Rare Kinds

"Athala!" someone shouted in the adjoining room. "Why did you do that?"

"Athala?" Nick recognized the muffled voice as Roger's. "I haven't heard someone call on Athala in ages." He laughed. "Hold it over the glass. There, there. You're all right."

"I don't remember it like this," the other person said. Nick wondered if he could chance a peek in the other room but then he heard, "Why don't you just take me to bed?"

Roger laughed again and Nick backed away from the door. Whatever was happening, he did not want to know now. Instead he waited, pacing the floor, looking from the tub in the room, to the windows which were too high to climb to. He could try dragging the tub over, maybe stand on the edge of it and try to reach.

Nick pushed at the edge of the tub but found it immobile. It was fixed to the floor with bolts. The steam coming off the water was pleasantly warm, but he didn't care about that at the moment. He felt trapped in this room, trapped in this place. He kicked the tub angrily and collapsed to the floor clutching his hurt foot.

He got up slowly and walked to the door again, pressing his ear against it. The door opened and Nick was face to face with Roger. He squinted his eyes to the room behind him. Roger was now mysteriously alone. Nick backed away from him as Roger walked in and closed the door behind him. Nick gave him a curious look; he looked different. Better somehow. A lot better.

"Were you listening at the door?" Nick didn't answer him. "You should be in the water."

Nick looked over at the copper tub; surprised steam was still rising off it. "Should be cold by now."

"It's the herbs," for whatever reason Roger reached out and touched the surface of the water. Nick looked in through the ripples, squinting into the steam rising off. "They warm the water and give off that relaxing odor."

"I'm not relaxed," Nick folded his arms across his chest. "And I don't see any herbs."

He stressed that last word. He'd never heard anyone pronounce the H before. Then again he'd never really been talking with people, not that he cared very much about it at the moment.

Roger had the strangest look on his face. "You're not in the water," he said. "Take off your—just," he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Get in the water."

Nick angrily took off his pajama pants and threw them at Roger's feet. He then climbed into the tub too quickly, and the hot water made him gasp and tense. His extremities were momentarily numb. He could feel Roger's eyes on him, making him squirm in the water. Why was he being so creepy?

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that Roger wasn't in the room, but the fact that he was, and his head pounding didn't help, made the task all the more difficult.

"You've dried blood in your hair." Nick jumped. Roger's voice was so close. He panicked further when he felt Roger's hands on his shoulders, holding him still. "Try to relax. Let me tend to your head."

"Do you have to?" Nick jerked away a little when he felt Roger's fingers on his scalp. "Now?"

"Unless you want an infection," Roger raised an eyebrow when Nick turned his head to frown at him. "Lie back and breathe the steam. It will help you relax."

Nick squeezed his eyes shut in irritation. He didn't want to lie back and breathe the steam. At the very least, all he wanted was to be left alone. And maybe for his brain to stop throbbing in his skull, threatening to burst out of his eyes.

"It's not so bad." Roger's voice was barely above a whisper. Nick sighed and took a deep breath. He lay back against the tub as Roger cleaned his wound very gently. "It's barely worth fussing over."

"You know," Nick said, a part of him surprised at how actually relaxed he was feeling. "An hour ago you looked a lot worse than I did and could barely stand."

What was in this water? All the soreness in his muscles was completely gone.

"I had a drink."

"About a month's good rest is what it looks like," Nick breathed. He wanted to sink into the water and drown himself it felt so good. He felt something strange and slippery swipe on his head and jumped, half-shot out of the water. "What are you doing!"

"Sorry, that was horrible of me," Roger said carefully, as if it was a well-rehearsed line. He licked his lips sheepishly. "I should have asked first."

"Did you lick my head?" Nick scooted to the other side of the tub, facing him. He rubbed his hand on the back of his head. It didn't ache anymore; the wound had closed. Nick stared at him in shock.

Roger reached for him. "Come back, I'm sorry." He wasn't; Nick could tell. The side of Roger's mouth curled into a little smile. He could see his impossibly green eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I don't think so," Nick whispered.

"Have it your way."

"What are you?"

Nick's eyes widened when Roger laughed; there was a flash of something so wrong, razor sharp and dangerous. He tried to put it together in his head. Nick studied Roger's face as he tried to come up with something else to say. Eventually Roger shrugged as if to say, I'm Roger.

"You're not human." Roger didn't respond but his smile faltered a little. "What kind of drink did you have?"

"The messy, sloppy and desperate kind."

"Whiskey, then?"

"Well remembered."

