I raised an eyebrow. “How do you intend to manage it?”
“I will tell him the truth and outline the consequences.”
I was surprised Mzatal didn’t shrivel away from the look I gave him. “Dude. Seriously? You expect him to stop crushing on me because you forbid it?”
Mzatal frowned, contemplative. “Perhaps not ideal given the entanglement of human emotions, though there is no time for it to drag on,” he said, as if he actually knew what he was talking about. “If he knows you have no interest and sees how his distractions have affected his work, he will subside enough for now.”
My withering look became glacial. “Boss, you’re completely awesome in many ways, but you are so off-base with this it’s not even funny.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve already ramped ‘No Interest’ up to eleven on the dial and, at this point, he doesn’t care if his work suffers.” I took a big gulp of coffee, then ran my fingers through my tangled hair. “Let me deal with it. Normally I’m not into direct confrontation with this sort of shit, but there’s isn’t enough time for it to fizzle out on its own.”
Mzatal regarded me with that damned unreadable mask which he’d slipped on as I was talking. Great. Lords weren’t much on being told they were wrong, but it had to be said.
After a long moment he gave a nod. “You are correct. It will serve better—for all of us—if you are the one to do this.”
“Damn,” I said, taken aback. I gave him a wry smile. “I was hoping you’d tell me I was wrong, and that I should simply slap him or something.” I chuckled, then sighed and shook my head. “Does he have some sort of favorite food or escape or activity?”
Mzatal appeared to consider for a moment. “His focal activities in the last months have been physical challenges: the cliff stairs, free climbing, running, swimming. He loses himself and finds himself there. He does have a particular liking for fruit ices.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Helpful?”
I nodded and drained the coffee mug. “Have some of those fruit ice things ready,” I told him. I threw the covers off and headed to the bath chamber, only realizing when I was neck deep in the water that I’d been nude. Oh well. Making Mzatal see my flabby butt was more than sufficient payback for having to confront Idris.
After the awesome bath, I headed to the workroom with my notes. I totally was not looking forward to seeing Idris, but it needed to be done, and especially before Mzatal attempted to do it his way. I snorted in amusement at Mzatal’s surprising naiveté. Forbid the crush. Right. Had the dude never read Romeo and Juliet?
The workroom was empty, and so I got busy. Mzatal had taught me each of the sigils for the foundation ring of the beacon, and even if I couldn’t align the thing yet, I could practice setting it up. It was new and pretty damn exciting. Except for the last part. Every time I tried to progress from the tenth to the eleventh, the whole series destabilized and collapsed. Every single time, and I had no idea why.
On the fifth try, I thought I had it. The tenth ring held stable. I paused, took a deep breath, and began to trace the eleventh, and before I could even blink the whole thing unwound and dissipated. “Fucking shitholes!”
Someone cleared their throat behind me. I cast a glowering glance back to see Idris. “I can’t get the stupid thing to set,” I said and brusquely started tracing anew.
“You’re starting out wrong, and by the time you get to the end, it’s propagated the error ten times,” he told me. “But you’re only missing one connection,” he said, as he moved in closer. “I’ll, um, show you if you want.”
“Sure, I’d appreciate that.” No denying he knew what the hell he was doing. And then we’d have The Talk. Yeah, that was going to be fun. Sigh.
Idris moved up close behind and to my right. He looked down at Mzatal’s notes on the table. “Think of each sigil as a section of code in a computer program,” he said. “If you don’t tell it how to move on to the next part, it won’t work.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Idris. I can barely turn my computer on. A different analogy please?”
He smiled and traced the first two sigils. “See? Just tie the final loop of the first into the initial one of the second, and you’ll be stable the rest of the way. Like, um, Christmas tree lights. Go ahead. Try it.”
I peered at his loops, then smiled as I damn near felt understanding click in. “Now that makes sense!” I finished the series and stood gazing at my accomplishment with pride. I glanced over to Idris to find him watching me, not the series, with a dreamy not-all-there look in his eyes.
