Sorcerybound (World's First Wizard Book 2) by Aaron Schneider (best color ereader .TXT) 📗

He saw the marquis studying him, his expression almost hopeful.

“What happened to Ezekiel’s partner?” Milo asked with a surrendering sigh. He didn’t believe for a second that the comment concerning Brittany had been offered by coincidence.

“Oh, Percival Astor is at my home waiting for you to depart,” the marquis said with a shrug as though just thinking of the answer. “He negotiated his own bargain with me, but he agreed that his errand was less time-sensitive than yours and so agreed, quite graciously, to allow you both to depart first.”

Ambrose’s head whipped around with neck-popping velocity.

“Bargain?” he snarled. “I thought you said that if the magus passed your test, you would be on our side?”

The marquis’ ungulate eyes glittered as he showed his teeth in an uncomfortably predatory smile.

“I did, and I am,” the fey said slowly, as though explaining something to a child. “But as I said already, the Americans seem quite separate from the entire struggle between the Shepherds and the Guardians. Their goals are far more nationalist and thus far less consequential.”

Milo studied the fey, feeling an uneasy twist in his stomach.

“What did you give them, and what was the price?” he asked hoarsely, his mouth suddenly dry.

The marquis shrugged, then flapped his hand as though the question was a pestering insect.

“A map and a little bit of information,” he muttered. “And in exchange, I requested the use of Mr. Boucher for my own purposes. You saw how that went.”

Milo slumped against the door of the Rollsy.

“What?” He groaned, a hand running over his face. “So, it was all an act? A setup?”

An angry growl rumbled out of Ambrose’s throat, and the hood of the Rollsy was slammed down.

“Hardly.” The marquis scoffed, refusing to show even a trace of concern at both men’s reactions. “Nothing happens in these mountains and for miles beyond that I don’t know about, so it was not hard to understand why you’d come. Once the Americans bumbled their way into an audience, it was clear what I needed to do. Neither of them knew what I planned, but Ezekiel’s confidence in his invulnerability combined with Percival’s disdain for his partner made it an easy thing to broker. I’m quite sure neither of them expected things to work out the way they did.”

Milo and Ambrose took a moment to process the revelation, and when done, they shared a defeated stare. What could they do now?

“You’re a dangerous creature, Ochopintre,” Milo said, the priest’s name for the fey odd on his tongue as he turned to regard him.

“Not the words I’d use,” Ambrose added sulkily as he shuffled his way to the cab.

“Then isn’t it a good thing I’m on your side now?” the marquis asked, eyes and teeth gleaming.

“Could be worse.” Milo sighed as he moved aside to allow Ambrose to clamber into the cab and shuffle over to the driver’s seat.

“Oh, most certainly.” The marquis chuckled, and there was something in the sound that reminded Milo of the baphometian horror he’d seen in the gallery.

“Since you’re so well-informed, I suppose you’re aware of what’s coming to Georgia,” Milo said, unable to keep the petulant irritation from his tone.

The marquis’ expression sobered, and he nodded slowly.

“A son returned to the land where his iron was mined,” the fey said, his eyes growing distant. “But he’s bringing something or maybe someone he didn’t have before. His metal is brittle, but driven by the machine of his ambition, he could grind his home to kindling to light another fire.”

Milo started, knowing much was soaring past him but not having any idea where to start.

“Prophecies and riddles aren’t nearly as useful as intelligence,” Milo remarked dryly. “As our ally, wouldn’t it be useful to be a little clearer?”

The marquis sighed and shook his head as he gave Milo a pitying look.

“That depends very much on what you are looking for,” he said. “In truth, I know little more than you do, I imagine. A name maybe, but I can give you more than that, though its value is far more to you personally than to struggles between factions.”

Milo's hands knotted into fists as he ground his teeth at the perpetual teasing tone of the fey’s revelations. Arms locked stiffly at his side and heels grinding into the earth, he looked at the marquis with jaw set and eyes fixed.

“I’ll have them both, please.”

“His born name is Ioseb Besarionis dzе Jugashvili, though he goes by Joseph now,” the marquis said. “And though he has never met you, his effect upon your life has been profound even since you were a child and you watched as the wind was on fire.”

Milo’s heart kicked hard in his chest, but he refused to give the insufferable fey the pleasure of seeing his reaction.

“Is that all?” he asked, locking each syllable into the vault of his memory.

The marquis nodded.

“Thank God,” Ambrose groaned from the driver’s seat before turning the key.

The Rollsy’s engine turned over, and Milo turned with unseemly haste to climb into the cab. He raised a foot to mount the running board, except the running boards weren’t where he’d left them. He barked his shin on the metal rail, emitting a burst of profanity at the same time that Ambrose uttered his own curse.

The Rollsy’s heavy metal frame floated above the earth as though it were making a go at imitating a zeppelin.

“What the devil?” Milo spat as he bent to rub his abused shin.

“Nothing so dramatic,” the marquis replied with a sniff.

“What did you do to my car?” Ambrose shouted as he gripped the seat and door of the Rollsy with bloodless fingers.

The marquis stepped forward and ran his claws tenderly across the vehicle's battered hood. The tempo of the engine’s rumble slowed to an appreciative purr. Milo felt a soul-deep buzz of static that, after a moment of reflection, he imagined was evidence of the marquis’ will working upon his own.

“I did promise to make certain you’d return to the contessa in