Rising from his crouch, Nigel looked up at the seemingly-abandoned building once more. He still needed to find that gods-blighted Tobias. It was very likely he and the rest of his little gang of thugs were waiting inside the building, inside the protective ward circle.
Even as he thought this, Nigel saw a small glimmer of light glint through the dark window and vanish again. Just a gleam, most likely from a flashlight. Enough to tell him that the building wasn’t as empty as it initially seemed.
Nigel looked from side to side, out from under his dressing gown’s hood. He knew better than to try any of the doors; the gang would have sentries posted, no doubt. But possibly one of the upper windows might prove a point of access?
A fire escape ran up one side of the building. Nigel hastened toward it, stubbing his toe rather painfully on a pile of discarded bricks and masonry tools as he went. He hopped a few paces, biting back curses, then gripped the railing and began his climb. The metal stairs creaked much too loudly under his weight, buthe crept up as cautiously as he could, casting not even a shadow in the mist.
When he reached the second story landing, he peered through a dirty window into the large, empty space below him. At first he couldn’t see much; all was very gloomy within. His sorcerer’s eyes adapted quickly, however, and he was able to discern the metal walkway leading to his window. A guard was posted on it—a big lumbering oaf in a wool coat and knit cap. Armed, no doubt, though Nigel couldn’t see a weapon.
Another glint of light drew his gaze down to the main floor. There he spied a little table and three hunch-backed men around it, playing a game of cards, illuminated by the beam of a thaumatic flashlight. Though it was difficult to discern from here, Nigel did not think Tobias was among them. Was it possible Mrs. Goddard was mistaken, and her son hadn’t come down to the warehouse district tonight?
A cold wind blew up from the ocean, shivering through Yorik Balthazar’s dressing gown and needling Nigel’s flesh. He grimaced. How long did he have to wait before he could consider the effort good enough and return to the warmth of The Arcane Bouquet? Would Luna accept his feeble excuses? Would she forgive him for not trying harder? Would she let him draw her back into his arms and—
A door opened.
On the far wall, across the empty floor, just within Nigel’s range of sight. It creaked echoingly, but the sound was soon drowned out by the fall of heavy boots. Seven man-shaped figures shuffled through, dragging a slighter, smaller, eighth figure with them. A harsh voice called out echoingly, “Oi! Where’s the Big Man?”
One of the fellows at the gaming table caught up the flashlight and aimed it in the direction of the newcomers. “That you, Aloysius? Was startin’ to think you was skippin’ out on us.”
“Naw, me ‘n the boys just wettin’ the whistle. Got to keep warm somehow on nights like this. Also, we picked up a little friend.”
“I see that,” the man with the flashlight growled, standing abruptly. “What’s she doing here?”
And he turned the angle of his flashlight to illuminate the wincing and gagged face of Luna Talbot, her arms caught in the pincher grasp of two burly thugs.
Dire fury billowed up from the pit of Nigel’s soul. It happened so fast, so suddenly, that, under ordinary circumstances, he would have blasted the window open and sent bolts of Dire Matter straight through the hearts of each of those damnable fools below before he’d drawn his next breath. All the power was there, all the rage and the will to use it, but—
He choked. Staggered. Fell against the glass of the window and sagged to his knees.
The Sovereign Troth.
Damn it!
The Sovereign Troth bound his magic, preventing him from making the energy exchange necessary without permission. The buildup of unreleased pressure was so great, his muscles all spasmed with the pain of it, and for a moment, his lungs could not draw breath.
The guard on the landing turned, glaring out the window. Nigel listened to the clang of approaching footsteps, but could do nothing. His body was seized up, and he could not move or breathe or even blink. He lay on the fire escape landing, a perfect sitting duck.
Thankfully, he was a perfect sitting duck wearing a robe of invisibility, so when the guard cupped his hands and peered through the glass, he saw nothing alarming. After a few moments, he shrugged and turned back to the more interesting goings on down on the floor below.
Nigel released a gasp of air, his lungs finally relearning how to function. His heart throbbed and, one by one, his muscles began to unclench. Gods, he was such a fool! He’d all but forgotten about the Sovereign Troth in his haste to follow Luna out into the darkening street. If he’d had time to think things through, he would have grabbed a few drops of his own distilled Dire Matter. As it was, he had nothing with which to fight. Not unless he could somehow get Luna’s permission.
Grasping hold of the window frame, he hauled himself back up to peer through the dirty glass. Luna had been thrust roughly into one of the game-table chairs, and someone had bound her arms to the back of it. Nigel’s teeth set on edge. He felt along the window frame, searching for some catch or weakness that would help him get through that way. Once again the guard turned and frowned, unable to see the would-be intruder, but deeply suspicious. Nigel cursed, the sound a growl low in his throat.
“She said she was talking to wardsmen,” someone down below was saying. “Ain’t that right, Tobias?”
Ears pricked, Nigel peered down below again. Sure enough, the loathsome Tobias Goddard appeared within the pale glow of the flashlight, his red hair looking oddly washed-out, his eyes hollow. “Aww, shucks,” the boy said, scratching the back of his neck like he was going for a flea. “Yeah, everyone knows she’s got a wardsman boyfriend.”
Nigel turned away from the window. He needed something to break the glass. It was too thick to manage with his fist alone, but perhaps a brick?
Feeling as though he was abandoning Luna by putting his back to her, Nigel fairly flew back down the fire escape, gripping the handrails and caring little whether or not he broke his neck in the process. He leapt the last five steps, landed hard on the sidewalk, and hastened to that pile of masonry he’d passed earlier. Selecting a stout brick, he hefted it briefly in his hands,testing the weight. Should be enough to break that old glass. What he would do once he’d broken it, unarmed as he was against a room full of gun-toting thugs, he couldn’t say. It didn’t matter. He was going in, and he was getting her out, and . . .
He paused in the act of turning back to the fire escape. Another one of those spell-wards caught his eye. For a moment, he hesitated. It was one thing to leave the wards mostly intact when there was just Tobias to be concerned over. But if something happened to Nigel, if he failed to pull off this ill-conceived rescue attempt, a timely arrival of wardsmen might be Luna’s only chance.
Cursing any delay that kept him from Luna’s side, Nigel rushed to the ward, located the anchor, and pried it up from the sidewalk. Then he searched out the next one, and the next, yanking five anchors out in succession. It took longer than he liked—each anchor resisted his efforts, and he did not have access to magic of his own to make the task easier. He also couldn’t work too hastily for fear of giving away his presence to whatever Dark Sorcerer had performed the working.
Yanking out the sixth ward, Nigel felt the protective barrier shiver violently. It continued to stand, compromised but present. If he pulled up even one more, the whole spell would fall, and that would certainly bring the Dark Sorcerer running. No, this would have to do. It should be enough to give the wardsmen an in. If there really were any wardsmen down in the warehouse district tonight.
Nigel breathed out a huff of air, almost like a prayer. Then, hastening back to the pile of masonry, he reclaimed his chosen brick and scaled the fire escape. The clatter of his feet on the rusty metal steps belied the stealth of his invisibility robe, but he didn’t have time to care about that. He’d already left Luna for far too long. He could only hope nothing had happened to her in his absence, and—
