A voice spoke from the recesses of the room. “Last week, he didn’t believe in elves, fairies, ogres, other realms, or magic. You’d be surprised what he might believe now.”
That voice! That wonderful voice! Wycke! Coming from… on high? Piers’ heart gave a leap. He rolled his eyes upward. Darkness above. Still, he’d know those lovely tenor tones anywhere.
“Wicked!” the man snapped, holding out his arms. “Come to me.”
A wash of power rushed past Piers.
The smile momentarily left the asshat’s face. “You can’t stand up to me.”
From the darkness came, “Wanna bet?”
With a faint rustling, something landed with a thump. The gloom parted. Wycke appeared, down on one knee, hand flat on the floor. He winked at Piers. “Superhero landing. Impressed?”
Wycke stood to his full height. “Piers, I would say I wished you’d met in better circumstances, but truth be told, I hoped you’d never have to meet the skeleton in the family closet. You won’t hold my asshole brother against me, will you?”
“This… this is your brother?” Until then, Piers had grasped at straws that maybe this was a cousin four-times-removed or something. Kinda made him rethink his whole only-child situation.
Wycke raised his voice. “Why not come down and join the family reunion?”
“I prefer watching from here!” came another voice from above.
With a snap of Wycke’s fingers, Queen Saris floated down from wherever she’d been hiding. Impressive. Unless Wycke had actually intended something else to happen.
“Piers, meet my brother, King Radre Bertillian of Myrgren, king of both Myrgren and assholes.” Wycke gave a wolfish smile.
The king backed up. “You… you can’t do this! You have no magic.”
“And neither did you, brother dear. What did you do? Make a deal with what humans call a devil? Tell me, Radre. Which devil did you make a deal with?”
Piers took a step, then another, inching his way closer to Jess and George. He wished for them to be away from here. Now. An image of the coffee shop near the club came to mind. Jess and George disappeared. Piers would worry about where they went later. Anyplace beat here.
Chynne slunk from the shadows, rubbing against Radre’s ankles. King Whatever’s terror turned to a superior smirk. “Ah, I see you know which side to pick, little familiar.”
Which side to pick?Didn’t Chynne belong with Piers?
“You little traitor!” Wycke shrieked.
Trust me,Piers heard in his head. He put out a hand to restrain Wycke.
One blue-robed figure elbowed the next, nodding toward the now-empty space where George and Jess had lain. So, someone noticed. And didn’t bother clueing in their boss.
“Enough of this!” Radre roared.
“For once, I agree with you, brother.” Wycke assumed anen gardepose, hands raised. Radre flicked a finger. Chynne waved a paw.
Whatever spell Radre cast hit a barrier, exploding into a shower of sparks. “Radre,” Wycke said, “let’s not be hasty.”
“How dare you stop me!” the king bellowed like a wounded… well, something.
Chynne remained perfectly calm. “Remember your plan, Your Majesty. If you kill your brother now, you can’t use him later.” Somehow, with the proper inflection, Chynne managed to turn “Your Majesty” into an insult.
“Use me?” Wycke shot a fireball at Radre. Amazing! Could Piers throw fireballs too?
Or was Chynne the one magicking?
Radre ducked, rebounded with a fireball of his own.
Piers glanced down. Chynne wriggled two toes in a walking gesture. Right. The robed figures stood off to the side, immobile, either unwilling or unable to move.