Binding the Shadows (Arcadia Bell #3)(83)

I really didn’t like the sound of this. I needed to arm myself, and fast. If I could make it behind the bar, I could grab my caduceus staff. Maybe if I could lure them into one of the binding triangles that hadn’t been covered in red paint, I could trap them. Fat chance he would be stupid enough to just meander into a trap, but I had to think of something.

“What kind of deal?” I said, backing up a couple of steps.

Dare mumbled something to Beryl. I didn’t like them conspiring together.

“I have some information you’re going to want to see. In turn, I’d like you to pledge your allegiance to me. I’d like to . . .” He considered his words, then said, “Well, I’d like to adopt you, in a way. Be your symbolic father.”

I laughed. “Father? Why in God’s name would I want that?”

“Let’s be honest—you won’t. But you’ll be willing to make a compromise to get your hands on what I’ve got.”

“I doubt that. Go on, though. Show me.”

Dare pointed at a briefcase Beryl held. “It’s a very important piece of documentation. Can Beryl walk it over to you? He’s unarmed. To prove we’re on the level, he’ll even walk into one of your remaining binding triangles. Feel free to bind him at any time.”

I hesitated. It felt like I was the one walking into a trap—not this Beryl guy.

Dare sighed dramatically. “If I wanted you dead, I could’ve shot you when I walked in the door.”

Beryl walked farther into the bar, holding up one hand in surrender.

It might shock the hell out of me, but I could bind him without the caduceus. And seeing how my life might be in danger, I had no qualms about electrocution.

“Say what you’re going to say.”

“No need to be snippy, Miss Bell,” Dare said, then sighed his fake sigh. “So, where to begin? Shall I start with the first time your parents tried to conduct a conception ritual and how miserably that failed? Or are you already familiar with the story of your brother?”

My heart stopped.

“Ah, not aware of Victor Duval?” Beryl came closer, stepping into the second binding triangle before me, as Dare continued to talk. “Victor was damaged goods, apparently. A little screwy in the head. Liked to dissect the neighbors’ cats.”

I flinched. This couldn’t be true. This was bullshit. I would’ve heard whisperings about this when I was still living with my parents. All the talk shows and exposés and books written about them—someone would’ve uncovered it . . . right?

“Rather handsome boy,” Dare called from the door. “Dark-headed, like you. No silver halo, though. Not at all magically gifted, which meant he was of no use to your parents.”

My gaze flicked to Beryl, who was stepping closer to the triangle right in front of me.

“Victor was eight when your folks finally gave up their dreams and drowned the poor child. I do believe that was the first time they killed.”

Shock rooted me to the floor.

“Members of their order thought it was an accident. Your mother made an impassioned speech in front of the congregation, asking them to never speak his name again, as it only caused her grief. Quite theatrical. They never claimed the body when local authorities found it. She even destroyed the paper trail proving he ever existed—birth certificate and all. The media would’ve pounced on that juicy tidbit, don’t you think?”

It couldn’t be true. Could it? Why was he telling me this?

“But your mother missed a couple of details. Would you like to see a photo of your brother when he was a boy?” Dare asked.

My stomach tightened.

Beryl stepped into the binding triangle. “That’s far enough,” I said. He halted and held his briefcase flat on one palm, clicking open the locks.

“Beryl,” Dare said, “can you please give Miss Bell what we discussed?”

That was a funny way to put it.

The briefcase popped open.

I tapped into the electrical current as Beryl reached into the briefcase. Electricity raced into me, then slowed. I tugged harder, suddenly panicked that my abilities had changed. That maybe while my Moonchild-self was strengthening, and my natural magical talents were weakening. It definitely shouldn’t be so hard to pull current.

Beryl’s eyes met mine.

Oh.

It’s hard to pull current when someone else is tugging on it.

The briefcase dropped to the floor.

Empty.

Beryl held a reedy wooden stick in his hand. He snapped his wrist and it extended like a metal pointer, several feet long. Now it was a slender cane—some sort of weird magical staff.

I yanked on the current. Hard.

Too late.

He grunted as electricity crackled through the cane and shot out the end. But it wasn’t pointed at me. Why?

My chest restricted. My muscles seized. Pain shot through me. I clutched the flesh over my heart and glanced at the floor.

I was standing in a binding triangle that was now lit up with white Heka. I stepped to the edge. The moment my toe touched the painted boundary, the air crackled. An invisible force shoved me backward. I stumbled to the opposite side of the triangle and pushed with my hands. Heka fortified with electric current zapped me.

Bound!

I was bound I was bound I was bound!

I glanced up at Beryl. He smiled. “Gotcha.”