Theodore’s expression flattened. “And you are ...?”
Sikras struck a pose. “We are the valiant Miss Helspira, Sentinel Champion Benjamin Reese, and Sikras Nikabod, the Glowing Cat’s Eye in Death’s Darkness, here to—”
“Did you say theCat’s Eye?” Theodore leaned farther out the window. “Famed necromancer?”
“Along with his companions, Sentinel Champion Benjamin Reese and the valiant Miss Helspira,” Sikras reinforced. “We come seeking an audience with the great and powerful—uh ...”
“Theodore,” Helspira whispered.
“Right. Theodore.”
The extended silence amplified the sense that the man was scrutinizing them. Only after Theodore postured, stroking his manicured beard, did he motion to Argus. “Send them in.”
YEP, HE HAD CALLEDit. The interior was as self-inflated as the outside.
Their footsteps echoed off the marble floors with each stride, only stopping when Theodore ceased leading the trio down an impossibly long hallway.
“The Cat’s Eye.” Theodore circled Sikras, hands behind his back, studying him as if he was one of the many works of art on the walls. “I’ve heard stories but never thought I’d actually meet you face to face in my lifetime. And this—” Theodore orbited Benjamin like a predator circling prey, his gaze drawn to the sword handle poking from the cloak. “Normally I don’t allow weapons in my mansion, but I trust you’re wise enough to see that your minion stays its hand.”
Benjamin crossed his arms. “Hisminionis perfectly capable of staying his hand, thank you very much.”
Surprise flashed in Theodore’s eyes. “Sentience even after decomposition? Speech without tongue or vocal cords? Impressive. I suppose you’re all the proof I need that the Cat’s Eye really is who he claims. No wizard alive can reanimate a corpse at your level of deterioration with both essenceandsoul. And you”—Theodore faced Helspira—“why do you look familiar?”
Helspira opened her mouth to speak, but Theodore silenced her with a derisive snicker. “Wait. Your eye. I know you. You’re Cecil’s”—he snorted, voice rising—“lover.”
In the face of Theodore’s mockery, Helspira stood taller. “The only person that man loved was himself.”
Theodore’s irritating snicker evolved into a deprecating laugh. “Person? Darling, just because this is a house of magic doesn’t mean science and biology are cast aside. Demons are hardly people.”
Sikras’s exaggerated, cynical laughter echoed off the walls, as he locked Theodore in an intense stare. The noise shifted from mockery to madness as he gripped Theodore’s shoulder, the luxurious fabric compressing under the pressure of Sikras’s fingers. “Now, now. I came all this way to see your collection of magical artifacts, not commit a felony.”
“No, no,” Helspira stuttered with a nervous laugh. “He’s joking. No felonies here.”
“On the subject of the law”—Theodore arched a brow, unaffected by Sikras’s aggressive touch—“did the Red Sentinel ever bring Cecil in for his assault?”
Helspira looked away. “No, and I doubt they ever will. Wizards know how to avoid capture.”
“I suppose. And it’s not as if he committed a crime against a person.” Theodore smoothed out his eyebrows and stood taller. “So, you’ve come to gaze upon my collection, have you?”
“Among other things,” Sikras murmured through clenched teeth. At the insistence of Helspira’s pleading look, he shifted his expression into a false smile.
Suspicion flattened Theodore’s features. “Why?”
“We’re on a very important quest from the queen,” Helspira said. “You have a scroll that would make that quest significantly easier.”
“And you just thought I’d hand over a priceless artifact out of the goodness of my heart?” Theodore asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sikras shoved his hands into his pockets. “I knew that ship sailed thirty seconds into meeting you. But if I know anything about men who hoard possessions, it’s that they crave the opportunity to flaunt them. In addition”—he smirked—“you’d have never let us in here if there wasn’t something you wanted in turn.”
An eerie grin formed on Theodore’s face. “How perceptive of you. Follow me.”
Oil paintings of nude men and women, bowls of fruit, and fractured landscapes flanked the hallways as they trailed after the wizard, each one offset by a sconce that illuminated in blue fire the moment Theodore passed it. Subtle magic, but magic nevertheless.
Paintings gave way to tapestries and gilded statues, and just as Sikras started to question whether they were in an actual hallway or some never-ending illusion, they arrived at a grand doorway. Distorted symbols glittered and glowed in the wood. Sikras recognized them immediately—arcane cyphers meant to guard whatever lived beyond the door.
“Protected by magic.” Sikras nodded. “Wise move.”
“I’d be a fool not to do so. No souls that I do not expressly permit are allowed to pass without my knowledge, and since you still have yours”—Theodore pointed to Benjamin—“that includes you. I trust you’ll all leave your weapons in the hallway.”
