“Well, well, well,
“She was talking to the wardsmen,” the man called Alloysius growled, even as he tightened the bindings on Luna’s wrists. “Ain’t that right, Tobias?”
Luna jerked her head up, tossing curls out of her eyes. She could just see Tobias where he stood on the edge of the flashlight’s glow, shuffling his feet. “Aww, gee,” he said. His eyes flicked briefly to meet Luna’s then away again. “Yeah, everyone knows she’s got a wardsman boyfriend.”
Luna bit down hard on the rags stuffed in her mouth, a whole stream of furious scolding piling up on her tongue, unable to be spoken. But then one of the shadows loomed suddenly on her right, and all scolding vanished in a jolt of renewed terror.
“Really?” the shadow said. He spoke in tones of deep, red-wine richness, unexpectedly polished among these rough comrades. “A wardsman boyfriend, did you say?”
Vocal chords straining, Luna tried again in vain to speak. The words would not come, muffled into feeble noise. She could do nothing but continue to shake her head in silent protest. She’d lost her hat somewhere on the streets outside, and her hair tumbled over her face in a wild snarl.
“That seems most unexpected for a young sorceress,” the voice continued.
A strange tap-tap-tapping sound echoed to the vaulting warehouse ceiling as a slender figure, elegant but hunched, hobbled into the light.
He was young-looking, his hair long, thick chestnut with streaks of honey.
A neat goatee shaped his chin and emphasized the line of his jaw, out of fashion but undeniably sophisticated.
It was like he’d stepped from the pages of a historical novel.
Luna, staring up at him and blinking in the glare of the flashlight, knew she had never seen him before in her life.
But there was also something uncannily familiar about him.
The strange man stopped, leaning heavily on his cane, and inspected her with interest. One of his eyes blinked slowly, while the other remained weirdly fixed. When he smiled, only half of his mouth moved.
“Well, well, well,” he said in that smooth, posh voice of his. “If it isn’t Jane Smith.”
Luna’s heart lurched. She knew that voice.
Though she’d heard it for the first time only yesterday, the sound of menacing refinement had left an impression on her soul.
Hearing it now in this dark, threatening space, surrounded by all these dark, threatening figures, was enough to turn her insides to water.
She wasn’t one to give in to fear easily; she’d learned from an early age to face the horrors of this world with chin up and shoulders back.
But she could not help the little whimper that vibrated in her throat now.
His face was altered. Drastically. But this man was certainly Lancelot Mortimer, the sorcerer she’d met at the trolley stop. The cane gave it away. Though he wore an enchanted face, disguising both his disfigurement and his true age, no black market creams could disguise that limp of his.
Still, the rest of the disguise was effective.
Luna could only detect the very faintest trace of anti-glitter hovering around the man’s head, and then only because she knew to look for it.
If she’d passed him on the street, she would never have looked twice.
Whoever he was, his sorcerous skills far exceeded those of Fabian Grimm, whose own efforts at disguise were woefully deficient.
This man was a true sorcerer. A Dark Sorcerer.
Lancelot Mortimer tilted his head to one side. “Come now, my dear, this gloomy atmosphere is no place for a lady, is it? Let’s have a bit more light.”
So saying, he lifted his hand. Luna felt the moment of the energy-transfer rippling through the air.
One of the thugs standing off to her right gasped, clutched at his chest, and fell to his knees, and Luna felt the sliver of life force pouring out from him.
None of the men present understood what had just happened; it was something only those with sorcerous inclination could perceive.
But Luna knew. In an act of casual cruelty, this man, this Lancelot Mortimer, had just sourced energy from one of his own paid goons.
Nimbly forming a series of sigils in the air, the Dark Sorcerer exchanged the stolen energy for Dire Matter.
Then, with a snap of his fingers, a little orb of light appeared, hovering in the air before his eyes.
He made a gesture, and the orb rose, a little ball of Dire-fueled illumination, sparking with anti-glitter.
It lit up the circle of space around them as effectively as any thaumatic light bulb, but left the world beyond its circle black as pitch.
Good, Luna thought, setting her jaw behind the gag. Maybe Ward and the wardsmen would see the light through these tall warehouse windows and come running.
