Above all, stay alive.
Grim
“That’s it?” Lars grabbed the letter out of my hands and flipped it over to see the back, then again to examine the front. He did this several times, as if new words would magically appear.
I supposed it wasn’t impossible some hidden text would appear, being witches and all, but that would have been a little flashy for Grim. He’d always been a straight shooter.
“Are you serious?” Lars upended the coffee table, remnants of my breakfast buffet momentarily airborne before littering the carpet. “This isn’t a way to get you out, unless he wanted you carried out in a coffin. Not that the Magistrate would give you one.”
“Lars, look at me.” I closed the distance between us, careful not to squish scrambled eggs into the area rug as I did. Cupping his face, I forced him to meet my gaze.
“He told me to give you the letter when the time was right. When the hell is there a right time for a letter like that?” Anger and hurt moved in like a stormfront, clouding the sparkle I usually saw in his eyes whenever I looked at him. “‘Keep an eye on her, Lars.’ Grim said that to me damn near every night. When he first picked you up, I thought it was because he was afraid you’d steal something and head for the nearest pawn shop. It took me a while but I finally caught on to the fact he wanted me to look after you.”
Nicholas did his best to seem invisible, giving us some semblance of privacy as he cleaned up the mess on the floor. Lucky for us, his spells were holding, and the neighbors remained blissfully unaware of the fugitives arguing in the secret attic workshop above them.
“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Lars tried to pull away, but I held him tighter. “How am I supposed to keep you safe, keep you alive, when he’s all but telling you to stand up to the Magistrate?”
“Just do what you’ve always done. Keep an eye on me, Lars.” I tilted his head down and kissed his forehead before letting him pull away.
Nicholas cleared his throat as he stood with a dust pan filled with breakfast bits. “Grim’s death—it wasn’t natural causes?”
“Was your father’s?” Lars shot back.
He was hurt, angry, and Nicholas made for an easy target. I placed my hand on his wrist, and he looked down at it, shaking his head. The tension seeping from his shoulders, his demeanor, softened. Not calm but as close as we would get under the circumstances.
“The official story? Accidental. Explosion in his lab on the campus.” Nicholas laughed but it did little to hide his pain.
“Given the fact I know very little about your father, from what I do know, I’d say that’s about as likely as Grim being held up by a magic junkie and drained to death.” Talking about Grim’s death stoked a fire inside me that never seemed to go out, the coals of anger always smoldering. “I can’t help thinking this is all connected somehow.”
“Maybe, but whether or not the Magistrate killed Grim and my father is the least of our problems right now.” Nicholas caught Lars’s attention, and the two men exchanged a knowing look before gazing at me. “You are.”
That comment got my attention as well.
“I am?” Prepared to go on the defense, I looked from Lars to Nicholas and back. “I’m part of the problem? Grim seemed to think I was part of the solution, whatever that turns out to be, and now that I’m not bleeding to death from a thousand little cuts, I tend to agree.”
“A problem isn’t always something that needs to be eliminated. It’s a question that needs to be solved.” Nicholas reached for me and rested his hand on my shoulder in a reassuring gesture before pulling away. “Aldridge said my uncle has a purpose for you. Karen Brown is missing.”
I caught Lars wincing at the mention of her name. Knowing him, he felt as responsible for her as I did. If the Magistrate found the Angel of Mercy, it was most likely because we’d led them to her—with a little help from Nicholas, no doubt.
“I think at this point, it’s safe to say that Winslow has her.” Lars cleared his throat. “And if he has her, then it is also safe to say he needs you to undo your ward.”
“And therein lies the problem—Karen Brown is safe as long as you’re nowhere near her.” Nicholas straightened his shoulders, clearly bracing for my response.
“She’s not safe. She’s with your uncle. I bet your father would say that’s pretty much the opposite of safe.” I stopped, the realization of what they were—and weren’t—saying dawning on me. “Oh no., No way. You’re not locking me up while you two storm the castle and rescue the princess.”
