce’s hand and stood. He muttered a couple of words that could have been either fuck you or thank you, then marched toward the ring of glowing sigils. Off to my right, Pellini disappeared down the trail that led to the start of the obstacle course, his dog cavorting around him.

Bryce pursed his lips. “Need me to follow him?”

“No, it’s cool. He just needs some space,” I said. “Can you hold down the fort? I need to take care of this nexus thing.”

“I’m on it.”

I turned to the nexus in time to see Idris attempt to disrupt the circle of sigils. “Hey!” I called out. “Hold on. Who put you in command here?”

The ring remained unaltered despite his efforts. He cursed and dropped his hands. “
Someone
has to deal with this crap.”

“Not by destroying it before we check it out!” I moved forward and examined the slowly spinning ring of sigils. Though most of the sigils weren’t familiar, to my delight I understood the whole of it. “It’s a simulator,” I said. “It’s what we can use to learn how to symmetrize a valve without screwing up a real valve or blowing ourselves up.”

“And you know this because
Kadir
told you.” Idris made no attempt to hide the scorn in his voice.

I scowled. “Kadir said I need to learn how to symmetrize a valve, Pellini said this was for us, and that sigil,” I pointed to three interlocked triangles, “is like one Mzatal always includes in his training patterns, only Kadir-style.”

Idris folded his arms, face set in a frown. “Maybe it is a simulator, but what else? I don’t intend to get influenced by Kadir.”

“It’s simple then,” I said. “Don’t use it.” Part of me knew he had a point, but I did, too, and I was completely
over
his bullshit.

Without another word, I stepped through the gap between two sigils and onto the center of the nexus. At least that’s where I thought I’d stepped. My heart pounded as the world faded to endless, silent grey. If it had been like this for Pellini, it was no wonder he hadn’t answered us. Shivering, I gulped down my unease. The ominous feeling that Kadir stood right behind me was so strong I glanced over my shoulder to confirm he wasn’t there. Marginally reassured, I watched in fascination as a replica of a standard valve, much like the one by my pond, appeared at my feet.

An ice-cold electric charge ran up and down my back, and understanding of the Earthside structure of a valve poured into my mind. Potency twisted along the valve boundary. Aspects that appeared flawless to my untrained senses resolved into subtle irregularities, like hair escaping a braid.

“Asymmetry,” I murmured, ridiculously pleased that I could see it. I followed my Kadir-enhanced intuition to smooth out the flaws and, after what felt like half an hour of work, the valve emitted a flash of arcane blue light then settled into pulsing shimmery blue-green.

I did a fist pump and examined my work. Whereas Kadir’s barricade seal inhibited the effectiveness of a valve or node, his symmetrization technique enhanced it, like clearing roots from a drain.

Damn, I had a cool job.
Now if only it could pay the bills.
But hey, couldn’t have everything.

The grey, the valve, and all traces of Pellini’s circle of sigils vanished, and I stood in morning sunlight on the nexus.

Idris stared at me. “How did you unravel it so fast? I couldn’t touch it, but you did it in two seconds.”

Well,
that
was interesting. However Kadir had rigged the training, it seemed to be outside the parameters of Earth time. “I learned what there was to learn,” I said with a shrug. “I know how to symmetrize a valve now, and I’m not tainted by Kadir either.” I hoped. Ignoring Idris’s black look, I headed toward the house. “I’ll put on the coffee,” I called over my shoulder. “You can cook the bacon and eggs while I take care of the pond valve.” I wasn’t going to hold my breath for breakfast, but it felt good to say it.

Bryce angled my way and met me on the porch. “That didn’t take long.”

“Yeah, Kadir is slick.” I looked sharply at him. “Almost forgot to tell you. I saw Paul last night.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “How? Where?”

I briefed him on the circumstances. “He looked good,” I said, leaving out the whole weird kneeling thing. “Paul said he’s good and not dying anymore. Kadir said to tell you that Paul is thriving.”

Bryce exhaled in relief as we entered the kitchen. “It’s more information than I had before. Thanks.” But then he peered at me. “What aren’t you saying?”

I scowled. “You know, there are times it sucks how perceptive you are.” I busied myself with the coffeemaker in an attempt to come up with a tame way to say it. No luck. “Paul was kneeling at Kadir’s side while Kadir petted his head like a dog. And he gave Paul
permission
to speak.” I winced. “Paul didn’t seem to object.”

A muscle in Bryce’s jaw twitched. “Goddammit,” he said, and I knew he had at least as many horrible scenarios playing out in his mind as I did. “I need to see him.”

“We’ll find a way for that to happen,” I said. “Either in that weird between-the-worlds zone or face-to-face.” A glance out the window revealed Idris still in the center of the nexus. “I need to check on Pellini and the valve. You mind keeping an eye on our problem child for a few?”

“Do what you need to do,” he said. “I’ll be here.”

