Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Identity

by Lydia Sherrer

  I HAVE NINE LIVES. I WOULD OUTLIVE YOU.

  “Wait, that’s really a thing? Is it just you, or all cats?”

  SHUT UP AND CLIMB, WITCH. WE ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME.

  “Right…”

  Sebastian closed his eyes and took a slow, calming breath. There was no need to panic, he just needed to come at the problem a different way. Knights didn’t become knights by giving up when things got hard, now did they? Besides, Lily was depending on him, and he would not let her down.

  He opened his eyes again and stared hard at the slope, thinking about physics. He remembered the way Mallory had shown him to wrap the rope around himself and keep perpendicular to the slope, which let his weight rest on the rope instead of on his arms or legs. He considered the mechanics of it, and why it worked the way it did. The same technique couldn’t be used for climbing back up, but maybe he could apply the basic principles in a different way.

  It took precious time he wasn’t sure he had, but he was finally able to rig something up that would keep him perpendicular and enable him to pull and brace himself with the rope on each step, so even if his footing slipped he wouldn’t slide backwards. Maybe he should add rock climbing to the growing list of skills he needed to acquire—right after unarmed combat, marksmanship, and not taunting dangerous people. Okay, so maybe not that last one.

  When he finally dragged himself over the lip of the incline, he collapsed in the dirt and just lay there, breathing. He might have stayed that way, too, but Sir Kipling started licking his face, then moved on to licking his lips when he didn’t immediately respond. Cat kisses were sufficiently disgusting to inspire him to action, and he jerked upright with a splutter.

  “Okay, okay, I’m up. Gross.”

  HURRY. WE ARE ALMOST OUT OF TIME.

  Sebastian glanced at his watch.

  Four minutes after three.

  Forcing his aching limbs to move as quickly as they could, Sebastian untied himself and threw the rope back down the slope, switched his headlamp to the red light setting so it would be less of a beacon in the darkness, then set off at a painful jog. He was wheezing after only a dozen steps, but he did not slow.

  Running sucked. A lot. Each step was agonizing. He was already so tired and sore, and every desperate gasp for air sent a stabbing pain through his side. Knowing he had to transcend the pain or risk faltering, he focused his thoughts on a vision of Lily’s face as she smiled at some quip or another he’d made. Instead of acknowledging the ache in his legs, he envisioned the way her pert lips pressed together in disapproval even as the corners lifted in a smile she couldn’t hold back. Rather than dwelling on the torturous burn in his lungs, he remembered the soft feel of her skin as she gripped his hand tightly in hers.

  There it was, the door to the warehouses.

  Three eleven.

  Sebastian stumbled to the wall and leaned against it while he pressed a hand to his ribs. His chest was on fire. He had to catch his breath. He was no good to anyone in this state.

  Three thirteen.

  “Kip, when I—open the door to the warehouse—run to the exact spot where—where Lily is and—show me. It’ll be dark so—so you’ll have to guide me—to it.”

  YES. HURRY.

  With a heave, Sebastian pushed off the wall, then hauled open the door and limped across the huge corridor. When he reached John Faust’s warehouse, he flung open its door and Sir Kipling dashed inside. He stepped in after the cat, glanced at his watch, then let the door close, plunging them into darkness.

  Three fourteen.

  Sebastian started counting down the seconds as he quietly paced the distance, aiming for the faintest of white glows that was emanating from Sir Kipling.

  Holy cow, that cat was freaky sometimes.

  Twenty-five seconds left.

  He stopped two paces away from the cat and sank into a ready stance, keeping his weight forward so he was on the balls of his feet, ready to dash whichever way he needed to go. His legs trembled, everything throbbed painfully, and he had to breathe in through his nose and out his mouth to keep from panting like a dog. He had no fancy plans or elaborate schemes. Just grab Lily and run, that was all he needed to do...also avoid getting stabbed, shot, torn to shreds by demons, or blasted by magic...oh yeah, and then somehow find the strength to run all the way out of a pitch-black cave while possibly carrying an unconscious person.

  Five.

