I set my hand on his shoulder. “What’s up?”

Mzatal’s frown deepened as he continued to work, and I noted the frays smoothing. “Tampering,” he said. “The primary node has been touched from the demon realm side.”

“Touched?” My eyes narrowed. “You mean something’s been pushed through it?”

“Nothing has come through this one recently,” he told me. “I feel Rhyzkahl’s resonance, and there is a distortion I do not understand. You see the damage. There has been stress on the structure.” He passed his hands over the valve once more then stood and took my hand. “The man approaches.” He paused, his eyes distant. “He is alone.”

Mzatal and I quickly moved into the underbrush to crouch not far off the trail. Though Mzatal’s initial proposal had been to simply net Sonny in potency at the first sign of resistance, I’d managed to argue the lord down to a somewhat less traumatic option, in which we would simply block Sonny’s retreat, leaving potency-netting as an absolute last resort.

Within minutes, I heard the whisper of shoes on damp pine needles, and I peered between the leaves toward the sound. A Hispanic-featured man about five-foot-ten of medium build made his way down the path toward us. I recognized him as one of Farouche’s gunmen, though instead of a suit he had on jeans and a navy blue t-shirt. If I hadn’t known what to look for, I’d have missed the slight bulge of his shirt where an inside-the-waistband holster held his gun.

His face broke into a cautious smile as he came within sight of Bryce and Paul, but as he came abreast of us he faltered and stopped. His eyes flicked left and right in wary alarm, and he slipped his hand under his shirt to rest on his gun.

Mzatal’s aura, I realized with a silent curse. Sonny felt something was off.

Bryce stood. “Sonny, it’s okay. I promise,” he said with quiet but firm assurance. “Please, we need to talk.”

At Bryce’s words, a wild fear lit Sonny’s eyes—Farouche’s influence, I knew all too well. He shook his head and took a step back. “I . . . can’t,” he said, voice tight and strained, even as crushing disappointment twisted his features. “I’m sorry,” he gasped out and spun to leave.

In two quick strides I crashed through the brush and onto the trail to block his retreat. “Wait. Please.” I held my hands out to show they were empty. “We’re here with Bryce and Paul to help you.”

Sonny stopped, hand still on his gun, though he didn’t make a move to draw it. I remained still, secure in the faith that Eilahn and Mzatal were poised and ready in case Sonny tried to do anything foolish. He puffed out quick, adrenaline-fueled breaths, and I didn’t need to be a mind reader to understand his distress at being lured into a trap, especially one contrary to Farouche’s interests. Sonny shifted, eyes flicking from me to Bryce and then widening on Mzatal as he stepped onto the path.

Bryce moved toward us slowly. “Sonny, it’s okay. We’re going to help you. I swear.”

“Bryce, goddammit,” Sonny said, voice hoarse with a barely controlled panic. “You know I gotta get out of here. You know it. Fuck! You set me up.” Pain overshadowed the fear on his last words. “How could you do that?”

“It’s not what you think,” Bryce said, voice and manner calm and cool. “Look, we can get you out, get you away from Mr. Farouche. Lord Mzatal helped me and Paul, and he’s agreed to help you, too.”

Hope flared on Sonny’s face for a blinding instant before the fear eclipsed it again. A choking sob welled in his throat even as his hand twitched on his gun.

Shit. This was going to require a lot more than talk. Sonny had been driving under the influence of Farouche for a long damn time.

Even as I thought it, Mzatal moved toward him. Sonny drew his gun but fumbled it under the crush of Mzatal’s full-on aura. He staggered back as the lord advanced, caught his foot on a root and fell hard, then crab-scuttled backwards a few feet until brought up short by the trunk of a pine.

He stared up at Mzatal, eyes wild and panicked. Mzatal crouched smoothly and clamped his hands around Sonny’s head, and in the next instant Sonny’s mouth dropped open, and he went completely still.

“I will clear enough of the fear for him to productively interact,” Mzatal told me, then focused his full attention on the man in his grasp.

Step one accomplished, and no one got shot, I thought with relief as I picked up the dropped gun and handed it off to Bryce. He checked it, tucked it into his waistband and stood silently, watching Mzatal work. Paul stood near the table, naked worry on his face, his tablet clutched to his chest like a security blanket. I kept an eye on the trail toward the parking lot in case any nature lovers decided to wander our way. This would be an interesting tableau to explain.

Mzatal finally straightened and stepped back. Sonny remained pressed back against the tree like a trapped animal, but the crazed and unnatural fear no longer filled his eyes.

“Come on, Sonny,” I said as I held my hand down to him. “Let’s talk.”

He blinked, looked from me to Bryce, then back to my hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he took it and stood. “What the hell?”

I gave him a reassuring smile. “Lord Mzatal cleared some of the abnormal fear Farouche instilled in you,” I told him. “I’m Kara Gillian. It’s good to finally meet you.”

“She’s not kidding,” Bryce added. “I’m free of him. Really free. You can be, too.”

“I don’t get it,” Sonny said, doubt paired with unmistakable hope in his voice. “How?”

I hooked a thumb toward the picnic table. “How about we sit down and talk. There’s a lot we need to cover.”

“Talk. Yeah. Okay.” He moved toward the table with me as though in a weird dream, gave a flickering smile to Paul. “Hey, kid. Ugly as ever.”

Paul grinned, joy and relief bright in his eyes. “Hey, Sonny. Still a total pain in the ass.”

Bryce followed. “All I’m asking is that you listen to what Kara has to say,” he said to Sonny. “You make your own decisions after that.”

Sonny regarded Bryce for a long moment, then gave a nod and sank onto the bench. I sat opposite him and, with Bryce’s help to fill in the gaps, quickly offered a thumbnail of who we were and why Mzatal was there, then moved on to how Farouche was holding people who we wanted back. When I finished, I took a deep breath and spread my hands out on the rough surface of the picnic table. “The bottom line is, do you want our help to get away from Farouche?”

Sonny swallowed, nodded. “I want out. I gotta get out.”

“Then we’ll make that happen,” I assured him. “First, Lord Mzatal has to finish clearing the hold that Farouche has on you. Once that’s done, we can talk more.”

A flicker of fear touched Sonny’s eyes, and Bryce reached across the table and put a hand on his arm. “Sonny, look at me,” he said firmly. “Look at Paul. You know damn well I couldn’t have set up something like this while under Farouche’s influence.” He let that sink in for a few seconds. “It works. We’re really free of him.”

“It’s true,” Paul confirmed with an emphatic nod.

Sonny rubbed a hand over his face as if checking to make sure he wasn’t daydreaming. “Uh, sure.” He looked around, glassy-eyed. “All right. What do I need to do?”

“Just relax,” I said.

Mzatal moved behind Sonny, laid his hands on his head. Sonny’s face went slack except for a crooked smile, as if he was enjoying some great painkillers. Paul gravely lifted his tablet and took a picture of his expression, and Bryce laughed.

“Blackmail,” Paul told me with a wink.

I smiled, even more pleased about the decision to get Sonny out. These men were obviously friends as well as coworkers, and now I saw that another layer of tension had peeled away from Bryce and Paul. Leave no man behind, I thought with satisfaction.

After another few minutes, Mzatal stepped back, and Sonny lost the good-drugs look.