I headed down the obstacle course trail and found Pellini sitting on one of the balance logs. Sammy lay at his feet blissfully chomping on a pinecone. “Sorry about the shit with Idris,” I said. “Nice takedown though.”

“The kid’s wound way too tight,” he said with a shake of his head. “He’s going to get himself or someone else killed.”

I sat on another log. “He’s been through hell. I swear this isn’t the real Idris. He’s nice and friendly and sweet and,” I sighed, “innocent. He’ll get through this and back to himself.” I hoped.

“Hell changes people,” Pellini said. A hollow sadness swept across his face. Regret? “Idris will never be the same, but he’s the only one who can choose how he looks on the other side of that kind of hell.”

A squirrel leaped from the branches of one tree to another. Sammy lifted his head then resumed dismembering the far more catchable pinecone. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” I said quietly.

Pellini shot me a sidelong look, then slid into his familiar glower. “I know hell,” he said in a gruff throw-away tone. “Raised my fair share back in the day. Put some perps through hell, too.” He picked up a pinecone and flung it with vicious force down the trail. Sammy leaped up and dashed after it. “I have plenty of experience.”

“I bet you do,” I said. Raising hell was a roiling smokescreen, and he’d slapped on his asshole mask like armor. What sensitive spot was he protecting? I stomped down the urge to pry more. For now.

Sammy galumphed back with the fresh pinecone, dropped it at Pellini’s feet then shoved his head into Pellini’s face to deliver a slobbery lick. “You stupid fucking mutt,” Pellini muttered with a scowl, but he wrapped his arms around the dog and scratched his back while Sammy continued to apply enthusiastic doggy kisses. Pellini finally pushed the dog away and wiped his face. “You saw it all last night, didn’t you.”

“Kadir’s playground? Yeah, I was there.” I kicked another pinecone toward Sammy, who glommed onto it with enthusiasm. Pellini’s shoulders relaxed, and I understood his relief. He’d lived a long time with a secret others would call a crazy fantasy. “What happened before I got there?”

“The ‘devil dog’ that animal control shot was Kuktok, a kzak I’ve known since I was a kid.” He said it matter-of-factly, as though having a cozy rapport with a vicious demon species was no more unusual than a rain shower in Louisiana. “Kadir told me Kuktok was shot before he made it to a valve at Leelan Park . . . but hasn’t arrived back home yet.”

I exhaled. “I’m so sorry.” I had no idea what would happen if a demon—or human—died in the valve system, between the two worlds.

Pellini shrugged it off, picked up a stick, broke it. Broke it again. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck’s going on?” he asked. “I got a glimpse of Kadir’s perspective, but I know there’s more to it all.”

“Can we do it over coffee?” I wasn’t trying to stall him, but Pellini set his mouth in a stubborn line.

“I need to know.”

Damn.
Note to self: Don’t step outside the house without caffeine ever again.
“Let’s take a walk to the valve by my pond,” I said. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

We proceeded to stroll through the woods while I inundated him with a crash course in the arcane and its bizarre politics: the Mraztur, demonic lords, Katashi, the demon realm, valves, and summoning. I told him about my history with Rhyzkahl and how he’d betrayed me, and even showed him the sigil scars that the lord had carved into my flesh with his essence blade. I stopped short of telling him about anything to do with Farouche and the plantation raid. Pellini didn’t need to know about that to understand the rest. Despite everything else, he was a cop—and the murder and mayhem at the plantation were crimes.

He seemed to take everything I told him in stride. When we reached the pond, I worked to symmetrize the valve while he filled me in on his experiences with Kadir. As I’d suspected, he’d received a “download” from the demonic lord, which imbued him with the knowledge of what to do on the nexus.

I finished smoothing out the irregularities and straightened with a pleased smile. My valve shimmered blue-green—quiet and stable. This symmetrization stuff rocked. Even if it helped Katashi and the Mraztur in the long game, we needed the short game fix.

Pellini scrutinized the valve. “You got it right first time out.”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

“Nah, Kadir said you’d ace it,” he said. “Makes sense, considering he created the simulator for you.”

A hint of uncertainty in his voice caught my attention. I stood and faced him. “Pellini, what’s up?”

“Not sure,” he said. A frown curved his mouth. “I wasn’t born to be a practitioner. Kadir said he created me.”

I couldn’t hide my surprise at that. An arcane implant or simulator was one thing, but to genetically engineer a practitioner through arcane means? The notion unsettled me, though I had trouble pinpointing why. It was more than unease over the concept of Pellini being a created practitioner.

“No use worrying too much right now,” I said to reassure him. “I’m sure we’ll find out more—” I froze.

Created
. Kadir created Pellini.

Szerain’s words echoed back to me.

Slew Elinor. Created you.

A chill swept through my body. He’d said that after I confronted him about stabbing Elinor, but now I had a horrifying context for his words. Created
me
.

