Jocelynn Drake - [Asylum Tales 02] Page 2

  Standing again, I looked over the cages and smiled at the pixies before turning and leaving. The man and woman were seated at the end of the long table in the middle of the basement, inhaling some fast food, while a pair of guards stood watching over Bronx and me. On a patch of dry floor, I drew one more symbol.

  “Stay out here for a few more minutes. I’m almost done,” I announced while motioning for Bronx to accompany me up the stairs. The troll was silent, watching my back as I walked through the house, drawing on each door and on the floor before reaching the front door. No one questioned what I was doing. We had all been raised not to question the witches and warlocks. Hell, you never approached one if you could help it. People had been killed by the members of the Ivory Towers just for wishing them a good day.

  Drawing one last special symbol on the doorknob, I pulled the front door closed as I whispered the last word of the spell. I chuckled to myself as I followed Bronx down the front steps to the sidewalk.

  “Should I ask what you’ve done to the house?” Bronx asked while picking his way across the front lawn beside me.

  I smiled up at him, unable to hide my excitement as I tucked the piece of chalk back into my pocket. “It’s called the Spell of Defenseless Enticement.”

  “Reave is going to be pissed. You were supposed to do a protective spell.” Bronx shoved one hand nervously through his hair as he turned back to look at the house. Everything looked fine, but that was part of the enticement. That so-called fine was only going to last for another second or two.

  “I did. It’s a very powerful protection spell, but to achieve it, you have to leave yourself completely defenseless. In this instance, all locks become useless. You can’t lock a door, a window, or, say, a cage in this house.”

  As if on cue, screams erupted within the house followed by loud banging. We paused in the middle of the lawn and looked at the house. Lights could be seen being flicked on through the cracks in the curtains, followed by more bangs. A few sounded like gunshots, but I wasn’t worried about the pixies. They were wickedly fast when they took flight. The humans were more likely to shoot each other than a pixie in that chaos.

  “What’s the protection?” Bronx asked.

  “Oh, if you enter the house with ill intent toward the occupants, your feet become stuck to the floor,” I said. I was still waiting to see the pixies escape. “A warlock has to release you, or you have to have your feet cut off to get unstuck again.”

  “That’s pretty powerful.”

  “I’ve been dying to use it for years, but could never come up with a good excuse.”

  The front door was thrown open and the man I had spoken to in the basement and one of his guards came running out. They had their hands over their heads while screaming at the pixies, who were pelting them with what looked like scalpels. As they hit the warm night air, the pixies scattered in all directions, rising higher into the sky until they disappeared from sight.

  “What have you done?” shouted glasses man. “They’re all loose.”

  I gave him an indifferent shrug. “It’s a protection spell. Unfortunately, it has the side effect of disabling locks. I thought you could handle the pixies.”

  “You’ve ruined me!”

  The asshole grabbed a gun from the guard and pointed it in my direction. Bronx jumped in front of me, acting as a shield. Grabbing at the troll, I tried to shove him away. My magic was out in the open here. I could stop a damn bullet without risking harm. He couldn’t.

  “I don’t think so,” said a calm, irritated voice over the din. The gun exploded in the man’s hand, leaving behind a bloody stub. He screamed, clutching his wrist as he fell to his back in the grass. The guard stood beside him, frozen and white-faced as he stared over my shoulder.

  I didn’t want to look, because I knew who I would find. There were things in this world worse than a pissed-off dark elf and his Mafia thugs. Like an irritated warlock with a chip on his shoulder.

  Gideon stood behind me, glaring at the moaning man. Reaching into the left sleeve of his shirt, he pulled out a wand. With a quick flick of his wrist, the night was filled with an ugly gurgling before becoming completely silent. The man was dead and I was definitely fucked.

  2

  “TWO MONTHS,” GIDEON muttered, shoving his wand back up his sleeve. “You couldn’t go two full months before I had to track you down again.”

