“You’re saying that in a year and two days, Hjálmar can go back to killing anyone he wants?”
I shrugged and went inside. “A year is a long time. Long enough for many people to begin to change their ways. And Hjálmar can’t go a full year without his skin cream, so unless he wants to spend his bar-hopping days scratching his Mariana Trench, he’s pretty much a permanent pacifist now...”
I tilted my head to focus on the sound of footsteps upstairs. Temple’s gait was unmistakable, but the tap of his cane was absent, and his steps were erratic. “Everything okay up there, Temple?”
He didn’t answer. The footsteps reached the stairs and started downward.
“Maybe he forgot his hearing aid this morning?” said Ronnie.
“He doesn’t use one.” And inside the house, he wouldn’t need one. The house relayed anything he needed to hear.
The front door slammed shut behind us, clipping Ronnie’s arm. The deadbolt clunked into place.
“I know this house is special, but is that normal?” He rubbed his elbow.
A draft flipped the sign in the window toClosed.
“Nope.” I tried the door, but the lock wouldn’t budge. I could try to force it, but I hesitated to do so until I knew why the house was keeping us in. I trusted this place and its judgement more than most humans.
Things outside appeared normal. A little cloudy. I saw the usual cars and pedestrians and one woman zipping by on an electric scooter. If the threat wasn’t coming from outside . . .
Temple reached the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing plaid flannel pajamas and a newsboy cap. His eyes were shut.
“Oh, great,” said Ronnie. “A sleepwalking wizard.”
The house wasn’t worried about a threat from outside. It was trying to contain the danger that was already here.
“Temple?” I kept my voice as gentle as I could. I didn’t want to startle the man who could pull lightning bolts out of any outlet in the house. “Can you hear me?”
“Get out,” he mumbled. He stretched both hands toward me.
Heat leached from my body. My hands went numb. Beside me, Ronnie stumbled and dropped to one knee. It was like Temple was filling my veins with fresh snow.
A tiny orange flame flickered to life between Temple’s hands.
I’d seen this spell before. He wasn’t attacking us with cold. He was stealing the heat from our bodies and concentrating it into a small, powerful flame. Which, if memory served, he would then launch at our frozen flesh.
“It’s me, Jenny.” My tetradrachm necklace felt like dry ice. It blistered the skin on my chest as it fought Temple’s spell. “Wake up, Mr. Wizard!”
His eyes remained closed.
I stumbled on stiffened legs into the gifts-and-souvenirs side of the shop and grabbed the first thing I could reach: a handful of magnetic souvenir bottle openers with little cartoon witch hats burned into the wooden handles.
Not exactly the throwing knives or shuriken Felipe trained me to use, but almost anything worked as a weapon if you threw it hard enough. My fingers felt like they would break off my hand as I gripped the first opener and sent it spinning through the air.
It struck Temple in the center of his forehead.
Sparks erupted from his fingers like logs shifting in a campfire. The fire in his hands grew.
I threw the second bottle opener. This one hit his trachea.
Temple brought one hand to his throat. His spell died. Ronnie collapsed against the wall, shuddering. Burning pain spread through my limbs as my circulation returned.
Temple still hadn’t opened his eyes. His lips moved, mumbling foreign syllables.
I flung two more bottle openers. Three feet in front of him, they dropped to the floor with a clatter, like he’d drained all the kinetic energy from them.
I hobbled forward, my semi-frozen joints protesting each step. Before I could reach him, he vanished. His pajamas fell to the floor, empty.