“Winslow wants you, Del.” Lars’s voice rose with his temper. “You. So you’re not going within a mile of Winslow or the Magistrate.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore, Lars. That’s not your decision to make.” Grim’s words came back to me: Be who and what you are. Use what the Goddess gave you. “I’m going to find and rescue Karen Brown, and I’ll do it with or without your help.”
Chapter Sixteen
“I NEVER SHOULD HAVE given you that letter.” Lars rubbed a hand back and forth over his shaved head as he paced the narrow space between the couch and the coffee table.
“I never would have forgiven you if you didn’t.” The letter still clutched in my hand, I unfurled my fingers and carefully folded the paper into quarters, doing my best to preserve the wax seal.
Nicholas had the common sense to stand outside of my reach before speaking. “I’m probably going to regret saying this, but I’m with Lars on this one. You shouldn’t go anywhere near Karen Brown. Never mind the Magistrate or my uncle.”
“You’ve been siding with Lars an awful lot. In fact, the boys’ club you two have going on comes to an end now.” I grabbed my backpack off the floor and started rooting through its contents. “I’m no shrinking violet. I’ve lived on the streets. Hell, I’m a Warder, living a double life. After what I’ve seen and done, what’s been done to me, if anyone is going to save my life, it’s going to be me. Got it?” Ignoring their protests, I continued to dig through my bag until I found the small jar of ink I was looking for. “Ah-ha, got it!” Setting the small glass jar on the coffee table, I plopped back down on the couch and then crossed my arms over my chest with a smug look on my face.
“And what, pray tell, is that exactly?” Nicholas picked up the jar, examining its contents.
Lars eyed the shimmering onyx-colored goo inside the glass container. “You can’t be serious.”
“I most certainly am serious,” I replied, unable to hide the amusement in my voice. “Simplicity is genius.”
“We use this for All Hallows Eve, Del.” Lars grabbed the bottle from Nicholas and gave it a little shake to stir the ink. “This isn’t genius, this is suicide.”
“All Hallows Eve...” Nicholas held his hand out to Lars, a look of curiosity on his face. “That’s a transformation potion?”
“More like a glamour. It doesn’t change your physical features like a true transformation. It’s a temporary projected image of yourself, or rather the self you want people to see,” Lars explained, handing the potion off to Nicholas. “The key words being temporary projection.”
“We’re planning a break-in, not a pain-free plastic surgery practice. We don’t need it to be permanent.” I grabbed the jar from Nicholas. “So, here’s how this is going to work—”
“Shocking as this may be—considering I spent most my life on campus—I do know how that works.” Nicholas pushed up his sleeve enough to expose his wrist. “They teach it in primary school as a gateway to transformation spells.”
“Well, you’re not on campus anymore.” I didn’t even try to hide my eye roll. “So get with the program. Simple is the opposite of complicated, which is exactly what we need. Complications get you caught, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on getting caught.”
“If you don’t want to get caught, then you might want to call an end to this ridiculous plan of yours.” Lars snatched the jar out of my hands but not before I’d opened it and dipped my fi
ngers in.
“You haven’t even heard the whole plan.” I swiped my pointer and middle finger across Nicholas’s wrist before either of them could stop me.
“I’ve known you damn near your entire life. Which means I knew your plan before you did.” Lars watched Nicholas’s features begin to shift into someone else’s face and sighed.
I smiled. Knowing Lars just as well as he knew me, I read the resolution in his body language. Lars was in. Despite his protests, I never really had any doubts. He’d never let me go on some crazy caper alone.
And breaking into Winslow’s office on campus was, without a doubt, a crazy plan.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” I rubbed my hands together with a little more glee than was probably seemly. Something about my excitement had the other two on edge.
That was their problem. If I stopped to worry about all the things that could go wrong, I wouldn’t start at all, and that was not an option. No one was safe in Winslow’s hands—not Karen Brown and definitely not me. We were going to find her and take her back.
