Page 64 of Heart of Thieves

Her gaze flicks his way. “He’s going to shoot you.”

I grin. “Is St. James going to compete in Nocturne’s game?”

“If you think he’d let us tell you, you’re a fool,” Ostena says coldly.

“If you think that’s a satisfactory answer to my query, then you clearly don’t care whether Mr. Lott here lives or dies.” I massage the trigger and raise a brow.

She glares. “Do it, then.”

My heart double-thuds. “Do it?”

“Shoot him.”

She’s calling my bluff.

I look down at Forsyth, who bares his teeth, sweat beading on his brow.

Laurel’s presence creeps in, and panic slams through me.

She’ll pull the trigger, because in her mind, Forsyth needs to be disposed of anyway, and showing weakness will undermine the power we’ve gleaned from my reputation as the Liar.

So, in the instant before she takes control, I fling the pistol across the room.

It hits the wall and goes off, blasting a bullet into the window that sends shards of glass flying the exact instant my limbs go rigid.

I can practically see Laurel grinding her teeth in my mind’s eye.

Forsyth lunges, but she’s already reaching into my inner jacket pocket, curling my fingers around a piece of voratium she must have slipped in when I was focused on our argument.

Another wave of terror jolts through me as she blasts a barrage of illusions at Forsyth. Searing, burning, blistering pain through every fiber of him. He buckles, vomiting all over my shoes.

“Forsyth!” Ostena cries, leaping toward him.

He twists so hard his spine crackles. His eyes bulge.

I barrel against Laurel’s control, trying with everything in me to dam the flow of power from my core, to release my grip on the voratium in my pocket, to run from the room.

But she is in full command.

I can’t do anything.

“Stop it!” Ostena screams as Forsyth vibrates in her arms, seizing as the onslaught of illusionary pain grows too intense for his nervous system to bear.

“I . . . ,” I begin, and then I realize my mouth is not bound the way my magic is.

This is another test, just like the many others Laurel has given me. She watched me throw that gun, and she wants to make sure I’m on her side.

I meet Ostena’s gaze and repeat my question. “Is St. James going to be at the game?”

Tears track down her cheeks. “Will you stop?”

“Yes,” I lie, because I can’t do a damn thing to end this.

She swallows and squeezes her eyes shut. “He called us in today to tell us in no uncertain terms that everyone who works for him is to stay far away from Nocturne this weekend.”

At once, Laurel cuts off the magic and releases her grip on my body. I drop the voratium in my pocket and yank my hand out as though singed. The stench of Forsyth’s vomit stings in my nose.

Forsyth is no longer screaming, no longer seizing. He pants, staring blankly up at the ceiling, strings of spittle hanging from his chin.