Ritual Magic

hope Rule’s distraction got under way on schedule.
    Lily checked her watch again. This time her breathing hitched. She stood and nodded at Cullen.
    He swarmed up the rungs set into the wall that led to the trapdoor. He’d go through first because he was faster, stronger, and able to throw fire, among other things. She’d follow when he gave the all clear. He paused at the top of the ladder, listening, then pushed the square door open a crack. It wasn’t locked, but it was thick and a Persian carpet covered it on the other side, so it would be heavy. He paused to listen again. Maybe he was sniffing, too. If so, he clearly didn’t smell anything he wasn’t expecting. He lifted it a bit more and slithered up and out.
    Lily climbed the first two rungs of the ladder and waited. Cullen had left the trapdoor slightly askew, but the rug still lay atop it. She couldn’t see or hear a thing.
    Suddenly the mage lights behind her winked out. It was utterly black. “Don’t shoot!” Cullen said loudly.
    Oh, God, oh, shit—
    Another voice—male, but too low and muffled by the rug and trapdoor for her to make out the words.
    “Sure, okay, on the floor, I hear you. No bullets needed.” And Cullen flopped down on top of the trapdoor, telling Lily plainly to stay put, stay hidden. “Not giving you any trouble, Pete. Do you and Jim really need those handcuffs?”
    Pete must have come closer, because his voice was a bit louder. She recognized it now and heard some of what he said: “. . . told me to . . . what she says.”
    “I understand. You do
exactly
what Miriam says, right?”
    “That’s right.” A pause. “Jim, hold your gun to his head. Cullen, I have to gag you so you can’t cast.”
    Muffled but clear, a woman’s voice: “Oh, look what you’ve found.”
    Miriam. She sounded delighted.
    “Yes, ma’am. Just as you said.” Pete’s voice was as flat and uninflected as a robot’s.
    Miriam moved closer. She must be only a few feet from the trapdoor. “Cullen, did you really think you could come so close without my lord sensing all that lovely, hot magic of yours? Oh—you can’t answer me, can you?” She giggled like a little girl. The sound was jarring. “It must be hard on someone as arrogant as you, being trussed up like this. But don’t worry—you may be a bit uncomfortable, but Dafydd doesn’t want you killed. He’s not at all bloodthirsty and would spare everyone if he could, but he particularly wants us to keep you alive. He’s curious about those shields of yours. They remind him of some he saw a very long time ago, but there’s no way you . . .” A pause, then, contritely: “You’re right, love. I’m sorry. I do run on, don’t I? And we are rather short of time. Pete, please have your man take Cullen to one of the bedrooms and make sure he can’t get loose.”
    Pete gave exactly those instructions—“Take Cullen to one of the bedrooms and make sure he can’t get loose.” Lily heard Cullen lifted off the trapdoor . . . which was still ajar. There’d be a lump in the rug from it, but that wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know. Pete certainly knew about the trapdoor. Miriam must, too. Any second now Pete would push back the rug and move the trapdoor aside. He’d smell her then. Did she draw her weapon now or ease back down the ladder first?
    He’d hear her if she moved. Lily forced one sweaty hand to release its grip on the rung by her shoulder and pulled out her weapon. She couldn’t shoot Pete in the head. He’d open the trapdoor and look down here, offering her an easy shot to the head and no clear shot otherwise, but she couldn’t take that easy shot. If she could have asked Pete, he’d have given her a mildly disgusted look because the answer was obvious. Only that wasn’t her answer, which was probably weakness on her part, but she’d try for another spot. One he might survive. She got her Glock up and ready.
    “Pete.” Miriam’s voice was full of reproach. “Why didn’t you tell me about the tunnel?”
    “I didn’t know you wanted me to.”
    A quick, impatient huff loud enough for Lily to hear. Her left wrist was starting to hurt. She tried to huddle in closer to the ladder so that hand wouldn’t have as much weight to support. “That limited sort of thinking is why Benedict is in charge instead of you. Well, put the trapdoor back and lock it up and—”
    “There’s no lock on this end.” The rug rustled as if it had