  This is going to work. It has to.

  Four.

  I can do this.

  Three.

  Please whatever-my-aunt-thinks-is-out-there, help me.

  Two.

  I could really use a hand here.

  One.

  I am so screwed.

  3

  My Dark Queen

  Everything appeared so suddenly that even though he had been waiting for it, it still took him off guard. The room was cloaked in blackness, but he could feel the sudden shift in the air when it was displaced by many objects all at once.

  And then, of course, there was the yelling.

  Shouts of surprise and cries of distress rang out around him as he lunged toward the low table illuminated faintly in Sir Kipling’s glow. There lay Lily, clad in the same blouse, jacket, skirt, and leggings she’d been wearing when she was taken. On her feet were those epic red boots he loved seeing her in, the ones that put fire in her eyes and boldness in her step. But marring the picture were wide cuffs of some silver metal around her wrists and a collar of the same stuff around her throat. And she was so still, so utterly motionless, that Sebastian’s lungs seized up in terror.

  Was he too late?

  As he shoved his arms under her knees and shoulders, he saw dark figures scrambling to their feet on the other side of the table. His memory flashed back to Pitts and waking up on the street curb with a splitting headache after he had broken the Lugal-nam. Their disorientation gave him a precious window, and he used it for all it was worth.

  With a groan of pain as aching muscles and injured body parts protested, Sebastian heaved Lily upward. Then he turned and staggered toward the door, Sir Kipling bounding in front of him and leading the way.

  “Somebody block the door!”

  “They’re getting away!”

  There was a crash and more cries. Something whooshed past Sebastian’s ear and he ducked reflexively, almost dropping Lily as he struggled to keep his balance and still move forward. In front of him Sir Kipling’s faint glow had stopped, and he could hear the cat hiss. There were shouts behind him, voices that spat out horrible-sounding, grating words, and suddenly the room flared with an unholy red light that momentarily blinded him.

  When he opened his eyes again, two demons were crouched between them and the door. They barely stood waist high to a human, but they screeched aggressively and took threatening swipes at the snarling and growling cat who stood in challenge. Then their sulfuric stench hit Sebastian’s nostrils and he made a split-second decision.

  Dropping Lily’s legs so that he held her slumped against him by just her shoulders, he whipped his hand behind him to his pack. His fingers found the butt of his revolver, which he jerked free and raised in one smooth motion, then aimed and fired at each demon in succession. To his utter surprise, he hit both his targets, though the gun clicked in a misfire on the third and fifth shots. The creatures fell to the ground, shrieking and clawing at their wounds, which smoked and sizzled, adding the smell of burnt flesh to the thick air.

  Triumph swept through him, and he surged forward, dropping the gun and twisting to scoop up Lily’s limp form again as he made a final, desperate lunge for the door. Sir Kipling was already there on his hind feet, front paws pushing on the door, which opened a crack.

  Pain cut into Sebastian’s shoulders and he was jerked backward off his feet by the straps of his pack. He tumbled to the floor, trying to curl around Lily so she wouldn’t be hurt in the fall. He hit the concrete on one shoulder and grunted as new pain throbbed through him. The wind was knocked from him,
but even as he gasped for breath he was already struggling to sit up. He had to keep going. Had to escape.

  But it was too late.

  Figures surrounded them, and several pairs of hands grabbed him, hauling him up as Lily’s limp form was torn from his grasp.

  “NO!”

  He screamed and fought like a madman, punching, kicking, and scratching every unfortunate soul within reach. Sir Kipling’s yowling war cry rang out nearby and Sebastian heard someone scream in pain. He couldn’t spare a thought for the cat, though, because strong hands suddenly grabbed him from behind and a muscled arm snaked around his neck. Before he could twist free, it tightened and locked him in a choke hold, and Sebastian knew he had only seconds to get free or it was all over. He stepped to the side and tried to throw his attacker off like Mallory had shown him, but the man was taller and far heavier than him, and he couldn’t find the right pivot point. It must have been that witch Sir Kipling had followed in, the one built like a linebacker. Sebastian punched at whatever bit of flesh was in reach, hoping to hit something important, but it became harder and harder to move. He could feel the strength leave his limbs as his vision blackened and blood pounded in his head.