  “I missed you too,” I said with a nervous smile. Mocking and irritating Gideon was something that I specialized in. However, he had never approached me before when others were around—the world wasn’t supposed to know what I was. With Gideon’s attention now on me, the surviving guard ran into the house and slammed the door shut, leaving us alone with the pissed-off warlock.

  “Gage?” Bronx said softly.

  I moved in front of the troll, not that my smaller body offered much protection. I didn’t have a wand on me, which made any type of magical protection shaky at best, but I’d protect Bronx from Gideon the same way the troll had intended to protect me from the gun.

  “It’ll be okay. I’ve got this.”

  Gideon stopped in his pacing and arched one eyebrow at me. I didn’t mean it to sound so challenging, but I needed to try to reassure my friend. Gritting my teeth, I tried to think of some way to placate Gideon. It was as if I was standing in quicksand, the earth slipping away from my feet the more I spoke. A smart man would keep his mouth shut. I wasn’t always a smart man.

  “This is a surprise,” I started again, trying desperately to think of a way to defuse some of Gideon’s anger. His mouth firmed into a hard line, proving that I was failing miserably. Warlocks and witches were a testy lot in the best of times. Gideon had proven that he was a good guy, or at least as much as a warlock could be, but he hadn’t batted an eye at killing that fix producer. I didn’t know whether it was because the dealer pulled a gun or because Gideon had been annoyed by the man’s screams. Either way, dead was dead and I wasn’t about to let that happen to Bronx.

  “Two months, Gage,” Gideon said, picking up his earlier thread of conversation, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Bronx and I were standing there waiting to see if our lives were about to come to a messy end. I watched, barely breathing, as he tugged on the cuffs of his blue, collared shirt within the dark gray business jacket he was wearing. He could have been a banker by all appearances, with his shiny shoes, Rolex, and blue-and-gray-striped tie. The only thing missing was the wedding band on his left hand, but then warlocks and witches weren’t permitted to marry. I wondered if the missing ring bothered him, or his hidden wife.

  “I seem to have fallen into a bit of trouble,” I admitted.

  Gideon’s gaze drifted over to the house I had protected, his face expressionless. The occasional pixie slipped from its hiding place in the eaves to the nearest tree, thick with leaves that were only now starting to show the colors of autumn. “So I gathered. Your new job involves freeing pixies?”

  “Not quite.”

  “I gathered that as well,” he muttered, turning to walk toward Bronx’s Jeep. “Come along. I’m not going to kill you or your troll.”

  I sighed, my shoulders slumping. Motioning for Bronx to accompany me, I walked over to where Gideon was standing beside the Jeep. It was somewhat larger than many of the vehicles people drove simply because it was one of several styles that had been enlarged to accommodate large creatures like trolls and ogres. The warlock peered into the passenger-side window, seeming curious about the interior.

  “This is the one that works with you?” he said, straightening to look over my shoulder at Bronx. His expression was the same as when he was looking over the car, only mild interest but largely dismissive.

  “Yes, he’s a good friend,” I bit out, but I stifled my irritation. The fact that he had deigned to notice Bronx at all was a compliment. In general, warlocks and witches considered any creature as beneath their notice. All the same, his manner was insulting.

  “My name is Bronx,” my companion
said in a smooth, even tone, betraying neither fear nor anger.

  Gideon said nothing, so I spoke for him. “And this is Gideon, a dear friend. You’ll have to excuse him—the Ivory Towers don’t teach manners.”

  “That would explain a lot,” Bronx replied, earning a shocking, surprised bark of harsh laughter from Gideon. I turned to find that the troll was looking straight at me, the butt of the joke. Ha. Ha. Ha.

  “You . . . you seem very protective of Gage despite what he is,” Gideon said stiffly. “Are you worried about your job?”

  I could hear the shrug in Bronx’s voice when he spoke. “Jobs come and jobs go. There will always be others. Gage is my friend and there won’t be others like him. I would prefer to keep him alive.”

  “He’s a warlock.”

