Well.
Fuck.
Okay then. Back straight. Head up. Stand strong. So what if Dekkak had just added a couple of tons to the weight already on my shoulders. It wasn’t as if any of it was super critical like, say, the fate of two worlds, or a deep and personal relationship with the lord who’d enslaved a trio of demigod demons.
Didn’t matter. I already knew what my answer would be, even without the threat of death hanging over me. I would agree for the sake of the Jontari, because the trinity was an abomination, no matter what sort of dire events had driven Mzatal to that length. And I’d agree for the sake of the lords, because the blades held a terrible and insidious sway over them, all the more dangerous for not being obvious. It wasn’t a betrayal of my beloved. It was his salvation.
Later, after this crap was done and over with, I’d let myself think about the ramifications.
“You want the trinity,” I said. “I want Elinor Bayliss. There are terms to be laid out.”
“Agreement before blooding. Yes.” A forked tongue darted out to lick her fangs. “My terms are simple. The trinity to me before your next spring equinox. Because I will complete my terms before you complete yours, my six warlords will remain unfettered on Earth, and two of your minions will abide with me. If you fail to deliver the trinity within the allotted time, your minions become mine, and I will hunt you as kiraknikahl.” She paused. “Along with the trinity, you will deliver Mzatal, bound in makkas.”
Yeah . . . no. Not in a million years, you demonic bitch. I’d maintained an impassive expression while she spoke, seasoned with a teensy dash of mild boredom. Now I offered a smile as far from friendly as, well, a Jontari was from Mzatal. “My terms. You will bring Elinor to me within the hour, alive and unharmed in any way by you or your demons. During this task, no other humans will be harmed. Demon incursions are to cease as of this moment. You will immediately surrender to me all human body parts collected by your minions since the beginning of the incursions. And you will release Seretis. Now.” I paused. “As for your terms. The time frame for the trinity is agreed. One warlord is to remain on Earth, and only until the trinity is delivered to you. None of my people will accompany you to your realm. The matter of Mzatal as part of your lord collection is removed from this negotiation.”
She growled. “Seretis is mine. The matter of Seretis is removed from this negotiation.”
Crap. At this stage in the game, I didn’t dare ask her to clarify what she meant by mine. Yet no way could I accept his dismissal from the terms without knowing more. “I would speak to Seretis,” I said. “Alone.”
Dekkak clicked her claws together in a complex staccato. I had zero doubt she was working out a way to deny me and still get what she wanted. “Fifty heartbeats,” she finally said. “Unveiled.”
“One hundred.” I decided not to push the privacy issue and risk losing the opportunity altogether. “Human heartbeats,” I quickly added since I didn’t want to risk losing out because some weird demon had a pulse rate of three thousand beats per minute.
“Agreed.”
Seretis stood as I approached. Barely a foot behind him, Slugthing towered like a wall of writhing tentacles and grisly human remains.
Since we had no privacy, this needed to be a show for Dekkak’s benefit. I kept my face impassive. “What bargain did you make?”
“A selfish one,” Seretis replied. “Is it wrong that I feel safer in the tender care of my mortal enemy than in the heart of my own realm?”
His words confirmed what Bryce had relayed about treachery at home but, dramatics aside, there had to be a deeper motivation at work than saving his skin. He couldn’t speak openly with said mortal enemy in range of hearing, but perhaps he’d drop enough clues to let me figure it out on my own.
“Right or wrong, it is done,” I said. “What was the bargain?”
He let out a soft breath, eyes on mine. “The honored Dekkak agreed to assess you before fulfilling her unblooded agreement with Xharbek. In exchange, I am hers.”
Holy fuck. I wrenched my focus to an unruly twist of hair above his right temple, knowing too well that my uber-tough attitude would crumble if I looked into his eyes. Seretis had made an unbelievable end run around Xharbek and absolutely, hands down, saved my ass. If Dekkak had come through the rift with the intent to kill me rather than to talk, I’d be dead, along with everyone else in the compound, leaving Xharbek free to fuck up both worlds. This dude had balls. Gigantic and brass. And apparently well-hidden, with the rather hairy pair in plain sight a mere facade.
