Time to lighten the mood in this room. “Wait,” I said with a laugh. “This isn’t at all like the Christmases I’m used to. There’s no smell of burnt turkey.” I grinned. “Tessa can’t cook for shit, and neither can I.”
Some of the uncertainty faded from Mzatal’s expression. He downed half a glass of wine, his other hand resting on the back of the chair. “The faas have prepared a meal that they assure me contains your favorites from here and even some from Earth,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “It is unlikely anything will be burnt unless I specifically asked for it, and then it would be under protest.”
“No, that’s quite all right.” I shook my head emphatically. “Not-burned sounds good to me.” I looked up and gave him a teasing smile. “Mzatal, sit the hell down so we can all relax, okay?”
He gave a slight nod and pulled the chair out. Finally.
With that the mood eased enough for us to engage in some light conversation while we waited for the food. I told the others how Tessa and I always went to Lake o’ Butter pancake house the morning after Christmas, before hitting the stores for the day-after-Christmas sales. Idris told us about how his family had a tradition of getting together on Christmas eve, making cocoa, and taking turns at verses of Christmas carols with on-the-spot, fabricated lyrics. He grinned so much in telling the story—and during his rendition of a snortingly funny verse of Silent Night—that I knew he really considered them family, though they’d adopted him as a teen.
Mzatal finished his wine and set the glass aside to be speedily refilled by Faruk. He reached into his pockets and pulled out two little boxes of delicately carved wood, then placed one before each of us. “I do greatly appreciate your work and your efforts.”
I set my glass down, hesitated, then reached for the box and opened it. Inside was a ring. Uh oh. I slid a glance to Idris. With relief, I saw he had a ring, too, and with that the weirdness factor evaporated.
Intrigued, I lifted the ring out of the box. Silver and gold interwove to form an intricate yet solid band, and a rich blue stone sparkled in the setting. I exhaled and lifted my gaze to Mzatal. “It’s beautiful,” I said, smiling. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome, Kara,” he said. “It suits you well.”
Idris sat, stunned to silence, staring at his ring. His was silver and a dark grey metal, with a deep red stone. He looked up at Mzatal and back at the ring. “Holy shit,” he breathed, then looked up again, a smile lighting his face like a kid at, well, Christmas. “My lord, wow. Thank you,” he said and carefully removed it from the box.
I wasn’t one to wear jewelry much, but I knew I’d wear this. I slid it onto the middle finger of my right hand, instantly loving the look and feel of it. It wasn’t girly or prissy at all. It was almost like a man’s ring but for a woman—solid and strong, yet still utterly lovely. “Mzatal,” I said, guilt tugging at me, “I didn’t get you anything.”
He shook his head, face betraying nothing of expectation or disappointment. “You did not know. Enjoy.”
Idris, in his own world, slipped his ring on. “Holy fuck,” he said in an extended exhale. I grinned. Apparently he liked his ring.
Jekki, Faruk, and two other faas brought the first wave of food. They burbled and fussed so much over everything, I had no doubt that they got a kick out of the whole concept.
We settled into some serious eating. Mzatal sat and watched us with a small, steady smile on his face. He drank wine and picked at a plate of fruit, cheeses, and some sort of custard drizzled with what looked like honey, while Idris and I stuffed ourselves and swapped more silly Christmas stories. Gestamar listened and rumbled in reyza-laughter periodically.
I’d had a little wine, and Mzatal was way too quiet. “Y’all ever have parties or celebrations here?” I asked him. “I mean back before the cataclysm, when there were more humans.”
Mzatal twirled the stem of his glass between his fingers. “Yes,” he said with a slow contemplative nod. “In the atrium and the rooms that open from it.”
I tilted my head and peered at him. “And what were those like? Did those seventeenth-century folks know how to get down?” I asked, grinning.
Mzatal lifted an eyebrow and hesitated a second, likely reading the meaning of “get down” from me, then smiled. “They were lively indeed. I tended to observe from the mezzanine,” he said, his smile widening. “Unless, of course, a reveler caught my eye.”
Okay. Now that was interesting. “Oh? Do go on,” I urged.
