Page 67 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

“You sure you can control something this deadly?” I set the tank down.

Walter continued scribbling. So much went into planning for everything to go perfectly, he didn’t even relish how he’d successfully performed a familiar link with a bird days back to message Alistair. Once things had settled and he knew what to search for, he wanted his brother to track Ian down.

“If you wish to find that cretin of a mage, I could do so quickly.”

I still held access to Mora’s Diabolic webs. They’d offer swift travel throughout the city, and the nauseating scent of death that clung to Ian would be simple to locate.

“No need. Al’s likely been tracking him through his sentinel work schedule.”

I sighed. Mortal politics and plotting and planning moved so slowly.

“The only thing Al needs is to catch Ian meeting with someone he shouldn’t be, using Agatha’s Heart, or literally anything that screams ‘I’m behind the attack on the Magus Estate,’ which could happen any day. Today. Tomorrow. A week from now. Doubtful. Ian wants to bring the Collective down and free magic to the masses, so it’ll be soon. Which means I need to finish the final details on this grimoire.”

“If Alistair is retrieving Ian, we should be there to catch him in the act.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I simply wish to ensure your brother and his darling sentinels aren’t in harm’s way against such a vicious misfit mage.”

“No. You just want to kill Ian.”

“Fair’s fair. He tried to kill me first.”

“He actually stabbed me.”

“Yes, to kill me.” I edged closer to the bed, running my black nails along the organized papers Walter had in meticulous stacks. “What if I promised not to kill him? I merely wish to witness just desserts served.”

“First, I would say no because our presence might interfere, and this isn’t about us.”

“It’s about clearing your name.”

“Which is important, but I just want to prevent a war most didn’t ask for.”

“Hmmm. You’re annoying.” I plopped onto the bed, intentionally causing disarray to Walter’s many spread notes. “What's the other reason?”

“Oh, that’s easy. You’re obviously lying—”

“How dare you call my integrity into question. I would never lie.”

“Bez, your tails have been out this entire time. Two of them literally crossed.”

“Oops. Didn’t realize they’d slipped out.”

“That’s what she said.” He chuckled under his breath.

“Who? What’d she say? Was it about me?”

“Never mind. Old joke. Bad joke.”

“Don’t try to be funny, Walter. It doesn’t suit you.”

Ignoring me, he dug his hands under my back, grabbing the crinkled papers underneath. I lay there, completely deadweight, and making him put in an extra effort to pry them away without tearing them. His expression wavered between a neurotic desire to preserve the integrity of all his findings and a furious need to smack me for assaulting his research. Bet he missed his laminator or computer or fancy enchanted folders.

“Look, we don’t need to deal with Ian. With everything he’s behind, the Collective will be spotlighting his case as an example. What we need to do—what I need to do and hopefully with your assistance—is to finish compiling evidence on Ian’s inside help. It’s all in this grimoire. Well, not all. Enough.”

“Ah, yes. Chancellor Driscoll and his wicked ways of working with Mythics and real misfit mages to sow destruction amidst the Collective.”

“Yes, the chancellor.” Wally furrowed his brow, scribbling furiously to note his findings and avoid conversation. Not sure why he bit his tongue when it came to his discovery on Chancellor Driscoll, but ever since he’d had the revelation, he’d become rather quiet about the subject. Shocked, angry, and determined to tie as much to the chancellor as mortally possible.

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