End of story.
“Nicholas has a campus ID, right?” I looked to Nicholas for confirmation, his face still contorted from the transformation glamour.
He nodded.
“See, one problem already solved. We’ll alter the picture on the ID to match your temporary face and voilà. We’re in, with you leading the campus tour.” I grabbed the ink out of Lars’s hand, a triumphant smile on my face.
“There’s just one flaw in your plan, Adeline.” Nicholas’s baritone voice sounded peculiar coming from the svelte, arctic Adonis he’d chosen. I’d just gotten used to having the original around and much preferred his natural appearance. “You can’t alter a campus ID. They’re tamperproof.” The apologetic half smile I assumed he meant to offer looked more like a leer on the blond version of himself.
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” I screwed the lid back on the jar of ink with a huff. “What’s the point of having magic with the Magistrate around?”
Lars sighed in relief, his whole body relaxing, the stress and tension melting away as my half-baked plan fell apart.
“Winslow’s house, on the other hand, doesn’t require an ID.” Nicholas, having apparently made the decision to aid and abet, shrugged when Lars glared at him.
“First his office. Now his house.” Lars snatched the ink pot away from me and began gathering my things. “This isn’t Mission Impossible, you know.”
When I raised a hand to interject that it kind of was like Mission Impossible, Lars gave me a look that turned the words to ash on my tongue.
“I’m putting an end to this,” he said. “Right now.”
“Lars.” The time had come to put my foot down. “You can help me or you can leave. Either way, this is happening.”
I’d always followed his lead. At least when it came to the big decisions. He was the closest thing to an older brother I’d ever had. I looked up to him. I always would. But I wasn’t backing down.
I couldn’t.
“No. I’ve always had your back, always. But not this time, Del.”
I pulled Grim’s letter out of my pocket and held it out to him.
He shook his head. “Not this time.” His words dropped off to a whisper, a solemn expression settling on his face, as if he’d already resolved himself to my death.
“You’re right. You’ve always had my back, which is why I need you with me on this. How many times have I escaped getting nicked by Footmen because of you? My odds of survival only increase if you help me.”
Lars eyed the letter in my hand. “When this all goes to hell, and it will go to hell, Adeline, they’ll string you up in the gallows and force me to bear witness. You’re not asking me to help you; you’re asking me to sign your death warrant.”
“Oh, Lars.” I closed the distance, and pulled him into a hug he protested at first, shucking my arms off before finally giving in and returning the embrace. “My death warrant was signed right after my birth certificate.”
“Damn it, Del.” Lars gripped me tighter, forcing the air out of my lungs as he compressed his massive arms around my ribs, releasing me only after I tapped out.
The room hummed with magic, trails of shimmering dust particles hanging in the air as Nicholas rubbed the painted mark off his wrist and drew a sigil in the air above his head with a finger. Transformation complete, the version of Nicholas I much preferred stood in the middle of the attic, brushing the last remnants of the spell off his clothes.
“That’s better.” Shaking off a cringe, Nicholas traced three more sigils with his pointer finger in the dead space in front of him. “Now that we’re all on board—reluctantly, I might add”—he spared a glance at Lars before continuing—“we should probably have a look at the Winslow residence.”
An architectural blueprint manifested out of thin air, courtesy of Nicholas’s spell. We huddled around the three-dimensional layout, familiarizing ourselves with every nook and cranny of the sprawling estate.
“Is that the Isaac Bell House?” Lars stepped back from the schematics, his head cocked, a puzzled expression on his face.
“The what house?” I took a step back as well, trying to see what Lars saw in the 3-D image.
“He’s referring to the Newport Mansion. And no, it isn’t the Bell House, but a replica further down the coast.” Nicholas seemed impressed, nodding at Lars’s historical knowledge of Newport County.
I gave Lars an appraising look.
“What, like you haven’t taken the tours?” Lars asked.
