Chapter 27
It seemed as though all of time and space converged into one hollow tunnel of existence, stretched out through eternity between him and the woman he loved.
Nigel felt his inability to reach her, to rescue her. His utter futility, the hopeless uselessness of his being as he watched Mortimer’s fingers shape that sigil. It was so precisely done, even in haste, and Luna’s head immediately dropped to her breast while her body slumped in the chair.
As though from a vast, echoing distance, Nigel’s own voice roared: “What have you done to her?”
Mortimer turned, fixing him with a one-eyed stare. And Nigel hated him. Hated him with a furious loathing far beyond the reasonable constraints of sanity.
He took three lunging strides. He didn’t care, in that moment, that he was unarmed, having left even the broken brick behind with the invisible dressing gown.
That he had no magic, no power, nothing with which to combat this fiend, who even now brimmed with roiling Dire force, summoned with such callous abandon.
It didn’t matter. His hands stretched out, intent on violence, and his wrath was such, he felt he could break bones with a single twist of his wrists—
Before he could take a fourth step, several large bodies slammed into him from both sides and behind.
A booted foot kicked the back of his knees, sending him crashing to the floor, and weight piled onto his back, crushing the air from his lungs.
Roaring with wordless fury, Nigel instinctively reaching for the Dire.
But though power surged in him, eager to perform the exchange, to draw all that waiting energy into his soul to be transformed according to his will, the Sovereign Troth held him back.
Instead, a jolt of searing pain shot through his veins.
He spasmed, seizure-like, his body jolting so violently he nearly threw off his attackers.
When the spasm passed, he found himself panting hard, his mouth open and gasping for air even as his head was pressed into the hard floor.
Black sparks danced on the edges of his vision, like the Void itself trying to swallow him alive.
He realized, vaguely, that his arms were pinned behind his back, both twisted to the point of breaking. He couldn’t move not even an inch.
Blinking hard, struggling to force clarity into his vision, Nigel swiveled his eyes in their sockets, trying to find Luna.
She was so very still, her body so limp, held in place only by her bonds.
The trailing tail of one shooting star earring lay across her shoulder, the fake diamonds glinting in the orb light.
For some reason, that sight brought a sob swelling in his throat, and Nigel gasped for air.
Mortimer stepped into his field of vision.
Leaning forward, one hand planted on a bent knee, he tilted his head so that the Dire-wrought light illuminated his half-melted face.
“Come now, Grimm, did you really think I would hurt her?” He clucked and shook his head disdainfully.
“What kind of fool would I have to be? If I killed her, your troth would be broken, and then where would all my delicious advantage go?” He straightened and clacked the end of his walking stick sharply against the floor.
“Besides, you must know what I have planned for her.”
Nigel huffed what little air he could gather through gritted teeth. “If you dare harm one hair on her head—”
“Oh, tut. Falling back on clichés, are we?” Mortimer’s lip curled. “I thought we gentlemen of the Arcane Sciences were beyond such dribble.” He made a sharp motion with one hand and spoke in a commanding tone, “Get off him, lads. Let the man pull himself up. We sorcerers must have our dignity.”
With a series of reluctant protests, Nigel’s attackers released their grips on his arms and relieved him of the pressure of their weight.
Nigel dragged a full gasp of air into his lungs and pushed himself onto his knees.
Breathing hard, he rolled his jaw and flexed his numb fingers.
Raw pain jolted in his veins from that spontaneous summoning attempt.
He couldn’t afford to make such a mistake again.
“Now,” Mortimer said, drumming gloved fingers along the polished skull of his walking stick, “let’s see if you can help me put a few pieces together.
I’ve been laboring long to assemble a complete picture of what’s taken place here in Ballycastle, but found my efforts hampered at every turn.
Calista Anguish, while a formidable ally, likes to play her cards close to the vest. But your little memory-wiping stunt played out in my favor.
I didn’t have much to go on, but I knew our Mrs. Anguish had focused her search in this city, and I guessed that she must be getting close to you.
Then she returned home one morning after a night out, her memory of the last many months neatly wiped.