  “And I’m a troll. He’s my friend not because of what he is, but because of who he is.”

  Gideon’s tone grew hard, intent on pushing him. “He’s going to get you killed.”

  Bronx smiled as he looked down at me. “Better him than cholesterol.”

  To my shock, Gideon was smiling when I turned back to him, but there was a sad look in his eyes. “He reminds me of Ellen,” he whispered. “She says she’d rather die because of her association with me than because of boredom.”

  My smile died before it could rise on my lips. Ellen was Gideon’s secret wife. He had shown me a picture of a pretty blond woman and their daughter, Bridgette, two months ago. If the Ivory Towers found out about Ellen or Bridgette, all three were dead, but Gideon would be killed only after he had watched his family ruthlessly tortured to death.

  “Are they all right?” I demanded. Gideon’s eyes snapped to my face, as if he were waking from a dream. “Has something happened to them?”

  Gideon wasn’t someone I would dare to call a friend. We had similar goals and ideas and we had both been brought up in the Ivory Towers, but that was where the similarities ended. Gideon had been a thorn in my side for years, a shadow chasing my every step. Even so, I couldn’t help but feel something for the man. Particularly since I had discovered that he had been protecting me.

  “No, they’re both fine.”

  “Safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hidden?”

  “Not unless you drop it,” he growled.

  I breathed a soft sigh of relief. “Then what are you doing here?”

  “You mean other than because of your display?” he said, waving one hand at the house we had just left. Honestly, I had almost forgotten where we were and why we were even there. But then a pissed warlock standing in front of you made you forget about everything else.

  “Well, you usually pop in, smack me around, threaten me, and then leave. This is an extended visit.”

  “I came to warn you.”

  And with that, all the joking was pushed aside.

  Gideon was my main source of information on what was happening in the Ivory Towers. I may have left years ago, but I soon learned that I wouldn’t be able to safely turn my back on the group. Many of the witches and warlocks of the Ivory Towers had wanted me dead for leaving, and it seemed that despite the passage of time, that was still the prevailing sentiment. Gideon’s job wasn’t so much to make sure I didn’t break the agreement to not use magic as it was to come up with a reason to haul me before the council so I could finally be executed. Gideon was the only buffer I had between myself and death at the hands of the Towers.

  “I might soon be removed as your guardian.”

  My knees buckled, but I didn’t realize it until I felt a pair of large hands slowly lowering me to the ground. My mind was too busy trying to absorb the information that he had dropped on me. Gideon not my guardian? I was fucked. Totally, undeniably fucked.

  Yes, Gideon was an asshole. He had taken pleasure in beating me and scaring me every opportunity that he had. But I wasn’t an idiot. I knew that I had given him plenty of opportunities over the years to drag me before the council. Hell, he had the council’s permission to kill me on sight if he caught me using magic. If anyone else had been tasked with watching me, I wouldn’t have survived my first year away from the Towers.

  I’d gotten better, severely cutting back on my magic use. I didn’t absentmindedly flush the toilet with a wave of my hand anymore, but I still used magic and I would have to continue to use it until I got free of Reave.

  “Why? What’s happened?” My voice was hoarse when I could speak. Bronx released his hold on my arms, but was hovering close.

  Gideon paused and looked over at Bronx.

  “Trust him!” I shouted. “He’s not going to run off and tell your secrets.”

  “The Towers are in chaos,” he admitted in a rush. “While a body hasn’t been located, the general consensus is that Simon Thorn is dead, and with few exceptions, all fingers are pointing in your direction.”

  Simon had been my mentor at the Ivory Towers. I’d left at the age of sixteen because of my hatred for their beliefs, and Simon wasn’t pleased with my decision. He tried to kill me, but I survived by some insane stroke of luck. The council let me live and leave, but Simon had never accepted the decision. When an opening on the council recently popped up, Simon decided to kill me so the blemish on his past was eradicated. He had failed and was now buried under a residential street in an extremely shitty part of Low Town.