“You know I haven’t.” My life before Grim hadn’t left much room for visiting tourist attractions. And after? Well, I preferred studying wards and learning the trade to stuffy old mansions.
“I hate to interrupt.” Nicholas cleared his throat. “But if we could get back to the task at hand?”
“Sorry,” Lars and I chimed in, covering our mouths to hide our unrepentant snickering.
"I have a question," I said.
Both men turned to look at me, expectation of a sarcastic comment clear on their faces.
"Aren’t we going to Newport? That doesn't look like the coastline to me."
“The Winslow estate isn’t in Newport." Nicholas's facial features smoothed out, some of the tension easing when he realized I wasn't going to give him a hard time. "It's an exact replica. On Block Island."
“We’re going to need to pack some candied ginger.” I closed my eyes and muttered a prayer to the Goddess about sea sickness and the prevention of projectile vomiting.
He covered his chuckle with a cough. "My uncle’s office is here.” Nicholas pointed to a window just to the left of the double porch’s second floor. “It’s off-season, so there won’t be the usual security and staff on site. My uncle’s the only one who uses the property with any regularity this time of year. My aunt’s accused him of adultery on more than one occasion, but the only thing his family plays second fiddle to is the Magistrate.”
“Okay, so how many guards? How many staff?” I tried to memorize the layout on the blueprint, but the myriad of hallways and rooms made it all but impossible.
“How well do you know this place?” Lars eyed the blueprint, focusing on one area in particular. The image wavered, fine lines of detail disappearing as he tapped a finger on the magical design. “Is this a service entrance? Here at the back of the house?” He pulled his hand away, the lines in the blueprint reappearing as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Pretty well. Enough to know where the servant passages are. We spent summers there when I was a kid. I guess I was an outcast even then." Nicholas ran his hand over his hair, an uncomfortable smile on his face. "We'd play hide-and-seek, my cousins and me. The secret hallways were always my favorite. They never found me. Once I realized they were never looking, I started going there to be alone."
Lars cleared his throat, interrupting Nicholas’s awkward trip down memory lane. In our line of work, you got used
to people saying uncomfortable or occasionally inappropriate things. It happened under mental or physical stress. You also mastered the art of redirecting the conversation.
"So, we enter here." Lars tapped the magical hologram again, sending little sparks showering down to the floor. "Which passage leads to your uncle's office?"
Nicholas shook off the web of memories and focused on the blueprint of his uncle's house. After calculating and recalculating routes like a defunct GPS and poking holes in each other's plans, we finally came up with one we could all agree on.
With that settled, Lars moved on to supplies, making a list of everything we'd need for our breaking and entering mission to be successful. More than one item, most of which were ingredients for his perimeter wards, were back at Something To 'Ink About.
"With Winslow's money, I'm going to assume he's got the best of the best when it comes to security." Lars pulled his car keys out of his jeans pocket. "But I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve. I'll be back in an hour."
Lars and Nicholas exchanged a look, one I didn't have trouble interpreting. It was the 'if something happens to me' look.
"Hey." I placed a hand on Lars's shoulder and walked with him to the door. "An hour, right?"
"You won't even know I'm gone." Lars pulled me in for a quick hug and kissed the top of my head.
"Be careful." I wrapped my arms around his middle, giving him one last squeeze, feeling more uncertain with my decision to go up against Winslow than ever.
"That's my line." With a weak smile and a nervous chuckle, Lars stepped through Nicholas's perimeter wards and disappeared from sight.
I stood there, staring at the door, second-guessing every decision up to that point which led to being separated from Lars again. We were better together, but it felt like the universe had set us on parallel paths, side by side but never crossing.
"He'll be back." Nicholas guided me to the sofa with promises of more coffee, trying to distract me by going over the details of our plan again.
"He better be." My reply came with its usual sarcastic, confident tone despite the sense of dread sinking my stomach like a lead balloon.
'Ink It Over: A Touch Of Ink Novel Page 11
