Legacy of the Demon by Diana Rowland Read Free Book Online Page B

hands looked sunburned—including the palms—but seemed fine otherwise. The ache behind my eyes surged to its former strength as Pellini’s sigils faded. Grimacing, I rubbed at my temples. “What do we do with Timmy the Tumor now?”
    â€œIt’s physical,” Pellini said, forehead creased. “A surgeon could cut it out of him. Nip it in the bud.” Uncertainty colored his tone.
    â€œOr possibly kill him outright.” Instinct screamed that cutting into him was wrong. “No. We don’t know anything about this except that it definitely has an arcane component. How’s a surgeon supposed to deal with that? We can’t risk it.”
    â€œWhat’s your alternative?”
    â€œGet him to the house. To the nexus.” My hope was that the arcane focal point in my back yard would allow me to delve deeper into what was going on with Cory and give me the info I needed to sort this out. “Timmy’s resonance reminds me of the arcane implants demonic lords stick in people for tracking or surveillance.” I blew out a breath. “Except those aren’t physical.”
    Pellini folded his arms over his chest and regarded me. “In other words, you got nothing.”
    â€œWell pardon me for not being the font of all arcane knowledge,” I shot back, stung. “We need a lord’s expertise, but unfortunately, with the world completely fucked up, I have no way to summon one.”
    His expression darkened. “You don’t need to summon one. Rhyzkahl is right in your—”
    â€œNo! I’m not using Rhyzkahl as any kind of resource. That’snot an option.” I took a deep breath. “We’ll get Cory to the house,” I continued in a calmer tone, “and I’ll assess from there—
without
Rhyzkahl.”
    He opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it closed as Cory let out a low chuckle. My pulse lurched at the eerie sound. Pellini breathed a curse and shifted away from the bed.
    â€œHouse,” Cory said, voice slurred. “Why are we going to your house?” Though his mouth was free of slime, the red gel shimmered creepily above his soft, peaceful smile.
    â€œOh, hey, Cory,” I said, doing my damndest to sound calm. “I have a diagnostic tool there that’ll let me see what’s going on with you.”
    â€œEverything’s A-okay, Kara girl,” he sing-songed. “Never better, Kara girl Kara girl Kara girl. Pretty pretty colors around Kara girl. Blue . . . purple . . . pink . . . greeeeeeeen . . .” He trailed off, and the gel closed over his mouth again.
    Pellini shuddered. “Jesus Christ, I’ve got the fucking willies now. Let’s move.”
    â€œI’m with you. I don’t want to risk touching him again, so that bedspread is coming with us. If you can back your truck into the garage, we can load him up without the neighbors freaking.”
    â€œOn it,” he said and was gone.
    I kept a wary eye on Cory while I made a call to security at the house, letting them know they needed to prep a quarantine area.
    Pellini returned as I disconnected. “Can’t back in. Bertha’s in the garage.”
    â€œCrap. We’ll have to—” I stopped and reconsidered. Bertha was Cory’s 1976 Chevy Nova, decked out with radio equipment and an antenna farm. “Load him into Bertha. You drive it and him home, and we’ll send someone for your truck and the rest of Cory’s radio setup.”
    He didn’t look at all happy about abandoning his truck but was smart enough to catch on. “Not only can we use the radios, it’ll be good for Cory when he gets through, um, this.”
    â€œExactly,” I said then tensed at the sound of a car engine. A careful peek through the blinds revealed a government sedan blocking the driveway. “Sonofabitch. Feds.”
    Pellini groaned and smacked his forehead.