The room spun. She thought of her father, overdosing on the same brew, and Rosemarie, killed by the same man. She thought of her sister, who would never know what had happened to her. She thought of Peter and that brought her back to herself because she had todosomething—she had so much power at hand, and if she could simplyharnessit, overcome the sleeping draft, take Morse by surprise?—
She bore down as everything blurred around her, concentrating on what she needed. Magic rushing through her veins. A cleansing flood. An … an ocean of …
… of …
Wait
please
Peter!
Morse snappedinto view below him, a nightmare come to life. Peter, awash in adrenaline and dread, unable to move, watched as Morse pulled him to the ground next to Beatrix. Then—inexplicably—his muscles reverted to working order. He didn’t question why. He leapt at the man.
His fist was an inch from connecting with Morse’s jaw when the wizard stopped him again with that terrible spell.
“Well, well, well.” Morse stepped back, dropping the enchantment. “Humor me, Omnimancer. Cast a spell on me. Whatever you’d like.”
Peter flicked his gaze to Martinelli and Beatrix, both as still as marble. It was down to him. And there was nothing he could do.
“No leaves on you? Here.” Morse held out a handful. “Have some of mine.”
They were trapped and Morse had seen Beatrix perform magic. Not just any magic—knitting.
“No?” Morse wore a look of grim satisfaction. “As I thought.”
Peter, putting himself between Morse and Beatrix, realized as he did so that her eyes were dull and unfocused. Was she—had Morse?—?
Again, the wizard cast one of those eerie, silent spells in his direction. Again, he froze in place—except not quite all the way this time. He could still move his head, mouth, tongue. “What have youdoneto her?”
“Sleeping draft,” Morse said. “When it wears off, I’m going to kill her. In front of you. Very … very …veryslowly.”
Peter stared at him in speechless horror.
“I will put on her the spell I’ve just cast on you,” Morse went on—softly, relentlessly. “You will hear every cry, every scream, every hateful word she says as she turns on you. And they always do. The wives and mistressesalwaysdo. They know whose fault it really is.”
He could hear the shaky sound of his own breathing in the few seconds of silence that followed. Morse leaned in and murmured into his ear, “I can make it go on for days.”
What could he do? God Almighty,what?
“Or,” Morse said, stepping back, “I will give her an overdose of the sleeping draft. A peaceful death. No agony. No screams.” He crossed his arms. “It’s entirely up to you.”
Peter knew what Morse meant. There was only one thing the man needed from him.
But he asked anyway, voice reedy. “How so?”
“You will write down the fix for the problem with Project 96. The problem I have every reason to think you caused before you left here.” Morse paused. “Decide now, Omnimancer: Will you give me what I want?”
“Yes,” he choked out. “But why? Why do you kill women who use magic?”
He didn’t expect an answer. Morse surprised him. “Because they’re a massive threat.”
“To what?”
“The entire system.” Morse dropped the spell holding Peter and gave him a pen and pad of paper. “Do it. Quickly, before I change my mind.”
Peter wrote feverishly, sketching diagrams in several places, and finished in under ten minutes.
“I will test this shortly,” Morse said, not taking it from his hands, “so for your wife’s sake, think carefully about whether you’ve written the correct instructions.”
