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“Maybe he didn’t hear you. It’s possible that pulling tighter on those strings ‘round his balls will unclog his ears,” Duke suggests.
The supine wizard stiffens but remains stubbornly mute.
“It hasn’t worked well so far. Are you any good with a knife?” Lucan asks.
“Terrible.”
“Perfect.” I hand the blade to Duke.
“No. God, no!” Zain pleads.
“Then talk,” Duke snarls, gripping the wicked knife by the handle. “What did Mathias plan to do with the man and woman inside? Why does he want the house searched?”
Zain glances in panic between Duke’s face and the blade.
“Yes, I will cut you. Yes, it will hurt like the devil. And yes, you will die a horrible death. You’re not leaving me a lot of choices…”
Denzell looks clammy, sweaty, and half-ready to wet his pants. “The man we were to kill.”
I snort. “Kill an immortal? Did Mathias fail to do his homework? How sloppy of him.”
Duke raises a dark brow at the irony.
Zain glares at me. “I would find some way to carry out my order.”
“Unless your magic is stronger than Morgana Le Fay’s, that’s impossible,” Duke points out. “I doubt Mathias was unaware that he ordered you to kill an immortal. He’s many things—”
“Manipulative, ruthless, evil—” I cut in.
“Bloodthirsty, maniacal, and power hungry,” Duke goes on. “What Mathias is not? Stupid.”
“He set you up to fail, Zain. Do you see that? He set you up to die, because Marrok will kill you.”
The dark wizard exhales. His defiant expression collapses. “I’m not saying another word until you take me someplace safe.”
“Why should we? You haven’t told us what we need to know.”
“Because more Anarki will arrive if we do not return soon.”
Shit. The last thing we want is more Anarki all over Olivia and Marrok, who are still too busy to realize they’re under attack.
I quickly zap the four unconscious Anarki back to their last location. Presumably, they will reach Mathias.
With a quick swish of my finger, I unwind the invisible string around Zain’s balls, remove his robes, and puddle them next to his mask. The wizard wears a pair of joggers, trainers, and a T-shirt that reads Can You Hear Me Now? above a picture of a Tibetan monk giving a one-fingered salute.
“Good thing you’re going into captivity. Otherwise, the fashion police would arrest you,” Duke comments dryly.
Quickly, I take the knife from Duke, grab Zain, and slice into his palm. As he gasps, I smear his blood on his robes before zapping them back to their last location.
Zain glares. “That never had hag’s blood, did it?”
“Oops.” I shrug. “Now, we’d like that information.”
He grumbles. “The woman we were supposed to take to Mathias.”
I grit my teeth against fury. “You know what he would have done to her?”
Zain shakes his head. “Not her. She’s valuable. Priceless, he said. And not to be touched.”
