The Gray Tower Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Alesha Escobar

  “You’re probably wondering why I use this,” he said, nodding at his cane and displaying its silver handle with a dragon engraved on it. “A lesson from my days of being young and foolish.”

  “We all have those days,” I said, accepting his arm and carefully walking in step with him.

  Urbano led the way as we exited the captain’s office. We went down the hall, past a couple of naval officers on patrol, and toward the steel gate. Without a single gesture or utterance from the captain, the gate opened for us with a shriek of rusty iron. As we made our way down the dim hallway, I noticed an eerie quiet that fell over the area.

  “Captain, how many prisoners do you have here?” I asked.

  “Never more than fifteen.”

  “They’re well-behaved,” Urbano said.

  “Half of these warlocks are psychotic,” Skye said. “Some of the holding rooms are warded so we don’t have to hear their god-forsaken blathering. Others have learned to hold their tongue.”

  We stopped at the twelfth holding room. Instead of using a key, Skye brushed his thumb against a few of the glowing symbols on the door’s handle. The door clicked open, and he announced to Praskovya that I would be entering. He closed the door behind me and stood outside with Urbano, watching me through the small glass window in the middle. For some reason, I thought the holding room would be like a psych ward, with white cushioned walls and Praskovya in a straight jacket. However, it was as plain as any prison cell, with a bed, water closet, sink, and small table and chair.

  Praskovya’s eyes betrayed her amusement, though she didn’t smile. She watched me take a seat at the little table across from the bed, and I felt awkward when I saw the golden imperium collar around her neck. She wore a white, long-sleeved men’s shirt and black trousers, and her blonde hair was pulled back into a low bun.

  “You probably already know why I’m here, Praskovya.”

  She glanced in the direction of the door and peered at the men staring back at us through the small window. “They have tried, and they have failed. So will you.”

  “You seemed to have known Marcellus pretty well. I wouldn’t be surprised if you did meet Octavian.”

  “Even if I did, you know how it goes. The same enchantment that would keep you from revealing the location of the Gray Tower would hang over those privileged enough to walk inside the Den.”

  She had a point. “Then let’s talk about you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What about me?”

  “How do you feel about a swift execution?”

  She exhaled a low breath; she did that when something bothered her. “You’re not here for that. You want to know where the Den is.”

  I had to make her believe that she needed us more than we needed her. “You’re right, I’m not here for the execution. I’m just doing one last interrogation because Morton asked me to. You know how thorough he is.”

  Her jaw went slack. “Don’t tell me Master Skye will be part of this interrogation.”

  I leaned in and said to her in Russian, “He might, but to be honest, he gives me the creeps.”

  That solicited a smile from her, and she switched over as well. “If you weren’t such a Tower Slave, I’d ask you to free me.”

  I switched back to English. “Sorry, but that’s not happening. You’re going to be sorely disappointed, just like when you finally realized that the Russian government wasn’t willing to pay your ransom. I’ll just tell Morton that you had nothing to say and that you’re ready to be hanged.” I stood and turned toward the door, almost breaking into a sweat when she said nothing else. I thought she would call my bluff, but when I grabbed the doorknob, she finally spoke.

  “I have a contact in Spain, by the name of Alban. He’s my handler. He carries a talisman that can take him near the Den whenever Octavian summons him, or in an emergency. It works like a Transfer stone.”

  I turned back around and approached her. “And the talisman doesn’t have any side effects?”

  “Octavian is the most powerful Cruenti alive. You should see the things he is able to do.” Her face contorted with disgust, and it caught me off guard. I never understood why she left us to work for that monster.

  Captain Skye knocked on the door, and I saw him beckoning me to come out. I went and opened the door and closed it behind me. “What is it?”

  “Don’t fall for her mind games,” he said. “You’d be walking into a trap trying to chase that lead in Spain. I just want you to try to get as much out of her as you can.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t done it already, captain. For some reason she’s afraid of you.”

  “As she should be,” he said with a predatory grin.

