Chapter 23
There was no time for thought, only action.
Gripping the arms of the young woman in front of him, Nigel pivoted in place, dragging her bodily around, turning her into a living shield just an instant before the Dire bolt struck between her shoulders.
She shuddered in his grasp. An awful, gagging sound burst from her lips.
Slowly, her soft, dark eyes dropped, staring at the pointed end of the bolt protruding through her breast, piercing through the too-thin fabric of her shabby winter coat. No blood stained its tip. No blood issued from her wound.
Another gagged-on breath, and she lifted her gaze back to him, eyes rounded, staring with an expression of utter pain and betrayal, so horrifying it almost made Nigel regret his action.
Then her body disintegrated. A million particles of anti-glitter, dispersing into the air, drifting through his fingers. The Dire bolt, still solid, fell uselessly to the ground.
Nigel took a step back, his heart throbbing.
A simulacrum. They’d thought they could fool him with a damn simulacrum.
Not one of Calista Anguish’s roughshod creations either—one so exquisitely rendered that it did, in fact, addle his desperate senses momentarily into believing. Not for long, though.
But then, it didn’t have to work for long.
Another bolt of Dire Matter hurtled his way, but Nigel was already in motion, even as his mind spun.
Luna wasn’t here. They were holding her somewhere, captive still.
They knew who she was, they knew exactly how she fit into their schemes, and now they had Garden within their grasp as well.
He must get that key back from Calista. Now.
A transmatterportation sigil flared on his right.
Dodging another hurtling bolt, Nigel turned his head sharply to see Calista performing the spell for a hasty getaway.
His hand was already in the inner pocket of his robe, however, and the next instant, the first severmist bomb flew, shattering at her feet.
An ear-splitting bang! and purple mist erupted in the air. Numerous voices screamed in shock. Another bolt of Dire Matter crumbled even as it flew, the poison in the atmosphere disrupting its essence. Calista let out a wild shriek of terror as her sigil shattered, barring her escape.
Quick as thought, Nigel yanked out the gas mask Ward had given him and popped it onto his face.
Here’s hoping it would provide some protection against the severmist. He already had a second bomb in hand and hurtled it with all his strength across the granary to where a cluster of cowled figures stood, still shocked at his chosen method of defense.
They were prepared for the Grimshade Lord in all his majestic fury; they weren’t ready for ordinary anti-sorcery weapons.
The second bomb burst, disrupting both attack spells and another series of escape portals, halfway constructed.
Of course, it no longer mattered to Nigel if he kept them trapped here—he couldn’t sacrifice himself in that Last Great Spell he’d planned.
Not while Luna was still in peril. All his objectives were abruptly shifted, and worse still, he couldn’t throw another bomb for fear of inadvertently summoning that damnable Ward.
His gaze zeroed in on Calista. She had the key. All that mattered now was reaching her.
The air was thick with poison. Sorcerers coughed and gagged, doubling over as the intense levels of sorcery in their systems fought off the poison’s influence.
Calista, less powerful than those around her, less steeped in the Dire, was far more susceptible.
She crumpled to the floor, screaming. Purple foam bubbled around her mouth, clashing with her red lipstick.
Nigel lunged three steps toward her. Before he could take a fourth, a body struck hard against his—one of the half-stunned sorcerers, unable to use his magic in the moment, but ready to defend the beautiful Mrs. Anguish while she was down.
Nigel hit the ground hard, wind knocked from his lungs and hissing strangely through the mask filter.
He grappled with a faceless foe, struggling to see through the protective lenses of the mask.
He could just catch a glimpse of a face under the hood, could see traces of purple around snarling lips and clenched teeth, but this sorcerer, whoever he was, was already fighting off the severmist influence.
Pale hands stretched out, reaching for Nigel’s mask, prying it away from his face.
Nigel held his breath. If he took in even one more lungful of severmist, it would be the end of him, the end of every hope of saving Luna, the end of—
The granary door burst open.
