“So stubborn.” Alasdair opened the door a little wider. “Such a shame; you might be his only hope.”
Sebastian’s eyes widened, but Langford was already prodding him with the gun, forcing him forward to duck under the door. The rest of the room came into view, and Sebastian went rigid.
It was an attic space, maybe the size of a modest bedroom but with a lower ceiling that just cleared Sebastian’s head and would have made Wesley hunch. There was a window in the gable at the far end, tightly shut. A pair of kerosene lamps lit the space from either side of the room.
And in the center of the floor was Rory. His eyes were closed, glasses askew on his unhealthily flushed face. He was still as a corpse except for his lips, which were moving slightly, as if he was mumbling.
You might be his only hope.
Sebastian’s magic understood before his mind did. It leapt from his control, sweeping over the room and everything in it.
Behind him, there was a crash, and Langford swore, but Sebastian couldn’t take advantage of weakening him; he was already staggering as fever rushed him so fast his knees gave out. He hit the floor, a small grunt escaping him.
“Heroic,” Alasdair said sincerely. “Useless, but heroic.”
Sebastian winced as heat spread through his limbs, skin breaking out into sweat. He’d done exactly what they wanted, and Alasdair was right, it had been useless, just like he now was—
Across the floor, Rory’s eyes opened. “Sebastian?” he rasped.
Langford swore. “You said de Leon couldn’t actually wake him!” he snapped, somewhere above Sebastian’s head.
“Sebastian.” Rory was blinking. He sounded as sick as Sebastian now felt, but there was awareness in the eyes behind the glasses.
“Major, I can’t hear Sebastian’s magic,” Alasdair said reasonably. “Mr. Brodigan’s magic is very strong and the poison sent him spiraling into it as designed. But obviously Sebastian’s magic is stronger than I expected. Simple mistake—”
“Shut up.” Langford was moving away, deeper into the attic.
Rory’s hazy eyes met his. “What’s going on? Where’s Ace?”
Sebastian weakly shook his head. “You okay?”
“No,” Rory said. “I’ve been stuck across five centuries. How long’ve I been out?”
“Let’s focus on tonight.” Alasdair crouched down between them. “We’ve got very big plans,” he said conspiratorially. “We’re going to get rid of magic, and both of you are going to help.”
Wesley got Zhang over his shoulders in a soldier carry while Arthur picked up Jade bridal-style.
“I should walk,” Wesley heard Jade say blearily, to Arthur, as they made their way out of the room.
“In this state, down these stairs, in those heels?” Arthur said.
“Fair,” she said reluctantly.
“But rest assured you are the only person I know who can spend three days locked in an office and still look like you stepped out from the pages of one of your French fashion magazines.”
She gave a soft laugh. “Thanks for coming.”
“Always,” Arthur promised.
They got down the stairs and across the warehouse floor. As they reached the front door, Zhang said, “Fine.”
Wesley nearly dropped him in surprise.
“Thank you,” Zhang said, slurred but heartfelt. “Help me walk?” Wesley got him down to his feet as Arthur set Jade down and they stumbled into each other’s arms.
“You’re out.” Jade’s arms were very tight around his neck.
They looked a little precarious. Wesley tried to stay in catching distance. “Sebastian went through the same thing. Took a night of no magic to clear. Can you two hold off on the magic for a bit?”
