But only for a moment.
Vincentius shoves off the wall, advancing toward you.
“Say his name!” Hot Book Guy calls, “Say a binding spell! You know his true name, so you have power over him!”
“What!? But I’m not actually a sorceress!” You shout back, “I don’t know how to do that!”
Hot Book Guy lets out an exasperated sigh, blasting Vincentius back with another gust of wind.
But just before it hits, Vincentius grabs your right arm, and you yelp as he drags you back.
“Aha!” Vincentius snarls as he yanks you against him. “What do you say I take your little sorceressoutside?”
Outside!?
You glance over your shoulder as he flings you backward, glass shattering all around. You land, panting, against the rail.
Miraculously, only a few shards of glass sting your skin.
But you’ve got bigger things to worry about.
Higher things.
Because over the edge of the balcony, the parked cars look like toys way down below.
Ohhhhh, holy crapola!
You’rewaaaaayup in the sky.
Your head spins, and your breath catches in your throat. It feels like the ground is going to come up to meet you. You sink to your knees despite the mess of shattered glass, crawling back along the edge of the balcony toward a set of yet-unbroken doors.
Glass cuts your knees, but yet again you’ve got bigger things to worry about—bigger, bluer things.
Vincentius slams through the shattered glass, more of it crunching under his boots as he strides up to you. He grabs your neck in one enormous hand and hauls you to your feet.
“Listen up,” Vincentius demands as Hot Book Guy steps through the doorway, golden light swirling around him. “If youwant your precious sorceress to stay alive, you have one choice: Forfeit your life!”
You choke as he tightens his grip. A hazy thought slips through your mind as you splutter, trying to stay conscious, grappling in the air behind you for anything you can use as a weapon. But there’s nothing.
He isn’t calling Hot Book Guyby name, you realize. That must mean he doesn’t know his name.
Is Hot Book Guy’s name a secret? Has he told no one?
That would make it kinda romantic if he toldyou.
Wait—that must just be the lack of oxygen getting to your head.
“Forfeit my life?” Hot Book Guy just laughs. “You clearly think I’m much more attached to this weak little human than I really am.”
Yeah. So much for your little romantic fantasy.
That settles it.
You’re surely about to die.
The world darkens at the edges, but the cuff at your left wrist grows warmer still as whipping wind buffets the balcony, threatening to throw you over the edge.
Just whose side is Hot Guy on!?