  Urbano kept silent, but gave me an encouraging nod. I said to Skye, “I know she wants any excuse to get out. She’s hoping that I’ll ask her to help me with meeting Alban. If she wears the imperium collar, then I’m willing to do it.”

  I wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass me by. If I could uncover the Den’s whereabouts and help lead to the fall of Octavian, then the Drifter would be a hero--not an outlaw. I turned and went back inside.

  “Alban will not meet with a stranger,” Praskovya continued, “and if I contact him and someone else shows up, he will only flee.”

  “Of course. You want to come with me.”

  “Not only that, I want this imperium collar off.”

  “How long has it been on? I would’ve thought it had drained your powers by now.”

  She glanced toward the glass window again. “Our dear captain replaces the collar every two days. He seems to believe that even people like me should not be robbed of their powers.”

  “That’s rather generous of him,” I said. “But if you’re going to help me get Alban, you won’t be taking that imperium collar off. It’s my insurance.” I’d feel uncomfortable controlling her through the device, but it was the only way I’d let her go with me.

  “What if there was another way?” she asked.

  “And what would that be?”

  She grabbed the neck of her shirt and pulled it down to expose her chest. “Heart-bind.”

  I paused before letting out a low laugh of incredulity and looked in the direction of the glass window. Captain Skye and Urbano gazed back without saying a word. “You really want to leave this place, don’t you, Praskovya?”

  She stood and approached. “I get this collar off, and you get your insurance.”

  True, if Alban detected the collar, it would ruin everything. However, I knew Praskovya would never settle for going on this assignment, only to return to the Shetland prison. At some point, she’d try to escape while in Spain. I supposed I could do a temporary heart-bind, but it made me feel uneasy because, the moment she’d make her move, I would have to act upon the bind and kill her.

  “If you’re serious about this,” I told her as I stood to meet her gaze, “then I want you to repeat exactly what I’m about to say. If you hold up your end of the bargain, I promise that I’ll bring you back safely.”

  “Agreed.” She slowly exhaled another breath.

  I placed my hand over her heart in the same way I had done Brande, and recited the words I wanted her to say. “I vow to aid Isabella in her task and I will not betray her, or flee.”

  She repeated the phrase in a clear voice, and the tingling tendrils of energy spun forth and enveloped my hand. When the binding completed itself, my hand fell to my side, and I threw Praskovya a look to remind her of what would happen if she didn’t fulfill her vow. Just one false move and she’d be dead.

  “Captain Skye,” she said, already toying with the imperium collar, “get in here and take this damned thing off my neck. I’m going to Spain.”

  “Urbano,” Skye said as he walked in with his cane. “Take Miss Praskovya down to room number one and have my Elite remove the collar.”

  Urbano came forward and pulled Praskovya with him out of the room. Skye studied me for a second before gripping his cane and holding out his hand.
I reached out and took it, assuming he wanted me to walk arm-in-arm with him again.

  “May I...read you?” he asked.

  Suddenly the room grew colder than the windswept ocean. “Perhaps some other time, captain.”

  “No?” His hold became a grip.

  “No.” I snatched my hand away.

  He stepped in closer. “Even without reading you, I can tell something is wrong with you. You come in here and pretend there isn’t, and you don’t expect me to say anything about it?”

  A chill ran down my spine, and I took a step back. “There’s nothing wrong with me, Captain Skye.”

  His nostrils flared. “How do you know Jerome?”

  I let out a startled breath. “Jerome? Who is he?”

  I knew he was one of the original wizards who had helped my father, but I had never come across him while at the Gray Tower--at least I didn’t think I did.

  “Why don’t you tell me who he is, since the imprint of his magic is on you.” Skye had woven a paralysis spell around me, and I didn’t even feel it until now. I hoped Urbano would return soon.

  “Captain Skye, please release me. I don’t know who Jerome is.”

