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LORD DALLINAR BARELY got any sleep after the demoness tried to kill him. He tossed and turned in his bed, furious that his home had been infiltrated by an assassin. His shield was too strong for anyone to penetrate it, but the fact that she’d dared to try was what kept him awake. He’d had too much to drink and had lowered his guard. If he hadn’t had the shield, she probably would have killed him.
He rose before nightfall and fortified himself with a tumbler of whiskey. It helped steady his nerves and his hands as he got dressed in a black tunic and trousers. Tempted to down more of the alcohol, he paced up and down in his chamber while he waited for the appointed time to meet his allies.
The fairy lord teleported to Lord Graham’s house just as Lord Kreaton arrived by carriage. The alpha opened the door himself and stepped outside. “Let’s get this over with,” he said gruffly. His ginger hair and beard looked like they hadn’t been brushed in a week. His black t-shirt and jeans were wrinkled and looked as if he’d slept in them.
“What’s the rush?” Lord Kreaton asked dourly. As always, his lank black hair looked greasy and unwashed.
“A demoness attempted to kill me last night,” Lord Dallinar said before the werewolf could reply. His allies turned to him in surprise at the fury in his tone. “She disguised herself as a comely human, then transformed into a hideous hell spawn and tried to slice me to pieces!”
“You appear to be unharmed, so your shield obviously kept you safe,” Lord Graham said, examining his diminutive ally.
“Who was the demoness?” the master vampire asked.
Something about her had been familiar. The fairy cast his mind back, then snapped his fingers. “I think she’s one of the half-breeds that I sent to the slave blocks in the Demon District a few decades ago. I named her Ember.” The infant had had black wings, a gray body and gold eyes just like the hell spawn who had shown up last night. “Raum obviously sent her to assassinate me. We need to order Xiara Evora to execute him for this crime immediately!” he exclaimed.
His allies exchanged guarded looks. “Raum is aware that we’re shielded. He knows how pointless it would be to send one of his minions to attack us,” Lord Kreaton said in an effort to talk the fae lord down from the ledge he was teetering on.
“The Guild Master has many enemies,” Lord Graham pointed out. “One of his rivals could have sent the demoness to assassinate you so we would blame Raum.”
Lord Dallinar’s bottom lip pooched out in a sulky pout. “You’re probably right,” he conceded grudgingly. “Raum is too intelligent to attack us openly. One of his rivals must have been responsible. We’re not going to give them the satisfaction of eliminating their Guild Master for them.”
Glad they’d averted a potential disaster, the master vampire and alpha werewolf flicked relieved looks at each other. The fairy was often temperamental, especially when he was drunk. Lord Kreaton could only smell faint whiskey fumes emanating from his ally and figured he was mostly sober tonight. The unexpected attack in his private tower had rattled him badly.
When Lord Dallinar teleported them to the shifter woods, Lord Graham hunted down a small pack of rogues. The fairy drained them, then the werewolf ordered the victims to hide in a cave.
“Now to locate some masterless fledglings,” Lord Kreaton said, then looked at Lord Dallinar expectantly. His ally teleported them to the Vampire District. He drained some more masterless leeches, then they deemed their task was done for the night.
Lord Graham stopped the fae lord before he could teleport them away. “Have you heard from Wort lately?” he asked.
Lord Kreaton shook his head and frowned. “He should have completed his mission by now,” he said, realizing it had been a while since he’d sent a letter to the satyr telling him to hurry up and assassinate Sebastian. “I want to send a letter to the satyr known as Wort,” he said. Nothing happened and a blank sheet of paper and quill didn’t appear.
“He’s dead,” Lord Dallinar said with utter certainty. “Sebastian must have killed him. I wonder what happened to the children he was training to become the next batch of assassins?”
“Teleport us to the prison so we can see for ourselves,” Lord Kreaton suggested.
Lord Dallinar used his wand to transport them to the prison. They made their way to Wort’s private quarters to find his door was unlocked. The image of a satyr had vanished from the door. All of his belongings were gone when they stepped inside. “He’s definitely dead,” the fairy said with a scowl. “There’s no sign of the children,” he added. Their clothes, training weapons and punching bags had all vanished. So had the beds and other furniture. The big black cabinet that had been filled with Wort’s trophies from his kills was also gone.
“Maybe the fairy nannies found them and took them back to the nursery,” Lord Kreaton suggested.
They traversed through the hallways to the nursery and found one of the fae matrons who looked after the children. “How can I help you, my lords?” she asked in surprise to see the trio in the prison. Too weak to have wings, she clutched her hands together in a white knuckled grip.
“Wort appears to have perished,” Lord Dallinar said. “We just checked on the children that were in his care to find they’re not in his quarters. Do you know where they are?”
