Nightlord: Shadows by Garon Whited Page B

achieving a passing grade in Sociology and in the University’s mandatory Government classes.”
    I had to admit that sounded like me. I like electrons better than I like elections.
    “Okay. I notice that I have some leftovers from Zirafel.” I gestured around the room. He glanced at it.
    “I see. With these scattered everywhere, you will have difficulty accessing what information you may still possess from the consumption of the city. Shall I organize these remnants?”
    “Um. Yes, please.”
    Without a word, he gathered up a handful of papers and started sorting. I left him to it and paid attention to the stairs. Leaving them open seemed a bad idea. I envisioned a hatchway, had the floor grow into the proper configuration, and made sure the door only had a handle on the top side. And a bolt.
    Much better. I headed into the workshop area and sat on a stool.
    So, where was I? Right. Absorptive spell defenses.
    The doorbell rang.
    Under normal circumstances, the doorbell in my headspace signals that someone wants my attention and that I should come out. Another sort of doorbell chime signals that someone wants to join me in my headspace. This was the first sort, so I left the workshop and stepped out into myself again.
    Bronze continued to nudge me with a hot, metal nose.
    “What?” I asked, reaching up to stroke her forehead. She turned her head away to nod at the door. It was slowly grinding open as I watched.
    I sighed. People keep trying to kill me. Well, they know where I am, so I shouldn’t be surprised. I drew steel and leaped up onto Bronze, and from there to the balcony. Bronze moved to stand by one of the interior exits, as though waiting for me to come back. With luck, whoever it was would assume I was down the hall. I hurried around the balcony to a point directly over the door and waited, absolutely still, not even breathing. I can do that.
    The door stopped grinding open and a figure walked in. It was about five-nine, moderately slim, and bore a staff that it leaned on rather heavily. The crystal at the top of the staff glowed with a crimson light, making the figure’s robes appear bloody. Whoever it was, it walked with a limp. Judging by the hands, it was a woman or an elf.
    There were a number of spells on this person. She seemed to be very well protected. If whoever it was intended to brace me in my own mountain in the middle of the night, then such protection was a very good idea. The spells I saw wouldn’t be enough, but that wasn’t my problem.
    So, should I jump down and bisect my would-be assassin from crown to crotch or ask if she wanted to be reasonable. Decisions, decisions…
    Bronze took the decision out of my hands. She headed straight to the figure and nuzzled it. Slim, feminine hands reached out to stroke Bronze’s nose and neck.
    Okay, bisecting was out. Bronze would be upset with me. On the other hand, I could feel confusion weighing down my eyebrows.
    “Hello?” the figure called. “I know you are awake. Are you well?”
    I’ve never had an assassin inquire about my health. Generally, they just want to make sure I don’t have it. I sheathed my sword, stepped off the balcony, landed lightly, and straightened.
    “I’m fine,” I began, and she turned around. I was immediately struck by the sensation of familiarity. I knew her. And, viewing her from this angle, I could clearly see that one of her feet was a magical, artificial replacement.
    “I’m fine,” I repeated, “Tort.”
    “My angel,” she said, and hugged me hard enough that I felt it. I hugged her, carefully; of all the mistakes I’ve made, I had no desire to add accidentally crushing her in an overpowered vampire hug.
    “How did you get here?” I asked.
    “I flew.”
    “You can do that?”
    “Of course. T’yl taught me.”
    “You’ll have to teach me how to fly, someday,” I told her. She looked startled.
    “You cannot fly?”
    “Nope. Never learned a spell for it. I’m just a wizard, not a