"Not really," Nick admitted, "I barely remember anything from that night. I know that it was definitely the first time I'd ever had whiskey."

He narrowed his eyes at the bright eyed creature in front of him. Roger had been gaunt and grey when he had last seen him, only an hour ago. The dark circles under his eyes combined with appearance of skin tightly stretched over bone had made him nearly unrecognizable. Now it was as if nothing had happened at all. It was hardly a drink and a change of clothes.

"Why don't you close your eyes and let the herbs do their thing."

Nick couldn't take his eyes from him. "I feel like I'm in a French soup." It was the herbs and the way Roger was staring at him: like Nick was a piece of meat and he was waiting for the food to be cooked.

"I don't know that one. How does it go?" Roger let his hands slide down from the edge of the tub and anxiety grew in Nick's chest when he wiggled his fingers in the water.

"I wasn't telling a joke." Nick stared at Roger's wiggling, privacy invading fingers. Those were fingers that didn't give a shit if you wanted to be alone, attached to someone who made time to cause trouble. "You're going to watch me?"

"No, that's weird, right?" Roger stood awkwardly and didn't seem to know what to do with his wet hands. He wiped them on his pants then ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I don't suppose people normally do that."

"I don't know about that but I really don't and in case you haven't noticed I'm prepared to drown myself in this tub than carry on talking."

He dunked his head in the water and for a second he really didn't want to come up. The herb water was so warm and cleansing that he found he didn't care where he was. Nick came back up only because he had to breathe, and, blinking away drops of water, he wondered why Roger was still in here.

"It's the herbs." Roger said and Nick heard it as if he was a mile away.

"Please go away."

But he didn't move. "We're in the same situation, really."

"You're kidding." Nick looked around for something resembling a towel. Really, he had had about enough of this. A folded cloth was on the floor next to the tub, slightly damp from when he had splashed away from Roger. He picked it up and hoisted it around himself as he stood out of the tub. "Let's be friends then and instead of being sad about never being able to return home, why don't you and I have a bath together."

"Nicholas," Roger said and Nick wondered why he insisted on calling him that when he had told him not to. "Do you really think I wouldn't take you back if I could?"

"I don't know!" Nick stomped over to him, his footsteps getting herb water everywhere, and before he realized it he had Roger backed up against the door with a hand on his chest. "I don't know you and so far what I've seen is more bizarre than trustworthy!"

Roger didn't have the decency to look alarmed. "We're leaving tomorrow," he said. "The three of us."

"I don't want to go with you. I want to go home," Nick said, sliding his hand off his chest to hug the large cloth around himself. "Wait, with you and Lent?"

"Sure."

"Where?"

Roger shrugged. "I don't know," then he grinned. "Could be fun."

Nick raised an eyebrow. If the last few nights were any indication of what Roger deemed "fun" he really wasn't interested. "What was he having Lent do to my blood?"

To his surprise Roger did answer. "He knew about my experiment with the Instruction Parchment—"

"That was real?"

"And it didn't work." But Roger's voice was far away as he called the memory up.

"It got me out of the apartment," he said, remembering his frantic and irrational search in his closet for something nice to wear. "In a suit."

"But then it didn't do anything. He's trying to find a way to control you."

"How nice. This is a regular five star hotel." Nick gestured to the room around him, which was quite elaborately gold and red. "Beautiful accommodations, nice view of a restless sea, warm, magical baths and a psychopath standing by to control your brain."

"Not that you've ever been to a five star hotel."

"What does that mean?"

"You hardly ever left your apartment. You trapped yourself there taking pills and sleeping."

"My choice, though, wasn't it?"

"You were wasted there and you didn't belong. They tried to change you and it turned you into a walking zombie. You may hate this now but if we get away from him for a few days you'll never miss where you think you come from."

"I know exactly where I came from."

"No, you don't."

Nick sighed and looked down at himself, somehow realizing just at that moment that he was only in a towel. "If you're not going to listen to me then at least get me some clothes."

He watched Roger feel behind himself for the knob, not taking his eyes off Nick for one second. He nodded before he left and shut the door behind him. Nick inched to the door and pressed his ear against it. When he heard the outer door shut he wrapped the towel around his waist and peeked out the door.

The fireplace was still lit, the chairs in front of it empty. The whole room was empty. Nick stepped into the adjoining room and ruffled his fingers in his wet hair. The steam from the bath was making his head foggy—maybe that was what it was. He had this odd feeling building inside of him. It was vaguely pleasant but had undertones of queasy hysteria.

