Myra came to in the Grafford House library. Unusually dark and damp, the lack of roaring fire and glowing wall sconces rendered the room hostile. A bookcase was at her back, and its contents poked uncomfortably through Myra’s nightshift. Hands and ankles bound, she tried to maneuver her tongue around the dirty rag that had been stuffed into her mouth.
She was not alone.
Robert, Aidan, Benjamin, Kady, Stephen . . . all were similarly trussed and left bolstered up against the furniture, each out of reach of the next. None seemed conscious.
Where was Laurel? Where was James?
Myra attempted to crane her neck and found the motion pained her. From the corner of her eye, she could now see that a black-ish stain marked the shoulder of her nightgown. Blood.
Myra froze, newly terrified and fearful that she might injure herself further, not knowing the extent of the damage. Unmoving, she mentally took stock of her aches and pains. No immediate wound presented itself, no ready explanation for the blood at the base of her skull. She simply felt drained.
Emboldened, Myra tried looking around again, this time espying three hooded men standing huddled in the shadows near the doorway holding hushed conference. They appeared to be arguing.
Myra swept her eyes over the room once more, feeling her brain sharpen into wakefulness. A hulking shadow loomed next to the fireplace, obscuring her view of the ash-choked hearth. Her pulse quickened, recognition even in the dark. A large oaken writing desk. So it wasn’t a dream? Myra imagined she could see the Sholes atop it gleaming in what faint light there was in the room.
Still doesn’t answer where James and Laurel actually are. Okay, Myra, think . . . Shaking grogginess from her mind, Myra tried to call upon her gift to see which of her friends was lucid, which was injured—please, no—and who might be counted on.
Behind her Myra heard a sluggish, sliding thump, a low moan. She froze. Someone else was awake. The sound roused their captors into motion. Lightning flashed, sharply illuminating the library for one, brief instant. Stephen’s eyes met hers.
The three hooded men darted into the room, heads swiveling in jerky, tight movements. Another lightning flash showed Myra that each held a wand.
Mages, all of them.
“ ’Nough of that, Quimby,” one of the men spoke. “Adlay says we’ve enough power to hold ’em here for long as it takes.”
Quimby laughed, white teeth glinting in the flash of another bolt from the heavens. “I’ll do what pleases me. Besides, Silas has wanted to know exactly how strong a field Griggs’ harvesting devices can achieve. That right, Garrison?”
Garrison raised his hands, begging to be left out of it. He earned his escape from the argument by applying a nasty kick towards Stephen. “ ’Ere now. This’ns awake.”
He jerked his head, complaining, “Eaton, ye’ve erred in yer hex here.” Garrison raised his wand and flashed a wicked grin that even his wide hood could not conceal.
Eaton gave Garrison a rough shove, forcing him away and swiftly crouching at the side of his victim, his wand raised in the familiar illumination spell. “He’s ord, Garrison. Saw no need to damage him like the rest. Dampening won’t even affect him, so’s he’s good.”
Stephen lifted his eyes to the hooded man at his side, animosity straining at his bonds. Recognition.
“Tha’s right. You remember me from yer adventures in America, don’t you? Survived to fight another day, did we?” Eaton crooned, reaching out to loosen the gag around Stephen’s mouth, pulling it down around the ord’s neck. “There now, in’t that better? No worries about you casting anything on us.”
The same hand struck, a viper grasping Stephen’s chin and giving it a cruel twist. The pale light from the mage’s wand painted Stephen as a madman. Eyes wild with hatred, skin bone white and crossed with the angry marks where the gag had bitten, M.I.’s mage-turned-ord worked his mouth, maneuvering around his instincts, seeking an answer that reached beyond mere recognition or threat. The thin line of Stephen’s lips parted, emitting nothing but an impotent hiss.
“Thought so.” Eaton gave Stephen’s face a quick, condescending slap before retreating. “This’n is James’ boy. Didn’t give us what we wanted back at the Heartland Apex.”