  He peered into my eyes. “It looks like you’re telling the truth about that. He doesn’t go by that name anymore, and you’re awfully young. It’s Ekwueme, who wears the Yellow.”

  I didn’t know whether to feel emboldened or shocked. Jerome, who had apparently changed his name to Ekwueme, was one of the Three Master Wizards who sat on the Council and helped run the Gray Tower. He was the most powerful Philosopher alive. When Captain Skye saw that I didn’t give any further explanation as to why one of The Three had imprinted me with his magic, he grew incensed, and his pupils dilated until the whites of his eyes were swallowed in darkness.

  “I ought to turn you inside out for your insolence, but if Ekwueme has gifted you in some way...”

  If Skye hadn’t paralyzed me with his spell, I would’ve been trembling. I saw my chance to escape and took it. “Ekwueme wouldn’t be too pleased with you laying hands on me, now would he? So may I be excused, or did you want to sit here and harass me?”

  He paused, as if weighing his options. “I swear, if you’re playing some kind of--”

  “I need to get to Spain. If you have any questions, ask Ekwueme yourself.” My muscles relaxed, and the paralysis he placed on me subsided.

  “This conversation isn’t over,” he said, stepping aside.

  “Goodbye, Captain.” I rushed past him, but paused at the door when he called out to me.

  “And just get rid of Praskovya when you’re done in Spain.”

  “But I promised her--”

  “You’re not the one with the heart-bind on you, are you? Just do it, and save us all the trouble.”

  My stomach fluttered as I left the holding room and went down to number one. An Elite Alchemist, Wes, had already removed Praskovya’s collar. With a satisfied grin, she donned a thick black coat and addressed me in a friendly tone. “I look forward to working with you again.”

  Urbano handed me his black pistol. “Be safe.”

  “Thank you,” I said, eyeing Praskovya with distrust.

  “Isabella, let’s put the past behind us. Tomorrow we may be the best of friends.” She chuckled.

  “Wes,” Urbano motioned to the wizard. “Take her toward the front and we’ll meet you there.”

  “Yes, sir.” He escorted her out.

  Urbano turned to face me. “I must leave you now. I wish you success in your endeavor.”

  “Will I see you again?”

  “I hope so, otherwise I shall always remember you as the girl who hurt my neck.” He offered me his hand, and I shook it.

  “Thank you, Mr. Urbano.”

  I went ahead and met up with Praskovya. I guided her back down the way I first came, past the castle ruins and buildings, and back to the harbor. As we boarded the boat, I saw something in the sky. It blotted out a few stars and moved swiftly. I rubbed my eyes and peered again up into the night, but nothing else stirred. I chalked it up to a lack of sleep and went aboard the boat, mentally preparing myself for what I would have to do.

  It seemed, no matter what choice I made, Praskovya was going to have to die.

  35

  “If you’re thinking about trying to ditch me at La Cocina, then just remember what I told you last night. And, distance doesn’t matter. I’ll enact the heart-bind if I have to.” Of course, she knew that, which made my threat unnecessary, but it was somehow an assurance to myself that I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder every ten seconds, wondering if her trip to the ladies’ room was really a car ride across the Spanish border. If I were in Praskovya’s position, I’d probably already have a plan as to how I would get out of this mess--so what was it?

  “Slow down,” she said in a sleepy voice. “There’s a checkpoint ahead.”

  “I’m not blind.”

  I pulled to a stop and turned off my headlights as the officer requested. “Good evening, ladies,” he said to us in Spanish.

  “Good evening,” I replied and smiled. “Did something happen here?”

  “I apologize for the inconvenience.” He grabbed the passports we handed him and examined them. “The general wants to make sure certain people aren’t crossing our borders.”

  “I understand.” Spain had declared itself neutral, but it didn’t stop either side in the war from running operations in the territory.

  “You’re headed into the city?” He half-smiled at Praskovya.

  “Does it matter?” She raised an eyebrow.

  I lightly touched the officer’s hand, impressing upon him a friendlier disposition toward us. “Please excuse my friend. She’s crazy.”