Shit. I hate this, I thought as I took a half step away from him.
He blinked and looked from me to the series, then back to me. “Oh, yeah. You did it. Just needed that one tweak,” he said, then fidgeted. “Kara, have you ever been out to the little waterfall? Um, I wouldn’t mind showing it to you sometime. Maybe tomorrow. You’ll like it.” He stepped closer.
I took a deep breath and released it, steeling myself for what I had to do. “Idris,” I said, consciously keeping my voice very calm. “I’m about to say five words that no man ever wants to hear.”
Idris blinked at me.
“‘You’re a great guy, but—’” I shook my head. “Idris, this ‘you and me’ can’t happen for way too many reasons to count.”
He stared, mouth open for a moment. “But…but you’re not even giving it a chance! What about the hug the other day and the talks we’ve had. You can’t say all that didn’t happen!”
I pursed my lips. “I consider you a friend. And I’m from the South. We’re some seriously huggy folk down there.” I let out a sigh. “Idris, you didn’t even see that I’d finished the series. You’re totally distracted. I can’t afford any distractions, and neither can you.” My gaze narrowed, and I pulled the neckline of my shirt down enough to really show the sigils on my chest. “This is how high the stakes are now. If you hadn’t been as focused as you were to retrieve me, Rhyzkahl and Jesral would’ve succeeded. I’d be their thrall, their weapon, and they’d probably have Szerain’s blade by now. Where do you think that would leave you and Mzatal?”
He looked shell-shocked, so I continued as I pulled my shirt back up. “They’re not giving up,” I told him. “I have to stay on my toes, and I need you to be at my back, as a friend and ally.”
The poor guy took a step back, looking as if he’d had a bucket of ice water thrown on him. He shook his head, face flushing, then turned and hurried out without another word.
“Fuuuuuuck,” I groaned. I hoped to hell that Mzatal had been monitoring and had the damn fruit ices ready.
Fretting about Idris, I settled into practicing the series. To my relief, I had no trouble getting it to remain stable. Even his computer program analogy began to make sense, now that I understood that the sigils and series were simply chunks of instructions, ways to shape potency for each step of the process.
I continued to practice and trace, losing myself in the focus and pausing only to grab a quick lunch that Faruk brought.
Shortly after the midday tone, Idris returned. I looked over at him, my brow furrowed, totally unsure what to say, if anything. He looked calm. Really calm. A curl of dread formed in my chest. Shit. Had he simply buried it all?
Idris smiled and headed my way. I returned the smile cautiously. He stopped a couple of feet away and leaned against the edge of the table.
“Thanks, Kara,” he said, his voice sounding as calm as he looked. “I needed that.”
“You’re okay?” I asked uncertainly. “Dude, I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings or anything. I swear.”
Idris ran his hand over his hair. “Yeah, I’m good. For real. I let everything get all blown out of proportion,” he said, opening his hands and shrugging. “I went and ran the stairs. Talked to Jekki and the reyza Juntihr. Everything’s straight now.” He gave me a sincere smile. “You don’t have to worry about me stalking you anymore.”
“It wasn’t that,” I said with a grimace. “I mean, not all that.” I paus
ed. “Okay, that was a lot of it.” I gave him a wry smile. “But it was also that I don’t think I’m the one who can make you happy. I think I’d be a better wingman for you than a girlfriend.” I gave a snort. “Because, dude, have you not figured out that I have some major issues?”
Idris laughed. “Yeah, you do,” he said. “Anyway, I realized that I don’t need any girlfriend right now. Not until some of the shit settles.” He drew a breath and released it slowly. “And yeah, I care about you. A lot. And that’s one of the reasons it’s important for me to focus on what we’re doing here, with the ritual and everything else. Any one of us loses focus—you, Mzatal, me—the whole thing caves.”
Some of my tension slid away, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks,” I said. “Time to get back to work then.” He grinned in response and within a minute had surrounded himself with a ring of floaters.