I inspected her at first opportunity and was astounded at the elegance of the spellwork involved.
That level of seamlessness was like a signature of sorts—I knew it had to be you.
No one else could leave so little trace of tampering in her mind.
That was when I realized that you and that exceptional Green Magic garden of yours must indeed be close. ”
Hatred seethed through every fiber of Nigel’s being. He breathed heavily, like a dragon ready to expel brimstone, while his eyes remained locked on his enemy.
“But that memory wipe served another useful purpose as well,” Mortimer continued.
“Now that Calista no longer guarded her secrets, I was able, at long last, to search her belongings and locate the file she kept on your little shop girl. Now this surprised me! I had not begun to imagine that you had found the last remaining Thorpewillow sorceress. It seemed almost too good to be true! But according to Calista’s notes and information she had received from your own brother, it seemed my dreams were truly on the verge of manifestation. If only I could find you both!
“I’ve been forced to expend more distilled Dire Matter than most men see in a lifetime, trying to keep my locator spells fresh and undetected by the abominable SSSD wardsmen.
Which is why you find me here tonight—my supplies have run disastrously low.
” He chuckled with pleasure, spinning the skull round and round in his gloved fingers.
“Imagine my delight when, only yesterday, a detection spell went off, revealing that a great act of magic had just been committed. A Timeslip Spell, no less! I knew at once it must be you.”
Nigel’s heart clenched like a fist. How could he have been so careless, so cavalier in committing that spell?
His only concern had been the wardsmen. Having dealt with Calista and seeing no further signs of sorcerous activity in the last month, it had not occurred to him that other members of the Brotherhood might be so close on his tail.
He should have guessed it. He should have planned and anticipated accordingly.
But the sheer arrogance of sorcerers won out again—his besetting sin.
“I followed the resonance of the spell,” Mortimer continued.
He paced back and forth, nervous energy driving him to motion as surplus Dire brimmed inside him.
Little motes of anti-glitter trailed in his wake.
“Followed it back to its place of origin. A hotel parking lot of all things. Not quite the sorcerer’s lair I’d envisioned!
And certainly not the glorious garden for which I have been searching all these years.
There was no sign of you to be had, but that did not surprise me.
After all, you had stepped outside of time.
I decided to wait, just in case you were to reappear.
So I planted myself behind a newspaper on a little bench opposite the hotel. And I watched.
“Only it wasn’t you, Nigel Grimm, who appeared before my wondering eye not three hours later.
” Mortimer turned to face him, grinning horribly.
His one good eye glinted like the red jewels set in his skull’s head.
“It was her. That girl—the one from Calista Anguish’s file.
I saw her walk out of that parking garage, and I knew the moment I set eyes on her pretty face that she was indeed, of the Thorpewillow lineage.
Their women all share that same nose, you know.
And that distinctive and highly kissable mouth. ”
A growl in his chest, Nigel started to lunge to his feet. Two Brute Boys grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him roughly back to his knees. He struggled, but one caught his arm and twisted until he gasped with pain.
Mortimer watched the goings on until Nigel finally stilled once more. “Are you quite done?” he inquired dryly.
“Damn you to hell,” Nigel snarled.
“Oh, same to you, I’m sure.” Mortimer tapped his chin with a finger.
“Now, where was I? Ah, yes. I followed her, naturally. All the way to the trolley stop, where we exchanged a few pleasantries. Such a nice, polite young lady. I’m sure you noticed.
Didn’t want to offend the sad, scary, scarred old man.
Sure, she lied about her name and occupation, but who’s to blame her, poor dear?
A little girl like her in the Big City can’t be too careful. ”
Never had Nigel so desperately longed to commit outright murder in his life. His jaw ground, but he told himself . . . this is good. Let the man keep talking. Let the man keep gloating and pontificating. If he could just drag this out a little longer then maybe . . . maybe . . .
“She shook hands with me as we parted.” Mortimer looked down at his gloved hand as though even now remembering the feel of her fingers.
“And, using one of the last drops of distilled Dire Matter in my possession, I tagged her. A neat little tracking spell it was, for all the good it did me. I take it you helped her dispose of it?”