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The Clone Wars: Wild Space. Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth. Clone Wars Gambit: Siege. Star Wars Insider The Innocent Mage. Kingmaker, Kingbreaker. Stargate SG He had obligations. Whispering, seductive, dark magic called his name. Tempted him. Taunted him. Promised the unspeakable in a honey-sweet voice. For a few unsteady heartbeats, despair threatened to overwhelm him. Needed them gone, quickly, before he got used to being different. Gave in to that honeyed voice, because it was easier than fighting.
Because he wanted to. It was a long time before he could risk leaving the solitary safety of the showers. And when he did…. Relieved, Gerald shook his head. Which meant the arrogant tosser needed reminding. So he stood where he was, blocking the narrow, rabbit-warren Nettleworth corridor like a cork in a bottle. Now run along, Dunnywood. There must be a dustpan and brush with your name on them around here somewhere. Lit match to dry paper, Gerald felt his uncertain temper ignite.
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Felt what remained of the grimoire magic bare its uncivilised fangs in a snarl. The narrow corridor misted in a rising storm of red. Every nerve in his body was threatening to catch fire. Or, if there was, it was the kind of pain he could easily learn to bear. Oh, you were taught polish. You were taught how to jibber-jabber with your plonking, over-bred peers. But you were never taught ordinary, every day courtesy. Bit of an oversight, that. I—ah—I just got here.
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Run along. Forced to brush against him, Errol hissed a sharp breath between his teeth. With a smile, Gerald pulled his spiky potentia back into himself. His burning nerves extinguished. The misted corridor faded from scarlet to clear.
As he watched Errol out of sight, he felt a tickle of surprise. Mister Scrimplesham? Best obfuscatory hexman in the entire Department, it was said. Better even than Monk, and that was saying something. Why the devil would Errol be needing to see old Scrimpy?
Personally, I could watch you smear that little ponce into raspberry jam and not turn a hair. No great loss. Not that such things were openly discussed. They were just… known. And taken into account. The last thing Gerald Dunwoody needed was a problem with Frank Dalby.
Wizard Undercover – Rogue Agent Book 4 Fantasy by K. E. Mills
He stood on cracked ice with the senior janitor as it was. Prudently, he backed down. Do yourself a favour and forget him.
With Frank Dalby so out of character chatty, Gerald decided to chance a question, even though the matter was none of his business. I can drive you home now, or you can stand about chatting to yourself as long as you like and leg it home under your own steam later.https://dhurestengai.tk
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Up to you. Afterwards, alone in the kitchen because Monk was busy inventing things in Research and Development and Reg had taken herself off for the day, exploring her new home, he sat with a cup of tea and tried very hard to ignore how the grimoire hexes still tangled in his potentia , promise and poison…. With a groan of relief he dumped the over-stuffed files he was carrying onto his already cluttered desk.
Sir Alec raised his glass, half-full of best Blonkken brandy. Shall I pour you one? Obliging his sometime friend, sometime foe, Sir Alec rose from the comfortable leather armchair reserved for special guests and poured a second glass of brandy. I tell you, if Gaylord was tipped out tomorrow he could earn a decent living blowing hot air into balloons.
Domestic matters are not your concern. Perching on the front edge of his heavy mahogany desk, Ralph glowered into his glass.
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