“Yes, we do need to talk,” I told him, relieved that he would, at least, still talk to me.
He lifted one hand to my cheek and, even though muted, I felt his awareness that he was face to face with losing me, felt the anguish behind that knowledge. “I do not want to lose you,” he said, voice laden with the grief of that possibility. “Cannot.”
I covered his hand in mine, leaned into the gesture. “Then let’s work this out.”
Mzatal exhaled in deep relief, leaned down, touched his forehead to mine and closed his eyes as I pulled him close. We sure as hell had some major serious holyfuckOMG looming Issues to deal with, but this was a huge start. But another big-ass elephant lurked in the room, and I had to ask about it.
“How is Paul?”
The color drained from his face, and he straightened and looked away. Cold gripped me. “Mzatal, is he dead?” I asked, grief already rising for the good-humored and brilliant young man.
“No!” He snapped his eyes back to mine, and I watched him pygah, as if he couldn’t bear to even think of such an outcome. “No,” he said again, less sharply. “He lives. The critical physical damage has been healed.”
My worry grew for both Paul and Mzatal. “He’ll get better though, right?”
He shook his head slowly. “I do not know,” he said in a voice utterly devoid of luster. A heartbeat later he straightened, looked over my head with unfocused eyes and let out a low curse. “I left Elofir overwhelmed in the plexus and must return,” he said, attention returning to me. “There is much disruption from the Mraztur’s abuse of the nodes.”
A coil of worry abruptly unwound within me as comprehension dawned. He was deeply engaged in the plexus. That’s why he resisted the summoning. “What about Idris?”
“He will recover fully.” The hint of a smile that accompanied the words flickered and faded. “Though he bears the burden of his sister’s ordeal.”
“Will you let me come back with you?” I asked, making the decision. “And Bryce as well?”
A smile brushed across his mouth, seeming foreign among the lines of worry and stress. “It is your home, zharkat,” he said, like a promise.
I nodded, then turned toward the stairs and hollered, “BRYCE! EILAHN! GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE! WE’RE GOING!”
I looked back at Mzatal barely in time to see the wince, quickly masked, though it came with a trace of amusement. The basement door flew open, and Bryce came down three steps at a time, duffel slung over his shoulder. Eilahn followed more slowly, primarily because of the large cat carrier that already emitted ominous growls.
“Paul’s alive,” I hurried to tell Bryce, since I knew that was foremost in his mind. “He has some more recovery to go, but he’s on his way.” Guilt twinged at the truth-bending, but the relief on Bryce’s face assuaged some of it.
“What of Szerain?” Mzatal asked. “He is not here.”
“Um, no, he’s at work,” I said, realizing how bizarre that sounded as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
Mzatal’s brows drew together. “I require use of your phone,” he stated, then waited while I fetched it from the nightstand by the futon and returned. I dialed Ryan’s number and handed the phone to him.
Mzatal held it to his ear with thumb and middle finger, and I was close enough to hear the Hey, babe! What’s up? as Ryan answered. I muffled a snort of laughter at the annoyed look on Mzatal’s face.
“I am not your babe,” he began, eyes narrowed, and then continued in demon which I couldn’t follow without the grove. There was a brief pause, no doubt to give Ryan/Szerain time to get away from other people, and then more conversation, some of it heated. Finally Mzatal touched the end call button and handed it back to me.
I replaced it on the nightstand, sobering as I returned to him. There was no mistaking that part of their conversation had held anger. “Boss, he saved me,” I said quietly. “Him and Bryce both.”
His expression softened some as he met my eyes. “I know, and I expressed my gratitude for such.”
Of course he’d known. He’d likely read the details of the event from me the instant he arrived.
Mzatal shifted his attention to Bryce. “I am in your debt, Bryce Thatcher,” he said, “for this and because I violated our agreement concerning Paul.”
Agreement? I wondered, then realized that even a simple “I’ll keep Paul safe,” from Mzatal to Bryce would count as such.
Face like stone, Bryce simply gave a micro-nod, while I wondered if any other human had ever heard those words from him.
Mzatal took my hand. “Then let us depart.”
Chapter 46
While Fuzzykins yowled her evil lungs out, Mzatal draped his arm over my shoulders and pulled me close. The feline protests cut off as he made the transfer, then started right back up again the instant we arrived in Mzatal’s plexus. In front of us, Elofir startled visibly at our sudden caterwaul-enhanced appearance and nearly fumbled the iridescent potency strands he had woven into a stabilizing coil. Beautiful but complex and difficult as well, to judge by the sweat that plastered his shirt to his torso.
He quickly recovered his composure and anchored the strands, flicked his gaze to me along with a smile thick with relief. There’d obviously been discussion of me in the past day.
I returned the smile. “Lord Elofir. Good to see you again.”
“Kara Gillian. Welcome back,” he said warmly even as he returned his attention to the complicated stabilizer.
“Where’s Paul?” Bryce asked Mzatal tersely, clearly in no mood for chit chat.
Mzatal said something to Elofir in demon with a rough meaning of I’ll be right back to help with this mess, then gave Bryce his full attention.
“This way,” he said and swept from the room with Bryce right on his heels. I followed a few steps behind, while Eilahn removed the cat carrier from the plexus. The sound of growl-hiss-screeched complaints gradually faded as they moved away.
We didn’t have far to go. About thirty feet down the hall from the plexus, Mzatal gestured to a doorless arch that led into a room I remembered as empty when I was last here. Now its glass wall, which normally looked out over sky and sea, was covered with a makeshift heavy curtain, and a bed had been moved in. Instead of bright natural light, a soft amber glow from sigils placed in the corners of the room gave the space a homey, comfortable feel. Nurturing. Even without monitors and wires and IVs, it felt like a place of healing, a refuge for someone ill or injured. Like a hospital room should be.
Paul lay on the bed, eyes closed, pale, and looking weirdly delicate, as if the slightest touch would shatter him. To my surprise, Seretis sat on the other side of the bed with one hand on Paul’s shoulder and the other on his thigh. Healing him, I knew, and in another heartbeat of consideration, I realized that Mzatal had either called in favors or incurred debt to help restore Paul.
Though I didn’t know much about how the debt game worked among the lords, I had a feeling that Mzatal was far more accustomed to holding a debt than owing one. That he would do so for a human—not even a summoner human—told me a great deal about his affection for Paul. And his guilt.
Gone were the hideous burns that had covered most of Paul’s body. No scars replaced them, nor even healing flesh. His skin was smooth and unmarred, as if the terrible injury had never happened, and a shadow of peach-fuzz new hair growth covered his scalp. To look at him there on the bed, he appeared perfectly fine, simply resting.