Steam billowed from two arched doorways, and the scent of eucalyptus and mint welcomed us into the men’s baths. Marble floors reflected the soft glow of enchanted lamps, and the three-foot-tall male who bustled toward us, wearing only a red and white checkered wrap secured around his hips.
His eyes widened as he took us in, lips curling in disgust at the sight. Clapping his hands together, he said, “Off, off! Everything off and into the pools!”
Jameson’s eyes went wide as saucers. “What is that?”
“A brownie,” Tyrin whispered, already stripping off his tunic. “They can get vindictive if you keep them from completing their tasks. It is best to do as he says.”
The brownie pointed at Jameson. “You! In the hot pool first. You needthe most work.”
Leaving the boy in the capable hands of the brownie, I shed my shemagh and trousers and sank into the nearest pool with a groan as the heated water unknotted my tense muscles. Tyrin claimed the pool beside mine while Jameson gingerly lowered himself into the one the brownie indicated, still wearing his gloves.
“Those, too,” the brownie commanded.
Jameson clutched his hands to his chest. “I can’t. I could electrocute you.”
“Pah! I’ve scrubbed down elemental mages before. A little spark won’t hurt me.” He yanked the gloves free before the boy could protest further.
Steam swirled around us as the brownie attacked Jameson with a scrub brush, turning the water of his pool gray with accumulated filth. The boy flinched when the brownie lathered up his back, but he did not complain.
“None of these wounds are deep, but I will treat them once we get you clean.” Concern warmed the brownie’s tone and softened the lines of his face as he switched to a cloth and gentled his strokes.
“T-thank you,” Jameson stammered through gritted teeth.
Tyrin watched the boy curiously. “Brisbane is quite far from Ukraine.”
Jameson shrugged, then winced at the pull on his wounds. “Yeah.”
“How did you end up in Pripyat?” I pressed.
His jaw tightened. “Not by choice, that’s for sure. I was taken.”
The brownie dumped a bucket of clean water over his head, rinsing the soap away.
“By whom?” I asked.
He gave me another shrug. “Dunno. They just locked me in that cage and kept forcing me to zap the machine.”
My gaze locked with Tyrin’s. Whoever required the use of thisboy as a living battery would not react kindly to our absconding with their asset.
One problem at a time.
THE FIERY STORMBIRD
Ziara
“Zee, wake up.”
I opened my eyes to darkness, my senses catapulting into high alert. A flashlight flickered nearby, helping me spot Mack’s looming outline and determine that we were still in the underground garage.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting up and trying to get my bearings. There didn’t appear to be any emergency, but the last time he’d woken me up like this, a magical sandstorm from hell had been heading our way. To say I was skittish and marginally traumatized was an understatement.
“Nothing. It’s time to move out.”
I stood and stretched, then collected my bedroll and secured it to my pack. Rust waited by the door and handed us each a stick of jerky when we approached.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Still fatigued?”
Fur ghosted Mack’s forearms and faded. “I can shift, sir.”
