Chapter Eleven
Sikras
WITH ITS TOWERING SPIRES and intricate stone carvings, Theodore’s castle was, no doubt, a work of art.
Sprawling grounds and lush gardens framed its exterior, and an ornate fountain outside the front steps hinted at the owner’s wealth.
Sikras did nothing to hide his scoff—another rich bastard with his flashy trinkets and décor.
A gatipedro stood at the entry, halberd in its mighty paw.
The humanoid creature, with its sleek feline features and single horn protruding from its forehead, looked more diplomat than guard in its silk finery.
Sikras didn’t recall much about gatipedros, but judging by the contemptuous gaze, this one’s personality reflected that of most felines he had met—aloof and thoroughly inconvenienced by the presence of anyone.
“Name,” it snarled, whiskers twitching.
Helspira stepped forward. “It’s Helspira. You’re Argus, right? We’ve actually met befo—”
“Not on the list.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she pulled her hand to her chest. “It’s really important we see Theodore. Don’t you remember me? I came with Cecil last year?”
“Cecil.” Argus purred. “A fellow wizard of the Runicae Order. Cecil is on the list. You, Madam Helspira, are not.”
“For the love of—” Sikras stepped backward, shielding his eyes from the sun.
They didn’t need this. There were always more options for entering a building than a door.
Spotting an open window in a tower above, he smirked.
“What say you, Benjamin? We missed the tsa’nakai races, but I bet you two coppers I can toss a rat through that window.
That ought to get the wizard’s attention. ”
Benjamin crossed his arms. “Sikras, I love you, but you have a terrible aim.”
“Nonsense.” Sikras kneeled, and an undead rat that was more bones than flesh scurried into his waiting palm. With entirely unearned confidence, he drew back his arm and hurled the creature toward the window.
Majestically, it soared. Right up until it struck the mansion’s exterior, exploded into bone fragments, and fell into the decorative shrubbery below.
Sikras cringed and sucked a stream of air in through his teeth. “Oh, dear. Good thing he can’t feel pain.”
Helspira, Benjamin, and Argus stared in awkward silence, until Benjamin slowly raised his hand. “Can ... Can I try one?”
Sikras scooped up another undead rat and plopped it into Ben’s hand. “Plenty to go around.”
The vertical line of Argus’s pupils shrank into small, black slits. “This is not—”
“Off she goes!” Benjamin shouted as he hurled the vermin’s corpse through the air.
Into the open window it went, disappearing inside the room.
“First try,” Sikras said, clapping. “Nicely done.”
Ben flexed his fingers. “It’s all in the wrist.”
Argus hissed, claws protruding from its furry fingers. It parted its jaws to speak but was silenced when a man appeared in the open window above.
“Which plebian with a death wish is throwing rats through my window?”
“Theodore.” Helspira gasped, offering a timid wave. “Hi. It’s been a while.”
Theodore’s expression flattened. “And you are ...?”
Sikras struck a pose. “We are the valiant Miss Helspira, Sentinel Champion Benjamin Reese, and Sikras Nikabod, the Glowing Cat’s Eye in Death’s Darkness, here to—”
“Did you say the Cat’s Eye?” Theodore leaned farther out the window. “Famed necromancer?”
“Along with his companions, Sentinel Champion Benjamin Reese and the valiant Miss Helspira,” Sikras reinforced. “We come seeking an audience with the great and powerful—uh ...”
“Theodore,” Helspira whispered.
“Right. Theodore.”
The extended silence amplified the sense that the man was scrutinizing them. Only after Theodore postured, stroking his manicured beard, did he motion to Argus. “Send them in.”
YEP, HE HAD CALLED it. The interior was as self-inflated as the outside.
Their footsteps echoed off the marble floors with each stride, only stopping when Theodore ceased leading the trio down an impossibly long hallway.
“The Cat’s Eye.” Theodore circled Sikras, hands behind his back, studying him as if he was one of the many works of art on the walls.
“I’ve heard stories but never thought I’d actually meet you face to face in my lifetime.
And this—” Theodore orbited Benjamin like a predator circling prey, his gaze drawn to the sword handle poking from the cloak.
“Normally I don’t allow weapons in my mansion, but I trust you’re wise enough to see that your minion stays its hand. ”
Benjamin crossed his arms. “His minion is perfectly capable of staying his hand, thank you very much.”
Surprise flashed in Theodore’s eyes. “Sentience even after decomposition? Speech without tongue or vocal cords? Impressive. I suppose you’re all the proof I need that the Cat’s Eye really is who he claims. No wizard alive can reanimate a corpse at your level of deterioration with both essence and soul.
