MASTER OF SHADOWS SNEAK PEEK
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The simple white-faced clock hung on the wall over the door, its second hand stuck in place at the number thirty, the slim metal shaking, trying to move forward, but never able to break free. The repetition was hypnotic, annoying, jarring, insistent. At times, it lulled CIA Librarian Ruger Stern into a semblance of rest. In other moments, as right now, it grated on his nerves and set his teeth on edge. He was exhausted, drained. Torture was expected; he’d known the moment the fight was lost and he was taken that things were going to get bad, fast. He didn’t realize it was going to be death by the relentless, monotonous irritation of a ticking clock. He felt like he was living inside a metronome.
In actuality, he suspected he was stuck inside a Time Catch. Handy things, Time Catches. A kind of parallel realm in which time stood still. While the rest of the world moved on at normal speed, not even realizing he was missing, weeks, months, years could pass in a Time Catch.
People went mad in Time Catches. Got lost in time and never came out.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
With great effort, Ruger forced his body upright, mentally cursing himself for slacking on his training. He’d been so focused on working with his new recruit, Jayne Thorne, bringing her up to speed, that he’d sacrificed his own very necessary magical homework. It had been far too long since he’d done the Time Catch simulation. If he’d practiced more often, he would’ve been better prepared. But now, his big body struggled to adapt, and each breath felt like it was saturated with water. And the ticking clock was causing him borderline panic—the TCO used that sound to indicate the simulation was about to self-destruct. With every tick, his brain was telling him that he could go up in smoke at any moment. Their enemies knew this, and were using it against him.
He had no idea how long he’d been trapped here. They could leave him here to rot, and when his team found him, he’d be nothing more than a skeleton.
Don’t think like that, he told himself. Remember your training. You are a powerful officer and magician. You’ve got this.
He surveyed his surroundings for the hundredth time. The tiny room resembled a classroom, empty except for the one desk he was chained to. The door was locked from the outside. He’d already made it as far as the doorknob before some kind of magical trip wire was activated, alerting his captors to his movement. He’d lost that fight, and they’d taken no more chances after that; he’d woken handcuffed and bound to the desk. A large mirror took up the space of an entire wall. He knew enough about interrogation techniques to know it was a one-way window.
They were watching him.
He couldn’t access the Torrent. He’d already tried dozens of times. Judging by his sluggishness and the drained feeling tugging at his body, the room had to be lined with some kind of dampener. Maybe they’d hit him with a Suppression spell? It would explain how he couldn’t use magic.
He was locked in this room at their mercy—whoever they were.
“Can we get on with it?” he called.
Hours passed, or maybe minutes—he’d stopped trying to keep track of the ticking—when the door finally opened.
A tall, thin figure strode toward him. Recognition jolted through his body, giving him a spark of energy he desperately needed. He knew that face—the sharp cheekbones and dark, stormy eyes. Her inky black hair was tied in a knot at the top of her head.
Gina Labelle. The Head of La Liberté, a terror organization as fanatical, if not more so, as the Kingdom.
Not dead, as they’d heard. Very, very much alive.
He’d suspected as much. These malicious leaders tended to disappear into the fabric of the Torrent when things got tough. He’d been investigating a sighting of her when he was ambushed.
He’d never seen Labelle in person before—only knew her from photographs and surreptitiously obtained video. She was a dangerous magical terrorist, one of the most wanted in their systems.
So he’d been taken by La Liberté. This could work in his favor.
She stood before him and crossed her arms, her thin eyebrows lifting expectantly.
“Madame Labelle.”
“Ruger Stern. We meet at last.” A French accent laced her surprisingly vibrant voice.
“You could do me the courtesy of uncuffing my hands from this desk. I’m hardly a threat to you in this place.”
A brittle laugh. “Diminished you may be, but dangerous still, I believe. Do you have anything to offer me, Ruger Stern?”
“Offer you? I was minding my own business when your thugs jumped me.”
Labelle clicked her tongue and dropped her arms. “What do you expect? You were hunting me, and they can be very protective.”
