Storm stops dead in his tracks. He takes a labored step, his foot scraping against the marble. Stops again, like he’s having to will himself to walk. He moves forward, and his foot lifts like a hinge, spinning him to face us.
As he plants that foot firmly on the floor, his body lunges forward, stopping just before he collapses on the marble. Then he straightens like a marionette being pulled to life by a puppet master.
A moan erupts from his mouth as it slowly yawns opens. He’s fighting it. It’s obvious to me. Everyone else may think that he’s suffering from some sort of episode—bloody nose, stuttered movements, but I know the truth.
He’s in Devlin’s hold just like Chatty Cathy was in mine all those years ago. My heart rams against my chest. This will not end well. It can’t.
“Do you have something to say?” Devlin calmly asks him.
“M-m-m-m I-I-I’m s-s-sorry, B-Blair.”
He’sdefinitelyfighting it. I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s almost admirable, really, how much of a fight Storm is putting up.
“What else?” Devlin coaxes.
My eyes flare in disbelief. That’s not all? It’s bad enough that Devlin’s using my power to nudge Storm into saying things against his will. What else is there?
A lifetime of hatred brews in Storm’s silvery eyes as he glares flaming arrows at Devlin. He knows that Devlin’s controlling this and he’s pissed.
“I”—his mouth opens slowly like someone’s prying it with a crowbar. “I s-stole the Sp-Spell Book fr-from Devlin. He had the i-i-idea first.”
Storm’s face is crimson, steering toward plum. Veins are popping on both temples and in his neck. I’ll hand it to him, he’s really trying hard, here. But the power of the nudge is too great.
“D-Devlin w-was easy to steal from. All I h-had to do was p-pay off one of his employees and they gave me the information th-that I was looking for, and what a b-b-brilliant idea it was.”
“Devlin,” I murmur. “Stop. They’ll know it’s you doing this.”
“Not until he’s done,” he says grimly.
But my stomach’s a knot of nerves. These people, they’re going to know that Devlin’s using magic, and they’re going to hate him just like they’ve always hated me.
Storm continues, the words coming faster. “D-Devlin knew what I’d d-done, and he didn’t t-t-turn me in. He didn’t file a lawsuit. He just let it g-g-go.”
“And what about Hands?” Devlin coaches.
“Hands?” Storm’s face contorts as if he’s in pain. He probablyisbecause sometimes telling the truth hurts. “There’s n-n-nothing going on b-between the two of you. I t-t-tried to convert the creature. W-wanted it on my side, but it wouldn’t come.”
I squeeze Devlin’s hand, willing him to stop this. Hoping that this is the end.
But it’s not.
“And a few weeks ago?” he prods Storm.
Storm lifts his chin. Blood is dripping down his mouth and making a small puddle on the floor, but he’s forgotten all about that. The only thing he can focus on is the nudge.
“I-I-I had someone try to br-break into Devlin’s house to steal his most recent invention—something that’s supposed to change the w-w-world. But Hands got in the w-way.”
People are appalled by this, and they’re shrinking away from Storm as if he’s carrying the plague.
“Anything else?” Devlin asks.
Storm shakes his head, but his nostrils are flared and he’s breathing in and out hard. He’s furious. When this wears off, it won’t be good.
“So you won’t be suing me?” Devlin says in his smooth, velvet voice.
“N-no.”
“No, what?”