The pleasantness he blamed on the herbs, the latter on Roger. No, he couldn't give him all the credit. It was the result of all of this. How was he supposed to accept that what he had believed was a lie? Things like this certainly did not exist but he had certainly seen things that had shaken the foundation of that statement, and was sure that he would see more should he stay here. Honestly, none of this was for him. He'd rather be blissfully unaware of any of it than relive this nightmare over and over again.

Then a worse thought crossed his mind. Maybe none of this was real. He had invented things before: the vortex of images he saw swirling behind people in the street, the tree in the cell, the boy slipping in blood, crawling on his knees and reaching for him. These were the things he had to believe were hallucinations or they would tear him apart… but all of this just felt too real.

Nick reached up and touched his face, feeling the stubble on his cheek. He slapped himself a couple of times. Had he really popped in and out of the cell like that? Just pop out of existence and show up on the edge of a cliff? Oh God, and then back again, after almost falling onto everything that was jagged and certain death? Could he do it again?

Roger had been gone two minutes. Nick looked at the door. How had he done it last time? Nick closed his eyes and willed himself away. He imagined himself in his pajamas, which were unspoiled in his mind, lying in bed with his arms wrapped around a nearby pillow. His bedroom would be just a bit warm, so he'd kick at the comforter in his sleep. He pictured himself there and alone and so far, far away from this awful place.

He peeked after a few seconds and was disappointed. He then tried again, his fingernails biting into his palms. Nick was grinding his teeth he was trying so hard but when he decided to open his eyes he hadn't gone anywhere. He was still in that fucking room.

Nick shouted and pushed a chair over as he walked purposely toward the door. It caught the edge of a round side table which fell to the floor, the objects on its surface clattered to the floor. Nick glared at them then turned his attention back to the door. He opened it just a crack and poked his head out. He jerked back and slammed the door when he saw Roger walking down the hallway, clothes in hand.

Backing away he made contact with the overturned table, which he nervously bent down to upright, when something glinted nearby in his vision, he saw the light from the fireplace playing on the floor, casting tiny, flickering shadows on a silver wine glass and a bloody dagger.

He picked them up, abruptly taken with both of these objects so much that he forgot Roger was about to return. The dagger he examined quickly and discarded on the table, but when he dipped his finger into the wine glass and came up red was when he began to put it together. Nick brought his finger to his nose, freaked and wiped it on his towel just as Roger walked in.

Nick stood there, glass in one hand and holding his tainted finger away from him. Roger had stopped in the doorway. In his hands were some clothes which looked very drab against the bright red and gold in the room. He seemed to stare at the red spot on Nick's towel, the spot on which Nick couldn't stop wiping his finger.

"This is what you were drinking?" Roger walked past him, laid the clothes out on the chair, which was hardly necessary, and said nothing. "This smells and looks a lot like blood." Nick cautiously lifted the glass back to his nose and sniffed again. "Smells like—"

"It is blood!" Roger snapped over his shoulder and went on meticulously arranging the clothes on the chair.

Nick blinked and dropped the glass, looking on in disgust as he watched it drop to the red carpet below. Roger whipped around and grabbed his wrist, "You idiot, I wasn't finished!"

"Oh my god, are you serious!" Nick shouted and stumbled back, jerking his arm but finding it held fast in Roger's grip. Roger grabbed him by the face and pulled him closer. "Let me go!"

Nick tried backing away, with his right hand he felt the table right behind him, and Roger held him still as if it was nothing. He could not free himself. Hadn't he put the dagger on back on the table? He began feeling around for it.

"That's one of the rarest and you've spilt it on the floor," Roger hissed in his face, his teeth, Nick couldn't help noticing, were all pointed and as Nick closed his fingers around the dagger, Roger bent his face to Nick's neck and whispered against his skin, "Maybe you'd rather I drink from you instead?"

Nick screamed and launched his right arm into motion, sticking the dagger deep into Roger's ribs. He was let go immediately. Roger groaned and dropped to his knees in front of the fallen glass, his hair shrouding his face.

Nick watched him pull out the dagger in shock. He numbly backed into the table, knocking it over again. Roger ignored him, poking the glass mournfully. "If you could appreciate something as fine you'd understand."

Nick swallowed hard and had nothing more to say other than, "You're a vampire." He found it hard to believe that he had come to that conclusion.

"That's what they call me."

Nick stammered, rubbing the stubble on his face. He was definitely awake, right? "But I've seen you in the daylight."

