“Quite certain, and quite uncomfortable, yes. A little help, if you don’t mind?”
I grab a mage robe from a hook on the wall and wrap it around the book, then drop it into one of the crates.
Drae slumps against the wall, panting. “Looks like we’re going to have our work cut out for us withthatthing.”
Excitement races through my veins. “I can hardly wait to—”
Drae’s phone buzzes, cutting me off.
“Jude,” he says, scanning the text. “Forsythes are inbound. Jude and Augustine are going to extract Westlyn. We need to go.”
I glance around the room once more. We really did a number on the place, but… “I don’t think this mess alone will stop him from realizing the Codex is gone, Drae. That book is… it’s something else.”
“You’re telling me. All I had to do was pick it up, and I could literally see and feel the dark power it contains. It’s… it’s quite remarkable, honestly.”
“And probably the first thing he’ll look for when he realizes he’s been robbed. There’s no way—”
“I know.” He paces to the windows along the far wall overlooking the street. “Any ideas? We don’t have much time.”
“Only one.” I heft the crate to my chest and sigh, taking one last look at the treasure trove of history around us. “Burn it. Burn it all.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
JUDE
“Fun bit of trivia for you, mate.” Human glamour back in place, I pull up a stool, metal scraping painfully along the concrete, and take a seat. “I used to kill people a lot more indiscriminately, but the boss has kept me leashed these past couple months.”
“That’s… that’s good news, right?” The naked meat sack in my basement asks, his voice high and tight, though I can’t tell if it’s just the nerves talking or the fact that I’ve had him chained and strung up by his wrists on a meat hook for the last twenty-four hours, his head still bleeding from last night.
The metal cuff around his ankle ensures he won’t be accessing his mage powers anytime soon, either—another of Rook’s handy devices.
Drae and Auggie are busy with some bullshit in Manhattan tonight. Rook and my little scarecrow have been hard at work in the library, still trying to figure out how to open that sparkly magic book.
But me?Thisis my part to play.
And I was fuckingmadefor it.
“Good news for the blokes Ididn’tkill, perhaps. Not so much for you, Randall. All this pent-up rage has made me a little…” I select a scalpel from the array of tools on the workbench beside me, then change my mind, going for the hammer instead. “…twitchy. See that?” I lift my hand, showing him my slight tremor. “Grip isn’t what it used to be.”
A whimper escapes his greasy lips.
“Oh, thanks for your concern,” I say, “but fortunately, I’m not a surgeon. Steady hands aren’t a requirement for my line of work. Even with the precision cuts, we’ve always got a bit of wiggle room. Oh, that reminds me… You’re not a model, are you?” I laugh. “Sorry, I don’t mean to make you feel self-conscious. I just like to know these things in advance so I can give you the proper disclaimer.”
“Di-disclaimer?”
“Yeah, you know. Side effects and whatnot? Actually, I should stand up for this part. More official that way.” I rise and kick the stool away. The meat sack flinches as it clatters to the ground.
“P-p-please,” Randall stammers. “I already told you, I don’t know anything. I’m just a—”
“The following procedure hasnotbeen approved by the FDA,” I begin, tightening my grip on the hammer. “Side effects may include but are not limited to…” I smash his face, right beneath his eye. “Shattered cheekbones.” Another strike, this time right in the teeth. “Poor dental health, and—” I bring the hammer down in a series of punishing blows across the collarbone. “Sudden onset inability to wear strapless gowns.”
The scents of blood and piss mingle with the music of his agonizing screams in a perfect symphony—one I haven’t had the pleasure of enjoying for far too long. I almost wish I could share it with my little scarecrow, but no. I’m not quite ready to waveallmy red flags just yet—sucks the mystery right out of things.
I set the hammer aside and turn back to my tools. “Before we move on to phase two of our treatment plan, I’d like to give you another opportunity to share your thoughts on Archmage Forsythe and his family.”
“I already tol’ you,” he slurs, his words as thick as molasses. “I barely know them.”
“You mean to tell me the Archmage entrusted someone he barely knows to kidnap the witch he’s been desperate to find for weeks? The witch intended to marry his degenerate son?”
