Peter swallowed. “I’m not doing it on purpose. This day has been?—”
“Do you know what I think? I think that has nothing to do with it.” Morse stared down at him. Peter’s heart foundered, less at the look than at the track Morse was on. “I followed you for weeks and didn’t see you work a single spell. Youranat that wizard who attacked you. It’s as if you came out of that coma a typic.”
“What?No,” Peter said, panic making his voice shake.
“And it occurs to me,” the wizard said, still in that unnerving whisper, “that it’s very interesting, your one condition for accepting the omnimancing job. Brewing is done without witnesses. Someone else could be casting the spells for you in that house of yours.”
“That’s a patently ridiculous?—”
“Someone,” Morse went on inexorably, “like your wife.”
As soft as they were, the words seemed to echo in the room.
What could he do?
Befuddled—act befuddled. He tried to arrange his facial muscles accordingly and had no idea if he succeeded. “Perhaps it’s escaped your notice,” he said, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears, “but my wife is a woman.”
“The Pentagram has a copy of the report about women. It shouldn’t have been filed where you’d have access to it, but it was, and you came across it at some point. Didn’t you.”
“Whatreport?” Only Morse’s grip on his shoulder was keeping him on his feet. “What are youtalkingabout?”
“You know all about it. And you conspired with her to break federal law.”
“I never?—”
“You threatened everything,everything,by teaching her.”
“You’re not making any sense! Women can’tdomagic!”
Morse leaned closer, his exhalations tickling Peter’s ear. “She has leaves in her pockets.”
“Because she’s myassistant. I’m always asking her to hand me the proper number so I don’t have to count them out.”
“This has happened before, you know. Every so often a wizard gets the bright idea to teach his wife, or his mistress, because who’s going to find out andmy, wouldn’t the sex be good.” His lips thinned. “Do you know what I do to those people?”
The question hung in the air. Peter stared at him in horror. Whenever he’d imagined getting caught, he pictured a closed trial and prison time, perhaps with Vows to ensure silence. But clearly …
“I kill them,” Morse said slowly, enunciating each word.
Every muscle in Peter’s body was trembling. The shaky sound of his own breathing echoed in the deathly quiet. “I’m telling you,” he said, “I can’t cast at the moment because you’ve put me through the worst day of my life. Give me food and a bed and try me again tomorrow.”
Morse glared at him. Peter forced himself to hold his gaze, heart thudding in his ears.
“Fine,” the wizard said.
That solved nothing, of course. Merely bought a little time before the inevitable disaster.
Morse dragged him over to the telephone. Again he spoke just one word into the receiver: “Ready.” They stood there for upwards of a minute, Morse holding the phone to his ear, waiting for something. Then Peter heard a faint answer in return: “Ready.”
The teleportation came on so fast that his head spun. He had the impression of a dark hallway. He smelled more than saw the puff of leaf smoke that was Morse casting another spell, heard the creak of a door opening and stumbled into more darkness as Morse pushed him forward.
Someone groaned and cursed.
“Go away.” A male voice, hoarse. “It’s the middle of the blasted night.”
Peter’s heart seized up. It—it couldn’t be.
“I can’t work on your wretched weapon if you’re depriving me of sleep, you philistines,” the man added.
