Page 89 of Death of the Glass Angel
“The dungeons down the hall.” Talon wearily tilted his head, indicating the direction.
“Shit. That’s where the-”
An alarm bell resounded through the complex as shrieks and screams echoed from the direction of the workroom. Unsteady, Talon leaned down, yanking his hidden dagger from his boot.
“The entrance isn’t far,” Felsin said, pulling Talon to the door. “I’ll drop you off there.”
“I’m not leaving without Des.” Talon protested weakly.
“What help are you going to be? Should I throw you at my enemies?”
“I’m going.” Talon hissed through gritted teeth.
“And they say I’m stubborn,” Felsin muttered as he kicked the door open wide enough for them to pass through.
Reflective water appeared down the hall at the entrance to the workroom. And yet, Talon was strangely unafraid of the creature from the rains. A deluge had pounded around it, and calm waters had gathered at its feet. Tranquil, almost.
Their boots splashed through the unnatural liquid, ferrying them to the chaos beyond.
* * *
No ripples disturbed the mirror encasing the floor as Des flew past the worktables and dashed between the guards. A towering figure shrouded in tattered white cloth stood between her and the other halls; its glassy eyes following her.
The chaos served to her advantage. The stormborn men scattered in fear of the mirage, running in every direction, slamming into guards on their way out. Phantom appendages snaked through the mirrored floor, bursting from the surface of the strange water to grab at the fleeing figures, yanking them back towards the creature. One man crashed into Des, knocking her to the ground. She scrambled to her feet, squeezing between two worktables as she veered right to avoid the mirage evoker.
Five paces remained between her and her destination. Des counted down with each pound of her feet, her body colliding with the heavystone door as she shoved it open and slipped through moments before one of the phantom hands grabbed her ankle.
It latched onto her cloak instead, catching the fabric in the door as she slammed it behind her. Ripping her cloak, she freed herself from the door and whirled around, breathing heavily.
Four doors lined each side of this hall. Des threw open each, finding a plain office in a couple and storage closets in others. Only one room was occupied—a man sat behind one of the desks. Hearing the commotion and Des’s thumping footsteps, he shot to his feet, confusion writ on his face. Hoping to avoid him, Des dashed away, pausing before the only closed and locked door at the end of the hall.
Shit. She didn’t have time to pick this. A shout drew her attention to the man emerging from his office.
Acting without thinking, Des raced toward him and shoved her dagger against his neck. “Where are the keys?”
Blood trickled down the man’s beard as his hand flailed for his belt, pulling loose a key ring. Snatching it from him, Des pressed the dagger deeper into his skin.
“Where’s the other prisoner?”
“I don’t know.” The man swore.
Yanking the knife away from his skin, Des shoved him toward the exit and flew back to the locked room, unlocking it with a prayer.
A prayer that went unanswered. Talon was not here inside this cluttered office.
What would a songbird do? Cursing under her breath, Des kicked the door closed. They would not leave without information on their enemies.
Acutely aware of her time limit, Des quickly scanned the paperwork on the desk and the books lining the shelves. Documentation. Accounts of the men working here, ledgers of their anmarite stash, amongst other numbers. As she spun around to examine the desk, everything else in the room dulled and faded away.
A diagram lay across the desk, drawn by a talented hand—designs for a suit of armor.
A display case sat just behind it, no larger than a jewelry box. A plaque rested at its bottom, words carved into the bronze. ‘The Glass Angel’.
Housed within the display was an ornament. Its body was made of glass, shaped like a small bulb of a flower. A large pair of glittering wings, their metal shimmering with flecks of pale blue, blossomed off the swell of the bust, where a small ring, as though to attach a necklace chain, crested the top.
Des stared at it, enraptured. A crash and a scream down the hall snapped her to attention, and she spun the display case, searching for its opening. A padlock secured the case, and Des muttered a prayer under her breath as she tested the rings the man had so kindly given her.
Click.