Smiling, I watched him for a moment while I wondered what the hell he did to chill out so quickly. We both worked in focused silence for a while, me on my basics, and he on diagram diagnostics.
After about a half hour, Idris stood in the center of a complete diagram, looking it over and making minor tweaks. “This is one thing I love about working in the demon realm,” he said, “being able to use the floaters instead of chalk. I mean, apart from it being way more efficient, it’s so much easier to make adjustments.” He shook his head, let out a low whistle. “I still can’t believe you summoned Lord Rhyzkahl. On your own. With chalk.”
I lifted my shoulders in a self-conscious shrug. “I didn’t think it was that big a deal.”
The exasperated look he gave me told me exactly how naïve I sounded.
I cast my gaze over the shimmering ring around him, then looked back at him, frowning. “Wait. If I didn’t use chalk, then how the hell else would I do it on Earth?”
“Well, with floaters,” he said with a duh! tone. “But of course you haven’t finished the shikvihr, so that’s not possible for you yet.”
My bafflement increased. “You can use floaters on Earth? And what does the shikvihr have to do with it?”
He looked up at me, blinked. “Everything!” Idris took a big breath. “Okay, so you’ve seen the shikvihr, right?” He didn’t even wait for me to nod, simply hurried on, clearly excited by the topic. “See, there’s eleven rings to it. Each ring learned here causes a permanent enhancement to potency-holding and general skills usage. In the demon realm, you can dance the rings you know and use the specific attributes of those rings. With me so far?”
“Sure,” I said. “It’s like a magic kata-thing that trains mind and body and all that.”
A pained expression flickered over his face, but apparently I wasn’t wrong enough for him to correct the finer details of my analogy. “There’s an exponential increase between the rings, so it’s a huge advantage to learn as much as possible,” he continued. “And even though you can’t dance the shikvihr on Earth unless you know the whole thing, the passive enhancement does carry over, so it boosts summoning and warding and stuff.”
“So a summoner on Earth could have it, but it wouldn’t be anything obvious.”
“Yeah, but it’s not common anymore since it can only be learned in the demon realm from a lord. Plus, it’s a super big challenge to learn.”
Considering I’d never even heard of it before, I had to agree with him about its not being common. “But what does that have to do with using floaters on Earth?” I asked again.
He grinned. “Sorry. If you complete the full shikvihr here, then you can actually dance the shikvihr, floaters and all, on Earth. Once you’ve laid the shikvihr, you can use other floaters. No need for chalk and blood!”
Well, that sounded cool as shit. Looked like the damn thing was worth learning after all and not simply as a stepping stone for returning home.
Mzatal entered, glanced at me, then approached the diagram Idris had created, eyes traveling over it in assessment.
Idris made one final adjustment. “I’ve reset the parameters you wanted, my lord. How does it look?”
“Stable,” Mzatal said, nodding approval. “It will serve. Go lay it in the chamber now.”
Idris grinned and dissipated the diagram with several broad sweeps of his arms, then headed out.
Mzatal’s gaze followed him as he exited.
“Well, that whole confrontation went better than expected,” I said.
“Idris is an exceptional young man,” Mzatal said, his eyes still on the empty doorway.
“He’s amazing,” I said. “Crazy talented and, holy shit, really has his head on straight.”
Mzatal’s mouth tightened. “Unusual focus and talent.”
There was something he wasn’t saying. “What’s wrong?”
He finally pulled his gaze back to me, expression oddly troubled, which made no sense considering that Idris had done nothing but be generally Awesome.
“Katashi reported that Idris’s biological mother had only a smattering of arcane ability,” Mzatal said. “It does not fit.”
“Well maybe his dad kicked ass?” I offered. “Or maybe he’s a genetic mutant. I mean, is arcane ability always genetic?”
“No, not always,” he said. “Though many attempts to manipulate potential proved ill-advised. Perhaps a high-potency father, but one completely unknown to Katashi.” He shook his head slowly. “I cannot pinpoint the issue, but it gnaws at me. Especially after witnessing Idris’s process today.”