  “I don’t mind.” He winked at me. “Have you been to Madrid before? Perhaps I can show you around. I should be off duty within the hour, and the way you’re dressed, it looks like you’re headed to one of the nightclubs.”

  I immediately pressed the palm of my hand against Praskovya’s mouth to halt any further comments from escaping. “Thank you, but we’re meeting a friend. Perhaps next time.”

  He handed us back our passports. “Then goodnight, ladies.”

  I adjusted my black wrap dress and then turned the headlights back on. I pulled off, barreling down the road and casting Praskovya a sidelong glance. “Sometimes I wonder...”

  “What?”

  “If I would’ve really turned into someone like you. Believe it or not, I used to actually respect you. You were one of our best.”

  She glared at me. “I am one of the best. Sometimes our circumstances don’t allow us to live in a perfect world, Isabella.”

  I snorted. “Sister, my world is anything but perfect. At least I have people who care about me.”

  She frowned. “And that is what makes you weak.”

  “So how’s being a traitor and murderer working out for you? It seems to me you just ended up alone in the end.”

  When she didn’t retort, I thought that would be the end of our argument--until her fist came flying at me. The car swerved as I recoiled and flung my arm out to block another incoming punch. I hit the brakes before reciprocating with a swing of my fist. After parrying each other’s blows a few more times, I gathered my willpower and put pressure on the heart-bind. She doubled over and clenched her chest as if suffering a heart attack.

  “Would...you really do it?” She struggled to breathe normally, and had a touch of fear in her eyes.

  “Don’t test me, Praskovya.” I rubbed my right arm and had to overcome the temptation to place even more pressure on the bind.

  After regaining my composure, I drove toward the nightclub, where we would find Alban. I wasn’t surprised to see La Cocina crowded, and I smiled to myself when I saw Jasmine Léon’s name on the marquee. When Praskovya and I went to sit at the bar, I made sure to use a hand signal to let Jasmine know that I was on assignment and that she should not come over to greet me.

  Back in
France, Jasmine was known as La Dame Rouge--The Red Lady. She sang and danced in the Éclat nightclub and fell in love with the city of Paris--and Paris fell in love with her. As a black performer, she resented the unwelcoming environment of segregated nightclubs in the United States, yet, ironically, our government depended on her and paid her as an informant and unofficial spy. In addition to this, she took it upon herself to hide French Resistance fighters when the Nazis had put bounties on their heads, as well as victims fleeing the slaughters in Czechoslovakia.

  “A martini, Vasco.” Praskovya handed the bartender a few francs, and when he opened his mouth to object, she stared him down.

  “Umm...of course. Right away.”

  I noted all the exits before placing some pesetas on the bar counter as payment. “I said to blend in.” I tugged at the hem of her dark blue sheath dress. If it rode up any further, she’d have half the guys in the club staring at her.

  She glared at me, probably wishing she could just slip into a comfortable pair of pants. She turned her gaze back toward the stage and watched Jasmine singing and shimmying to an upbeat song. “I remember her, the Colored actress. Is it true she’s in league with the French Resistance?”

  It sounded like she was fishing for information. “Just keep an eye out for Alban.”

  The bartender handed her the martini and she slipped him a note. “For you-know-who,” she said before taking a sip.

  Though I doubted people around us could hear our exchange over the blaring music, I leaned into Praskovya and whispered, “So when does Alban usually come by?”

  “No later than 10 p.m. If we don’t see him, he may have already come. He’ll know that the note I left was from me.”

  “Does he live nearby?” I asked.

  “You ask too many questions. Have a drink. Or is that against your self-righteous code of ethics?”

  “Go to hell, Praskovya.”

  I turned to catch a glimpse of Casandra heading toward us. She wore a fitted blood red dress and her hair, the same color as Praskovya’s, fell in loose waves. A cold, numbing anger filled me, and my heart began pounding. Praskovya sensed the abrupt change in my mood and backed away.