Nico grinned. The duke’s glamour hampered him as much as it did Nico. They were both stuck and stumbling.
“Let up on the fog, Morington,” Nico called out. “Neither of us can swing a fist purposefully in this mess. Besides, I don’t want to swing a fist at you at all. You’ll be my brother-in-law soon. I’d rather keep things happy in the family.”
The sounds of fumbling, twigs snapping. The fog remained. More footsteps backing Nico farther into the garden. “Happy? And how will you achieve that? Other than not taking another try at breaking my nose. I asked around about you. You barely have enough to hire a housekeeper. You cannot afford a wife, nor a duke for a brother.”
“True. For the moment. I plan to be a smashing success, though. And I when I am, I’ll buy the hospital from you. I’ll?—”
“Nico!” Jane’s voice piercing the fog.
“Stay where you are, Jane,” Nico warned. “Fog’s too thick.”
But it wasn’t. Not anymore. As quickly as it rolled in, it was dissipating, at least the patch between him and the duke’sdisembodied voice was. Not disembodied anymore. He stood closer than Nico had realized. And he wasn’t alone.
An unblinking Kringle stood beside him, and that Kringle held Jane. He also held a wicked blade to her throat.
Nico’s heart stopped, a fatal plunge that broke sweat out all over his body as if he stood in the middle of his forge, next to a raging fire. “Release her,” he said through numb lips. That blade—so sharp. Jane’s eyes—so wide with fear. Nico so impotent to save her.
He opened his sense, searched for rust in the blade, some pocket to sneak into the metal. He found none. The house, then. Plenty of it rusted. He could call a thousand nails to do his bidding. But they wouldn’t be silver. And his control over them would be too imprecise. And he’d rather use his wits than leave a pile of bodies in the garden just beyond the children’s windows.
“Nico!” Jane’s voice again, but not from the Jane in the Kringle’s embrace. Her mouth never moved. Now he saw she never blinked.
A glamour.
Nico lunged at Morington, throwing them both to the ground. His fist met the other man’s nose again, this time with a satisfying crack.
“Only took two tries to break it,” Nico said, pulling his fist back.
The duke wrenched his body side to side, trying to escape. The glamoured vision of Jane and a Kringle had disappeared.
Then there was the real Jane, running through the fog like a ghost.
“Wait!” She hit her knees beside her brother, fumbling with the sack she’d brought with her.
“Whatever you’re searching for, hurry up, love. He’s bucking like a horse.”
“Get the hell off me!” Morington swung a fist at him, but Nico pinned his arms to the ground.
“Oh.” Jane still rummaged through the bag. “I suppose it doesn’t matter which one I use.”
That caught Morington’s attention. “Use what?” He stopped struggling, his gaze flickering to his sister’s bag.
“Potion.” Jane held her hand up to the light of the moon. The fog had fully dissipated, and the moon showed that she held a small glass vial. “I believe that’s the love potion. Could be useful. Make you remember that you used to actually like me.”
“I do like you, Jane. But?—”
“And this one”—she held up another vial—“can put you to sleep, I believe. Though I cannot remember how much of it will keep you asleep for how long. Don’t want you to miss an entire year of your life… or maybe I do.”
“Sounds convenient,” Nico said. “Go for that one.”
Morington struggled again, but Nico felt stronger, silver pulsing through his blood. But what was the source? He didn’t have any on him except?—
His alchemist ring. It glowed a shocking silver in the moon-bright night, not only pulsing his own strength higher but sharing Jane’s with him, too. He could feel the fluttering fear of her heart along his veins. But he also felt her courage. It wrapped round him like a hug.
His brave beauty.
Her ring glowed, too. Hopefully she felt his confidence. They would come through this together.
“Oh, what about this?” Jane held another bottle up, this one attached to a rope and squeeze bulb like a perfume bottle. “A memory potion. But it makes you forget things. Is it a few drops to forget a few days? Or is that for a few years?” She shrugged. “Brewing potions is all quite new to me. I’m afraid I don’t remember. But, brother, if you open your mouth to tell me whatto do with my life one more time I’ll spray this directly into it, and we’ll find out exactly how much you forget.”