“Process?” I asked. “You mean, how he dealt with me telling him to back off?”
Mzatal nodded. “It was swift and definitive,” he said. “He considered, analyzed, and accepted. Another noteworthy aspect.”
I blew out my breath. “Yeah, I’ve never met a nineteen-year-old who could react that maturely.” I snorted. “Hell, for that matter I’m not sure I’ve ever met a thirty- nine-year-old with that much maturity.”
“Agreed,” he said. He dropped his arm over my shoulders, surprising me with the gesture, though only for an instant. It felt curiously natural and utterly platonic, and I found myself not minding it one little bit.
“In light of other suspicions,” Mzatal continued, “I believe Katashi knows more than he has told.” A hint of suppressed anger colored his tone.
“You train pretty much all summoners who come to the demon realm, right?” I asked with a slight frown.
“Most, yes,” he said. “The other qaztahl—in the past—have sent promising summoners to me, those whom they wished to excel. Some were not sent to me, though, if they were only to receive basic training.”
“How many summoners are there?” I asked with a tilt of my head. “I mean, I used to think there were hundreds, but that was before I knew about the cataclysm.”
Mzatal drew a deep breath. “There have never been hundreds of summoners. Hundreds, even thousands, with the potential, yes. However only a small percentage of those have adequate innate talent along with the ability and desire to channel the energies. Often the propensity found other outlets. Currently, there are fewer than a hundred with potential identified, and barely thirty who have performed a summoning.” His arm tensed over my shoulders. “If Katashi is to be believed.”
My own tension wound higher. “And you lords, you really need summoners, don’t you.”
“Yes, we do,” he said, looking over at me. “What troubles you?”
I pulled away from him and looked into his face. “How do y’all find summoners?”
His eyes met mine steadily. “Since the ways reopened, most work is done through Katashi and his agents. Demons—kehza and nyssor—assist as well with assessments.” His brow creased. “Kara, what is it that disturbs you?”
My pulse pounded unevenly as my tension wound into a tight knot inside my chest. “How…how do you make sure those with ability become summoners?”
“It is not a matter of making sure they become summoners,” he replied, eyes on mine and a hint of concern showing through. “For the generations during and afte
r the cataclysm, those hundreds of years while the ways to Earth were closed, skills faded. As the skills were not used, the genetics shifted as well, as a continuous flow of potency is critical.” Mzatal spread his hands. “There simply are not as many potential summoners as there once were. Those that are located are assessed, and if they show promise, then training evaluations can be made. Thus, we are slowly rebuilding the population.”
I took a step back, shaking my head, wishing I could dislodge the sense that something was seriously fucked up. “I mean, if you knew of someone with the ability, you’d make sure he or she ended up in training, right?”
“That opportunity is provided, yes,” he said. “Through Katashi and his agents.” The concern in his eyes deepened. “Kara?”
“Before Tracy Gordon died,” I said, very aware of the unsteadiness of my voice, “he said, ‘they make sure we become summoners.’ Tracy’s grandparents were summoners, and his parents died under strange circumstances. If my dad hadn’t died, I’d never have been raised by my aunt—my summoner aunt.” My hands tightened into fists, nails biting into my palms. “How far do you go to make sure summoners become summoners?”
Mzatal’s face abruptly slid into the unreadable mask. Without a word, he pivoted and exited to the balcony, hands clenched into fists behind his back.
I stared after him, going cold. “Mzatal?” I hesitated, then followed him out. “Mzatal, what the fuck?” I asked, my gut clenching even tighter as I stood behind him. My dad had been killed by a drunk driver, or so I’d believed until recently.
Have you ever looked at the accident report? Tracy had said. I have. He shouldn’t have died in that wreck.
My breath clogged in my throat. “Did…did you have my dad killed?”
Mzatal dropped his head and gripped the rail, not answering.
A red haze filled my vision. “Did you kill my dad?” I hauled off and punched him hard in the back by the right kidney. He tensed, but I didn’t give a shit about reprisals or consequences. “Did you? Answer me, motherfucker!”