Then it occurred to her that, no . . . this man was no fool.
He wouldn’t use sorcery like this unless the whole building was protected.
She had sensed a simmering spell surrounding the warehouse when they approached.
Whoever this Lancelot Mortimer may be, he was prepared for the night ahead.
The wardsmen’s sensors wouldn’t be able to pick up anything that went on inside this building.
But maybe . . .
Maybe . . .
Mr. Grimm.
He was out there. Somewhere. Searching for Tobias.
Surely he would sense the sorcery being used and .
. . what? Come to her rescue? Against all these men and this Dark Sorcerer who didn’t hesitate to source energy from the nearest potential supply?
Luna’s heart sank. She could only pray Mr. Grimm had already given up and gone home.
Whatever was about to happen here tonight, she couldn’t bear for him to be caught up in it.
“Now, Miss Smith,” the sorcerer said smiling down at her, a smile that only reached the unenchanted side of his face. “What are you doing in such a place and on such a night?”
Luna blinked up at him. How exactly did he expect her to answer while gagged?
Silence lingered for several moments before an awkward cough interrupted it. “Um, actually,” the voice of Tobias Goddard muttered somewhere off to her left. “Um, she’s Miss Talbot, you know. Luna Talbot.”
Oh, if she weren’t bound to this chair, Luna would turn around and give that boy such a glare!
Apparently she didn’t need to, however. Lancelot Mortimer lifted his gaze from Luna’s face and simply stared at the boy.
Nothing more. No expression to be discerned through the enchanted features.
But it was enough. Tobias coughed again, and Luna could hear the shuffle of his boots as he retreated.
The other Brute Boys seemed to close in behind her, and she could swear she felt hot breath on the back of her neck.
Mortimer returned his attention to Luna, the halfway-charming smile tilting his lips.
“Do you know, I’ve been thinking about you a great deal since our meeting yesterday,” he said.
“I wished very much, after you boarded that trolley, that I’d not let you go so easily.
” He leaned in then, his sideways grin growing.
“What did you think of that little tag-spell I put on you? I noticed it vanished within a very short time, before I’d a chance to do more than glance at it.
Did your employer help you with its removal? ”
Luna’s stomach turned over. Did this man know Mr. Grimm? But of course, there weren’t that many Dark Sorcerers walking this earth. It was only natural they would know each other.
“Now, now.” Mortimer clicked his tongue, shaking his head.
“Why the sour look, my dear? Is it this face that bothers you? I know, it’s so gauche, wearing false features.
I find it often better to wear it, however, when going about among ordinaries.
They’re such fools for these little things and have no respect for the glory of Dire scars. Still, as you and I are friends . . .”
He turned away, putting an arm up and rubbing his sleeve vigorously across his features. It was all so quick, so violent, and the next moment, he whirled around and stuck his face right up close to Luna’s, no more than an inch or two away. “Boo!” he barked.
Luna screamed. She tried not to, but simply couldn’t help it. The scream ripped up her throat and caught in the gag as she jerked, nearly tipping her chair over backwards.
Chuckling, Mortimer retreated once more, leaning heavily sideways on his skull-headed walking stick.
His face was once more the old and Dire-burnt carnage she had seen at the trolley stop.
The flesh looked raw and strangely red and melted, like wax rather than ordinary burn scars.
A ghastly, unnatural sight, cast into sharp relief by the shimmering orb’s glow.
The goons all around drew sharp breaths, many of them choking on curses of surprise.
Apparently, they had not seen the Big Man’s true face before now.
Luna felt them drawing back from her by several paces, and tension simmered in the atmosphere.
“Would you believe me, my dear,” Mortimer said, touching the warped side of his face delicately with the tips of his gloved fingers, “if I told you that I used to be a handsome devil back in the day?” He shook his head sadly, the chestnut locks now limp gray strands, wafting about his shoulders.
“So handsome, in fact, Jastira herself favored me. This was forty-odd years ago, you understand. Back when we were both young and hungry sorcerers, eager to make names for ourselves at the Nocturnus Institute of Magics. Those were the glory days, indeed!”