Roger emptied the last few droplets in his mouth, and Nick watched him clean the dagger with his greedy tongue before he stood and righted the table, placing both the glass and the dagger on its surface. Roger glared at Nick, and then walked to the chair upon which he had put the clothes. He threw them on the floor and plopped into the chair.

"I love the daylight," Roger snapped and folded his arms across his chest. "I dislike being stabbed."

"Are you dead?" Roger laughed and Nick felt stupid. "Undead?" He ventured, not really sure if he'd get an answer or if there was one.

Roger stood and this time Nick was frozen. He stared at Roger's side which must have healed when he wasn't looking. The blood was still there, however. The skin underneath the rip in his shirt was smooth and vaguely red as if it only just held the memory of being stabbed. Nick took a deep breath.

He stopped in front of Nick and grabbed his hand, gentler this time, and placed it on his chest, just over his heart. Nick looked at his hand, wiggling his fingers, surprised to find a strong, steady heartbeat. Roger was very much alive.

"Stop that." Roger smirked and stilled his wiggling fingers by putting his hands over Nick's. "I've got a pulse." Then he squeezed his hand. "Want to feel something else?" Nick cocked and eyebrow as he pulled his hand away. He was barely able to stop looking at his teeth when he talked. "If I was anyone else I would have bled to death. You would have killed me."

"Can you die?"

"Looking for tips?" Nick didn't respond. He numbly found his way to one of the chairs and dropped himself down in it. Roger's gaze followed him. "I don't know of anything that can kill me, but some have come close."

"How?" Nick couldn't decide if he was in awe or just in the face of death.

"So you are looking for tips," Roger took a seat himself, across from Nick. "Are you going to put on the clothes I brought you or are you going to lounge around in a towel all night? Not that I mind…"

"Did you kill him?"

"Who?"

"The man I heard in the room with you."

"Of course not. Why waste such a pretty thing?"

Nick felt himself blush under Roger's intense stare. He looked away and cleared his throat uncomfortably. His neck was tingling where Roger's lips had been. "He can't have done that willingly."

"It doesn't have to be frightening." Nick's eyes looked over at him in disbelief. Roger grinned and looked down at his hands clasped together in his lap. "And it never is for him."

Nick stood abruptly and gathered the scattered clothes into one pile in his arms and went into the adjoining room, closing the door behind him. He changed into the clothes as quickly as he could. The shirt he had been given was missing a few buttons toward the top, looking as if they'd been ripped away hastily, but the dark blue suited him.

He once again looked around the nearly bare room, this time for something to prop against the door. Nick frowned at the bolts fastening the tub to the floor and decided he would sit in front of the door. At least then he'd know if Roger was going to burst in on him in the night.

It was there, resting his arms on his knees, that he fell asleep.

***

Roger heard the door shift a little and gave it a sharp look, but continued pacing. Nicholas had surprised him. Instead of being a caged bird he was more like a cornered rabid animal, and Roger was not very good at proving himself. He expected Nicholas to trust him but that was preposterous. No one did. Well, Mohan did, but he was gone.

Why, if he would go, would he take Laët with him? It wasn't really Laët Roger was trying to save. It was Nicholas. Mohan should have taken him if he was going to take anyone! The only success tonight had brought was irritating the Master. Imagine, if someone had actually asked him what he thought was a good idea.

Roger felt like punching holes in the wall. He missed his dinner; why had he sent him away? That had been a fine distraction and he could have really used one at the moment. He was glad Mohan was away, wherever he was going… if he was going to the place they had talked about.

The cave at Arrow's Bend was a lonely gray place. It was just a bit above boring, which meant it was a hell of a lot better than Grey. When they had first come upon it they were running from someone; he had known they were coming and had been prepared to hunt them down first.

Arrow's Bend was a small village that hugged the edge of a large swamp by the south-eastern Tangar-Tannikan border. The trees were old and towered high and the reeds under those were thick and tall enough to stretch high over their heads. They had the luck of losing him in those reeds. Mohan had been hurt, Roger couldn't remember how.

Why couldn't he remember? It was only fifty years ago!

He had pulled him into the cave… well, he had fallen in a hole and his foot had caught in Mohan's pack. Roger remembered falling on his back at the bottom, hitting stone so hard that he couldn't move. Mohan had fallen on top of him, but other than a broken arm—that's right, he had hurt himself in the fall—he'd been all right until he saw the man's face staring down into the cave. Mohan had cursed loudly and scrambled back.

The man listened for them; he looked right at them but didn't see them. He'd thrown a torch down and it at just flashed right out of existence.

