I travel until I reach an intersection of vents.
Voices below me.
I freeze.
Conversation filters through the ducts.
“The Grand Magus is not pleased," a woman says, her tone sharp. “How the fuck both a broken child and a huge man can escape is beyond me. Your incompetence is staggering.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am. But I have my best men on the hunt.”
“You’d better hope they’re successful. That girl has already been sold on to an interested party,” the woman continues. “He’ll want restitution if the deal falls through. I wouldn’t want to be inyour shoes when the accounts are called. Maybe you have a son or daughter who can take their place?”
The man splutters. “Please, ma’am. We’ll find her.”
“You’d better. Regan Grieves is not a man to disappoint.”
Regan Grieves.
Why is the name familiar?
Why does the scent of myrtle snake through my senses at the sound of that name?
The minotaur inside me shifts. I feel his rage.
It matches my own.
"I take it you have men searching the cell airducts?” the woman continues.
“Yes, of course. I’ve half a dozen crawling around in these ceilings.”
I am aware of the guards' attempts to track me.
More footsteps approach.
“What areyoudoing here?” the woman asks.
“Trying to sort outyourmess,” a familiar, cold, cut-glass voice replies. “You, guard. Leave this section to me.”
“But sir, this is restricted personnel only,” the guard replies.
“I assure you, I am on the highest ranking list for every area of this place, now get to work.”
“Yes, sir.”
There’s a pause.
“You can leave as well, Janine.”
“You’re as arrogant as your father.”
“Watch your tone,” the dragon snaps.
There is a huff of breath, then the sound of high-heeled footsteps retreating.
“Where the fuck are you, Ludo?” the dragon mutters to himself.
Is he here to help?