With a harsh RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT, flashes strobed through the purple mist, a deafening burst of gunfire, rapid as a jackhammer and twice as loud.
Not quite loud enough to cover the screams of the sorcerers who, prepared for Dire-assaults, found themselves woefully inept for good old-fashioned flying bullets.
The sorcerer atop Nigel looked up, his hands still clutching at the gas mask.
The next instant, his body jolted like he’d been kicked by a mule, and he went over backwards, a red rose of blood blooming in the front of his robes.
Nigel, taking advantage of the reprieve, pushed his mask back into place, then rolled to watch the oncoming heroic figure of Ward the Wardsman, storming the granary, his semi-automatic pressed to his shoulder.
With long-legged strides, Ward marched over to Nigel, paused his assault, and held out one hand. Nigel sneered at it, an entirely useless expression behind the mask, and scrambled to his feet on his own. “She not here?” Ward bellowed.
“I told you to come in on three!” Nigel barked in lieu of an answer.
“Yeah, well, you weren’t showing up. I thought you might need a little backup.
” Ward shouldered his weapon again, firing into the mist. More screaming answered, but now sigil flares lit up the darkness.
The sorcerers, having recovered from their initial shock, exerted tremendous amounts of energy to open escape portals to carry them free of this death trap.
Nigel cursed as he watched a hooded figure carrying the inert form of Calista Anguish—along with the key she presumably still had on her person—through a flaring portal into the Void.
He glimpsed the indistinct shadow of a Dire Demon, summoned to carry them away. Then the portal snapped shut.
“Damn!” Nigel snarled, his voice hollow through the mask filter.
“What’s the plan, Grimm?” Ward demanded, pausing fire.
There was no plan. Not really. Only impulse. Only the need to get through one of those portals, follow it back to wherever it led, follow the sorcerers to where they were keeping Luna.
“Cover me,” Nigel said and took a step.
A Dire-bolt appeared out of nowhere, whistling so close, he felt the wind of its passing. Nigel jerked to one side, but the bolt wasn’t aimed at him. It connected. Hard.
And Ward went flying.
Nigel pivoted, watching as the wardsman struck the far wall, a black mass of writhing Dire Matter protruding from his chest. “Ward!” Nigel cried and leapt toward him as the wardsman sank to the ground.
Nigel dropped to his knees, uncertain what he could possibly do.
His trembling hands reached to grasp the bolt, but it simply disintegrated in the severmist.
Ward dragged in a huge, painful inhale. Then, coughing, he blinked dazedly up at Nigel. “Anti-sorcery vest,” he choked and pulled open the front of his uniform to reveal the dark fabric. “You didn’t want it, so . . .”
Nigel spat a foul word. He’d never in his life been so glad to see someone he hated so much still alive and kicking. It was quite a unique feeling. One he did not have time to contemplate.
Somehow, Ward had held on to his firearm. He hoisted it up, pressing the stock against his shoulder once more. “Go after her, Grimm,” he wheezed painfully. “I got you covered. Go!”
More transmatterportation sigils were going off, one after the other. In moments, the granary would be empty. Nigel had no time for thanks or curses. He had to move. Now.
Leaving Ward propped against the wall, Nigel sprang to his feet and sprinted into the purple fog, aiming for one of the last cowled figures remaining.
A blast of anti-light, filled with multi-hued colors for which there were no names in mortal tongues, ripped a vertical opening in the veils of reality.
Nigel felt the chaos of the Void beyond, churning with screams. A great, horned, lion shape peered out, its face hideously manlike save for the massive tusks.
A Dire Demon, summoned by its master. Nigel recognized that demon, knew exactly to whom it belonged.
Grinding his teeth, he surged forward. Just as the sorcerer mounted the back of its enthralled fiend, just as the demon turned to launch itself into the Void, Nigel dove through the portal, one hand reaching out. His fingers closed tight, fastening around a lashing tail.
Then the portal slammed shut behind him, and he was hurtling through the Dire Dimensions, hanging on for dear life.