“You stick close to me, kid,” Bryce said as he walked with Paul a short ways down the cracked sidewalk. “We’re going to be hanging back a bit.”

Once they were out of earshot, I looked up at Mzatal. “We’re all upset and worried about Idris, but I need you to please not scare the living hell out of this woman.”

His mouth curved into a frown. “It is not my intention to do so.”

“Yes, I know it’s not your intention,” I said dryly. “But you’re a wee bit intimidating without even trying.” I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Probably better if we don’t give her a heart attack before we find out what we need to know. So, could you be aware of it and try not to radiate your usual ‘Ima gonna fuck you up’ mojo?”

“It has served well,” Mzatal stated as if reminding me.

“On Earth?” I asked, pursing my lips.

His frown lessened. “I do understand your meaning,” he said. “I will not cause her undue distress.”

“No looming, no glowering, and especially no scowling,” I stated.

He narrowed his eyes down at me. “You are stripping me of my finest devices.”

“You still have me,” I informed him with a grin. “Maybe I should do the talking, and you can be my heavy.”

A second passed before he smiled, no doubt needing the time to glean the mental imagery of what I meant. “I am willing to utilize this technique . . . once.”

I chuckled, relieved. “Thanks, lover.”

He slid his arms around and gave me a deep and luxurious kiss, then nuzzled my neck before releasing me. “I am now prepared to be heavy.”

“Remind me to prepare you to be heavy more often,” I said a bit breathlessly.

With that settled, we continued up the street toward her address, Bryce and Paul falling in behind us. Despite the slight decline of the neighborhood in general, Rasha’s property seemed to be well-maintained and neat.

Mzatal approached the door, stripped the warding with a single gesture, as if brushing away cobwebs, then put his hand on the doorknob. It was locked, but he smoothly worked a strand of potency into the lock, and a second later he turned the knob and stepped in.

Exhaling a breath, I followed, listening and scanning carefully, though I knew Mzatal would inform us of any threats. Paul and Bryce entered quickly behind us and closed the door with barely a click. I heard a clink of dishes in the kitchen and put a hand on Mzatal’s arm. Let me lead, I silently reminded him. The skin around his eyes tightened, but he allowed me to move in front of him.

With Mzatal’s mojo like a roiling sun behind me, I stepped through an archway into a tidy kitchen. Rasha stood with her back to us, a delicate china cup in one arthritic hand as she placed a teakettle on a burner. A simple emerald green velour robe hung over her nightgown, above fake-jeweled slippers that managed to look elegant rather than gaudy. A thick braid of white-grey hair hung past her shoulder blades, and what I could see of her face revealed fine lines and graceful aging.

Mzatal’s dark aura rolled over her. She turned and sucked in a breath, warm brown eyes widening in shock as the cup slipped from her bent, rigid fingers to shatter on the tile floor. She made a strangled noise and took a step back, fumbled for the cane that rested against the counter as her eyes went from me to the lord who loomed behind me—despite the no-looming warning. Crap, she might still have a heart attack.

“Rasha Hassan Jalal al-Khouri,” I said as I stepped forward. “I am Kara Gillian, and this is Lord Mzatal.” I didn’t bother to specify which of the three men behind me was the lord since it was fucking obvious. “We must speak with you.”

Her lips silently formed my name as she backed into the counter. “I didn’t know,” she said, shaking voice holding a mere whisper of accent. “I . . . I couldn’t stop it. I should have warned you.”

Wait, what? I had a demonic lord at my back and it was my name she triggered on? I knew Mzatal delved for the reason even now, but I didn’t have that nifty advantage. I had zero clue what she “couldn’t stop,” but there was no need to let her know that.

“How could you not know?” I asked, keeping my question nice and vague.

“They didn’t bring the poor child in until after we summoned Isumo.” Grief clouded with anger touched her voice. “I agreed to assist Aaron and the others with the summoning, not with what they did after.”

Something I needed to be warned about? An act related to me she wanted to stop, but couldn’t? The poor child . . . Isumo . . . I stared in numb shock as the disjointed fragments lit a spark to illuminate a hideous picture. The rakkuhr trap in the semi-trailer. Isumo Katashi. And Idris’s murdered sister, Amber. It had to be.

Mzatal’s already-heavy aura rose in a choking wave, backed by an ominous growl unlike anything I’d ever heard from him before. Rasha paled and clutched weakly at the counter as she swayed. I caught her arm, then shot Mzatal a warning glare. Stop! She’s about to fucking drop dead!

With seething anger barely contained, Mzatal turned and strode away down the hall. I felt his deep turmoil and knew he distanced himself from her now for her benefit as well as his own. Extending, I touched him with what little reassurance I could offer. He’d read something terrible from her, but I’d find out soon enough what that was. For now I returned my attention to the shaking woman beside me.

She inhaled, and her trembling eased. I felt the flicker of calm like a soothing touch and realized she’d pygahed.

“Rasha, tell me who Aaron is.”

Her fear evaporated into anger. “Aaron Asher.” She spoke his name with such contempt that I half-expected her to spit on the floor. “An arrogant, disrespectful son of a bitch. Once a colleague and student of mine.”

My eyes narrowed. “Brown hair pulled back in a ponytail? Dresses in stupid flowy poet shirts?”

At her nod, more of the terrible picture lit up. Aaron Asher was Mystery Man Twenty-two, who at times brought Rasha’s granddaughter, Jade, along with him to Farouche’s plantation. Moreover, we’d seen him with Idris in the video clip from the airport near Amarillo.

I reviewed Rasha’s words and filled in the gaps. Rasha had assisted Asher and “others” with the summoning of Katashi, after which Amber had been brutalized and murdered and rigged with the rakkuhr trap. Which meant Katashi had to have brought the rakkuhr with him, direct from the Mraztur, prepped and ready to place on the young woman as a trap for me.

“When did Asher come here?” I asked. “When did you help him summon Katashi?”

“Almost a week ago,” she told me. “Monday. Yes, it was Monday, mid-afternoon.”

Only a few hours before I arrived on Earth, and within the same time frame as the disruption in the flows that Mzatal had pinpointed—a disruption based in Austin and with hints of Idris’s signature. “Who else was with Asher?” I asked, well aware that my voice had gone hard. “Who else helped you summon Katashi?”

Fear shone in her eyes again, but it wasn’t the perfectly natural fear of imminent destruction by a demonic lord. This was a more subtle, more insidious fear, and one with which I was all too familiar.

Son of a bitch. Farouche. Like a “getting warmer” clue in the game of Hot or Cold, the fear in her eyes told me my question prodded uncomfortably at Farouche’s interests.

I leaned close. “Was the other summoner a young man with curly blond hair?”

She trembled in my grasp and swayed again. Hot, blazing hot! Nailed it first try. She opened her mouth and fought to answer, but her trembling only increased.

“It’s all right,” I said, voice softening. “You don’t have to tell me.” Her reaction told me all I needed to know. Idris had indeed been here with the others.

Her shaking subsided, but cold sweat dotted her upper lip. I glanced back at the two silent and watchful men.