Tough-as-nails mien intact again, I dropped my eyes to his.
He’d sensed my brief struggle for control and waited a beat, but now his mouth curved in a sad smile. “I gave a blood oath that you will deliver the essence blades to her. If you do not . . .” He offered a barely perceptible shrug.
If I did not, his life would be at an end—or not worth living. I forced my mouth into a sneer. “Why would you do that?”
“Because acquiring the blades is near impossible, and she would agree to no less.” His uninjured eye fixed on me. “And though I would give my life a hundred times over to rid the worlds of the anathema of the blades, I had not the direct means. But you, zharkat of Mzatal, you are my tool. Through you, I make my mark.”
He’d couched his words in lordly eloquence, yet the meaning rang through, loud and clear: Seretis was willing to live and die as a captive if it meant getting the knives out of the hands of Szerain and Mzatal. More astonishing—to me at least—was his clear and unswerving belief that I was up to this incredibly difficult task. This really holy crap crazy what-the-hell unspeakably nigh near impossible task.
I stiffened my spine and bared my teeth at Seretis in the necessary show of disdain. “Through my actions I will make my mark,” I snarled in my best potency-backed imperious voice.
A dark tentacle snaked around his waist and dragged him back against Slugthing. Fear shimmered briefly over his face before he regained his composure. “Then make your mark, Kara Gillian,” he murmured.
Chapter 39
I turned my back on Seretis and reimmersed in the comfort and security of the super-shikvihr. Though his current situation tore at my heart, my estimation of him rocketed to infinite heights. Seretis had more strength of will and character than the rest of the lords combined—including, I had to admit, Mzatal. I loved my zharkat deeply, and he was a serious badass, but I couldn’t deny that the blades and their origin and influence were a cancer in his essence.
Calm determination filled me. Though I was by myself on the nexus, I wasn’t alone. With me was the gentle support of Rho and the strength of Seretis. Rhyzkahl watched me steadily from where he sat beneath the tree, while my friends and comrades stood firm and resolute around me. And, as always, the touch and resonance of Mzatal surrounded me in the super-shikvihr.
With my confidence bolstered, I instructed Pellini to have the DIRT teams wait outside the gate upon arrival, then I settled into the negotiations. Dekkak and I laid out terms, specified points and clarified details, while I also ruthlessly hunted down loopholes. The imperator would lunge at any opportunity to interpret wording to her advantage—like a genie who grants a man’s wish to never be sick again by promptly killing him.
After at least a dozen exchanges, we reached a point where neither of us would concede the slightest detail and finally agreed upon acceptable compromises.
Dekkak would rescue Elinor and bring her to me, which was, of course, my primary concern. To my dismay, she refused to agree to my “no harm to humans” addendum and stated only that she and her demons would show restraint. Mzatal or Rhyzkahl could have driven a harder bargain, but I’d reached the limits of my powers of persuasion. Yet deep down I understood that for a mission such as the one I’d outlined, where her forces would be facing armed resistance, she simply couldn’t swear to do no harm.
Didn’t mea
n I had to like it, though.
Incursions by her clans would cease until the spring equinox. She advised me that she had no control over the actions of other clans, but with her demons out of the picture, rift activity would drop by seventy-percent or more.
Also, any viable pods left at Fed Central, including David Hawkins from Grounds for Arrest, would get the ilius support needed to successfully complete the pod process.
Lastly, before this full moon had waned to half, she would surrender the remains of the Dirty Thirty via the rift by the nexus.
In return for these concessions, I would deliver the blades to her no later than the spring equinox. Rather than the six warlords she’d originally demanded, four would remain on my property until I turned over the blades. Two reyza, a kehza, and the zhurn, all responsible for hunting game animals on their own for food. No humans, pets, or livestock. The warlords were also forbidden from attacking or deliberately causing harm to any resident or guest on my property—whether human, demon, animal, or lord—except in self-defense. At the same time, all sentient creatures under my authority would similarly refrain from attacking or deliberately causing harm to the “visiting” warlords.
