He looked over at me with a huge grin as though I’d given him a pony for Christmas. “Thanks! You’re the best.”
“Maybe you should reserve judgment until you try it out,” I said, then winced as he plopped down in the chair and nearly fell off as the seat tipped. “Sorry. You need to watch out for the chair. It has a mind of its own, but I tell myself it helps me improve my core strength.”
“Gotcha.” He carefully resettled on the wonky chair and pushed the computer’s power button. It coughed, made a weird screeching whine, then finally settled to a vaguely unsteady whir. “This’ll do great,” he told me with a brilliant smile.
“That will keep him occupied for a while,” Bryce said as we left Paul with the finicky machine and went on to the kitchen.
“Zack picked up some clothes for you and Paul,” I said. “Let me know if you need anything else or if stuff doesn’t fit.”
“Thanks. It’s been a pretty surreal couple of days,” he confessed. “I seriously thought I was dead and in some bizarre afterlife.”
“With equally bizarre food,” I added with a laugh.
“No shit.” He grinned. “But most of it was damn good, so I learned to get past appearance pretty quickly.”
“Yep. The cat turds,” I said and gave him a knowing nod. I got out plates and silverware. “You mind dishing up food? I need to make sure Mzatal has what he needs.”
Bryce took the top off the slow cooker. “No problem.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.” I went out back and stopped at the top of the porch stairs, watched Mzatal walk an expanding spiral around the point of confluence. I descended the steps and approached slowly, not wanting to interrupt him.
From the woods I heard a strange whooping call followed by a whistle. Eilahn. I’d once asked her what she did during all the time she spent in the woods when I was home. She’d given me a pitying look, as if I was mentally challenged, and told me, “I am with the trees, of course.” Silly me.
Mzatal finished another loop of the spiral, then looked over to me. “I believe it is possible to develop the confluence into a convergence and subsequently create a rudimentary nexus.”
I moved to him. “What does that mean in layman’s terms?”
“If all transpires as intended, it will give me an anchor point of potency, which should considerably increase the length of time that I am able to remain on Earth.” He stroked my cheek with his fingertips. “It will also be of use to you as a resource, though much greater once you have mastered the shikvihr.”
A layer of my tension eased. “That’s awesome,” I said. Anything that allowed him to stay longer was good with me. “Do you want my help with any of it?”
Mzatal gave me a fond smile. “It would not be possible without your aid, zharkat.” He shifted his attention to the sky as though considering something there. “In perhaps an hour we can begin.”
“Got it.” I glanced upward but saw nothing other than blue sky and a few clouds that heralded the approaching front. “I’m assuming Bryce checked out all right?” I had zero doubt that Mzatal had thoroughly assessed his potential to be a threat to us.
“He currently harbors no intention of causing harm to anyone within your household,” he reassured me. “Elofir completed much of the physical healing, and we both cleared the fear-compulsion influence. It was ingrained far more deeply in him than in Paul, or in you.”
“He’d been with Farouche for a long time,” I pointed out.
“I am certain the influence was reinforced repeatedly over the years,” Mzatal said with a slight nod. “However, I have placed blocks in the two men and in you to ensure that the influence cannot be re-established.”
“Like being immune to a disease once you’ve survived it,” I said with a grin. “I love it. And I’m glad we can trust Bryce.”
“As much as any human,” Mzatal replied. “Likely more at this point. He knows that sacrifices have been made for him, and he does not take it for granted.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissed him. “Thank you. That helps me a lot. You’ll let me know when you’re ready to do the superduper nexusy thing?”
He slid his hands down my sides, smiled. “I will, zharkat.”
I returned to the house, smiling as I felt his gaze still on me like a warm embrace. In the kitchen I found that Jekki and Bryce had the table set and lunch ready to serve, though I noted only two plates on the table. “Isn’t Paul going to eat?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bryce said. “I took a plate to him. He’s already absorbed in your computer.” He nodded toward the roast. “This sure smells good.”
