Becker looked up, as if he were tracking something in the air. “Mr. Chance? Show yourself.”
There was a pause. And then, very suddenly, the blond man from the docks was there, smiling smugly. The teleporter.
Becker gestured at him. “Mr. Chance is a very resourceful teleporter,” he said, and Chance’s smile broadened up until Becker added, “If a complete failure in every other respect.”
Chance’s smile wavered. “What are you talking about? I found Lieutenant Kenzie in Paris like you wanted.”
Becker leaned in. “But you shouldn’t have lost them in the first place,” he said slowly. “And you’ve also lost the firestarter.”
“He’s a traitor,” Chance said darkly. “I told you what he said, that he called Zeppler a liar, said he wasn’t your match.”
Becker steepled his fingers. “But did you slit his throat for that?”
“I came back,” said Chance. “I’ve proved my loyalty—”
“Enough.” Becker didn’t do anything Arthur could see, but Chance’s mouth snapped shut anyway. The next moment, Chance was obediently stepping away, closer to the guards, as Becker turned back to Arthur.
“I think,” Becker said, his lip curling, “you were explaining why you are unexpectedly difficult to take control of. For a man without magic.”
Arthur kept his mouth shut.
Chance and the guards continued to stand rock still as Becker circled behind Arthur, observing him like a rat in a cage. “What is the magic in your aura, Lieutenant?”
Arthur stayed silent, skin crawling on the inside while his body stayed perfectly steady.
Becker came to face him. From close, there was no mistaking that beneath his calm facade, Becker was straining. “I asked you a question.”
Rory’s magic was still fighting Becker’s. As long as Arthur could feel the lightning against his skin, he wouldn’t give up hope. “You can move my mouth all you want,” he said. “But you can’t force me to tell you anything.”
“Can’t I?” Becker said, the words packed with malice. “Most men talk under torture, and you can’t possibly imagine the kind of torture I can inflict. I can put a knife or a brand in your hand and then pull your strings any way I choose.”
He stepped ever closer. “Wherever he’s run off to, I know Mr. Hyde. I know the history the two of you share. I can make that experience, and the scars he carved into you with his claws, feel like a gentle memory.”
Arthur’s eyes were forced to meet Becker’s. There was no doubt Becker meant every word, but Arthur wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of begging or fear. “My name is Arthur James Kenzie, Second Lieutenant—”
“Inspiring,” a new voice interrupted. “But pointless.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Footsteps came down the stone steps to Arthur’s right, and then crunched on the gravel drive. Arthur couldn’t look, could only stand perfectly still and face forward as the steps came closer and closer.
Someone finally stepped in front of him, and Arthur’s eyes lowered themselves.
The newcomer was a white man not much taller than Rory and perhaps in his forties, with blond hair, pale skin, and glasses. He had thick eyebrows and thin lips, an unimposing sort of man that Arthur would have had trouble remembering enough to pick out of a group photograph. His expression was curious, like he was listening to music Arthur couldn’t hear and trying to make out the lyrics.
“Baron Zeppler,” Arthur said tightly, and then his mouth froze like the rest of him.
“Don’t talk,” Becker hissed. “He doesn’t need the clutter—”
“It’s all right.” Zeppler’s voice was soft, his accent mostly English, with little German left. “After all, I’ve wanted to meet Lieutenant Kenzie for a long time.”
Becker dipped his head, and the magic binding Arthur’s lips relaxed.
Arthur didn’t speak. His eyes were still locked on Zeppler, and he couldn’t look away.
Becker looked questioningly at Zeppler.
“He has another paranormal’s magic in his aura,” Zeppler said, as if answering something unspoken. “Theodore Giovacchini’s, in fact.” His mouth curved in an unnerving smile. “Lucky for our lieutenant.”
