Auggie’s got Randall wrapped in a chokehold next to the dumpster, and now Jude hauls my manhandler out of the car, shoving him against the bricks next to them.
“Wh-what the fuck, man?” My guy stammers, looking a lot less intimidating with that piss stain rapidly spreading across his crotch. “What the fuckareyou guys?”
“Wrong question, mate,” Jude says, blowing a plume of smoke into the guy’s face. “What youreallywant to be asking is, what the fuck are you guys gonna do to us? Andthatis a question I’m more than happy to answer.” He jerks the guy forward, then slams him into the wall again, the back of his skull cracking against the bricks.
Next to them, Randall is whimpering and babbling, his head bleeding profusely on account of his all-expenses-paid trip through the windshield.
“First,” Jude says through that unnerving smile, cigarette still dangling, “I’m going to ask you tolookat the witch you put your hands on tonight.”
“I—I was just following orders. I didn’t—”
“I saidlookat her!” He slams him back into the wall so hard, the bricks around him crumble.
Groaning in pain, the guy turns his head my way, his eyes wide and glassy.
“That’s better,” Jude says. “Now, I want you to take a good, long look at that beautiful girl, because I believe a man has a right to understand why another man might be driven to violence. Sometimes it’s random, sure. But in this case? No. This is very,verydeliberate.” With one hand wrapped around the guy’s throat, Jude tears the sleeve off his jacket, then shoves it into his mouth, muffling the screams I know are coming next. To me, he says, “You might not want to watch this part, scarecrow. Could get a bit messy.”
I nod, but no matter how badly I want to turn away, I just can’t.
Jude grabs the guy’s wrist and slams it into the wall again and again, pummeling his hand against the bricks until it looks like a bloody, boneless balloon. Then he does the other hand, same deal, no doubt shattering every bone. “Noone puts hands on her and lives. Fuckingnoone. Understand?”
Tears and snot leak down the guy’s face, his whole body trembling. He barely manages a nod.
“Excellent.” Jude yanks him close, then spins him around, shoving him face-first into the bricks. Leaning in, he says softly, “This is the part where I tear you a new arsehole. Literally.”
A soft whimper escapes, but that’s all the protest he has time for before Jude unleashes hell.
Claws shred through clothing and flesh. Bones snap. And the blood… So much blood I can smell it.
But Jude is calm and serene, a master at work, and for the first time since we met, I get a glimpse of the true darkness inside him.
A shiver creeps down my spine, but I still can’t look away. Not even when he picks up the wasted carcass, throws him into the dumpster, and douses him with kerosine.
A final deep drag on his cigarette, then he flicks the butt, and the whole thing ignites in a glorious blaze.
“Oh, fuckme,” Randall mutters, the heat of the blaze bringing him back to semi-consciousness.
Jude laughs, taking him from Auggie and tucking him against his chest in a warm embrace. Stroking his hair, he says, “Oh, you’re definitely fucked, mate. Just not in the way you were hoping for.” Then, to Auggie, “Would you mind fetching the car and driving our little scarecrow home? Randall and I will be taking the long way back.”
Chapter Thirty-One
ROOK
I love books. I love holding them in my hands, feeling their cracked leather covers against my palms, smelling the old musty pages. I love cataloging them in my system, then arranging them on my shelves in their proper order, admiring their stately presence when they’re all lined up in the right place, just waiting for someone to select a volume, crack it open, and travel to another world.
The only time Idon’tlove books, in fact, is when we’re supposed to be stealing one—a very important, very old one—and it’s located in a room filled with hundreds upon hundreds uponhundredsof other old books just like it.
And we’ve got no idea what the hell we’re even searching for.
Standing in the middle of the Archmage’s impressive third-floor ritual library with Drae, I finally realize our grievous oversight.
I assumed we’d thought of everything. Studying the brownstone’s original blueprints. Hacking into the cloud-based security system and disabling the alarms. Activating a wearable device that emits electromagnetic pulses to temporarily scramble a mage’s magical warding. Flying in and landing on the roof, allowing us to sneak in from the rooftop deck rather than through the front door, thereby avoiding detection by nosey neighbors. And of course, getting the occupants out of the way for a few hours—West’s idea.
But now that we’re here, I have no clue where to start.
Glancing around at the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, I shake my head and sigh.
Suddenly, West’s convoluted haystack metaphor makes a lot more sense.