Her blank expression was answer enough, but she stammered a response anyway. “I’m afraid not, my lords,” she said. “I haven’t seen any of the children since Wort took them away.”
“That’s what we thought,” Lord Graham said. “What could have happened to them?”
“If they didn’t have anyone to feed them, they probably starved to death,” the nurse said. Her voice trembled slightly at that ghastly fate.
Lord Dallinar shook his head in denial. “We would have felt it if they’d died,” he said. “They’re still alive, so they have to be here somewhere. Search the entire prison and find them,” he ordered.
“We’ll wait in our private sitting room,” Lord Kreaton added. They trooped out of the prison and headed upstairs to wait.
Lord Graham poured himself and the fairy a tumbler of alcohol and they sat down on their usual seats. Lord Dallinar sipped his drink slowly, savoring it instead of gulping it down like he longed to. The hollow feeling in his gut was increasing nightly. He had a feeling that everything was falling apart. The last time he’d felt this way had been last Halloween, when Crowmon had unleashed his treachery on the City of Night. The god was powerless now, so he couldn’t be to blame for the dread he was feeling this time.
A couple of hours passed before a knock sounded at the door.
“Enter!” Lord Kreaton called out so the Night Cursed agent standing guard could hear him. The door opened and the nanny they’d questioned earlier stepped inside. He could tell by her terrified expression that her search hadn’t been successful. “You didn’t find the children?” he asked in an accusing tone.
“No, my lord,” the fairy replied, keeping her eyes lowered. “We’ve searched the entire prison and we couldn’t find them anywhere.”
“I’m sure we’ll find them eventually,” Lord Dallinar said in a forced casual tone. He waved his hand dismissively and the nanny fled before she could be punished for her failure. He’d been tempted to set her on fire, but he didn’t want his allies to think he couldn’t control his temper.
“How did the children manage to escape from the prison?” Lord Graham asked with a scowl. “They’re barely out of diapers!”
“Someone had to have helped them,” Lord Kreaton figured. “We should question the staff one by one to ascertain who is responsible.”
“That’s a good idea,” Lord Dallinar said, glad his ally had thought of it. All of the staff were full blood fae and they couldn’t lie. “We should send some agents to retrieve them so we can begin immediately.” He left his seat long enough to speak to the guards at the door, then sat down again.
It took a few hours to question all of the staff who worked in the prison, but they came up empty. “No one helped the children escape from the prison,” Lord Kreaton said incredulously. “Did they somehow teleport themselves away?”
Lord Dallinar shook his head grumpily. “Only a select few staff have permission to teleport in and out of the prison. Most don’t have enough magic to cast the spell anyway.”
“They can’t have vanished into thin air,” Lord Graham pointed out. “Someone must have come to get them.”
“Does it really matter?” his lilac-haired ally asked wearily. He just wanted to head to his private tower so he could slake his thirst. “It isn’t like they can cause us any harm. They’re practically babies.”
Lord Kreaton grudgingly nodded in agreement, yet he sensed they shared the same sense of impending doom that he felt. “They’re unimportant and we’ve already wasted enough time searching for them.”
“Now that Wort is dead, we don’t have any assassins or anyone to train more killers for us,” Lord Graham said. “We’ve only got the Guardian of Nox to execute criminals and no one to take down those we see as a threat.”
“We’ll have to deal with our enemies ourselves,” the master vampire said dourly. “At least until we can find someone new to do our dirty work for us.”
“It’s late,” Lord Dallinar said. He had a task to plan and he wanted to surprise his allies with it when he was done. “I’ll see you both tomorrow night.” He didn’t wait for a response and teleported to his private tower.
“He’s becoming more and more unstable,” the alpha werewolf said.
“The fairy has been drinking less alcohol lately,” his brooding undead ally said. “Lord Dallinar isn’t the man he used to be, but he can stay sober long enough to perform the tasks that are required of him.”
“Let’s hope he can hold it together when he performs the Energy Tax on Halloween,” Lord Graham said grimly. “If he can’t focus long enough to cast the draining spell, he’ll never live the humiliation down.”
“He weathered the public crisis with his impotency problem,” the leech retorted and both men broke into chuckles.
“Have you heard he wears a magical device on his manhood so he can perform in bed now?” Lord Graham asked, dropping his voice to a bare whisper.
“I’ve heard,” Lord Kreaton replied just as quietly. “You’re lucky shifters aren’t as affected by alcohol as fairies are, or you could end up wearing one yourself.”
Standing up, the werewolf grabbed his crotch with a toothy grin. “There’s nothing wrong with my manhood,” he boasted. “Speaking of which, I’m heading home so I can bed a wench.” He didn’t mention that the wench was a member of his secret harem.
The pair left their private sitting room and carriages arrived to ferry them to their mansions.