  “I doubt you’re going to find a body,” I said, and then glared up at Gideon. “You can’t tell me anyone is upset the bastard is gone.”

  He shook his head, looking tired. “No. Some are pissed that you managed to kill someone from the Towers. Others were simply reminded that you’re still alive, and are focused on having you killed, legally.”

  Legally.

  Now, that was the big joke. A witch or a warlock could come down from the Towers and strike down anyone they wanted with no fear of retribution from anyone. However, there were rules for killing a witch or a warlock. Problems within the Towers were brought before the council to be decided on and people were punished accordingly—most of it being a painful death sentence. Of course, there were exceptions: people who secretly took matters into their own hands. But I could guess why most wanted me put down legally and it had to do with the recent jump in the number of runaways from the Towers.

  “And since you’ve not succeeded in bringing me back before the council for my inevitable execution . . .”

  “They are considering replacing me with someone who will get the job done,” Gideon finished.

  “Does anyone suspect that you’re helping me?”

  “I’m sure someone does, but so far no one has dared to voice it out loud.” Gideon paused and I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. There was something he needed to say, but was holding back.

  “Spit it out.” My nerves were already frayed with fear. I didn’t like being pinned between the forces of the Towers and Reave’s Mafia.

  “I’m currently left with two choices. I think I’ve got a matter of weeks before they agree to replace me, if not less time. I can either find a reason to bring you before the council . . .” Gideon paused again, lifting one hand gracefully toward the house I had “protected.” “Or I can let them replace me, leaving you to fend for yourself.”

  “Does the council still have an empty seat?” There were a total of thirteen seats on the council, but if there was one open, a tie vote would mean at least a temporary stay of execution.

  “Yes, but with things in such turmoil, I don’t think you’ll get the tie vote you’re obviously hoping for. You’ll be dead within an hour of arriving before the council.”

  “Fuck.” I sighed, dropping my head into my hands while resting my elbows on my bent knees. The Ivory Towers needed a scapegoat, someone they could use as a warning to the others who were training to be witches or warlocks. There was no escaping. There was only one way in the world—theirs.

  Sadly it took me a minute to think of another angle. My head snapped up so I could see Gideon again. “Are you safe?”

&nb
sp; “What do you mean?” Gideon demanded. His brow furrowed at the sharp question, casting his gray eyes in shadow.

  “If they replace you, it’s likely they suspect you’re at least a sympathizer. It would put you in a dangerous position. You and your family. Are you safe? Are they?”

  A ghost of a smile crossed his grim mouth. “They are safe for now, and I will manage. But if it comes down to protecting them and protecting you, I’m sure you know how I will choose.”

  With a grunt, I pushed back to my feet and brushed off the back of my pants. They were damp from where I had been sitting on earth soft from the recent rains. Unfortunately, I had bigger problems than a mud stain on my ass. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Have you spoken to any of the runaways?” Gideon suddenly asked.

  I blinked, my mind struggling to keep up with the swift change in topics. “Not knowingly.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Look, I don’t know who left the Towers. I didn’t know any apprentices while I was there and you and Sofie are the only ones that I speak with now. If one stopped in the parlor, I wouldn’t know it. Are you saying they’re in Low Town?”

  “Yes. My group knows they’re in town, but rumors are starting to circulate in the Towers that they’re here.”

  “And I imagine rumors are stating that I drew them here,” I grumbled. “Damn it, Gideon! The Towers aren’t even supposed to know where I am.”

  The warlock nodded. “Four more left recently. We’ve tried isolating the apprentices more than ever before, but it seems to be getting worse.”

  “Four? What’s that make it? Seven here in Low Town.”

  He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Five. Two were killed in their escape attempt.”

  “Wouldn’t it be best if these runaways sought Gage out?” Bronx inquired.

  “No!” Gideon and I said in unison. For a moment I had forgotten that the troll was even there, I had been so lost in a world that I had tried desperately to leave behind.