Chapter 2
They did not protect her.
Even the professor. I thought he was one I could rely on.
I was wrong.
—Nymph?—
I throw my mind out into the abyss, but no reply comes. She would answer if she heard me. Is she unconscious?
Or too far away?
It must be one or the other. The Lumina will protect her from the dark essence.
—Nymph?—
I shouldn't have volunteered to watch the twin. A terrible error.
And I shouldn’t have underestimated him.
He’d whispered an incantation which twisted my mind. My will didn't just bend; it dissolved.
I wanted him to be free. I gladly allowed him to leave the tower. And then?
I woke up on the parquet flooring of the Dragon’s apartment, a bitter taste in my mouth like blood, old magic and impotence.
But I must cast aside regrets for now.
There is no time for anything but the hunt.
Leaving behind the girl who is friend to my nymph, I tear through the Academy more like a valkyrie than a minotaur.
It’s almost as though I conjure gale-force winds at my back, running from place to place.
Library, gymnasiums, Defectivum, Communis and Eletus Tower. Nothing.
Classrooms and laboratories. So unlikely, but I need to map every corner of this place and be certain she’s somewhere in this cold stone castle.
Students scatter as I pass. All the time I’m searching for her scent, but just capture the rank odor of people I care nothing for.
On to the grounds.
The building site. Why did I not go there first? It’s obviously the seat of some darkness. Heaviness of failing her grows in my chest.
The high steel panel walls, topped with knots of razor wire, will no longer keep me out. Circling the structure, I’m looking for my entrance way. In my minotaur form, I’d tear through easily. Can I shift?
The bull inside me begs to be released.
If I cannot breach now, I’ll attempt to transform after dark. I’ll slip into the shadows and let my minotaur tear this place to shreds.
"Hey! Boy! Get back from the perimeter!"
A guard, dressed in black, steps out from the shadows of the hoarding. He is joined by two others, their faces obscured by the helmets they wear. All clutch their weapons with an obvious eagerness to discharge the contents.
I move forward towards them. I am a janitor.
I am nothing.
Let me go about my business. When I’m within reach of the men, one plants a heavy hand on my chest. The other two lift the barrels of their guns.
Irrelevant.
"The site is closed by order of the Conclave." The man with his hand on my chest grunts, "Go back to work before I report you."
I don't argue. Instead, I take note that the main gates are opening to let out a vehicle.
I duck under the guard's arm, my eyes fixed on the construction entrance. A rush of air behind me gives me notice to feint to the left. The guard’s fist sails over my head.
I am not a fast man, too heavy to run like the centaur, but right now it feels as though my feet have Hermes’ winged sandals.
“Stop. Don’t make me shoot.”
Within seconds, I’m pressing myself against the exiting truck, and then through into the compound. In a flash I take in the scene. Portacabins, vehicles, scaffold, piles of discarded building materials. Is she here?
—Nymph?—
The thought is out at the same moment the world tilts.
The pain comes a second later. I’m falling face first into the mud, blood filling my mouth, and then I know no more.