The rift by the nexus would remain open until I fulfilled my end of the bargain.
And, finally, Dekkak would return to the demon realm with one human “guest”—a.k.a. hostage—who would be condemned to slavery and/or death should I fail or break my oath. Though I’d managed to negotiate her down to just the one hostage, sick heartache remained that anyone would have to go at all.
We repeated the terms one last time. The whole thing sucked from top to bottom, but my head and heart told me this was as good as I could possibly get under the circumstances.
“I agree to the terms and give my oath that I will abide by them,” I pronounced.
Dekkak inhaled, as if drawing in my words. “My honor and my blood bind me to this covenant,” she intoned, then with a claw the length of my forearm, gestured toward where my knife lay on the slab.
I picked it up, abruptly aware that I hadn’t the faintest idea what the protocol was for blood oaths. For summonings, I’d always made cuts in my forearm, just deep enough to nick the surface veins. But that felt insufficient for an oath of this magnitude.
A twitch of movement from Seretis caught my eye. Face carefully blank, he made a fist with his right hand then relaxed it, palm up. Grateful, I gave a small nod, as if merely psyching myself up. He’d seen my befuddlement and offered a hint, reminding me of how Mzatal always cut across his palm for ritual work.
The palm it was then.
I adjusted my grip on the knife, casually shifting a few inches to my left to keep Seretis within my line of sight. I had faith that he’d give me a sign if it looked as if I was about to make a fatal faux pas.
Dekkak snapped her wings in the universal demon sign of impatience. Pretending to ignore her, I placed the edge of the knife against the meat of my palm then closed my hand around the blade like I’d seen Mzatal do.
Then again, the lords don’t have to worry about permanently severing tendons, I thought sourly. I steeled myself and silently counted to three then pulled the knife through my grip as if drawing it from a sheath.
Fuckingshitgoddamn ow that hurt! Breathing through clenched teeth, I opened my hand to reveal the long gash then looked up at Dekkak expectantly.
She drew a claw across her own palm, opening a wound that dripped blood in a steady stream onto the black slab and its silvery inlay.
Without any warning, the nexus vortex reversed, sucking the arcane downward. My legs nearly buckled as my body abruptly felt impossibly heavy, as if gravity had quadrupled in strength.
Dekkak bellowed as her wings drooped under the arcane pressure, but quickly recovered from her surprise and peered intently down, making no move to stop the flow of blood. Her eyes narrowed with avid curiosity, as if trying to discern the reason for the shift in the vortex.
Crap! I didn’t know what was going on, but I didn’t want her to break my nexus by continuing to bleed all over it and gum up the works. Nor did I want to give away any nexus-y secrets to an imperator.
“Dekkak! Off my nexus with the blood. Now!” I spoke with as much force as I could muster while weighing five hundred pounds.
She utterly ignored me and spattered more blood, scrutinizing the slab.
The bindings and protections around the nexus dimmed briefly, like a brownout. Whatever this reaction to her blood was, it sucked a shitload of power. Power I needed. If I couldn’t find a way to make her stop—
The sigil from the notebook. The one Szerain had told me to memorize.
Use it if—when—you want Dekkak to pay close attention to what you’re saying.
I certainly needed that superpower now. Fighting against the steady downdraft, I traced the little sigil before me then spoke into it.
“Imperator Dekkak. Stop bleeding onto my nexus, or I will withdraw agreement.” I could only hope that we weren’t already done with the oath-swearing.
Her gaze lifted from the black surface, and for the barest moment she seemed . . . confused. Then she growled low and wove rakkuhr over the wound as if she hadn’t been intentionally painting my slab red a moment earlier. The instant the blood stopped striking the nexus, the vortex returned to its normal updraft.
Hot damn. It worked.