He took a drink before continuing. “It was usually a smooth process. I would catch the glances thrown my way and note which appealed most in the moment,” he said with a slight shrug. “Later I would descend to the atrium and rescue the chosen one from the throngs.” Amusement lit his face. “They did so love to be rescued.”
“I’m sure they did,” I said, laughing.
Gestamar snorted, and I slid a glance to him. “I bet you saw some interesting shit,” I said.
“Much,” the reyza said, rumbling. “Bedding a qaztahl ranked highly for many, and wine loosened inhibitions and dampened fear.” He bared his teeth and looked at Mzatal. “I know a story they will enjoy. Tell them of Marguerite Deshayes.”
Go, Gestamar. I leaned forward. “Yes, tell us about Marguerite.”
Idris sipped wine and waited, a look on his face as if he couldn’t believe we might get a story from the lord.
Mzatal gave Gestamar a look then stared down into his glass. I kept my eyes on him, knowing how to play the waiting game. He shook his head and lifted his eyes to me. “It is a truly silly tale,” he said, a smile playing on his lips.
“The best kind,” I said, grinning. “Spill it!”
Gestamar rumbled, and Mzatal settled back in his chair. “It was your year, sixteen thirty-two,” Mzatal said. “When I arrived in the atrium, Marguerite, a busty and hitherto unobtrusive woman in her late thirties, approached and sought to press her advantage, obviously quite inebriated.”
Gestamar elaborated. “She threw her arms around his neck and pressed everything against him. Including her advantage.”
Mzatal gave a grudging nod. “I simply put her aside and thought the matter done,” he said. “However, when I ascended to my chambers later, I found her naked at the top of the stairs unable to get past the warding to my bedchamber, which had likely been her goal. And I never bed in my bed.” He shook his head and smiled. “She was spread, and ready, and reaching for me.”
I laughed, though I almost felt sorry for the woman. “And what did you do?”
“She was far too much in the wine,” Mzatal said, “and would not have approached me without. I moved to step past her so Gestamar could carry her down, and…” He paused, drained his glass.
The reyza tapped the table with a claw, rumbling. “If you do not finish it, I will.”
I looked to Gestamar. “I think you’d better. I have a feeling he’s going to leave out all the juicy bits.”
Gestamar snorted. “She grabbed his cock through his breeches and held on like a graa on a tagan fruit.” I gathered from the way the reyza clenched his hand that he meant to convey with great ferocity.
Mzatal cursed softly in demon. “To this day I do not know how she managed it.”
Gestamar continued. “She yelled out all of the things she could do for him, and he was…in shock.”
I didn’t think I’d ever before heard a reyza rumble that heavily with laughter.
Mzatal leveled a frown at Gestamar. “It was unexpected and hurt quite a lot.” He looked back to Idris and me. “As Gestamar said, I was indeed stunned. Though I had no physical shielding active, the assault was still startling,” he said, then hesitated. “I first tried to simply wrest her hand away.”
“That was unwise,” Gestamar commented.
Idris cringed noticeably. I burst out laughing. “Oh no.”
Mzatal cleared his throat. “When I recovered from my error, I breathed a pygah and used potency to prize her fingers off. And still the
woman screamed what she could do for me,” he said with a shake of his head and an amused smile. “I stayed well away from her reach.”
I wiped tears away from laughing so hard. “Did she ever leave? Or did you have her carted off?”
“Mzatal set a triple pygah,” Gestamar told us, “which, along with the wine she had consumed, eased her greatly.”
Mzatal nodded. “The faas reclothed her, and Gestamar carried her back to her quarters. And I continued to mine.”
“He continued slowly and carefully to his chambers,” Gestamar clarified.
I tried hard not to snort my wine. “Did she remember any of it the next day?”
“Only vague remnants,” Mzatal said, “though I remembered all.”
“And the parties were never the same after that, I bet.”
“I maintained light physical shielding among the humans,” he said with a smile. “But Marguerite…” He paused and his eyes went distant as though remembering, a slow smile growing. “All of the delicious acts she screamed out? She could perform every one and more.” His eyes flashed with good humor. “This I determined in the next week when I encountered her by the little waterfall.”