“Zack’s a pretty awesome cook,” I said. “I only found that out recently. Ryan’s not bad either, for that matter.” I laughed “I pretty much relax and do the eating.” I sat, and Bryce followed suit. He’d deliberately waited for me to sit first before taking his own seat, and my good impression of him climbed even higher.
“That would be Zack Garner and Ryan Kristoff, right?” he asked. At my nod, he continued, “According to Paul, I owe them as well. I’m sorry we got you involved in our mess.”
“We all did what was needed in the moment.” This was my first opportunity to really speak to Bryce, and I was grateful for the opportunity. Paul obviously revered him, but for all I knew he could be a bona fide asshole in other areas.
“There were so many things I should’ve done differently that day,” he said, shaking his head. “But that guard. He should never have been carrying a gun.”
“No shit!” I made a disgusted face. “Probably a wannabe cop who spent too much time watching action movies.” Then I sobered. “You heard what I told Mzatal about my encounter with Farouche?”
Bryce’s expression tightened. “Yes. And that he . . . affected you.” He blew out his breath. “Lord Mzatal explained to Paul and me how Mr. Farouche’s influence works. If I hadn’t lived it, no way would I believe it.”
I proceeded to give him the full story, including the mandate to call Farouche when he and Paul returned. I watched him as I spoke, noted a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and a tremor in the hand that held his fork. When I finished, I busied myself with eating in order to give him time to compose himself. Even though Mzatal had fixed him up, I figured it would take some time for Bryce to shed the residual effects of being influenced for so long.
After about a minute Bryce set his fork down. “The one with the MAC-10 is Mr. Farouche’s personal bodyguard, Angus McDunn. He’s been with Farouche for over twenty years. Ruthless. The other two were Charles Clancy and Sonny Hernandez. Mr. Farouche made a personal appearance in order to get you under his influence. He wouldn’t trouble himself otherwise.” Bryce exhaled. “He’ll want me back dead or alive. He’ll want Paul back alive.”
“We won’t let that happen” I said firmly.
“It can’t happen to Paul. He deserves better.”
I smiled. “I like him. Crap, this sounds insulting, but it’s not meant to be at all: He’s adorable.”
Bryce laughed. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”
I grinned. “I’m sure he wouldn’t take it well.” I pushed back from the table. “Is there anything you need or want that will help you settle in? Anything Paul needs?”
Bryce exhaled, shook his head. “I honestly don’t know yet. I feel like I’m in a different world. Naked in a different world.”
My brow furrowed as I tried to figure that one out. “Naked?”
Bryce gave a weak laugh. “Figuratively speaking. I haven’t been without my weapons in over a decade.”
I blinked. “Oh! Hang on.” I quickly retrieved the box containing his cleaned gear and clothing from where I’d stashed it, returned to the kitchen, and placed it on the table. “There’s .40 ammo in the cabinet over the dryer,” I said as I unloaded his stuff from the box. “I cleaned the gun and got the blood off the rest, though I tossed your shirt since it was pretty trashed. Hope you weren’t too attached to it.”
Utterly sh
ocked, Bryce looked from the plethora of lethality on the table to me and then back at his gear. “You’re serious?”
“If you were a threat to us, Mzatal would know about it,” I replied. “I want you as an ally, and you’re more useful as such if you have your stuff.”
“I understand,” he said, face reflecting relief. “Thanks.” He checked his guns and knives, then slipped various holsters and sheaths on and tucked his weapons away with smooth and practiced efficiency.
“Feel better?” I asked.
He made adjustments, straightened. “Do I ever.” He smiled, shoulders and back relaxing as tension slipped away. “Any house rules I should know about?”
“Don’t pee on the toilet seat.”
He snorted. “Anything else?”
I shrugged. “Common sense. Um, you and Paul probably shouldn’t leave the property or go to near the property edge for that matter.” I abruptly realized how that sounded and hurried to clarify. “I mean, you’re not prisoners or anything, but—”
Bryce salvaged my faux pas. “I get it. Even if Mr. Farouche knows we’re here, it’s better if we’re not seen.”
