Granary #2
With an irritable huff, Ward took the message, peered down at it, scanning the words idly.
Nigel watched his gaze sharpen, saw him read it again more closely.
Then the wardsman’s eyes widened, and he uttered a harsh expletive.
“The girl . . .” He pointed to that first line and looked up at Nigel. “Luna?”
Nigel nodded.
“And who is this Calista Anguish?” Ward blinked, pulling a face. “Isn’t she some Plymian politician’s wife?”
“Yes. And the sitting president of the Ladies of Moral Authority Against the Uncanny Society. She’s also,” Nigel added sinisterly, “a sorceress. Not a Dark Sorceress, but she is an associate of the Brotherhood. I trust you’ve heard of them.”
Ward nodded, his expression stern. “Yeah. I might’ve.
” Then he shook his head. “Look, I know Luna’s a sorceress, or at least, I know she’s got the heptagram.
But we both know she’s not the sort to be mixed up with people like that.
So what’s the deal? What do they want with her?
” He glanced down at the letter again briefly.
“Wait a second—I take it back. It’s you they’re after.
You and this . . . this garden. What is she talking about? What garden?”
Nigel heaved a sigh. “I’ll explain on the way.”
“On the way where?”
“On the way to North Sobbington.” Nigel’s finger prodded the telltale line on the missive still in Ward’s grasp. “The granary. You know this location, don’t you?”
Ward’s brow knotted. “Yeah. I was part of a raid up thataway, a couple of months back. We took out a sorcerer by the name of Montesquieu Fairfax. Nasty little fellow. Dire-bolted one of my best guys.”
Nigel nodded. “You’ve got to take me there.”
“What?”
“You’ve got to take me there and . . . and you’ve got to loan me your wardsman equipment.”
Ward closed his eyes, grimacing as he scratched his head.
“Look, Grimm, I think maybe you’ve been eating one too many of your petunias or something.
You’re saying you expect me to take you up north to this granary-turned-sorcerer’s-lair, where you plan to meet with a Plymian politician’s wife slash evil sorceress to talk about some garden.
And you want me to arm you. With SSSD gear. ”
“Yes.”
“Why in the hells would I do any of that?”
“Did you notice the part where they’re going to start sending pieces of her every hour?”
“Yeah.” A little color drained from Ward’s cheeks. He sighed and caught Nigel’s eye again. “But, come on. You’re a sorcerer, aren’t you?”
Nigel blinked. “I, erm. That is to say—”
“Hey, Grimm. Do I look like an idiot to you?”
“Well—”
“You’re the Grimshade Lord.”
Like a blow to the chest, Nigel felt all the wind knocked out of him. He took a step back, stopped himself. Braced as though for battle.
“Yeah,” Ward said and grinned enough to show one dimple.
“I figured that one out pretty fast, though not as fast as I’d have liked.
Truth is, for all I’ve been up and down that place of yours, I’ve never once caught so much as a whiff of sorcery.
I’m sure it’s crawling with the stuff, but you’re good.
I couldn’t detect even a mote of anti-glitter.
” His brow settled heavily. “But something about you ticked me off. So I did a bit of research. Didn’t take a whole lot to put the pieces together.
You’re the Grimshade Lord, exiled from Plym, keeping your head down.
And I’ll give you credit: not once has any investigation I’ve been on pointed anywhere close to you or that little flower shop of yours.
I don’t know if that means you’re really on a redemption arc or if you’re just a lot cleverer than you look.
But one way or another, you’re probably the most dangerous sorcerer out there these days, now that the Shadowbane Lady’s gone.
You’re the one who took care of her too, aren’t you? ”
“Erm . . .”
“That’s what I figured. So tell me this, Mr. Grimshade—if you want to get Luna back from these Brotherhood blokes, why don’t you just go in all Dire-blasting-Dark Sorcerer-mode? It’d probably go over better with these types anyway.”
Nigel ground his teeth. “You know that raid on Warehouse Thirteen the other night?” he asked with extreme reluctance.
“I might know something about that, yeah.”
“Well, you and your lads threw an awful lot of severmist about, and . . .”
“And?”
“Well . . .”
“Damn, Grimm.” Ward rolled his head to one side.
“You’re telling me you’re poisoned?” His gaze scanned up and down Nigel’s dressing gown-clad body briefly, before coming back to settle on his face.
“Actually, now that I look at you, you’re a bit gray around the edges, aren’t you?
” He rubbed a hand down his face, shaking his head in bitter disbelief.
“So you need a helping hand. A buddy. Someone who cares enough about Luna to go marching into a nest of vipers with you, guns blazing.”
“That’s about the long and short of it, yes.” Nigel raised a brow. “So you’ll help me? For Miss Talbot’s sake?”
Ward growled softly. “You know that girl’s put me through it, don’t you?” But then his expression unexpectedly softened, and he cast Nigel a look that was just shy of sympathetic. “I guess she’s given you a run for your money too, hasn’t she? But she’s worth it. Damn us both, but she’s worth it.”
While Nigel would prefer not to agree with the wardsman on any topic under the sun, on this, at least, he must concede a likeness of mind.
“I will die for her, Ward,” he said, speaking the words with absolute conviction.
“But I would like to ensure she survives whatever altercation is coming. And for that, I fear, I need you.”
Ward muttered a series of colorful phrases, putting particular emphasis on a few choice words.
In the end, however, he sighed again and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
“All right, Grimm. Have it your way.” He looked down at Nigel and flashed both dimples in an expression that wasn’t quite a smile. “Let’s go get our tea witch.”