Immediately, the spell book is pulled from his hands. “Peachy,” Smith says, rippling back into view as he skims over the incantation. “This doesn’t look like the exact spell that was used to bind me the first time, but it’s concerningly close. And…” An edge of tension creeps into his voice. “And, based on my knowledge of spellcasting, it should’ve worked.”
Unease creeps down Chester’s spine. “So what does that mean?”
“It means that, to absolutely no one’s surprise, you screwed up.” Smith digs out his cell phone, snapping a picture of the page. “But I’m not sure if you messed up the spell itself or just the pre-casting process, and we’ll need the full text of the incantation you actually used—errors and all—to create the counterspell.”
Shame and resignation curl through Chester in equal measures.
Of course it was his fault. He knew better than to muck around with pre-WMSA spells. Even Roma only chose one as a last resort, and she’s a much stronger spellcaster than him. “I can tell you everything I did,” he says quietly. “Walk you through my process.”
Smith scoffs. “Yeah, no. The human memory is notoriously fallible, and—” Suddenly, he cocks his head to one side, considering. “But I can fix that. Give me your hand. Like you said, they don’t call me the Memory-Keeper for nothing.”
Chester jerks away, his heart hammering in his chest. “Absolutelynot.I had enough of you scraping through my brain the first time, thanks.”
“It’s not painful if you give me permission, Locke,” Smith snaps. “JJ described it as a mild tingling, barely even noticeable.” He stretches out a hand, waggling his fingers. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“No,” Chester says flatly. “I’m not giving Nostringvadha access to all my knowledge about the Sanctum.”
Smith sneers. “Please. You’re a neophyte hunter. You really think you know anything Roma hasn’t already told us? OrSawyer?”
The words carve into Chester almost as much as Smith’s “pariah” comment earlier. Does Smith know that the bloodlines hierarchy is a sore subject with Chester? Or is he just trying to taunt Chester with reminders of Redwater’s newest—and oldest—defectors?
Either way, Chester isn’t compromising. As an interrogator, he does sometimes overhear classified intelligence that not even most purebreds are supposed to know. He doesn’t want to risk any of that getting back to the Sanctum’s enemies. “Still not happening.”
Smith’s eyes darken. “Last chance to do this the easy way.”
Fear spikes through Chester. “You wouldn’t dare.”
In a flash, Smith crosses the distance between them, grabbing Chester’s wrist and yanking him forward—rough, but not enough to trigger the binding spell. Chester throws an automatic haymaker with his other arm, swearing when the punchdoesgrind to a near-halt mere inches from Smith’s jaw, and Smith catches it with his other hand without blinking, holding Chester immobile. Chester squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable pain of Smith hacking his way into Chester’s head?—
There’s nothing. Not even a tingling. Warily, Chester opens his eyes to find Smith standing unusually close, close enough that Chester can almost feel his breath, his piercing eyes fathomless and his face curiously blank.
Hastily, Smith snatches his hands away and steps back. “Well, that’s new.”
Chester squints at him. “What do you mean?”
“I…” Smith rakes a hand through his hair. He looks genuinely unnerved. “I can’t see your memories. I guess that—” He curses under his breath. “I guess that forcing my way into your head involves physical injuries, so the binding spell won’t let me do it.”
Vividly, Chester remembers the bloody nose that stained his interrogator uniform and the burst capillaries in his eyes that took days to heal. “Good,” he says curtly. “One less thing for me to worry about.”
Smith scowls back, but he looks more annoyed than actually angry.“Pleasegive me permission? Pretty please? It’ll make both of our livessomuch easier.”
“No.”
Smith lets out an aggravated sigh. “Fine. I was hoping not to mess around with the Deep again so soon after the mega-rift fiasco, but I guess it’s unavoidable.”
The words jolt through Chester. “TheDeep?What does the Deep have to do with anything?”
Smith’s eyebrows furrow. “To request a copy of the spell, obviously. The Deep keeps a record of all casted spells, remember? I can get a copy of that record to see the incantation you actually used, and that’ll show us whether the spell or the pre-casting process went wrong.”
Chester’s jaw threatens to drop. “You can do that? You can ask for a copy of a spell, and the Deep will just… give it to you?”
Smith’s expression shifts. “Nope.”
Chester stares at him. “What?”
“Nope,” Smith repeats, waving a hand airily. “Forget I said anything. You can take ‘messing around with the Deep’ off the agenda.”
Impatience shoots through Chester. “But can you do it or not?”