“Exactly,” I said, relieved that he understood. “The fed boys have a game console in the living room that you’re welcome to use.”
“Excellent!” A grin split his face. “Paul set me up with one in our unit at Farouche’s plantation. Helped keep me from going stir crazy while he did his computer stuff.”
“You’ll probably have some time on your hands here,” I said with a slight grimace. “Sorry.”
“No worries, Ms. Gillian. I have a master’s degree in killing time.”
“You stayed with Paul at the plantation? I gather he gets pretty deeply involved in what he does.”
“Yep. Sinks right into it,” he said. “I have to remind him to eat. He set up a number for Sonny and me to text if we need his attention. Anything else makes him lose his train of thought.”
“I know he’s valuable to Farouche and does computer stuff, but what exactly does he do?”
Bryce pursed his lips, tipped his head back in consideration. “He’s a computer security expert and can do all sorts of white, grey, and black hat work,” he explained. “He can get into just about anything—system, network, database, whatever’s out there—but don’t ask me to tell you exactly what he does or how he does it. It’s beyond me.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a fond smile. “I say ‘work,’ but for him it isn’t. When Paul’s in deep, he’s having a blast exploring and uncovering information.”
I straightened. “What kind of information?”
“Pretty much anything you could possibly think of. He knows how to delve, and he’s fearless when it comes to infrastructure.”
Somehow I managed to hold back the delighted chortle. “I have a project for him, if he’s up for it.”
“The bigger the challenge, the more he likes it.”
Paul chose that moment to enter the kitchen, tablet tucked under one arm, empty plate in the other hand, and eyes red despite his smile. “Good lunch. Thanks. What’s up?”
“I could ask you the same question,” Bryce said, frowning. “What’s bothering you?”
Paul scrubbed his free hand over his face and looked a little embarrassed. “I, uh, was listening in on a conversation.”
Bryce folded his arms across his chest, narrowed his eyes. “Whose conversation upset you?”
“Sonny,” Paul confessed. “I probably shouldn’t have tapped in, but I was worried about him and wanted to make sure he was okay.”
Sonny. One of the gunmen at the encounter with Farouche.
“Well, was he?” Bryce asked.
“He sounded a little stressed, but otherwise all right,” Paul replied. “I was worried something bad might happen to him since he was my handler too.”
There was no mistaking the relief on Bryce’s face. “You did good, kid.”
“Yeah? Thanks.” He smiled. “Hearing him made me miss him more, that’s all.”
Bryce patted his shoulder. “I totally get it. Who was he talking to?”
“His sister. About how he’d be there for Christmas this year.” Paul winced. “She didn’t believe him, yelled at him, and hung up.”
Surprise and disbelief flashed over Bryce’s face. “Sonny called his sister?”
I frowned at the exchange. “Something wrong with that?”
“Not wrong exactly,” Bryce said. “But it means he’s on edge with Paul and me gone.” Bryce rubbed the back of his neck, grimaced. “He hasn’t talked to his family in over a decade. I mean, you don’t do that around Mr. Farouche.”
“That’s right,” Paul said with a serious nod. “B.M. doesn’t play around.”
“B.M.?” I asked, puzzled, then remembered that Paul’s nickname for James Macklin Farouche was Big Mack. I let out a peal of laughter. “B.M. That’s classic.”
Paul grinned. “If the acronym fits . . .”
Bryce cocked an eyebrow at the young man. “Wasn’t so hilarious when you accidentally called him that to his face. Anyway, Ms. Gillian wants to know—”
“Please call me Kara,” I interrupted.
Bryce gave me a nod. “Kara wants to know if there’s anything you need.”
“No. She doesn’t,” he said with a wry smile. “I can need a whole lot of very expensive things.”
“Okay,” I said, smiling, “is there anything without which you can’t do your work?”
