Page 54 of A Spot of Tea and Sorcery: Vol. 6

And now, he was going to get her out.

With some awkward maneuvering, Nigel slipped one arm under her legs, the other around her back, and rose to his feet. She was so light, even after all his efforts to fatten her up these last few months. The siphoning of her essential energies hadn’thelped with that either. How fragile she felt in his arms, like she was going to fall apart and float away. The thought made him tighten his grip protectively.

Leaving the Dire-torch where it lay, Nigel stepped toward the cell door. Just as he reached it, however, voices erupted down the passage. One in particular called out echoingly:“Oi, Blackmere! Where are you, old bean?”

Nigel’s blood chilled. Whether it was the same eight sorcerers he’d poisoned or another cluster come from a different set of summoning cells, it hardly mattered. They were on their way. Searching for Blackmere and the prisoner he’d been commissioned to fetch.

“Damn,” Nigel growled and stepped back into the cell, pushing the door shut with his foot. Of course, there was no lock on the inside. He gritted his teeth. With his powers reduced to such dangerously low levels, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to control or support the spell he had in mind. He’d hoped to carry her back to one of the summoning cells, where at least the sigils might have offered her some protection. But he was just going to have to risk it.

Unwilling to put Luna down, he carefully set her feet on the ground and held her body supported against him. Using his free arm, he first drew energy from the nearest source—which happened to be Percival Blackmere, sitting outside the door. He heard the sorcerer yelp with pain, but he was in no position to fight the draining, and Nigel spared him no sympathy. He took what he needed, braced himself, then swiftly exchanged the energy of this world for that of the Dire.

Immediately, the severmist in his system rose up in reaction. It was still there, still searing, still agony beyond reason. It shocked every nerve, burning and slicing simultaneously. A ripple from the brainstem down through his spine and everyextremity. But it was no longer as strong as it had been last night or the night before. He could endure it. He must.

Nearly dropping Luna, Nigel staggered, found his footing. Failure was not an option. They had one shot at escape, and he would not let her suffer for his ineptitude. Fighting through torturous shocks, he shaped the sigil, refusing to let his shaking hand make a hash of the delicate working. The magic pulsed out from him, and sparks of anti-light and weird colors ripped a seam in reality. The shadows in the cell went dark and wibbly-wobbly as a portal to the Void yawned.

A Dire Demon approached.

There was a time when Nigel had commanded a demon of tremendous power, which he had ensorcelled to his will.Drakthul the Abysswalker, it was called, a mighty entity of malice, whose very name induced madness in weaker minds. But Nigel had broken off the association when he gave up his Dark Sorcerer persona. Now, like any lowly practicing sorcerer, he had to risk whatever demon happened to show up at his call, great or small. Hopefully this one would be great enough to accomplish his purpose. Hopefully he’d have strength enough to command it, despite the pain shooting through every vein.

A hulk of darkness moved through the horrors of the Dire Dimensions. Rippling waves of shadow, burning lantern eyes. Fangs like honed swords, flashing red in the light of the Dire-torch. A monstrous being, a malicious spirit, which sat upon the edge of the opening, curled its tail about its great front paws, and blinked at Nigel through half-lidded eyes.

It began to purr.

“Gronk Cat,” Nigel gasped.

In the same moment, voices erupted just outside the cell:

“Blackmere!”

“What happened, old boy?”

“Watch out, that’s severmist he’s got!”

They were officially out of time.

Lunging forward, Nigel tossed Luna up onto the demon cat’s broad back before gripping handfuls of silky fur and pulling himself up behind her. He held her close against him, one arm wrapped tight around her middle. “Gronk Cat!” he cried, even as the portal began to close, even as the cell door began to open, even as the first of the Brotherhood spilled through, defensive sigils raised. “Gronk Cat, carry us to . . .”

He hesitated. They needed somewhere protected. Somewhere with wards in place, strong enough to keep out Dark Sorcerers, even if only temporarily.

And the thought flashed through Nigel’s head:They kept her safe for nearly twenty years. Surely there are some powerful warding spells still in effect.

“Carry us to Tealeaf Cottage in the Crimble Mountains,” he commanded.

The portal snapped shut, cutting them off in the cacophony and chaos of the Void.

Pushing a strand of fair hair back from her face, Arabella turned over a leaf on her favorite tea bush, trying to decide if it was quite ready for harvest or not. In the middle of a Crimble Mountain winter, of course, this bush shouldn’t be growing at all, much less flourishing as it was. But she and her sister carefully maintained the bubble atmosphere-spell around the tea garden, which kept everything nice and clement, the perfect conditions for tea plants.

This was Arabella’s particular favorite taeral bush. While she knew her sister didn’t consider it “ladylike” for women to prefer such a masculine, robust sort of flavor, Arabella figured it probably didn’t hurt anyone, especially if she was discreet about it. She’d learned over her seventy-odd years to be discreet about many things she liked.

She was just coming to the decision that the bush wanted another day or two to be fully ready, when Aurora’s voice called out sharply, “Arabella! Did you check the protection wards this morning like you’re supposed to?”

“Yes, I did, Rory,” Arabella replied with a petulant huff. “Of course, I did. I wouldn’t let the wards . . .”

She stopped.

Because, in turning to look grumpily back at her sister, she found herself looking instead at what her sister had discovered. Nothing less than a big, awful, ugly, sorcerous portal opening through the veils of reality, right inside their well-warded property. Spewing ugly motes of anti-glitter every which way.

“Sorcerer incoming!” Aurora cried, brandishing her hoe.