Page 47 of The Grip of Death
Murder. Mother. Whitby’s words came screaming back in my head. All this time, he’d remembered the most crucial bits of the experiment, only the links connecting them were blown away in the blast. She had Giuseppe make tweaks to our version of the engine as well — tweaks that he promptly forgot. Tweaks that almost killed Xander.
“The bread was to make him forget,” she continued. “Scouring flour, I call it. Scrubs out the inside of the mind as well as a wire brush. All those years of feeding him successfully erased all the memories, but I’ve learned to refine the formula, turn it into liquid, as you’ve seen with my tea. And once I feed the four of you, you’ll forget all of this, too. It’ll be simple. I’ll have you apprehended for attacking me in my office. Poor, old, innocent Gertrude Goodness.”
I jabbed a finger at my temple. “You’ve truly lost it if you think any of us will agree to eat anything.”
She blinked in mock surprise. “‘Agree?’ How humorous. Who said anything about agreeing? I intend to force-feed my scouring formula to all four of you. And if you resist — well, a story about me killing you in self-defense would be just as believable.”
Something clicked. Reza had unholstered his gun. “Take her alive.”
Sparrowheart’s sword burst into flames. “I’ll take her head, thank you kindly.”
Gertrude laughed bitterly. “You’re welcome to try. I should have mentioned — Giuseppe can be forgetful, but he can be so useful when he applies himself. I had him make some modifications on other existing examples of artifice.”
Her gaze slanted ever so slowly, her eyes moving from our faces as she turned to look at her beloved Crucible.
My stomach clenched. “The oven. Everyone, get behind me!’
A flurry of metallic tentacles rushed from the back of the room, each one emanating from the accursed oven. Gods above and below — just like Lore and Whitby. Small mercy that this thing wasn’t sentient, not quite an AI. At least not that we knew of.
Reza opened fire. Sparrowheart slashed. Metal clanged as they deflected the appendages, at least a pair for each of us to deal with.
“Gladio!” Xander shouted, a sword shimmering into existence in the air above him, parrying the tentacle heading straight for his neck.
“Break!” I cried, aiming a punch directly at a tentacle, blowing it apart with a burst of arcane energy. The appendage twitched as it disintegrated into a pile of white-hot scrap metal. I pumped my fist in celebration, the Gauntlet still blazing with energy.
I should have looked out for the second tentacle.
With snapping pincers and a python grip it wrested at my arm, shredding the leather and squeezing so tight I could feel the Gauntlet’s inner workings warping, breaking. Any tighter and it would be my bones breaking next. I clenched my teeth, achingto shout another command word, except the Gauntlet was too close, pointing the wrong way. I’d only blast my own face off.
The tentacle’s pincers dug into my skin. The coil squeezed. I screamed.
“Terra!”
A boulder rocketed out of thin air, conjured into being by Xander’s magic, smashing the tentacle into several shivering pieces. My hand hung limply at my side, the Gauntlet now in useless tatters. At least I was alive.
“At least you’re safe,” Xander breathed, preparing another spell.
I mouthed my thanks, but my mouth fell completely open when my eyes followed the tentacles to their source. Was the Crucible’s grate open a minute ago? And why was the fire inside it burning white hot?
Slashing my arm desperately away from the oven, I motioned for the others to retreat. “It’s going to blow!”
“We need backup here,” Reza shouted, speaking into a panel of light glowing from the palm of his hand.
I gazed at my own hand miserably, still feeling the twinge of pain from the tentacles. But it was nothing compared to the sting of my ego. The Gauntlet. She’d broken the Gauntlet, and not just any ordinary way. She’d used something my parents created to destroy my greatest invention.
“Arma grandia,” Xander and Reza shouted in unison. Twin bubbles of red light gleamed around us, the amplified version of the Grayhaven shielding spell hardening us against total incineration.
Sparrowheart raised her forearm. Without uttering a single word a flurry of metallic leaves sprouted from her armor, doubling and doubling again until they’d formed into a radiant shield. Light as a feather, as strong as steel. The Summer Knightturned her shoulder against the oncoming flames, her shield in the shape of a gleaming golden leaf.
I had to get in on this, too. Couldn’t embarrass the artificers.
“Barrier,” I shouted, somehow forgetting that the Gauntlet was now a ruined twist of leather and exposed wire. Never mind that. I could still protect my friends. I still had my prismatic talent. If I could absorb the horrific energies of a Xander-powered arcane engine, I could survive anything.
Fire rushed in a suffocating wave from the jaws of the Crucible, like a mouth to hell itself. I could barely hear myself screaming over the dragon’s roar of the flames.
I definitely heard the shattering of our two Arma spells. I definitely felt the searing pain of arcane fire as it ran over my skin and threatened to cook my flesh.
But within moments the agony passed, a cooling sensation coursing through my body. I registered the touch of Xander’s hand against my nape. A small favor for his husband, a tiny, constant infusion of the Glacia spell.