That got even more laughter. “And I bet she was much more fun when she wasn’t blitzed,” I said.
Mzatal raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. I prefer coherent, cognizant, and inclined,” he said. “While inebriated, she was most inclined, but neither coherent nor cognizant.”
I leaned back and sipped my wine. It was clear that the lord was far from chaste, but I had to appreciate his desire for a willing partner in full control of her faculties. Hell, better than a lot of guys back home who’d have taken advantage of a situation like that in a heartbeat.
Mzatal opened his mouth to speak again, then turned and looked at Faruk. He stood abruptly, strode to the faas and crouched while Gestamar hissed softly.
I set my glass down. “What’s going on?”
Mzatal laid his hand on Faruk’s back and spoke softly in demon. The faas seemed to huddle in on itself, tip of its tail trembling like a rattlesnake’s.
Idris glanced over at me. “Faruk is being summoned to Earth.” His brow furrowed. “It doesn’t happen often for her.”
“Her?” I blurted, then grimaced at how stupid that sounded. But none of the faas had any sort of visual or behavioral features to indicate gender. I usually winged it and guessed, but I had a feeling Idris actually knew.
His eyes crinkled. “Yes, and Jekki is male. They’re a mated pair.” His gaze went back to Faruk, and I stood, deeply curious about what a summoning looked like from this side.
Faruk detached her pouch of kek tokens from her belt and tossed it to Gestamar, then laid her hand on Mzatal’s knee. Wind swirled around them, and the whine of a portal overrode the incessant rush of the waterfall. Mzatal stood and stepped backward to the table, eyes on Faruk.
The portal opened with a rush of wind and the stench of sulphur, and a heartbeat later, tendrils of luminescent mist-like potency wreathed the faas, and she disappeared. Jekki chittered, his tail twisting and writhing in what I’d come to recognize as faas agitation.
I remembered to breathe again as the arcane wind died away to nothing. “Do you know who summoned her?”
Mzatal nodded slowly, eyes narrowed. “Rasha Hassan Jalal al-Khouri. I had thought her dead, she has been so long without summoning.”
The name didn’t ring any bells, and I filed it away. I glanced at Gestamar as he moved to clear the residuals from the summoning. A pang of selfish longing tugged, as I wished it had been Gestamar, along with my letters, rather than Faruk. I pushed down my impatience. There were two days yet during this Earth full moon for Gestamar or the other designated letter-carriers, Jekki and Bezik, to be summoned.
Mzatal turned back to Idris and me. “It is late, and we meet early tomorrow,” he said, edge in his voice and the set of his face indicating that the party was over for him. Jekki pressed close to his thigh, and the lord laid a hand on the faas’s head.
I got it. One of his demons was out, and he was back into serious lord mode. I acknowledged with a nod, hesitated, then moved to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’re okay, Boss,” I said smiling up at him. “Thanks for the Christmas.”
He stood unmoving for a heartbeat, then lifted his hands to the sides of my head, leaned in and kissed my forehead. He tucked his hands behind his back again, inclined his head a smidge. “Rest well, Kara Gillian.”
“You too, Mzatal,” I said, then gave Idris a hug before heading out. I looked down at the ring on my right hand and smiled. All in all, it had actually been a pretty decent Christmas.
Chapter 33
Thirty. My hand touched the stone at the end of the pool. I tucked my legs as I glided to a stop, pushed off the end, and began another lap. Fifty laps. That was my goal.
Mzatal’s palace was full of things that were just plain Awesome. The library with three full floors of books and spiral staircases, the greenhouse on the north end of the roof with its collection of weirdest-plants-of-the-demon-realm, the waterfall walkway that spanned the river where it plunged from the cliff in its rainbow cascade to the sea far below.
