The Serpent's Shadow

again—

Herding phantoms, chasing mist; that was what it felt like, and all on a miniature scale. He pushed the poisons ahead of a thread of power; they flooded in behind his sweep, and he had to force himself to ignore them, concentrating on the evil he had captured, and all the time that malevolent magical miasma he worked in thickened and grew stronger. It wasn't until the sphere of his awareness reached the area of the puncture that he understood what O'Reilly was up to.

With a needle of Fire as finely regulated and controlled as any master embroiderer ever wielded, O'Reilly vaporized every tiny atom of poison oozing from the puncture, without ever cauterizing the wound itself. In fact, he created a kind of suction as he evaporated the vile stuff, a suction that hastened the process of drawing out the poison. It was a brilliant display, but Peter had no time to admire it. Maya sank further with every passing moment, physically and magically.

Peter completely lost track of time and his surroundings. His focus, his life, now centered on herding the poisons, and taking note and hope from the slow but steady improvement in Maya's heartbeat and breathing as he cleared her system of them. At some point, he felt the presence of another joining him in this task, the familiar deft touch of Peter Almsley; with his Twin came a little more strength, and a little less fear, and the knowledge that he wasn't fighting evil magic and poisons all alone.

The stuff was getting thinner, less a sludge in the blood and more a color—then less a color than a stain— then it had thinned to the point where he could barely find any of it at all—

And that was when Almsley shook his elbow, and he fought his way back out through that horrid fog, which had by this point thickened to the point that it was a sludge, or a kind of quicksand. It left a taint in the back of the mind in the same way that a mouthful of foul liquid left a taint in the back of the throat. He came back to himself, retching in reaction to it.

Gopal was at his elbow, steadying him, as he opened his eyes on the surgery.

Almsley looked like hell, dark circles under his eyes and strain in every feature; he knew he didn't look much better. It was hard to make out O'Reilly's face under all that hair, but his complexion was certainly pale enough.

And we aren't even close to finished yet—

His hand sought Maya's, and he felt her wrist for a pulse. Strong and steady, thank God! And her chest, now decently covered with a sheet, rose and fell normally. She looked asleep to all outer appearance, except that her eyes, too, were sunken, her cheeks hollowed, and her skin as pale as porcelain, every vestige of color drained from it.

'We're holdin' our own,' O'Reilly said, as Peter looked up at him. 'That was good work ye done.' He glanced past Peter at the other man. 'Almsley, I had no notion from that silly-ass manner uv yours that ye had that level uv skill.'

'Well, that's rather the point of the manner, old man. I want people to underestimate me,' Almsley said wearily, then turned to Peter. 'What are we going to do about that spell that's on her?'

No beating around the bush with Almsley, thank God. 'I have someone out trying to find out where these dacoits are; where they are, that's where we'll find the source of all this.' His own gaze moved past Peter Almsley to Gupta, who shook his head slightly. He stifled a groan. 'Well, she's not back yet— frankly, Twin, she's a member of a gang of thieves and footpads, and if they can't find what we're looking for, no one will.'

'Seeing as we already know your Hindu sorceress has managed to cloak herself handily from everything the Lodge has tried, even that idiot Owlswick couldn't manage,' Almsley agreed, and grimaced. 'Damn the Old Man for a fool! There are half a dozen other things he could have done when you first asked him for help that would not leave us at such an impasse!'

O'Reilly growled in his throat. And he might have said something himself on the subject, but just at that moment, the doorbell rang, and Norrey burst into the surgery.

'We found 'em!' she shouted in near-hysterical triumph. 'We got 'em pinned i' their 'ole!'

It took time to get organized; Peter fretted more with every passing second, his nerves at such a pitch that he thought the top of his head would split. He ordered Gopal to stay behind, for he didn't want to leave the house physically undefended. Magically, O'Reilly, who would also stay behind because of his medical skills, was more than a match for most direct attacks. Of all the Masters, the Fire Masters were the most adept at combat, as well as having the power best suited to fighting. And while it would have been ideal to have that combative ability with them, O'Reilly was their only physician, and he had to stay with Maya.

Peter wanted to leave Gupta behind as well, but the old man wouldn't hear of it. He vanished briefly and came back armed to the teeth with a brace of ancient Army pistols, knives in his belt, and even a sword slung over his back. 'I have slain men ere this,' the old man insisted. 'I can slay dacoits now, with little more harm to my karma.'

Almsley insisted on going as well, nor was he unarmed; he'd brought his own revolver and a second one for Peter, and a pocketful of ammunition.