Stunned and immobile, Roger had to stay there for an excruciating amount of time with Mohan and his whining about his arm, his constant questions about how a torch could disappear or how a man could look right at them and not see them. When he could finally move he told Mohan to shut up and help him find a way out of there. There had been so many twists and turns and tight squeezes they thought they'd never get out of there.

They had felt along the wall for hours until they had finally found a way that led out to the river. By that time they hadn't realized how far they had gone or where they were. A man could go mad in a place like that and a vampire and a half-demon nearly did.

When they had finally gotten back to the safe house they were told they'd been gone for months which didn't really make any sense, and that they had failed another mission, which was just typical the Master had said. A vampire and a demon can't catch a stupid man. But he hadn't been an ordinary man. The man, he remembered, as he had stared up through the hole in the cave's ceiling, had twisted and coiled until he was no longer a man but a wisp of black smoke which had dissolved into the air and was gone. How was Roger and Mohan supposed to compete with that!

Did he report that? No. How would he have caught smoke? Also, who cared? The man wasn't anyone's problem and hadn't been until the Master had given them the contract. They were never sent after him again after that, which made Roger think it was all just a bloody test. The Master did like to play games.

The only thing that troubled him was that he had never seen that man before, had never even heard of him, but he had looked so terribly familiar. Roger had never mentioned it to Mohan. He couldn't remember a lot of things. His whole past had been pushed out of memory, seemingly irretrievable, and the truth of the matter was it scared him.

Roger looked over at the door to the adjoining room and sighed, feeling restless. He hoped Mohan was as far away as he could get.

Roger was tempted to try the door—just to peek in a little and see what Nicholas was up to in there. He made sure the dagger was still in the room with him but as soon as he saw it on the table next to his empty glass Roger was angry again, the memory of being stabbed fresh on his mind. He'd leave Nicholas alone for now.

The door to the hallway opened and Lent walked in, looking extremely tired. Roger stopped pacing, noticing the phial in his hand. "Morning already?"

"Where's Nick?" Lent set the phial down on the table beside the empty glass and the dagger—which he gave a curious look—and opened the door to the adjoining room. Nicholas fell on his feet and stared up at him. "Morning," Lent said, slightly amused. "I've got something for you."

"No," Roger said, causing them both to turn and look at him. He was staring at the phial on the table. "You didn't"

Lent nodded. "I did not but don't talk about it. Just make sure he takes it."

"You didn't?" Roger was fairly sure he saw a phial there. He pointed. "Yet there it is."

"Be quiet, Roger, I did what he said. I made a potion." Lent looked warningly over his shoulder at Roger, trying to communicate something, Roger couldn't tell what, with his eyes. He then turned his attention back to Nicholas, leaving Roger to stare at them both wonderingly. "We'll talk about it later after we leave."

Lent hauled Nicholas to his feet, who avoided looking at Roger. Roger snorted. Please, he thought, couldn't have scared him that badly. He didn't look scared, however, he looked angry.

Roger heard Lent whisper, "Are you all right?"

Nicholas nodded and muttered under his breath.

"Well, you look great," Roger said, and he really meant it although it came out rather sarcastically. It pissed him off that Nicholas was still angry with him. He had gotten a good stab in; weren't they even? He did look nice in blue though, angry, but quite nice and Roger didn't regret biting off those buttons and spitting them in the hallway at all.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Roger snapped.

Nicholas turned to face him and said matter-of-factly, "He tried to bite me and I stabbed him."

Roger's lips curled into a grin just to anger him further, but when Lent gave him a stone cold stare Roger shrugged and looked away. Lent grabbed the phial from the table and dragged Nicholas into the adjoining room, closing the door behind them. Roger waited a few seconds before he rushed silently over and pressed his ear against it.

"How close did he come to biting you?" Lent was unnervingly insistent; it set Roger's teeth on edge.

"Do we have to discuss this?" Roger cocked an eyebrow at that.

"It's very important."

"He didn't."

"Did his teeth touch your skin?" Nick didn't answer right away and Roger became anxious. Don't lie.

"No." Roger let out a tense breath.

"Good, that would be... distressing." Lent's pause irritated him. He could only name a handful of people who had complained about his bite and that's not the word they used. Besides, what came afterward was infinitely better. "Now take this."

Roger frowned, leaning his weight against the door.

"No," Nicholas said firmly.

"Please. I've been up all night making it. Take it."

"No."

"For all that's—shit!" Roger yelled through the door, "Just take it!"

