“I love you too,” she whispered back. Then she broke away and stepped out into the hall, setting off at a brisk pace. “Come on, Rory.”
He narrowed his eyes, but they had to go. He chased after her.
Out on the street, Gwen went to the car parked just up the block. She slipped gracefully into the back seat and Rory scrambled in behind her. She spoke in rapid French as she threw a wad of bills over the seat.
The driver nodded sharply and then pulled the car in a tight U-turn and took off in the direction Arthur had gone.
“I told him we’re going wherever you tell us,” Gwen said to Rory.
The ring box was heavy in Rory’s pocket. He hesitated, then reached for it.
Gwen raised her eyebrows as he slipped the Tempest Ring on his finger.
“He’s under blood magic,” Rory said quietly. “I need whatever edge I can get.”
“Good idea,” Gwen said, her gaze on the ring.
Rory reached for the link, sending up a prayer of thanks that the Puppeteer’s blood magic hadn’t broken it. “East,” he said. “Keep going.”
Arthur’s body drove the Delage east out of Paris, until the city lights were gone, and the road was black beyond his headlights. He made several turns, taking smaller and smaller roads until he eventually turned off the pavement altogether, onto a narrow dirt road.
Rocks crunched under his tires and the occasional deeper pothole rocked the car. After a few minutes, he rounded a bend and his headlights illuminated high walls of gray stone. An iron gate stood open.
Iron, like the railing Rory had crashed into after Arthur shoved him across the balcony—
He swallowed.
A country manor loomed just beyond the gate, the white sides and gray roof aglow under the moonlight, small rectangular windows with peaked dormers just visible on the third and highest floor. Arthur’s body drove the car up the gravel path and into the circular driveway, his headlights illuminating the main steps and the covered front door as he came to a stop and pulled the brake.
He was more angry than afraid as his hand reached for the driver’s door and his feet hit the drive. He watched like a passenger in his own body as he left the engine running and strode around the car to the sprawling house. He stopped just short of the house, the steps and front door to his right, the beam of the headlights in his eyes. Their brightness made it impossible to see anything in the darkness beyond, but every nerve in Arthur’s body was aware of being watched.
But as he stood there, there was a shattering of glass to his left. A moment later, a pale green fog began to pour into the air.
“Just a bit more light for our new guest,” came a faintly familiar voice, with mocking politeness.
The fog rose, filling the space around Arthur with an unsettling light and slowly revealing the watchers: several armed men in suits, and, just in front of them, the barber who’d nicked him.
He was no longer hunching deferentially to a customer but standing attentive and straight, and his previously bland expression was now set with unsettling satisfaction.
Arthur’s heartbeat was calm and steady. His blood pressure didn’t rise. He took a breath through his nose and wished he could kill with his eyes.
“Lieutenant Kenzie.” The barber made a mockery of a salute. “My name is Peter Becker. You may speak freely.”
“Oh, you’ll let me speak freely, how magnanimous of you,” Arthur gritted out. “Just the small detail that nothing else will be in my control.”
Becker’s smile grew bigger, crueler. “Not one single thing,” he agreed. “I’m glad you’ve caught on quickly. Explaining myself is tiresome.”
A pulse of disgust curled in Arthur’s stomach. “You’reenjoyingthis. You’re enjoying controlling another human being.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Becker said, with no remorse. “I’m one of the most dangerous paranormals born this era. No one can match me. A lion doesn’t suppress its urge to kill; why should I fight my nature? Why shouldn’t I embrace the power I wield?”
Arthur could see at least six men with guns behind Becker. None of them moved; they stood like statues, their eyes trained forward.
Were they loyal to Baron Zeppler? Or were any of them under Becker’s blood magic like he was?
Becker walked forward, his hands clasped behind his back like he was on a stroll on a spring day. Except, as he came closer, the headlights revealed a tension in his shoulders that belied his easy gait. As if keeping control of Arthur wasn’t quite as simple as he pretended.
“How did you find me?” Arthur bit out.