He gave me a sly look. “I already ordered a laptop and some other stuff,” he told me. “It’ll all be here tomorrow.” He paused, fidgeted. “I need a few local things today though, if it’s not too much trouble. I can pay you back.”
“Write it down, and I’ll get the elves to take care of it,” I told him.
A smile bloomed on his face. “Wow, thanks!” He shifted the tablet from under his arm and started tapping on it one-handed, so fast I had a hard time picturing him actually typing anything that made sense. “You want me to help with the Idris stuff?” he asked. “The lord told me about him. I figure I can do some work on that, right?”
My phone dinged, and I fished it from my pocket. “Um, yeah. Hang on.” I checked the message, blinked. His shopping list—composed and sent to me in about ten seconds flat. I smothered a laugh. Chai tea, Krunch ’n Krackle snacks, and pistachios. All absolutely necessary for deep computer work, I was certain. I started to ask him how he knew my number, then decided against it. I had a feeling that would probably earn me a withering look.
I sent the message on to Zack, with a “please buy” added. “That’s right,” I told Paul. “We’re looking for Idris Palatino. Anything you can find on him would rock.” I spelled the name and gave him Idris’s date of birth.
Paul tapped on the tablet. “What sort of info you want? Sightings? That sort of thing?”
“Anything you can get. Sightings, rumors, mentions, you name it, especially within the last week. We don’t know where he is other than what you heard me tell Mzatal in the basement. He called me night before last from a stolen cell phone, heading northwest out of Austin. Farouche is involved, but we don’t know to what degree. We know Isumo Katashi’s organization is in on it. Tsuneo Oshiro. Tito—I don’t remember his last name.”
Paul looked up at me. “Tsuneo. That’s the name of the guy who ran away at the warehouse?”
“That’s right,” I said. “And Tito was the one Mzatal killed.”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” he said, then wandered down the hall, busily tapping on the tablet.
I waited until Paul was back in the office before I turned to Bryce. “Time to shift gears a bit,” I said. “You in the mood from some mild interrogation?”
“As long as it doesn’t involve beatings with rubber hoses, I’m game,” he replied with an easy smile.
“No beatings,” I said with a chuckle. “Not from me at least.” I took a deep breath. “But I need to know if the name Tracy Gordon rings a bell. Or you might have known him as Raymo
nd Bergeron.”
A frown puckered his forehead. “I don’t think I know either name. Why?”
“Tracy was a summoner, killed about six months ago,” I told him. “Your name is in one of his journals along with a bunch of others.”
“Why would a summoner have my name?” Bryce asked, perplexed. “And yes, I know that’s precisely what you’re asking me.” He shook his head. “Sorry, but I don’t have a clue.”
So much for my fantasy of uncovering a simple explanation. I felt Mzatal’s mental touch, and I put on hold any thoughts of other avenues to take with the journal information. “We’ll figure it out later,” I said with a tinge of regret. “I’m going out to do some work with Mzatal, and I don’t know how long it will take. My best friend Jill may come by at some point.” I smiled. “She’s way pregnant. Can’t miss her. Y’all help yourself to anything in the kitchen, and don’t forget the game console.”
“Got it covered,” he said with a sharp nod.
I gave him a parting smile and headed toward the back.
Chapter 22
Mzatal stood on the sweet spot in the grass, hands behind his back and eyes closed in a familiar stance of focused concentration. He opened his eyes as I approached. “Zharkat. I am ready to begin.”
“Tell me what I need to do.”
He took my hand, drew me to him. Carefully and patiently, he explained the process and showed me the needed sigils for the diagram, and for the rest of the afternoon we prepared the unassuming patch of grass. For the first hour we did little else but clear residue and stabilize the power of the confluence, like pressure washing grease-encrusted drainage pipes. After that came the foundation anchors sunk deep, and meticulously woven flows. Then dozens upon dozens of rings of sigils, with every link checked and double-checked. Jekki kept us amply supplied with food and tunjen, and after more than four hours of work—and a quick potty break for me—we felt ourselves ready to begin the ritual itself.