“The agreement is made,” she said, giving zero indication that she remembered my ordering her around. “The oath is in the making.” She extended her wounded hand then waited, eyeing me.
Seretis turned his hand palm up, shifted it forward an inch then flicked his eyes at Dekkak.
Got it. I held out my injured hand.
“Now we seal our blood oath on this pact,” she rumbled then seized my arm and swiped her thick, rough tongue over the slice.
I choked back a squeak of surprise and did my best to look as if that hadn’t been really weird and kind of gross. Dekkak released me, still holding her own gashed hand out.
Oh. Eeeeeeew! She’d peeled off the rakkuhr bandaid, and the bleeding had pretty much stopped, but that didn’t change the fact that I was clearly expected to lick an open wound on a big demon hand with a palm the size of my torso.
But if I hesitated any longer, I’d look weak. Steeling myself, I grabbed her massive wrist with both hands then glommed my tongue right smack onto the squishy middle of the gash and gave it the kind of girl-on-girl action this deal deserved.
I released her wrist and stepped back, keeping a confident smile in place and an iron hold on the urge to scrub my face and mouth.
“Bound by blood and oath, it is done,” Dekkak proclaimed, dissipating the privacy ward. “I go for the shell of Elinor Bayliss.”
Before I could ask if she needed directions, she spread her wings and let out a roar that shook the air. Slugthing, moving faster than a creature that big or that ugly had a right to move, wrapped Seretis in tentacles and tossed him bodily into the rift. Dekkak bounded up and over, landing twenty feet beyond Rhyzkahl’s orbit. Slugthing followed.
The rift crackled with magenta flame, and a horde of creatures the size of large cats boiled forth. Flyers and walkers and slitherers. All colors and all forms. Moving in unison like a flock of birds, they converged to swarm around Dekkak. Potency coalesced around her as her deft hands bound and anchored rakkuhr.
Bryce’s orders to the security personnel crackled in my ear. Assemble by the nexus. Keep clear of the demons.
Yulz thrashed in the net as the arcane bindings weakened. Cursing, I dragged my attention from Dekkak then unanchored the bindings and speed-chanted the dismissal. With a flash of blinding light and a ripping crack, Yulz was gone.
A circle of magenta and orange light the size of a manhole appeared on the ground before Dekkak. I twitched in shock. It was a rift. A perfectly circular rift that was expanding by the second. Sh
e wasn’t flying to get Elinor like I’d assumed she would do. She was taking a shortcut through an arcane sinkhole.
I yanked my phone off my belt, found the number I needed and hit the call button.
A cool female voice answered. “DIRT HQ. How may I—”
“This is A.C. Kara Gillian,” I interrupted, then rattled off my security code. “A rift is about to open in Beaulac, Louisiana. Best estimate is near the Post Office on Harper street. All non-essential personnel in a one mile radius need to be evacuated, on my authority, and yes, I’m aware that radius includes Fed Central. This is a confirmed event. Do not waste time sending this up and down channels.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, completely unruffled. In the background I heard lightning fast typing. “Your security code has been accepted. I’m transmitting the order for an evacuation of all non-essential personnel within a one-mile radius of the Harper Street Post Office in Beaulac, Louisiana, including the Federal Joint Agency Command Center. Do you also wish to order a patient evacuation from the medical facility there?”
“No, there’s not enough time,” I said, concentrating on keeping my voice even. “They’ll be safer and more secure where they are.” I mentally crossed fingers and toes that everyone else would feel the same way.
“Of course, ma’am. Are you able to provide an estimated time frame and/or intensity of the predicted rift?”
I cast a worried glance at Dekkak and the widening sinkhole-rift. The original version of my plan had Dekkak flying to Fed Central, giving me a cushion of at least twenty minutes for people to evacuate. “Time frame is very soon. Within the next couple of minutes.” How many people would be able to get out in such a short amount of time? “Estimated rift size is less than fifty feet with moderate intensity.” I held off specifying that was the diameter, since I had no idea what it would be like at the other end.
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m forwarding that now. Do you have any further information?”