But hands down, my favorite was the pool that I’d dubbed The Very Awesome Pool of Awesomeness. This wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill indoor pool. Hell, it wasn’t even a really fantastic luxury pool that you might find in a mansion or high-end hotel. No, this thing was glorious. Fed by the river, it was like an indoor grotto, with a large inner pool about twenty-five yards long that was perfect for swimming laps; a far deeper section for safe diving—complete with rocky ledges from which to dive; and numerous pools to the side that were either fed by hot springs or warded to be warm. The main pool, however, stayed cool enough for comfortable swimming. The roof above it was thick resin-glass. Rocks and waterfalls surrounded everything, along with lush tropical plant life. The only thing missing was the sounds of birds and monkeys.
Swimming had become a surprise therapy for me in the past several days. Athletics and I had never gotten along, but strangely enough, I’d actually developed a semi-fondness for swimming laps. I was a more-than-decent swimmer, yet also ridiculously self-conscious; I detested swimming laps at the gym or any other public pool. Here, I had the pool to myself more often than not, and there was usually no one but demons to see me. I could have swum naked if I’d so desired, but in the interest of not traumatizing Idris, I had the zrila make up a bathing suit for me. Actually, I asked for one simple bathing suit, but by the next day I had close to a dozen varying styles in my wardrobe. Apparently the zrila really enjoyed a crafting challenge.
I’d started swimming laps as a spur of the moment, Gee-let’s-see-if-I-can-actually-still-swim-a-few-laps sort of thing, but I soon discovered that when I swam I could forget. I could lose myself in the rhythm of the strokes and the feel of the water, and for that time I wasn’t Kara the demon summoner, or Kara the traumatized survivor of torture. I was simply Kara.
But today, I actually thought about summoning while I swam. None of the three demons bearing my letters had been summoned during this full moon, and I forced myself to control the selfish ache. Faruk had seemed nervous, perhaps even frightened before her summoning, but that could easily have been because she was so seldom summoned. Or was there more to it? It had hurt to be summoned when Idris brought me through, like being dragged through broken glass. And from what I’d seen, it had hurt Katashi as well. Yet I had a feeling it wasn’t anything that Idris was specifically doing or not doing. Even the times I’d summoned Rhyzkahl it had seemed to take him a few seconds to gather himself, to recover.
I finished my laps and propped myself up along the edge of the pool. I cast my gaze up at the rocks to see if any demons were around. There were usually a few here and there, but this time the only one I saw was Gestamar, perched on the diving ledge. As I looked up at him he made a graceful bound down to a rock closer to me, as if sensing I had a question for him.
“Does i
t hurt for y’all to be summoned?” I asked him.
He snorted. “Always. Sometimes more than others, depending on the skill of the summoner and the degree of conjunction.”
“Then why do it?” I asked, brow creased. “Why put up with it? I mean surely it’s not simply for coffee and popcorn and books?”
“We like coffee and popcorn and books,” Gestamar replied.
I laughed. “Okay, I suppose I could see doing it for coffee.” I tilted my head and peered at him. “Is there some other reason you tolerate it?”
The reyza spread his wings wide. “Kri,” he said, then settled his wings in close and bared his teeth.
I waited, then rolled my eyes. “Well, will you tell me?”
Gestamar bared his teeth wider. “Dahn.”
Laughing, I splashed at him. He leaped into the air, nimbly avoiding most of the water, then cannonballed into the pool, thoroughly swamping me. Before I knew it the pool area was filled with demons, and an enormous water fight commenced that rivaled the Epic Snowball Fight at Rhyzkahl’s palace.
I grinned and escaped the pool, then grabbed my robe and retreated down the corridor. Demons certainly knew how to have fun. That was something I never ever would have guessed in a million years.
“They miss having humans around.”
I yelped and turned at the resonant voice. Vahl leaned against the wall of the corridor, arms folded, eyes on me. His skin glistened dark and with vibrant health as though salt scrubs, mud baths, and Mega Vitamins for Skin and Hair were the norm. His casual pose reminded me of a mountain lion, sleek and powerful, beautiful and dangerous.
“Lord Vahl,” I said, and tried not to think about the fact that I was wearing a tank-style bathing suit and nothing else. “You’ve been, ah, watching?”
He gave a nod, smiling a little. “They love to play,” he said with a glance toward the demons. “And they love the different rules needed to play with humans.”
“I’ve noticed that they do love games.” I paused, regarded him. “Michelle says you treat her very well.”