“Well, well, well, #3
“Hold your fire!” Mortimer bellowed in a voice which brooked no argument.
He panted hard through his manic smile, his gaze searching the shadows above with eager interest. Could he even see anything beyond the orb’s pulsing glow?
Everything was so dark and heavy, they might as well be surrounded by the Void itself.
Mortimer laughed again, a high, keening sound. “Come out, come out wherever you are!” he trilled, then stopped spinning and roared, “Come on, Grimm! Take your vengeance! Shoot at my unarmed back. I’ll wait!”
Another heavy thud sounded, this time just behind Luna. She jolted in her seat. Several of the Brute Boys cursed, backing away from her, and she heard Tobias cry out, “Here, Rodney! What’s wrong, mate?”
Mortimer whirled, quite nimbly despite the lameness in his leg.
His fingers worked swiftly, drawing sigils, and Luna felt the near-instantaneous sucking of energy in the air.
Another Brute Boy gasped in pain and fell to his knees, even as a flare of light burst across Luna’s vision.
A bolt of pure Dire Matter hurtled directly over her head, smashing into the wall behind her.
Luna screamed, tucking her chin in. She wrenched at her bonds, but the ropes only bit more deeply into the flesh of her wrists.
“Damn,” Mortimer muttered. Straightening his shoulders, he adjusted the set of his jacket, then sniffed, his one good nostril flaring.
“What is that I smell? Old magic. Very old magic . . . positively archaic!” He tilted his head, gazing into the shadows over Luna’s head.
“What are you up to, Grimm?” He lifted his hand, aimed his palm directly at Luna’s heart.
“I tire of this game,” he said more sternly than before.
“Come out now, or I’ll make her curse you for your defiance. ”
Suddenly, Luna’s eyes flared wide. She’d assumed, because of where Mortimer’s focus was aimed, that Mr. Grimm must be somewhere behind her, hidden in the folds of his dressing gown.
But no—he was there. Emerging from the shadows, directly behind Mortimer.
Disheveled and pale, without a tie, and his waistcoat all unbuttoned.
His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows, just as they had been when she walked in on him in the kitchen.
The expression on his face was one of such wrath and darkness, Luna was more frightened of him in that moment than she had ever before been.
But his eyes . . .
She caught her breath.
. . . his eyes were clear blue. Not black with the Void darkness she’d glimpsed on other occasions. He did not, in this moment, brim with Dire Magic because . . . because . . .
Oh gods.
Because he could not access his powers. Not without her permission.
“You have my permission!” Luna tried to shout.
The words were muffled in the gag, but did it matter?
Must they be clearly enunciated? Surely intention was what counted, not the words themselves, right?
But she didn’t know. Whatever vows he’d made at her feet, he’d spoken them in a dead language, and she had no idea of the actual specifics.
“You have my permission!” she tried again, but to no better result.
Mortimer, realizing where her attention was focused, turned on heel and spotted Mr. Grimm at last. “Ah! Well met, Grimshade Lord,” he purred and offered an unsteady bow.
“Let her go,” Mr. Grimm said. His voice rumbled deeper than Luna had ever before heard it. “She’s not part of this thing between us.”
Lancelot Mortimer laughed. “Now don’t be silly, dear boy! We both know the truth better than that, don’t we?”
“You have . . . my . . . permission!” Luna screamed again, trying to speak the words more slowly. But it made no difference, not with that awful rag jammed against her tongue.
Mortimer glanced back at her, eyes narrowing.
“What is she trying to say to you? ‘Run for your life?’ ‘Get me out of here?’ No, that doesn’t sound right.
” He turned and sniffed again. “And this smell—this ancient enchantment. I know it. I know it, it’s right on the tip of my tongue.
” He lifted his hand, fingers and thumb fluttering together as though testing the air.
Then his good eye widened. “Are you . . .?” He stopped and uttered a single, short burst of laughter, like a yelp.
“No, it can’t be! You can’t have gone and bound yourself with the Sovereign Troth! ”
Mr. Grimm said nothing. His gaze fixed on Luna intently.
“You HAVE my PERMISSION!” she cried, fighting desperately against the gag. Mr. Grimm shook his head slowly. Oh gods, did he need her to stomp it out in Morley Code with her foot?
“And to whom have you bound yourself?” Mortimer continued, brow wrinkling. Then he swung his arm and pointed at Luna’s chest with the metal tip of his walking stick. “To her?”
“Nigel!” Luna tried to scream, tears running desperately down her cheeks.
Mr. Grimm lunged, but Mortimer was too fast. He leapt to Luna’s side and wrapped his gloved hand around her forehead. “No, no!” he cried. “No sudden moves!” His cackling laughter seemed to sizzle the air before his lips. “We can’t have any nonsense, now can we?”
He sketched a sigil then, right there on her forehead. Luna gasped as the energy was drawn directly from her own body, her very life force used to fuel whatever wicked spell he wrought. She had just time enough to think, You bastard! through the haze of pain.
Then darkness claimed her.