Chapter 19 #3
Cole is shaking his head. “Please. There has to be some other way.”
Memnon stares at him pityingly. “There is one thing I can do,” the sorcerer finally says.
“Anything.”
“Lie down.”
The man’s eyebrows hike up.
Memnon settles himself deeper against the desk, his arms folded as he waits, letting the silence he’s supposed to fill drag on and on.
The man gives his head a shake, then lowers himself to the ground, straightening out his suit once he’s resting against the carpeted floor.
Only once he’s on the ground does Memnon push away from the desk and kneel next to the man.
“What are you doing?” Kincaide asks.
I cannot see Memnon’s face from this angle, but I hear his words clearly.
“I’ne,” he incants in Sarmatian.
Die.
I slip off the desk as Cole’s body recoils against the ground. The man clutches at his chest with one hand, trying to draw in a breath of air. With his other, he reaches weakly for my husband.
“Please, Memnon,” he gasps out, and the skin at the back of my neck pricks. Those were the exact words of another one of Memnon’s other victims.
Now I know for certain this is why Memnon’s name has been turning up in Olga’s ledger. He really has been killing wealthy traffickers.
It happens fast. I don’t know how long normal heart attacks—even widow makers—take, but this one seems to occur in seconds.
Cole is gasping and reaching, his legs jerking weakly, but even as I step up to the two of them, his eyelids flutter, then his eyes go glassy.
After several more seconds, Memnon leans back on his haunches.
My stomach turns over in horror, even as my feelings toward this man remain conflicted.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to kill him,” I say softly.
This was definitely the murder-y sort of special meeting.
“I never said I wasn’t going to kill him, est amage. But I don’t plan on letting him stay dead,” he says. As he speaks, he splays a hand on Kincaide’s chest.
“Lisnuswatavak,” he incants.
Revive.
Memnon’s magic sifts out of him, slipping between the dead man’s parted lips and up his nostrils and sinking into his skin.
I don’t breathe as I watch. Bringing back the dead isn’t always an easy thing. Sometimes it’s damn near impossible.
Cole’s body twitches, one of his buffed leather shoes moving back and forth like a pendulum for a few brief moments before resettling.
Memnon still stares determinedly at the man. “Revive,” he incants again.
It says a great deal about the sorcerer’s magic that his eyes haven’t yet started glowing nor has his hair lifted, which means he’s not engaging his full power for a spell that will bring back the dead.
His magic sinks into Kincaide again. This time, however, the man’s whole body jerks violently, and he gasps in a shocked breath of air.
“What in the bloody hell?” he rasps out.
Guess Cole didn’t enjoy teatime with the devil.
“I’m honoring your wishes,” Memnon says. He pats Cole’s cheek. “You did well.”
Cole is still drawing in large lungfuls of air. As he’s recovering, Memnon’s magic rolls out of him again, and a long strand of it slips into Cole’s inner suit pocket, withdrawing his phone.
The device floats to Memnon, and the sorcerer plucks it from the air.
“Now,” Memnon continues, his voice hardening as he hands Kincaide his phone. “Call Irina.”
Gingerly, Cole sits up, coughing and rubbing at his chest. “Why?” he asks.
I feel a stab of pity for the man. Kincade looks like he not only met the Reaper but had a night out with the dude.
“We’re going to see if it worked.”
“If what wor…” Kincaide’s eyes widen, then he rapidly accesses Irina’s number on his phone and dials it.
What happens if it didn’t work? I ask.
Memnon’s voice is grim in my head. Then we try again. They usually don’t survive a second round though.
Kincaide better wish on his left nutsack that this did the trick.
Faintly, I can hear the other end of the line ringing.
“Put it on speaker,” Memnon commands.
“Kincaide?” a young woman says.
My heart drops at the sound of her voice.
“This isn’t Kincaide,” Memnon cuts in, taking the phone from Cole. “I am, however, someone who is very interested in releasing you from your bond.”
The silence across the line is loud. Or maybe it’s heavy—with pain and secrets and whatever else she may carry around.
“Are you still there?” Memnon asks.
“Yes,” she says hoarsely.
“I imagine Kincaide had some rules in place—perhaps there are things you are not allowed to say.”
From the other side of the line, I hear a small noise. I cannot tell if it’s agreement or not, but Memnon takes it as such.
“I want you to do me a favor and try to say one of those things now.”
Another long stretch of silence passes and I hear Irina’s shaky inhalation.
Her voice comes out as a whisper. “I think Kincaide is the foulest piece of shit there ever was.”
Across from us, Kincaide clenches his jaw, though he cannot quite suppress his grimace.
He glances up at Memnon just as, across the phone, Irina gasps. Her breath hitches. “How was I able to say…?”
“The bond between you and Cole is broken,” Memnon says stoically. “You’re free.”