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And what do you know? The one Anarki approaching is from the House of Denzell.
Shock? Hard to tell. If it is, I can’t wait to beat the bloody hell out of him.
Moments later, the wind carries Duke’s silent countdown to my ears alone.
Heart revving, I leap from the black shadows on the count of three and, with a wave of my hand, stun the nearest unsuspecting Anarki. With a silent spell, I tie him with invisible bonds and move to the next.
I glance up to find that Duke has already dispensed with one berobed freak. The other two peer frantically into the tree line, wands at the ready. So play time is over, is it? I dash behind the sycamore again and wave my own wand.
My spell hits, and the Anarki slips into unconsciousness. As the goon falls, he hits his head on a boulder with a satisfying thud. When I check, the bastard is still alive. Pity… Death seems a more fitting punishment for these fiends, especially since they came to torment Marrok, hurt Olivia, and steal the diary.
Unfortunately, Bram wants at least one Anarki captured alive. Good sources of information, he claims. I think they’ll make better sources of fertilizer.
A quick glance around reveals Duke wrapping up Anarki number four. The last one—Denzell—looks ready to teleport away. Clearly, he didn’t expect resistance.
With a quick spell, I whip invisible bonds around the wanker’s ankles and wrists. His wand falls to the ground. Behind his mask, his eyes widen in panic. His fear is cloying; I can smell it.
I stroll from the shadows and over to the wizards who are bound, passed out—or both. Duke joins me.
“Good evening. What a shame you’re wandering where you aren’t welcome. Do I have to ask who sent you?”
Denzell glares at me with gritted teeth. He isn’t saying a damn thing.
I tuck my wand away and lift off the man’s mask, revealing a craggy face with bronzed skin, inky hair, and jet-black eyes. He’s definitely a Denzell, but a younger version of the one I despise.
Still, the only good Denzell is a dead one.
I point my finger toward the man’s groin, make a wrapping motion, then yank, strangling his stones. He grunts and chokes, trying desperately to reach down with his bound hands. I pin them to the ground.
Perfect. Now Denzell might prove cooperative. If not…I have no trouble pulling harder.
“Why are you here? You’re awfully early for a morning stroll.”
“Fuck you.”
I pull tighter on the invisible binds, and he spews a satisfying wail of pain. “England is home to some of the most accomplished poets and playwrights in history. Apparently, none of their eloquence rubbed off on you.”
“Release me, or you’ll pay.” He thrashes and makes a mad dive for his wand.
I kick it away. “Answer my questions, and I might let you keep your stones attached.”
Under the bluish shadows of moonlight, the dark wizard visibly steels himself. “Eat shit.”
Since I can make the man not just spill information but sing it in three-part harmony, I smile. “Let’s start simple. What was your mission here tonight?”
Denzell glances at the other four hooded figures, some now coming to. “I have nothing to say.”
With a jerk of my fist, I yank on the invisible bonds—hard. “Do you really want to lose your family jewels over such a simple question?”
Even in the moonlight, I see him sweat. He glances again at the other Anarki. Is he looking for help?
Duke kneels beside Denzell. “You’re keeping him from his mate. You know the very lovely Anka, right? That makes him cranky. You should cooperate. We would all be much happier.”
“Go to…hell,” the asshole ekes out.
“We’re not making progress.” I sigh in mock concern. “I have a knife. Since the bindings aren’t getting his attention…”
“Good thinking. I’ll hold him down.”