Lent opened the door, nearly causing Roger to fall inside, and made a dramatic gesture in way of invitation.

"Thank you," Roger said tersely. "Now whatever you're saying can be said to my face."

Nick and Lent merely stared at him and then went on with their earlier conversation.

"When you take it we can go."

"Where are we going?"

Irritated with being ignored, Roger interrupted them, "I was just bluffing anyway," he said, but he wasn't sure if he actually had been. "I wouldn't have bitten him." Maybe.

Roger blinked a little too slowly and licked his lips. He could have had him, the taste of his neck on his lips and tongue and teeth. Such a tiny taste he had when he'd healed the little cut on the back of Nicholas' head. He had barely enough to really savor the flavor. A pleased sound escaped his lips before he could stop it.

"Why don't you apologize then?" Lent adopted Roger's agitated tone, mocking his stance by placing his hands on his hips as well.

Roger snapped out of his thoughts and laughed so hard he thought his sides would split but soon realized that no one else was joining in. He stopped laughing.

"You're serious." He threw a hand up in Nicholas' direction. "He stabbed me!"

"Probable cause," Nicholas said straight-faced but his dark eyes glittered with amusement.

Roger felt defeated. "I don't even know what that means."

Lent sighed, his shoulders drooping. "It means you should say you're sorry. Just do it so we can all move on."

"Yes," Nicholas said, smiling this time. He folded his arms across his chest. "Do it."

Roger's heart skipped a beat. He stared at that little smile, trying to remain defiant. He started to say something but Lent cut him off.

"Try to mean it."

Roger's mouth snapped shut. He didn't bother looking over at Lent—he was really irritated with him now. He remained focused on Nicholas' smile, which was faltering slightly the longer his gaze lingered there. It was a shame that Nicholas couldn't have shaved. Roger dragged his gaze up to his brown eyes and mumbled something vaguely apologetic.

"Shouldn't have…" then he trailed off and glanced away.

Lent shrugged and turned back to Nicholas. "That's as close as he'll ever get I'm afraid. Now, take your medicine. We're going to leave this place as soon as possible."

Nicholas doubled over, scrambled to turn around and threw up on the floor. "Why?" he groaned, his back turned to them.

Roger's eyes widened slightly. "Wasn't that bad, was it?"

"He should have done that last night," Lent explained, studying him thoughtfully. "It's taken longer than usual to get those drugs out of his system."

"That's what that is?" Nicholas said to the floor.

Lent peered over at him and whispered, "You have some sick in your beard." He pressed the phial into his palm. "Bottoms up."

Once Nicholas had begrudgingly consumed it, he clapped him on the back and pulled Roger out of the room, presumably so Nicholas could compose himself.

"Don't touch him again," he whispered. "Don't go near him."

"What? I didn't do anything," Roger rushed out. "He said it himself: he stabbed me. I think he's more than capable of defending himself."

"You and I both know that you could kill him easily."

"I wouldn't. I could have burst into that room before you got here and drained him dry. You're right. I could have done any number of things but he's safe, isn't he?"

"I'm talking about the future. I won't have you …" Lent seemed hard pressed to find the word. His brow wrinkled, his lips twisted into a disgusted sneer. "…corrupting him."

Roger laughed hollowly. "That's what this is about."

"Don't you think just being here is traumatizing enough?"

"Don't play the good guy after you made him drink that potion."

Lent leaned down close to Roger's face and growled, his nostrils flaring, "I'm out for his best interest!"

"So you do have a temper!" Roger matched his icy glare with one of his own. "Then tell me what that potion was, friend?"

"I can't," Lent said with a smug smile. "At least not until we're well out of here."

"Then tell me where we're going and don't tell me we're chasing after Mohan."

"Oh no," Lent shook his head. He sat down and looked at the door to the adjoining room, tapping his foot impatiently on the floor. "The Master is confident he'll find his way back."

Roger scoffed at that. What a ridiculous thing to believe! "What about Laët?"

"Someone will intercept him I'm sure."

"Wonderful," Roger said with a roll of his eyes.

Everything was being wrapped up nicely. Bullshit. If Mohan knew what was good for him he'd stay well away and keep to that cave. Whatever was happening to him, this change, the shadow that he had spoken of the other night, he hoped that it gifted Mohan with the ability to elude capture. No doubt whatever the Master told Lent was a lie.

All of this aside, the fight was almost out of him once Nicholas entered the room. Lent stood and ushered them both out of the room.

"It's not going to be fun," he said, noting Roger's anxiousness.

"Where are we going?"

"King's Town."