Page 80 of Quiver of Cobras
I nodded. It was exactly how I would play things. And Morgan was right: it did indeed appear that Mendax was more trustworthy than we’d given him credit for. Whether Rubus was out of action or not, the sphere was too dangerous to leave lying around. ‘I’ll come and meet you at the library.’
‘No.’ Morgan’s words were growing indistinct. ‘Stay where you are. We might still need you there in case someone returns. It’ll give you a chance to look through everything properly. You might find details about Rubus’s Plan B, whatever the hell it is.’
I grinned. More snooping. Excellent. ‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘Call me once it’s done.’
‘I will.’
‘The second it’s done, Morgan.’
‘I will.’
‘I mean it,’ I warned. ‘If you don’t, I’ll come after you and hurl insults at you for the rest of your natural life.’
‘That might not be so bad,’ he replied softly. I drew in a breath. ‘Take care, Maddy.’
‘You too,’ I whispered.
You too.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was strange walking through the deserted corridors. Of course, there was only one place that I wanted to rummage through. I didn’t pause or allow the pile of forlorn, uneaten cupcakes sitting on a table in the television room sway me from my purpose. That was the sort of focused, unerring super spy I was. Instead, I made a beeline for Rubus’s bedroom. Amellus, the anti-grammar bouncer, wouldn’t be guarding its entrance now.
I found it curious that the door was locked, as if Rubus had expected to leave it unguarded. I rattled the doorknob and patted my hair in case someone had slipped in a hair pin when I wasn’t looking that I could convert to a handy lock pick. Then I shrugged. I was blowing my cover by blowing open the door but, given what was about to happen less than a mile away, I reckoned I could justify it.
Morgan had shown me once that magic could be used to break a lock delicately but I reckoned my method was more fun. I raised my right hand, pointed it at the door and, for only the third time in what was left of my memory, called on a stream of attack magic to blast open the lock.
The first time I’d tried this, I’d flung out magic towards a sniper who’d been some distance away. The second time, in my tiny bedroom, I’d been quite controlled. Those facts probably should have occurred to me now.
This time, with the door less than a metre away from my outstretched hand, I completely obliterated it in a mini-explosion of flying splinters and wood dust. I shrieked and ducked down, trying to cover my face and eyes. Clearly, I didn’t know my own strength. I was forced to pause for several moments and pick out the offending shards of sharp wood from my skin. I could feel beads of warm blood on my cheeks, nose and forehead. No doubt I now looked like I’d been attacked by a vicious swarm of bees. I grimaced. Great.
Blinking away the sting of tears – a physical reaction, not an emotional one – I edged into Rubus’s room. The scent of his overpowering aftershave still lingered. I hadn’t paid much attention to the actual room when I’d entered it that one time before because Rubus himself had been present. Now that his looming figure was no longer confronting me, I could appreciate its sparse tidiness. The bed was neatly made with a white coverlet and plumped pillows. There was a small cabinet with some papers on top and a wardrobe with an open door and surprisingly few clothes inside. The only untidy part of the room was a corner occupied by a mountain of what I guessed was dirty laundry. A door to the left led into the ensuite bathroom. It was a larger room than mine but it was hardly the Ritz.
For no other reason than to be perverse, I grabbed the corner of the pristine coverlet and wiped the last of the blood off my face. It smeared the white fabric in a particularly pleasing manner. It was Rubus’s fault; if he’d not locked the door then I wouldn’t have been forced to blow it open. It served him right for being so security conscious.
With my mark on his lair well and truly established, I started to look around. I was hoping for a handy folder marked ‘Plan B’ but nothing jumped out at me. I flicked through the pile of papers on the bedside cabinet. Some were scrawled with nonsensical notes, some with maps and directions.
Every single page had the same doodle – a little drawing of Chen’s magical sphere. I snorted; Rubus was a man obsessed. I crossed my fingers that someone would film the moment that he learned the truth – I wanted to see the expression on his face when he finally found out that we’d had his stupid sphere destroyed. I could feed off his disappointment for years; it would almost make dealing with that slimy wyrm Mendax worth it.
Poor, poor Rubus, I thought fondly, although I also reckoned the loss of the sphere might be the making of him. With no route back to Mag Mell, he’d have to concentrate on life in this demesne instead. If I had the potential to be a semi-good faery and put my past behind me, so did he.
Abandoning the papers, I swivelled and looked slowly round the room. Where next? Afraid to get too close to the pile of unwashed linen in case the lingering scent of Rubus’s aftershave rose up and attacked me, I headed into the ensuite bathroom. It was scrupulously clean. There wasn’t even a skid mark in the loo.
I opened the mirrored cabinet hanging over the sink. If I’d been expecting several bottles of Viagra then I was disappointed: apart from a slim black case, the cabinet was empty.
Stretching up, I grabbed hold of the case and flipped it open. One half contained a syringe and a small glass bottle; the other half held two small opaque plastic tubes.
I thought of the track marks I’d spotted on Rubus’s arm and the occasionally drawn look to his features. I picked up the bottle, fascinated. Heroin, maybe? Or some kind of soluble pixie dust? It seemed incredibly bad practice to inject yourself with your own drugs when you were fully aware of the addiction issues. If Rubus were indeed a dust addict, he’d certainly kept it quiet.
I twisted the bottle in my hands. There was no label on it other than a tiny R etched into the glass. So Carduus marked these drugs separately, then. Perhaps it was a special formula designed just for Rubus. I was rather disappointed that he allowed himself to be so weak.
Returning the bottle to its place, I turned my attention to the plastic tubes. I couldn’t work out what they were for. I picked up one, frowned and unscrewed the little lid, peering inside. It was empty apart from an odourless liquid. Even more befuddled, I glanced inside the second tube. There was something in there. I shook out the contents. Two small black discs fell out. Despite their colour, they appeared translucent. Frowning, I gingerly held them up to the light. What…?
My jaw dropped in dismay as an epiphany hit me. Contact lenses – these were coloured contact lenses! I held one up to my eyeball. My vision darkened slightly when I looked through it but it didn’t take a genius to realise that these lenses had nothing to do with poor eyesight. They were for cosmetic purposes only.
My fingers scrabbled for the glass bottle, the one with R etched into the side. I threw it down hard onto the tiled floor, smashing the glass and spilling the contents. Then I knelt down and, avoiding the shards, touched the liquid. It seared my skin almost immediately. Hissing in pain, I hastily turned on the tap and washed it off as best as I could.
I was trying to bank down my growing horror but it was next to impossible. The burn of the liquid was familiar. The last time I’d felt a similar sensation was the night when I’d awoken on the golf course when I’d poisoned myself with rowan.