Quimby snorted. “And killed off three of ours to one of theirs. Not exactly a rousing victr’y, Eaton. You’d best remember things accurate like if’n you’re gonna go around flapping yer yap about it.”
“And then there’s this’n.”
Myra flinched. Garrison had discovered her. He said, “Don’t remember her.”
And she them. Those who had gathered in the cellars for the Flameists’ ceremony had been monied, cultured, and connected. In contrast, these men were rough as their accents. They were men who worked for a living. She could see it in the way they moved their bodies. Hard men.
A woman’s scream made Myra’s heart stop.
Laurel!
Myra jolted upright, hissing through her gag as her as-yet-unknown injury added to her subconscious a scream of its own.
“Lookat, she’s stirring. Yer hexes ain’t worth a damn,” Quimby nudged Eaton. The two came to join Garrison in his scrutiny. “Whatya suppose her gift is?”
“Young’n. And pretty. I bet if’n we ask her nicely, she’ll show you, Q,” Eaton nudged back, his mirth not reaching his eyes.
Through narrowed eyes Myra glared at her jailers. Another of Laurel’s screams, wild and sorrowful, cut in. It drowned the rain, the darkness, the evil that these men had brought into Robert’s home. Cleansing even as it bled, Laurie’s agony provided M.I.’s captives with a shield.
“Gah. Can’t the Nomanguere shut her up? She’ll wake the rest of ’em like that.” Eaton glared up at the dark ceiling. “Between that and the AethCaster’s lightning, it’s getting on my nerves.”
“A thousand apologies to your delicate nerves, Eaton,” Garrison growled. “Didn’t know what you were signing up for with this line o’ work? It’s Adlay’s job to do what ’e’s doin’ up there. What, you want I should get you next in line for his services?”
“Still—”
“Adlay ain’t gonna touch her lest he risk Silas’ wrath.”
“Not physically, anyhow. Can’t speak to her mind.” The three men chuckled and turned away, distracted by the wailing from the floor above, unsettled by Laurel’s pain. Garrison readied himself for another kick, this in Myra’s direction but stopped short, waving his hands half-heartedly at her as he stomped away to go build up the fire with a quick hex.
Myra latched on to Laurel’s wailing, wandering spirit and found her Mind Speech. She and Stephen locked gazes. Are there weapons in this room that you can use?
Stephen nodded. Curt and cautious. Distracted as they were by the clamor from elsewhere in the house, the enemy mages did not appear to note the communication passing between their prisoners. Myra worked fast, her connection to Laurie’s gift pulling her into the woman’s pain. If I can free us, can you move in our defense? Are you injured?
Myra needed no Voice from Stephen to read his wide-eyed response: Are you?
Never mind me, Steve. Myra kept her reassurance clipped, feeling Aidan’s magic buzz its doubts into the back of her brain. She agreed with Quimby: Eaton’s hexes weren’t worth a damn. Hullo, Aidan. I presume you can hear me as well. We have to help Laurie. If you can rouse Kady, I can use her Kinetics to shut down whatever is causing the Dampening for you. They said something about Julius’ harvesting devices. My guess is that they somehow have set up several to create a field around the house, using the AethCaster’s weather working to charge them. Be ready for my move.
Myra waited. She waited as Laurel’s cries dimmed to a whimper and ceased their pulling at Myra’s Empathy. Waited as the storm outside again made itself known and their captors settled into moody silence around James’ fireside table. Waited as the roving ghost of Laurel’s tortured spirit ceased its haunting, coalescing into a Voice in all her friends’ heads: Hold. They do not wish me harm . . . yet. I am too valuable due to my most precious gift. And, Myra, I do believe you will not find Kady’s Kinetics available to you due the electric field set ’round our perimeter by Griggs’ devices. I maintain my magic as I was quick to flee into the OtherLands.
Laurel’s Mind Speech echoed in Myra’s chest, loud as a thunderclap and reassuring with its strength. James, if you can hear me, I’m sending her to you.
Her? Myra looked sharply to Stephen. But she never met his gaze.