I turned my cold, wintry gray gaze to first one giant, then another. The two standing near me shifted nervously on their feet, but they didn’t back away, while the other two in front of the laptops stayed in their seats. I’d given them a chance to save themselves, and they hadn’t taken it. What happened next was on them.
Celeste snorted again. “Lancelot was an idiot who barely knewthe sharp end of his sword from his ass. I won’t make the same mistake. Trust me on that.”
She spun her swords around again, putting even more flashy flourish into her smooth moves, along with another wave of bright, crackling electricity. Arrogant show-off.
Still, as much as I would have liked to charge across the barn, wrest one of those swords away from her, and bury the blade in her heart,I held my position. Celeste was close to Owen, and she could easily slice one of her swords across his throat before I could get to him.
I looked at Owen, who nodded back. He realized that I was going to have to wait for the right moment to strike, just like he was waiting.
I focused on Celeste again. When in doubt, start talking to stall for some more time. I hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointedin me for using the oldest trick in the book.
“What do you want?” I asked. “Why did you kidnap Owen, and why did you order your goons to try to kill me? And why are you calling yourself the Black Rook?”
Celeste frowned a moment, as if she didn’t know what I was talking about, but then her pretty face creased into a smug smile, and she let out a light, pealing laugh. The giants joined in withhearty chuckles. The mocking sounds grated on my nerves even more than the awful feel of her electrical magic did.
“What’s so funny?” I growled.
“Oh, you dumb little Spider,” Celeste purred, smiling even wider than before. “Whoever said thatIwas the Black Rook?”
Confusion filled me, but then I looked at her costume again. No black feathers adorned her red leather, and she wasn’t wearing anysort of bird symbols. More confusion filled me. But if Celeste wasn’t the Black Rook, then who was? And what did they want from Owen?
“Oh, Gin,” a low voice called out. “I was actually hoping not to involve you in this, but you just wouldn’t stay out of the way. Then again, I had heard that was one of your more annoying traits.”
I didn’t recognize the voice, but Owen jerked back in his chairas though he’d just been slapped across the face. His head whipped to the left, and I followed his gaze.
Footsteps sounded in the back of the barn, and a figure wearing a long, hooded black cloak stepped out from behind another stack of hay bales. This must be the mysterious Black Rook.
Owen’s jaw clenched, and his eyes glittered with anger, but I still didn’t understand what was going on. Whowas this person?
The Black Rook stopped in an open space near the middle of the barn and pushed back the hood of his cloak, revealing a very familiar face.
Darrell Kline.
