22
LIGHTNING STRIKES
The room was singing with iron, every particle of it tingling against Temple’s fingertips, but he could not use any of it.It was set, no rust.He couldn’t even fashion a blade to hurl through Fordham’s eye.
He didn’t need iron.He would use his hands to kill that man.But what damage would he be able to do to Sybil before Temple got there?Not worth the risk.
Diana took a cautious step toward Fordham.
Temple caught her arm and pulled her back against him.“Not a step closer.”
“I have to,” she said.“It’s me he wants, not Sybil.”
“Absolutely not.”He tried not to waver, but Sybil… Diana… He’d thought he could protect everyone, and now no one he loved was safe.
She reached up and cupped his cheek, and the silk of her palm against his skin was everything he’d ever wanted, all of life’s sweetness in a few square inches, all of life’s goodness in the liquid gold of her eyes.
“I will be fine,” she said.“I promise.”
“He wants to kill you.Hetriedto kill you.”
Whispers broke out like rain all around them.Easy to forget you’re not alone when the world had shrunk down to him, his wife, his sister, and the man trying to kill them both.Now everyone knew, or thought they knew, and before this little drama was over, before someone lay in a pool of blood on the ballroom floor, the sordid tales would be spreading.They already were.
Diana’s hand slipped away from his cheek, and she walked backward, slipping out of his reach.
He had to let her go.God, he had to let her go.There was no other option.He had to trust her, and he had to be ready to doanything.
She continued a steady path toward her cousin.
“Release her,” Diana demanded.“You must.”
“Not until I have you in hand.”Fordham was a skeleton in dirty clothes.And he was wearing a glamour.Or… some other magic.Either someone had done an inadequate job glamouring him or he’d taken a potion, and those never lasted.Certainly not if they were casting an illusion over an entire human.And Fordham wore an entirely new appearance.It was the face of a different man that bore a passing resemblance to Fordham.It could have been the face of a cousin or uncle.The illusion wore fine silk clothes with gold brocade, gaudy.It flickered, seemed to… melt off him in places in only a way Temple could see.For now.Soon, others would be able to see what he hid behind it—a lost man with a sunken face.Soon, everyone would know.Or they would guess.Fordham had no control over his talent.Or no talent at all.He was about to ruin himself.
Temple grinned.
Fordham reached out a hand.“Come here now, Diana.”
Diana nodded.And when Temple surged up behind her, his hand sneaking around her waist, she stilled him with a palm to his belly.Without words, he knew what she wanted.He was toheel.Like a good lapdog.But he was no one’s lapdog and never had been.If he was any kind of beast, it was a dragon, a wolf, a griffin, a monster that would rip Fordham’s face off.
The ring on his finger glowed with a warning from Diana but also a reminder—thisiron he could bend here and now.He could shape it into a burning brand to mark the other man’s face, to ruin his eyesight, to protect.
When Diana was close, almost within arm’s reach, she hesitated.“You were supposed to be out of town, cousin.”
“And you were supposed to break into the townhouse,” Fordham sneered, “where I have ten rather large brutes waiting to catch you.If you’d brave getting caught to steal a damn dog, I assumed you’d try again under safer circumstances for your other possessions.”
“Release Miss Grant,” Diana demanded again.
Fordham threw his head back and laughed.His face flickered.
“You look poorly, Apollo.Let me take you home.You should res?—”
“If I look like death, it’s because of you!”
Diana’s back stiffened.She likely fears what Temple did—that Apollo was about to reveal her secret.
“I’ve been quite worried over you, cuz,” Apollo sneered, “that I’ve taken to drink, I’m afraid.”Gone was the boy of her youth.In his place stood a man she didn’t know—hollowed out and desperate.
Apollo dragged Sybil closer to Diana.
