Hewas Gareth.
So much mind to grab on to, Luthaes had said.
And someone was using it to wreak havoc among us.
“Secure the house,” I said, pushing hard against my rising panic. “Disable any littles you find, but for gods’ sake, try not to hurt them. Brigid, Cira, cover me.”
As the others ran off down the shadowed corridors, the three of us flew upstairs toward the Warden’s office. I kept my eyes straight ahead, but Brigid and Cira fought off what had to be ten different attackers, all of them with the light, quick footfalls of little girls. Every thud of a small body against the carpet—every soft grunt of pain—lit me up with a brighter fire.
When we reached the Warden’s office, I rammed the door down with such force that it flew off its hinges and crashed through the windows on the opposite wall. Quickly I took in the scene. The Warden was unconscious on the floor, blood pooling beneath her head. Three littles, bound in ropes, cowered in front of the desk. Two of them cried silently; one wept into her hands.
And seated at the desk was Gareth.
His green eyes had an unnatural sheen. At our entrance, he sat back in his chair with an indolent smile.
“I was wondering when you’d get here,” he said. “Took you long enough. But that’s all right, we’ve had an excellent time all on our own.”
His voice was his own, but sweat beaded at his hairline, and the tendons in his neck stood out as if he were straining against something I couldn’t see.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
He put a hand to his heart. “You wound me, Mara. Or are you simply being playful? It’s so hard to read you.”
“We can play if you want. I like games.” I scanned the room, my mind racing, my sentinel senses and godly power stretching out to find the truth. If Gareth was the puppet, where was the master?
“Oh, I know.” Gareth leaned forward, chin in his hands. “He told me about how well you played in Mhorghast. You and the Vilia. Nesset, right?”
“Mara,” Brigid muttered. She held her bow, a nocked arrow at the ready. I felt the anger radiating off of her and waved her quiet with a flick of my hand.
“Nesset, that’s right,” I said. “What a good memory you have.”
“Tell me, did your trials really happen that way?” Gareth’s eyes sparkled behind his glasses. The sight of something so familiar turned so evil made my bile rise. “Did you really win every single one of the Warden’s games?”
Something tugged at my fingers, a resonance, like feeling the weight of someone’s eyes upon you in the dark. I was close.
“I did, easily,” I answered.
“And the girl, Petra. Did you really kill her? She was your friend, wasn’t she?” His voice slid around its words like a snake. “Funny, that. Even we demons don’t—”
He froze, but it was too late. I’d found the source of the magic sizzling at my fingertips, and with a white-hot rage, I sliced through the ropes binding the littles. The girls immediately scrambled away, but I caught one of them by her collar—the one who had been crying into her hands—and lifted her into the air with one hand. With the other, my bandaged one, I pressed the point of my dagger into her neck.
“Show yourself,” I hissed.
The image of the girl flickered like a sputtering flame. A slow smile spread across her tearstained face.
“Kilraith says hello,” she whispered, “and sends his compliments.” Then she thrust herself onto my blade, pushing it hard into her throat.
I dropped her to the floor, watching in disgust as she choked on the rug. With her last gurgling breath, the illusion vanished, and in its place lay a woman as gorgeous and pale as Talan, with shining ash-brown curls and cunning blue eyes now frozen in death.
“A figment?” Cira asked, coming up slowly beside me.
“A demon,” Brigid replied, her lip curling. She nudged the dead woman with her boot. “A greater demon, I’d say, just like Talan. A child of Zelphenia and Jaetris, blessed with an empathic mind and the power of illusion. The perfect conduit for Kilraith, especially with Gareth’s mind to augment her abilities.”
I hardly heard them as I slowly approached Gareth, my heart in my throat. He sat frozen at the desk, and his eyes were his own again, but he looked pale and drawn, and he gripped the edge of the wood with white-knuckled fingers.
“Hello, Gareth.” I set down my weapons. “Can you hear me?”
He said nothing, not until I stepped closer to the desk and reached for him. Then it was like something inside him exploded.
