Legacy of the Demon by Diana Rowland Page B

gifted arcane user and summoner, and I hated to see him go. But I also completely understood why he wanted to be far from here. Rhyzkahl was an ever-present reminder of the Mraztur—the demonic lords Rhyzkahl, Jesral, Amkir, and Kadir—whose atrocities included the brutal murder of his sister. Unbeknownst to Rhyzkahl, Idris was his son and despised the shared blood. If Idris stuck around, an ugly confrontation was inevitable. And while that kind of showdown had the potential to be highly entertaining in its own twisted way, none of us had the time or energy for it or the potential fallout. Besides, popcorn was hard to come by these days.
    At the north end of the basement, bookshelves covered the walls, crammed with the entire contents of my Aunt Tessa’s arcane library. I’d taken every last scrap from her house, right after I learned that she’d been lying to me for years, deliberately sabotaging my education as a summoner, and even collaborating with Master Summoner Katashi to have my arcane abilities stripped. She wanted to fuck me over? Fine. I’d use her own resources against her.
    Not only was Tessa without her library, but she didn’t have Katashi’s support anymore either. We’d captured him shortly after the valve exploded in the Beaulac PD parking lot, but unfortunately he was savvy enough to know that our demonic lord allies would strip his mind bare of every detail of the Mraztur’s plans. He goaded poor Idris into attacking him, and in a haze of fury, Idris slashed the old summoner’s throat.
    And that’s when things got weird. Katashi did the expected bleed-choke-gurgle-die thing, but then he
discorporeated
, just like a demon. We eventually decided that he must have, in fact, been a demon—most likely a syraza, since they could shapechange. But of course that only left us with even more questions, such as who, when, why, and what-the-actual-fuck.
    The library in Tessa’s house had been a nightmare of piles and clutter and complete lack of anything resembling organization, much less a filing system. But not here. Not after Jill took over. The library became another outlet for her, and now every book, scroll, tome, page, or scrap of parchment was neatly shelved, and steadily being catalogued with ruthless efficiency. Moreover, a couple of weeks earlier, Jill had put out a call through DIRT and civilian channels worldwide asking for scanned copies of any documents, ancient or modern, that might have bearing on the arcane, demons, rifts, or anything else related to our current situation. Even better, several mega-PhD librarian types stepped up to filter, sort, classify, and database every scrap of info that came in. It was no doubt a fraction of what existed—collectors might be loath to reveal that they owned missing or stolen manuscripts, and there were countries who hoarded their secrets in case it proved valuable later—but every little bit helped.
    Jill sat at a long table in the middle of the library area, typing away on a laptop and occasionally glancing at a legal pad beside the computer. Her short red hair was damp from a shower and neatly combed, and she’d changed into jeans and a lace-edged,black tank top that showed the definition in her shoulders and arms.
    She looked up when I reached the bottom of the steps. “Hey, chick. Find out what’s going on with Cory?”
    â€œNo.” I slumped into a chair at the head of the table. “I hate this. Even using the nexus, I found absolutely zip that could help me help him. The only thing I know is that Cory isn’t the only one.” I went on to tell her what I’d seen and learned about the “plague” at Fed Central.
    Jill’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “I haven’t run across anything like that in what I’ve catalogued so far, but I’ve only scratched the surface. I’ll drop a note to the librarians to keep their eyes