  Even as he felt himself go limp, he screamed at his body to keep moving, to keep fighting. He would not give up.

  Then he blacked out.

  ***

  Sebastian came to, choking and gasping for air. He must not have been out for long, because the room was still only dimly lit by that red glow and figures were still moving around and shouting. He lay on his stomach, hands pinned behind him and a painful pressure holding him down as if the witch who had choked him out was now kneeling on his back.

  A flash of white lit the far side of the room and Sebastian heard Sir Kipling yowling fiercely.

  “Do not try to catch it, you fools. Kill it!” screamed a woman’s voice.

  There were more shouts and what sounded like a demon’s shriek, and then came the scratch of claws on cement.

  “It’s getting away!”

  “Go around and cut him off!”

  The sounds of confusion got farther away and Sebastian fervently hoped Sir Kipling had been smart enough to run off and hide. There was nothing the cat could do by himself.

  “You, put that one in the other cage and go help find the beast.”

  The witch holding him down obeyed the commanding female voice. The moment the pressure lifted from Sebastian’s back, he tried to roll over and kick free, but the big witch’s grip was like iron and Sebastian was only firing on half his cylinders. He still felt lightheaded and ached more fiercely than ever. Even so, he struggled all the way as the witch dragged him across the floor. When they came to a stop he tried to get his legs under him, but before he could stand all the way up he was suddenly flung forward. He hit cold, hard bars and slumped down, too busy trying to sort out which way was up and how to get his legs moving again to try and escape. A metal door clanged shut and a lock clicked, and Sebastian finally went limp. He needed a minute to gather himself, then he could evaluate the situation and figure out his next step.

  This wasn’t the end, just a setback. At least that’s what he told the icy fear trying to claw its way up his throat and choke him from the inside out.

  Eyes closed, Sebastian concentrated on breathing deeply and slowly as he listened. The searchers sounded frustrated and unsuccessful, and when one reported that the cat had hidden somewhere in the shelves and they couldn’t find it, Sebastian heard a loud slap and a cry of pain.

  “Peace, Your Majesty, we have more important things to do than punish incompetence. Roger, send your demons to look for it. I need your witches to guard the door while Morgan and I shore up our defenses. Then we will interrogate the prisoner.”

  Sebastian gritted his teeth. The refined, authoritative sound of John Faust’s voice made him ache with the need to punch something—preferably Mr. Fancypants’ face, but anything would do, really. Where was Lily? Was she all right? The only thought that comforted him was remembering that she had felt warm and pliant in his arms, not cold or stiff.

  “Mr. Blackwell, is that you?”

  The whispered question made Sebastian’s eyes pop open. Hot rage coursed through him and he rolled painfully to his knees, seeking its source. Suddenly the room’s lights flipped on, and Sebastian had to squeeze his eyes shut against the brightness. He felt his way to the side of his cage nearest that voice, and then slowly opened his eyes, letting them adjust gradually. What he saw made his blood boil, and he gripped the bars of his cage so tightly he heard the bones in his hands creak.

  “Get. Your. Hands. Off. Her.” Sebastian’s voice trembled with the effort to keep quiet as he stared, unblinking, at Richard Grant sitting cross-legged in an adjoining cage, with Lily’s limp form cradled protectively in his arms.

  Richard, who had been looking at him, dropped his eyes, a terrible shame stamped all over his features. “She’s unconscious, but other than that I think she’s okay,” he murmured.

  “Get away from her, you monster!” Sebastian strained against the bars, blinking away the red tint eating at the edges of his vision.

  “I—I know. I’m sorry,” was all Richard said. He did not put Lily down.

  Arms shaking with exhaustion, Sebastian forced his fingers to relax, one by one, then finally released the bars of the cage. He had to get himself under control.

  “How long?”

  Richard seemed to know what Sebastian was asking, because he released a weary breath and drooped even lower over Lily’s head that lay against his chest.

