Because the thrill for me, after all, was of victory, of knowing that I was better than the other, would always be better. The fun for me was in inflicting humiliation and copious amounts of pain. Did that make me a worse person, to be the kind of villain who relishes in doling out pain, but never ending it? I wouldn’t know. I had enough of an existential crisis to deal with already.
“Can we just fucking get on with it?” Pierce hissed. “I’m freezing my tits off.”
“Oh, finally. Big strong man admits he’s made questionable fashion choices.”
“I know where you sleep,” he said, teeth chattering, breath streaming out of him in little puffs. “Knife in the throat.”
“Right, right.” I pressed a finger lightly into his shoulder, muttering the word of my favorite spell, adjusting its power. “Ignis.”
The magic leapt from my skin and surged into his, flowing through my finger like liquid warmth. Pierce moaned as the heat spread through his body, his face melting with unspoken gratitude, then warping into annoyance.
“You mean you could have done that from the start?”
“Not even a ‘Thank you, Lord Quilliam.’ Tsk, tsk. You’re a huge brat and you know it.”
He reached for the pommels of his daggers, finally ready to fight now that he was warm and toasty. “Thanks,” he grumbled through a pout, saying it to the ground.
“Little baby. Now, come on. Let’s get on with this.” I turned my attention back to the farmhouse, curling my fingers as I prepared slightly more dangerous magics. “Time to raise hell.”
10
Pierce went first, pressing up against the farmhouse’s outer wall, a shadow darting in and out of patches of darkness. What he’d told me back at my apartments was true. His stealth was unmatched, and he had an almost supernatural ability to blend into his surroundings, keeping so still that you’d be forgiven for believing that he was a statue, a corpse that had died standing up.
So convincing, in fact, that the first cultist within grappling reach was quickly restrained, Pierce squeezing one forearm across his throat, placing a strong hand over his mouth. I liked to joke that Pierce preferred to do it from behind. That never went over very well with him.
The cultist slumped to the ground, a man who must have been in his late thirties, possibly a father in his former life. Pierce had choked the very breath out of him, enough to send him unconscious. He tended to prefer knives in combat, naturally, but that was the great thing about Pierce. He didn’t need to be told that we had to do this quietly. People tend to scream when you stick a knife in them. But sometimes the bloodlust did consume him, and in no time at all I knew that Pierce would resort to slitting throats instead of just strangling them.
A second man fell into the grass, joining his fellow cultist. Pierce didn’t even grunt as he dragged their unconscious bodies into the shadows. I closed in, joining him near the farmhouse, now that he’d eliminated the two guys we’d spotted guarding the place.
Pierce made a low bow as I backed myself up against the wall. “Your Highness,” he said. “I’ve done the dirty work and disposed of the minions.”
“You’re such an ass,” I muttered. “Those were the only two scouting the area, right?”
“They’ve got guns, too,” he said, nodding at the two men. “Why do you suppose they’re so defensive?”
I shrugged. “That’s for Asmodeus to know. They’re probably used to having people come around and try to tell them what’s what.” I passed a hand down across my body, relishing the glimmer of red light that appeared as I completed the spell. “Arma.”
Pierce shut his eyes tight and shook his head when I reached out to him, silently offering to shield him as well. “Won’t need it,” he said. “I’m fast. And strong.” He flexed his biceps for emphasis.
“Neither the time nor the place,” I growled. “And suit yourself. I’m not hauling your dead body out of here.”
He huffed. “It’ll take much more than a bullet to end this beautiful body.”
“Pierce, I swear. Now, come on.”
My heart thumped as we circled out back to check on the rest of the grounds. We’d spent enough time observing to know that there weren’t any other cultists on patrol, but you could never be too sure. And besides, sometimes you’d find someone silly who – ah, there it was.
A curl of smoke went up from a square of light behind the farmhouse: some guy enjoying a cigarette on the back porch. I didn’t even get a second to confer with Pierce. The moment I turned my head to talk to him, he was already gone. I turned to look at the smoking man, and he was gone, too. Pierce was already dragging him under the patio. I shook my head, trying not to look so impressed as I carefully made my way to the open door.
“This is it,” Pierce whispered. He was crouched low to the ground, nudging the unconscious smoker’s body under the floorboards with his foot. Pierce’s breathing was shallow, almost ragged. I could nearly hear the blood pumping faster in his veins, his heart beating faster. “You head in first.”
I blinked at him. “Why me?”
He rolled his eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be the tactician? Better if they don’t know that there’s two of us.
