Page 93 of Once a Rogue
“And he calls mescrewy,” Alasdair said, as he reached for Sebastian’s arm. “I can at least finish my sentences.”
“The pomander is evil,” Sebastian said. “You need to stop listening.”
“Oh, but I can’t stop,” said Alasdair. “I love its song.”
Sebastian squinted up at him, seeing red where he shouldn’t. “The pomander is lying to you. It’s killing you.”
Alasdair scoffed. “Killing me?”
“Your ears are bleeding.”
Alasdair touched his ear. “Fancy that,” he said, looking at his now red-tipped fingers.
“Alasdair—” Sebastian started.
But then Alasdair stilled. His gaze went straight to the window. “Oh. We didn’t plan for this.”
Sebastian furrowed his brow. “What—”
The attic window shattered like it had been hit by a bullet. Something tiny and gold zipped across the room.
Straight onto Rory’s finger.
“Langford,” Alasdair called, but Langford was already pushing off the wall, raising his gun.
Sebastian’s heart went to his throat. With a burst of adrenaline, he shoved himself forward, landing over Rory’s chest. Rory was so small, even younger than Mateo. He’d cover Rory from the shot—
A blast of wind swirled around the room, blowing the gun straight from Langford’s hand and sending it clattering to the floor. A muffled shout could be heard inside the gas mask as Langford stumbled uselessly after it.
Then, in the distance, Sebastian heard a high-pitched whistle.
And suddenly scrawny little Rory was the one coveringhim.
“Stay down,” he hissed.
And then the storm hit.
They left Jade and Zhang to evacuate the kitchens, and then Wesley was sprinting up the manor’s stairs, Arthur at his side. As they crested the stairs, he heard it: a high-pitched whistle.
Wesley startled. “What the devil—”
“Oh shit, he’s called it from the southeast,” Arthur said. “That’s the ocean.”
They burst through the door into a large foyer with a massive chandelier and two curved staircases winding up to the second floor. Heads jerked in their direction.
“Everyone!” Arthur shouted, rather needlessly. “If I could have your attention—”
He was cut off by the crash of glass—alotof glass, like the windows along an entire wall had just blown out. A series of screams came from somewhere in the back.
“Oh hell,” said Wesley.
They scrambled toward the crash. Guests in tuxedos and sparkling dresses, wearing odds and ends of costumes, came pouring past them, out the front doors and down the steps. As Wesley and Arthur reached the source and what seemed to be the ballroom, the wind roared, whipping through the house in a mighty gust.
Awetgust.
Wesley was slapped in the face by wind and rain, his suit almost instantly drenched. “Ugh.”
Arthur wiped at his face with his jacket sleeve. “There is going to be hell to pay if they’ve upset Rory enough to call in a hurricane.”