A flash of anger swept away the chill. What had he done? And when? Mzatal once told me the Elinor memories and influence clung to me like an afterthought, though they were also integral to my being. Szerain had held Elinor’s essence captive in his blade, Vsuhl, for centuries. Had he used that blade to alter me? If so, it would have been before his exile—without Vsuhl—to Earth, which was at least fifteen years ago. And with Szerain who the hell knew where right now, I had no way to find out.

“Kara,” Pellini said, and I realized it wasn’t the first time he’d called my name. “You okay?”

I put on a big smile. “I’m cool. Need coffee, that’s all. Everything will be right with the world then.”

What a lie.

 • • • 

Pellini followed me back to the house, but I got as far as dumping out the stale coffee before my phone rang. I glanced at the number then set the coffeepot in the sink and ran water into it.

“Who the hell’s calling you at eight in the morning on a Saturday?” Pellini asked.

“It’s Detective O’Connor from the Sheriff’s office,” I said as my phone continued to ring. I didn’t have to answer it, did I? Whether I talked to him or not wouldn’t make a difference in the long run. It wasn’t as if there was anything he could say that would change my mind about giving him a statement.

Then again the same reasoning supported taking the call. After all, what did I have to lose? Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as I expected. Y’know, like a root canal.

Pellini had questions in his eyes that I didn’t want to answer. I mumbled a “scuse me” then snatched up my phone and headed toward the living room as I answered. “Kara Gillian.”

“Ms. Gillian, it’s Detective O’Connor.” No fake smile in his voice this time. Instead I heard a timbre of confidence that didn’t leave me feeling happy-go-lucky.

“Good morning, Detective.” I continued through the living room and out to the porch, closing the front door behind me. “A bit early for a social call, which leads me to believe you have a more official agenda in mind?”

“You might say that, ma’am,” he replied, cool and calm. I had no trouble picturing him in his office, kicked back in his chair with his feet up on his desk. “Ms. Gillian, if you’d be kind enough to spare me a few minutes, I’d like to tell you a little story.”

Shit. I settled in one of the rocking chairs but didn’t rock. “Be my guest.”

“It’s the story of a woman who got in over her head,” he began. “It might have started when she was working a case. After all, investigations and undercover assignments can get pretty tricky, and lines get crossed. But however it came about, she made a big mistake and stood by while a man was shot twice in the head.”

“Go on,” I said in lieu of any number of smartass remarks that came to mind.

“The problem is that even though this woman isn’t a bad person, now she’s looking at being charged as a principal to murder.” He paused. “She used to be a police officer, which means she knows it doesn’t matter who pulled the trigger. Any principal to the crime gets the same sentence as the shooter.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that.” Anyone who aided and abetted in the commission of a crime was considered a principal. In other words, a guy who robbed a bank at gunpoint would be charged with armed robbery—as would the getaway driver and the third party who planned it, even if neither participated in the actual holdup.

But how did he think he could charge me as a principal? Even if they’d found my fingerprints and DNA at the scene, that was circumstantial evidence, at best.

O’Connor was clearly warming to his story. “The woman thought no one knew she was there when this terrible thing happened. And the detective thought he had no chance of ever finding the real shooter and solving this crime because, after all, she had no reason to risk herself by giving testimony. Or so she thought. But then . . .” He trailed off.

I was tempted to let the silence hang until he gave up and went on, but I decided being mean was pointless. “But then?”

“But then a witness appeared,” he said, triumph dripping from his voice. “A dutiful citizen who came forward and placed the woman at that scene.”

“There were a lot of people at that scene, from what I hear,” I said, pulse hammering. “Do all of them get charged as principals?”

He rewarded me with a dry chuckle. “Well, you see, this witness saw her leave with the shooter. And that changes everything.”

The driver of the getaway car.
I tightened my hand on the phone to keep from shaking. With great effort, I forced myself to let go of arguments about the technicalities that separated Principal from Accessory After the Fact from Uninvolved. None of that mattered. But there was one point I couldn’t hold back. “Pretty darn lucky for you that a witness decided to step forward after a couple of weeks of silence.”

“Nothing to do with luck. Injuries sustained in the fire prevented the witness from giving a statement before now,” he said, all trace of lightness gone from his voice. “But despite that, this person came forward and did the right thing. I want the shooter, Ms. Gillian. You also need to do the right thing, or you’re going to find yourself wearing an orange jumpsuit. And ex-cops and prison don’t always go well together.”

The dread within my chest shifted, expanded. “Thank you for that advice, Detective,” I said. “Enjoy your weekend.” I hung up without waiting for a reply then set the chair slowly rocking. I remained there until my pulse slowed and my palms stopped sweating, then pygahed and rocked some more.

After at least ten minutes of doing and thinking as little as possible, I got up and returned inside. Pellini sat at the table, while Bryce busied himself at the stove.

“Was about to come get you,” Pellini said. “Coffee’s ready, and Bryce is making bacon and eggs.”

I plastered a smile onto my face and pitched in to help Bryce. “Coffee and breakfast with friends. What more could a girl ask for?”