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“Decided to join his little gang, Corporal?”
Rastus offered him a look of shock, real or feigned impossible to distinguish. “I’m trying to save your skin. Get out. Convince your woman to get out too. It’s going to happen whether you want it or not. You can’t stop it.”
Cam leaned forward, his gaze narrowed. “Watch me.”
Morgan left the safety of her doorway, ignoring her unsteady steps, the way her vision blurred and darkened. Whatever Doran had accomplished here this morning, it had pulled so many differing strands of power together, just walking through the afterglow of mage energy took all her concentration.
As she staggered, she released a seeker spell into the air. Prayed to every god she could name that Doran wasn’t near. Because if he was, how the hell was she going to stop him? And retrieve the goddess blade? Every use of Neuvarvaan drew more and more of the Morkoth magics under Doran’s control. It was going to take all her power just to survive.
The spell returned, bringing with it the answer she’d hoped, though she knew it was a pitiful coward’s wish.
Doran was gone.
Which meant the sword was as well. He’d not let it out of his sight, for certain. They had Other to contend with. But those she could handle. It was the black Amhas-draoi she feared. Even as she hated her own cowardice.
Threading her way through the crowded street, Morgan formulated and discarded plan after plan. Go in, magic blazing? Too flashy. If Doran wasn’t here, a use of her powers would certainly alert him to their intrusion. She needed to ease Cam out of the building with no one the wiser. Now that they knew where Doran was hiding, they could come up with a way to wrest the sword away. But not now. Not like this.
She and Brodie reached the storefront. No sign hung from the broken bracket above the entrance. No way of knowing what lay beyond the grimy windows or the paint-chipped door. Brodie touched her shoulder. Jerked his head toward the side alley. “Back way in?”
She offered him a faint smile. Followed.
A narrow recessed door stood halfway down the alley. Locked.
Brodie pushed in front of her. “Allow me.”
Drawing a thin-bladed dagger from his coat, he slid the blade into the lock. A few quick twists, a muffled curse, and the door cracked open. “Voila.”
Her smile widened. “Hidden talents.”
He dipped his shoulder in mock humility, his eyes alight with mischief. “You’ve barely scratched the surface.”
The corridor they entered smelled of dank river water overlaid with the even more overpowering scents of roses and lilies combined with earthy exotic musk and patchouli. Enough to make her already swimming head light. Doors lined the opposite wall, behind which sounded muffled laughter, murmured conversation, and unmistakable rhythmic grunts.
She’d stumbled into a bloody brothel.
Brodie raised an amused brow. Shrugged. “Do ye think Cam is…?” He gestured toward one of the doors.
“No,” she snapped. “I do not.” He’d better not be, she amended.
They followed the corridor to its end, where a curtain separated it from a larger room. A peek beyond revealed a sumptuous salon draped in velvets and silks. A fantasy boudoir. A sultan’s seraglio. Every effort made to put a man in the mood for sex.
Women, dressed in the sheerest of fabrics, strolled from table to table or lounged upon couches. Their kohl-blackened eyes and hennaed skin paired with the high-waisted, low-collared gowns gave them the look of someone’s idea of Eastern concubine meets French courtesan.
Not intended for the common sailor, the clientele here seemed made up of merchants and bankers, ship’s captains and high-paid clerks with the occasional military braid thrown in.
“Cam’s here,” she whispered to Brodie. “Talking to someone.” She glanced around the room. Spotted the man from outside alone in a far corner. “And there’s the Other.”
Brodie risked a look. “We need to let Cam know.”
Morgan bit her lip, mind made up. “You get back outside. Keep the alley clear for our escape. I’ll get Cam’s attention.”
“You’re not exactly dressed like the rest of them.”
She withdrew farther down the corridor. Stopped at a door. Listened.
Empty.
“I will be.”
