Chapter 51

The nights grew warm as March transitioned into April, and Alastair took to leaving his office windows open well into the evening. The brisk night air in early spring felt good while staying up late doing paperwork with a tray of cookies—definitely a cookie kind of night—and tea. The fire remained unlit for the first time since November.

He’d just begun writing—Dear Mr. and Mrs. L’Estrange—when there was a knock at the door.

He checked his watch. It was well past ten. Much later than Quicksilver usually came by—and besides, the elemental never bothered to knock. That, and Quicksilver was just about the only visitor Alastair ever had that the gargoyle knocker ignored. So if the knocker wasn’t spewing insults, a late call like this usually meant bad news.

Setting his teacup down with a sigh, Alastair rose and answered the door, steeling himself for whatever was to come.

Indeed, Quicksilver stood on the landing, looking agitated, and with him was a pale man with wild red hair—not unlike Alastair’s—and a black eye. The man looked as if he could barely stand.

“Oh, thank the gods,” the elemental said when he saw Alastair. “You are yet awake.”

“Uh—what’s going on?”

“This is Peter Reynolds,” Quicksilver said. “Works for the mayor. He’s had an ordeal.”

“Came running here as soon as I could,” Peter said, breathing hard. “Been captured—mages—thought I was dead for sure—lucky to be alive.”

Oh great. An emergency situation.

“Come in,” Alastair said, trying to sound both commanding and reassuring at once. “Have some tea. Quicksilver, can you fetch us some fresh water? Rest for a bit. Take as long as you need. Then I’ll hear your tale, if you’re willing to tell it.”

The elemental bustled off, and Alastair gently guided Peter into his office. Once there, the man sank into a chair as if he’d been on his feet for weeks.

“Gods,” he said. “What a night.”

“Have some tea. Have a cookie.”

Peter didn’t move, so Alastair poured him a cup and put it gently on the table in front of him. Likewise, he set a pair of cookies next to it.

“Shortbread,” he said. “The elementals make them fresh. They’re very good.”

Peter remained frozen, then, with a shaky hand, reached for the cup. Somehow, the trembling tea made it to his mouth without the whole thing spilling all over his front.

“I was walking home,” he said after a modest sip. “Mayor Lamkin’s had us working late nights. Much to be done. I’m sure you understand. Normally, after dark, we only travel in pairs—for safety—but tonight—being it’s such a short walk—I was alone in the office. Thought just once would be fine. Nothing had ever happened before, after all. I was careless. Stupid me. Stupid… stupid… stupid.”

“That’s enough of that,” Alastair said. “What happened?”

Peter stuffed one of the cookies into his mouth whole. Once he’d swallowed it, washing it down with tea, he continued, “As I was walking down Mercy Street, they nabbed me. Hit me with a spell first. Immobilized me. I fell like a stone. Frozen solid. Felt like I was paralyzed. Worst moment of my life, I tell you.

“I was lying on the pavement. Hit my head hard as I went down, and couldn’t move a muscle. My limbs felt weak. And I hear footsteps coming out of the alley nearby. Three people—tall, so I think they were men—came toward me. They were all wearing the same boots. Big ugly black things. I could see them next to my head.”

“Mages, you think?”

“Certainly,” Peter said. “I could tell even then. There was—I don’t know—a feeling of power coming off them. The air around them was electric, almost crackling. You know what I mean, maybe.”

“I do.”

“One of them grabs my hair. Pulls my head up. And they all take a good look at me. ‘It’s not him,’ one of them says. ‘What do we do with him?’ They all stand around for a while debating what to do next while I’m lying, frozen on the ground next to them. I was sure they were going to kill me.”

“It’s not ‘him’?” Alastair mused. “What do you think they meant by that?”

He suspected he already knew—and he also suspected he might know who ‘he’ was. Marcus’ group was after him—Alastair—and they were escalating their methods to get to him.

“After a while,” Peter went on, “they decide they can’t leave me lying there any longer. Two of them cast some kind of spell—I’m sorry, but I’m no mage, I don’t know which one—and it lifts me into the air like I was on a stretcher. Two led and one followed and they take me into the alley after them. We were in the old part of the city, you know what a maze it is, and we keep turning down smaller and smaller alleyways until eventually we get to a black door. A lantern burning next to it.”

“A lantern and a black door.”

“That’s all I could see. I’m sorry. What with me being stiff as a board and staring up at the night sky.”

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“Could you take me to it, do you think?” Alastair asked.

“I’m not sure,” Peter said, taking another quivering sip of tea. “I was a little freaked out. Still am.”

“Fair. I may ask you again later, once you’ve had a chance to recover.”

“I’m sure Mayor Lamkin will as well. They did a spell—again, I’m not sure what type, sorry—”

“It’s all right, there’s no way you’d know what it was without formal magical training.”

“—And the door opens. There’s more people inside, all in robes, all with those same bloody shoes. They clearly weren’t expecting me to show up, and they all had a debate, almost an argument, about what to do with me. Finally, they take me downstairs to the basement, toss me on the floor, and just… leave me there. Still frozen, I was, but I think the spell had already started to wear off by that point. I could move the tips of my fingers—but I was careful not to let them see me doing it in case they hit me with another Freezing spell.”

“Good thinking,” Alastair said.

“So, they left me down there and went back upstairs, slammed the door. It was dark down there, and it felt like I was lying there for hours, waiting to be able to move again. Slowly, the spell started to fade. I can finally move my whole hands, then my wrists—and as that was happening, I start to hear something from the other side of the basement. Whispers. As if someone’s trying to get my attention.”

“Whispers?” Alastair said. “So someone else was down there.”

“Yep,” Peter said.

“What did they say?”