And you”—Theodore faced Helspira—“why do you look familiar?”
Helspira opened her mouth to speak, but Theodore silenced her with a derisive snicker. “Wait. Your eye. I know you. You’re Cecil’s”—he snorted, voice rising—“lover.”
In the face of Theodore’s mockery, Helspira stood taller. “The only person that man loved was himself.”
Theodore’s irritating snicker evolved into a deprecating laugh. “Person? Darling, just because this is a house of magic doesn’t mean science and biology are cast aside. Demons are hardly people.”
Sikras’s exaggerated, cynical laughter echoed off the walls, as he locked Theodore in an intense stare.
The noise shifted from mockery to madness as he gripped Theodore’s shoulder, the luxurious fabric compressing under the pressure of Sikras’s fingers.
“Now, now. I came all this way to see your collection of magical artifacts, not commit a felony.”
“No, no,” Helspira stuttered with a nervous laugh. “He’s joking. No felonies here.”
“On the subject of the law”—Theodore arched a brow, unaffected by Sikras’s aggressive touch—“did the Red Sentinel ever bring Cecil in for his assault?”
Helspira looked away. “No, and I doubt they ever will. Wizards know how to avoid capture.”
“I suppose. And it’s not as if he committed a crime against a person.” Theodore smoothed out his eyebrows and stood taller. “So, you’ve come to gaze upon my collection, have you?”
“Among other things,” Sikras murmured through clenched teeth. At the insistence of Helspira’s pleading look, he shifted his expression into a false smile.
Suspicion flattened Theodore’s features. “Why?”
“We’re on a very important quest from the queen,” Helspira said. “You have a scroll that would make that quest significantly easier.”
“And you just thought I’d hand over a priceless artifact out of the goodness of my heart?” Theodore asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sikras shoved his hands into his pockets.
“I knew that ship sailed thirty seconds into meeting you. But if I know anything about men who hoard possessions, it’s that they crave the opportunity to flaunt them.
In addition”—he smirked—“you’d have never let us in here if there wasn’t something you wanted in turn. ”
An eerie grin formed on Theodore’s face. “How perceptive of you. Follow me.”
Oil paintings of nude men and women, bowls of fruit, and fractured landscapes flanked the hallways as they trailed after the wizard, each one offset by a sconce that illuminated in blue fire the moment Theodore passed it. Subtle magic, but magic nevertheless.
Paintings gave way to tapestries and gilded statues, and just as Sikras started to question whether they were in an actual hallway or some never-ending illusion, they arrived at a grand doorway.
Distorted symbols glittered and glowed in the wood.
Sikras recognized them immediately—arcane cyphers meant to guard whatever lived beyond the door.
“Protected by magic.” Sikras nodded. “Wise move.”
“I’d be a fool not to do so. No souls that I do not expressly permit are allowed to pass without my knowledge, and since you still have yours”—Theodore pointed to Benjamin—“that includes you. I trust you’ll all leave your weapons in the hallway.”
Without hesitation, Benjamin and Helspira hung their blades, while Sikras removed a few hidden daggers and propped his scythe against the wall.
“That’s everything?” Theodore asked.
Everyone nodded.
The wizard dug into his pockets, a small green gem in his hand.
Sikras recognized it as jaracore, a precious stone material casters used for spells of detection.
His suspicions were confirmed when Theodore whispered an incantation.
The stone dissolved into ash, and all the present weapons charged with a current of electricity.
Had anyone been concealing blade, bow, or steel, they would have received quite the shock.
“Good. No hidden surprises.” Theodore wiped the leftover ashes on his robes before he withdrew a different object, something metallic by the looks of it. He uttered a second spell, and the click of a popping lock foreshadowed the door’s opening.
Sikras struggled to adjust to the rapid change in light as he entered a room smaller than the others but no less ornate, with pedestals and glass cases surrounding a dozen artifacts.
“You were right to presume I delight in sharing my finds with fellow casters. I find they have a great appreciation for these types of items,” Theodore muttered as he stepped farther into the room.
“Even if necromancy scrapes the bottom of the proverbial arcane barrel. The lazy man’s magic, I always said. ”
Sikras ran his finger over one of the glass domes and inspected the dust he had gathered. “You got that right, pal. Let the undead handle the heavy lifting, I say. I haven’t had to wash a load of laundry in years.”
Benjamin scoffed. “Don’t lie to the man. If you delegated tasks more often, our home wouldn’t look like it was ransacked by an army of drunken ogres.”