“Then let me go, and we’ll call it even.”
“Oh, I think not. Your people are riding to your rescue as we speak. We’ve just received intel on the team sent to extract you.”
Ruger made sure his face was blank, giving away nothing. Which team? he wondered. But he already knew.
Jayne.
Amanda wouldn’t have sent anyone else. Not when this sort of dark magic was involved.
His heart twisted. Jayne was good, but she was still so new at this. And he wasn’t there to warn her. To protect her.
Labelle bent over so they were at eye level. “Tell me where the grimoire is…and I’ll let them live.”
Ruger met her gaze evenly. Though his insides roiled uncontrollably, every ounce of him taut with fear and worry, years of training kept it buried deep. His face remained impassive. Apathetic. “Grimoire? You need to narrow that down a bit, Madame Labelle. There are a lot of grimoires out there.” The bravado was costing him; his hoarse voice tore at his throat.
Gina’s eyes tightened, but her mouth spread into a smile. “Excellent. I was hoping you’d say that. Now I get to face this infamous Jayne Thorne I’ve heard so much about.”
Ruger resisted the urge to flinch. Confirmation Jayne was coming for him.
But how did Labelle know?
It doesn’t matter. The mission comes first. This had been drilled into him since he joined the TCO. If even one of their agents divulged information, all their enemies would know they could be broken.
Ruger would not be broken.
“What, no threats?” Gina asked, sounding disappointed. “What about When I get out of here, I’ll slit your throat, or You’re no match for the powerful Jayne Thorne.” She cocked her head, her skeletal form making her appear raptor-like.
Ruger raised an eyebrow. “If you give me a script, then I’ll know what I should say. I’d be happy to play the part. Whatever strokes your pathetic ego.”
“Do not test me, Ruger,” she seethed, sounding more French than before—as if her anger brought out more of her native tongue. “Your darling protégé will fail. We know there are five grimoires, and we know one has already been found.”
“Then you know it was destroyed, and is of no use to you.”
“Magic can’t be destroyed. Controlled, perhaps. Throttled. But with the grimoires together, no matter how tattered, we will open the Torrent again. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourself. Now. Tell me where the grimoire you’re hunting is located.”
“No.”
The fury in her eyes almost made him wince. She had her magic, but he was bespelled, couldn’t fight back, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but try not to utter the word, the location he suspected. Pain rippled through his body as she danced around him, throwing spells, trying to force out an answer. He was bruised and hurting when she finished with him, but hadn’t broken.
“Fine,” she panted. “D’accord. We will try something different.”
A snarl echoed through the chamber, and pain exploded in his cheek. Bright light seared his eyes, momentarily blinding him. He sucked in ragged breaths, but he couldn’t get enough oxygen. His vision darkened before clearing once more. In front of him, Gina stood stiffly, her arm outstretched. Ruger’s dizziness gave her the appearance of a distorted reflection in a mirror.
No…that wasn’t his dizziness. She was distorted. Her image rippled and shifted. Growing wider as if she’d put on fifty pounds, shrinking back down, then getting portly again, fully obscuring the lithe, lethal figure she’d been before.
Alarm pressed in on Ruger. It can’t be.
In an instant, Gina returned to normal, breathing heavily, her face splotchy and her eyes full of rage, flashing an almost unearthly red. Pressure built inside him, and the word formed unbidden on his tongue. He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t stop himself, she was pulling it out of his very being…he’d never felt magic like this before, it was terrible, awful, too much to bear…
“Maintenant, Ruger. Tell me, now! Where is the grimoire?”
“Fon. Taine. Bleau.”
The pain stopped, so suddenly he nearly fainted in relief.
Labelle stormed from the room, leaving Ruger gasping for breath, his head reeling from what he’d just experienced.
It couldn’t be…
But despite his injuries, despite his weakened state, he knew what this meant. He had endured years of training against hallucinogens to ensure his mind remained intact. He hadn’t been drugged. He hadn’t been seeing things.
Gina Labelle had shifted. She was a Rogue.
And because he had failed, she now knew where the grimoire she sought was located.