At the sound of t #3
Fabian fumbled under the folds of his black robes to locate a handkerchief, which he held against his profusely bleeding snout.
“That’s what I’m here to tell you,” he answered in rather nasal tones.
“They’ve got her. They’ve taken her deep into Garden, to the place where you and Jastira fought, the place where she died.
” He grimaced and snuffled, but more blood flowed.
“They’re going to perform the ceremony there. Any minute, actually.”
With another roar in his throat, Nigel lurched to his feet, whirling toward the door.
“Wait!” Fabian barked.
He shouldn’t wait. Not for a second. But something in Fabian’s tone made him pause and look back, eyes flared and staring.
“Look,” his brother said and took a few hesitant steps toward him.
“Look, I . . . I felt Garden. All around me. I hadn’t been there in such a long time, you know, but once we got inside, I took a walk through the grounds and .
. . and . . . Nigey, what you’ve done there.
It’s not the same Garden. Did you know? It’s not Dad’s anymore, or not just Dad’s.
You’ve . . . you’ve worked an incredible Green Magic spell.
Far beyond anything I’ve ever seen.” He swallowed hard, his eyes darting away before forcing himself to face Nigel again.
“I guess I always thought sorcery was the only way for us. We couldn’t be what Dad wanted, so better to be what he didn’t, right?
But when I saw what you’ve been doing these last couple of years, well .
. .” He drew a steadying breath. “I want to help you, Nigel. I want to help you save her. I know it won’t undo what I’ve done, but .
. . let me be a brother to you this time. All right?”
Nigel sneered. It was a trap. Obviously.
Did Fabian think he was born yesterday? The Brotherhood knew he was still at large.
They wouldn’t want the Grimshade Lord to burst in on their big resurrection spell, right at the moment of crisis.
So they’d sent his brother to distract him, to make him think he had an ally, only to betray him at the last possible moment. Clearly.
Then again . . . Nigel frowned. He never would have found Garden at all if Fabian hadn’t come. If Fabian hadn’t opened the door for him. He might have wasted hours and precious magic supplies on a hundred locator spells and still never discovered its hiding place.
A muscle in his jaw ticked. The truth was, he could never fully trust Fabian. But . . .
“Very well,” he said coldly. “You can come.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Aw, Nigey, you won’t—”
“But if you call me ‘Nigey’ one more time, I’ll put a Dire bolt through your black heart.”
Fabian took a little step back and fluttered his bloody handkerchief in surrender. “Noted.”
Nigel turned to the door again, only to find both the aunties standing in front of him.
Arabella was holding a teapot. Where she’d come by it, he couldn’t guess, but there it was.
Not the one Luna had shattered on his skull, but a large, stout, pink-chintz porcelain.
Steam billowed from the spout. She smiled brilliantly.
Aurora, by contrast, stood at her sister’s side, no smile to be glimpsed on her stern face.
But she had a certain Mark IV revolver strapped in its holster at her hip.
Nigel blinked several times, mouth dropping open. “Wh—what are you doing?”
“You don’t think we’re going to let you march off to rescue our little niece all alone, do you?” Arabella trilled, batting her big eyes.
“Many hands make light labor; many hearts make strong faith,” Aurora intoned, even as she patted the revolver’s grip.
Nigel’s gaze shot from one aged aunt to the other. “We’re going up against the worst Dark Sorcerers of Nocturnus. The worst surviving Dark Sorcerers, anyway. Which makes them particularly tough.”
Auntie Arabella’s grin grew. She brandished her teapot. “I’ve found there’s very little a spot of tea cannot fix.”
Auntie Aurora smiled as well, a chilling expression which made Nigel want to duck for cover. Neither looked ready to back down an inch, and, truth be told, he hadn’t time to argue.
“Fine,” he said shortly. “But stay close and try not to get Dire-bolted. Luna will never forgive me if anything happens to either of you.”
With that, he stepped between them to the green doorway, his hand reaching for the knob.
There was no doubt in his mind that this was a suicide mission.
They were outnumbered, outmatched, with no plan to speak of, other than a single, damned spell which he couldn’t even say for certain he was capable of casting.
Just him, two little old witches, and a bloody-nosed sorcerer.
Up against Jastira’s most desperate minions and, if worst came to worst, the Shadowbane Lady herself.
Gods. The end of the world must truly be at hand. It was the only explanation for the thought which played suddenly across the back of his mind: What I wouldn’t give to have Ward the Damned Wardsman at my side right now.
Teeth set in a snarl, Nigel pushed the door open and stepped through.