But why,Sebastian tried to ask, but his voice didn’t seem to be working, just like his eyes.
“Really quite an amazing poison,” said Alasdair. “Turns magic on the magic user, makes it attack your own blood.”
The burn in Sebastian’s limbs was worsening, and he was shivering under Alasdair’s boot even though he could have sworn his skin was flaming to the touch.
Down in the alley, Wesley seemed to be gaining the upper hand. His fist connected with Sir Ellery’s face, sending him reeling. Alasdair gestured to the fight. “Now this is better than magic. No tricks and slippery gimmicks. Just fists and brawn, as it should be.”
Wesley was on Sir Ellery, the two of them struggling for a moment before Wesley shoved Sir Ellery to the ground. He stepped back, the gun now in his hand, pointed at Sir Ellery. “What the fuck is going on, Ellery?”
“You tell me,” Sir Ellery snarled.
“You pulled a gun on us, I wouldn’t tell you shit,” Wesley said. “Hands on your head. No sudden moves; you know I won’t hesitate to shoot.”
“All right, allright,” Sebastian heard Sir Ellery snap, the voice coming as if through molasses. “Lower the goddamn gun, Fine, let’s talk.”
“And it sounds like Sir Ellery has thrown up the white flag.” To Sebastian’s horror, Alasdair was now raising a gun of his own. “The match goes to Lord Fine.”
Sebastian tried to move, to shout, anything—
But a sudden crack split the alley, muffled as if the gun was under a pillow.Silencer, Sebastian’s army brain supplied.
“Ellery!” Wesley’s shocked voice echoed off the bricks. “Ellery,fuck, who the fuck fired that?”
“I better hurry now,” Alasdair said pleasantly. “Lord Fine seems like a sharp one, he’ll figure it out.”
Through the fog of his blurred vision, Sebastian saw a glint in the streetlight. A knife in Alasdair’s hand.
Then the knife was coming straight for Sebastian.
Except there was no fresh pain. Instead, Sebastian heard a soft clink. Then Alasdair was straightening up, a cut chain dangling uselessly from the brooch relic in his hand.
Stolen during a murder.
“Mine now,” Alasdair said, bright as ever.
And then he sprinted away, just as the wild horses of Sebastian’s magic cut loose, and Sebastian’s world went dark.
Chapter Seventeen
Sir Ellery was dead. Shot. By someone else in the alley, someone Wesley hadn’t seen. He registered the sound of an engine turning over, tires screeching as it pulled away, but his eyes were on the crumpled figure near the mouth of the alley.
“Sebastian—”
But then Wesley hit the pavement.
“Fuck.”
Sebastian’s magic was rushing the alley, but not in the steady tide Wesley had come to expect. Instead, it was jerky, an uneven pulse of varying strengths that made Wesley’s joints protest and his eyes water.
Wesley tried to lift his head. He could just make out Sebastian up ahead, an unmoving ball in the alley. The hairs on his neck rose as dread crept into his stomach.
“Sebastian,stop,” he said, more a plea than an order. “I can’t get to you if you don’t stop your magic.”
Sebastian still didn’t move. Wesley got his palms flat on the alley, tried to raise himself. “Sebastian,” he said again. “Youpromisedyour magic would always let me up if I asked. I amfucking asking.”
Wesley held himself in a half-press for a moment, limbs shaking, magic rushing over him in stuttering peaks and valleys.
And then, it was gone.
