Page 46 of A Spot of Tea and Sorcery: Vol. 6

“Associates?”

“Barely.”

“Eh. I’ll take it.”

Ward parked the car off to one side of the road. Nigel got out, feeling in the pockets of his celestial dressing gown for all the various weapons with which Ward had equipped him. He particularly loathed the feeling of the Mark IV strapped to his belt underneath the robe’s folds. It felt so base, soun-sorcerous.

As it turned out, Ward had a second case on him, this one containing a compact, shoulder-fired weapon in two pieces. He glanced at Nigel as he pulled it out and assembled the firearm, the dark walnut stock and the blue steel barrel. “I’ll be watchingfor that signal,” he said. “Three severmist bombs, one after the other.”

Nigel nodded. “If you hear fewer than three, it means they do not have Luna with them, and I am making a hasty exit. Do not enter the granary in that case. Simply cover my retreat.”

“Got it.” Ward offered a two-fingered salute, before adding, “She’s going to be there, Grimm. I know it.”

Not for the first time, Nigel found himself wishing for even a quarter of the wardsman’s confidence.

With a final nod, Nigel hastened up the rutted road. He set a brisk clip. Time was certainly running short by now. The road wound the long way around the field, taking him past the ruins of what was probably once an impressive farmhouse, but which had since burnt down. No doubt the reason the granary and barn were abandoned. It was a lonely spot of countryside; Nigel could easily see why Calista and Montesquieu had chosen it for the manufacturing of their bootlegged sorcery creams. Only a tip-off would have sent the SSSD searching out this way.

The ground under Nigel’s feet seethed with broken spells. Warding spells, still emanating residual sorcerous heat. Some of them had been coaxed back to life—Nigel could feel the reparation magic used. The Brotherhood had done what they could to fortify this place. Hopefully Ward would have enough anti-sorcery gadgets on hand to get him through these protections and allow him to approach the granary. Nigel set his teeth. He probably shouldn’t count on having backup.

His heartrate continued to accelerate the nearer he drew to the ruinous farmhouse and the granary beyond it. He had only the vaguest notion of how to approach this coming negotiation. Calista would want proof of Garden before she would hand over Luna. Nigel didn’t have that proof. He’d brought instead the key to his old travel chest. It had a few sorcerous spells worked into it, hopefully enough for a temporary deceit. He wouldn’t havelong either way. Just long enough, gods willing, to get Luna into his arms, throw those severmist bombs, and safely turn her over to Ward.

Then he would have a matter of moments to work the spell he had in mind. It was a doozy—would require devasting a good three acres of the surrounding countryside. But it had to be big and, what’s more, it had to be precisely concentrated. He could not risk it getting out of hand and potentially catching the retreating Luna and Ward in its radius. With all the masterful skill he had ever learned, he would have to maintain control, even as the pain of severmist sought to break through his concentration and destroy all the Dire Matter he summoned.

The pain would be excruciating. Beyond all expectation. In fact, the pain itself would probably kill him before the subsequent incineration. But as long as the spell accomplished its purpose . . .

Nigel focused his gaze on the granary. Was Luna in there? He had to hope so. And hope as well that every member of the Brotherhood was present as well. He had good reason to think they would be: they were so terrified of him and would feel safer in greater numbers. Yes, they would be there, and he would take his one, desperate shot, and—

A figure loomed into view on the road in front of him.

Nigel stopped short, not particularly surprised to see the face revealed in the twilight gloom. No longer wearing the haggard visage of Ebenezar Prodigimus, Fabian Grimm held up a thaumatic lantern, which cast his unexpectedly gaunt features into ghastly relief. They stood a long moment in silence, looking at one another. Judging by the nervousness in his eye, Nigel knew his brother had not forgotten their last altercation.

“So,” Fabian said at last, breaking the silence, “you came after all. We were beginning to wonder.”

“Yes,” Nigel answered shortly.

“And you brought the key to Garden?”

Nigel flashed his travel chest key briefly before hiding it up his sleeve once more.

To his relief, Fabian nodded, apparently convinced. “Good. I’m glad to see you’re not making a big deal out of all this. No need to get all Dire-mad or anything, am I right? Just turn it over, and everyone walks away with their skins intact. Do you hear me, Nigey? Everyone walks away.”

Nigel narrowed his eyes. “They aren’t really planning on handing over Miss Luna Talbot, are they?”

Fabian shrugged, not quite meeting his gaze. “Why wouldn’t they? She’s not important. She only matters because she matters to you. Right?”

Nigel refused to answer, allowing silence to fill in for words. At last he nodded to the granary. “Is she in there?”

Fabian hesitated a beat. Then nodded.

Nigel ground his jaw. “If you’ve hurt her in any way—”

“She’s fine!” Fabian threw up his hands in exasperation. “I told you, she doesn’t matter to them! She’s just leverage, nothing more. They’ve got no reason to hurt a kid like her.” He tilted his head, his expression earnest. “We might be Dark Sorcerers. Doesn’t mean we’re the bad guys here.”

One brow slid up Nigel’s forehead. “And since when didyoubecome a Dark Sorcerer, Fabian?”

His brother’s face fell into deep scowl lines, made all the harsher by his strange gauntness. “Well, as a matter of fact, depending on how tonight’s exchange goes, they’ve promised to officially induct me into the Brotherhood. After all, it’s thanks to me that they’re finally getting hold of Garden.”

“Right.” Nigel sneered. “And you feel no compunction whatsoever, turning over Dad’s great work to that pack of mangy hyenas?”