  “Long before I met Lily.”

  “Why?” Sebastian bit out between gritted teeth. He realized his hands were clenched again and with an effort he made himself relax.

  Richard shook his head. “Empty promises. False hope. It hardly even matters now.”

  Rage surged in Sebastian again at the man’s words. It didn’t matter? This piece of filth had put Lily in danger, had betrayed their trust and worked for a psychopathic murderer for something that didn’t even matter now? Sebastian’s fingers twitched, needing to curl around the man’s neck and squeeze, but he fought the blind rage and took three deep breaths. This wasn’t helping Lily. He had to stay focused.

  Observe, evaluate, make a plan. He could do that.

  Turning away from the sight of Richard hugging Lily to his chest—in exactly the way Sebastian yearned to do with all his battered heart and soul—took more effort than he thought possible. Every thought, every longing, every whispered plea of the past few days had been focused on her, but now he had to ignore her presence mere feet away and figure out how to save them both. Finally, he tore his gaze away and looked around the room, sharp eyes taking in every detail.

  The warehouse space looked exactly like it had when he and Mallory had investigated it, except that now it was full of people and a myriad of objects. Beds, a table and chairs, and some other furniture were tucked against one far wall. Stacks of crates and what looked like travel trunks were piled nearby, making Sebastian wonder how long John Faust and Morgan had been living in the warehouse. On another side of the room were two large tables. It was hard to see what was on them, since the cages were barely four feet high, so Sebastian couldn’t stand up to get a good look. But from the bits of parchment poking over the edge he guessed they were probably worktables and held whatever supplies and tools wizards normally used. Next to the tables was a large and disturbingly familiar object. Its round metal frame curved up higher than a man stood tall and was connected with various metal bars and brackets to an antique-looking exam chair at its center.

  That slimy little rat of an FBI agent.

  Now that he knew what to look for, Sebastian began to spot other familiar objects, boxes, and crates among the clutter pushed to the edge of the room. It looked like everything the FBI had confiscated as evidence and hauled off from John Faust’s lab in the mental ward was here. He wondered how Richard had pulled it off, or if the agent had just told J
ohn Faust their storage location and let the wizards do the dirty work.

  Pushing aside his renewed rage, Sebastian finished surveying the room, noting with awe that the rows upon rows of shelves were full of enough books and boxes of magical paraphernalia to give Lily’s little archivist heart a spasm of pleasure. So this was where Mr. Fancypants had been squirreling away all his treasures.

  The center of the room was the last place he looked, and he had to force his eyes to take in the grisly sight. The low table Lily had been lying on was surrounded by a virtual maze of symbols painted in shining silver that spread out around it and took up the majority of the warehouse floor. The entire thing was at least thirty feet across. Based on what he remembered from watching Lily work, it looked like a gigantic casting circle. One huge circle enclosed a second, slightly smaller circle, forming a double ring that contained a complicated weaving together of three rings and three triangles, all twisted and overlapping like some sort of Celtic knot. Long, intricate lines of dimmu runes ran along the edges of each shape, and he couldn’t even begin to guess what it all meant. What he could guess at, however, were the much more familiar symbols, twisting and chaotic, inside each of the three circles and triangles.

  A growing horror gripped him as he surveyed the six summoning circles and their accompanying patterns of blood-red demonology symbols. Seeing them made him sniff the air. Sure enough, he detected the faint copper tang of old blood beneath the lingering stench of sulfur and the cold, musty smell of the mine itself.

  Wizard and demon magic combined? This was bad. Very, very bad.

  He’d guessed it was John Faust who had hired the witches, but had assumed it was just to use them as muscle to steal whatever it was they’d been looking for at the Hilprecht Museum. The idea of any wizard insane enough to mix their magic with demons was terrifying. He’d thought wizards hated demons as much as the fae did, though perhaps he’d just assumed that all wizards were like Aunt B. Surely John Faust couldn’t be this reckless? Or was this Morgan le Fay’s doing? Or, had Roger enthralled them all and was now using them as his pawns?