The Immortal Heights by Sherry Thomas

back. Had he ever seen Lady Callista and Commander Rainstone in the same place? Yes, he had, at the garden party at the Citadel that Amara had crashed. But the two women had been separated by the crowd, and Commander Rainstone was well known for her disinclination to attend social functions at the Citadel.
    â€œBut whether they’d reconciled in the years after I gave up my memory, I can’t say. I never had any dealing with Lady Callista after that. And even with Commander Rainstone, we gradually grew apart, given my own troubles.”
    A silence fell. Titus studied the man who had suffered so much for his devotion to Lady Callista. He could fault Haywood for not having treasured Iolanthe as well as he should have in those latteryears of his “troubles”—and a younger version of himself might very well have done so.
    But how could he, when he had hurt her just as much? Perhaps more.
    â€œShe thinks the world of you, your ward,” he told the older man.
    Haywood smiled, the smile of a man trying to hold back greater emotions. “I don’t quite deserve it, but I am beyond grateful that it is so.”
    â€œAnd I believe she much prefers having grown up with you than with Lady Cal—”
    He carried his half of the pendant in his trouser pocket, wrapped in a handkerchief. Even through the fabric, the sensation of cold had been unmistakable. But all at once the temperature of the pendant changed enough for him to notice. He pulled it out of his pocket, unwrapping the handkerchief impatiently.
    The metal half oval inside was barely cooler than the ambient temperature.
    Her location had changed thousands of miles. What happened? Had Atlantis snared her at last? Was she en route to the Commander’s Palace?
    â€œSire?” asked Haywood tentatively.
    Titus leaped up. There was a map on the wall of the apartment, a nonmage map. Nonmage maps were by their very nature inaccurate, but he should still get an approximate idea of her location.
    He pressed the pendant against the map and recited a longcascade of spells. A dot appeared off the shore of Corsica. “What the hell.”
    â€œIf I may, sire,” said Haywood. “I haven’t been very busy of late, so I’ve tried to convert this map into a mage map. Though I’m afraid my accuracy leaves much to be desired. Revela omnia. ”
    The lines on the map wriggled and writhed as continental mage realms squeezed themselves into place and land masses that had never been seen by nonmage eyes appeared in the oceans.
    Now the dot fell in the middle of the English Channel.
    What the hell.
    Then he remembered what Kashkari had said: In Cairo there is a one-way portal my brother rigged up that goes directly to Mrs. Dawlish’s.
    The odor of quicklime assaulted Iolanthe’s nostrils the moment she and Kashkari materialized in the dark, crowded broom cupboard. She attempted to vault, with Kashkari’s hand on her elbow. They went nowhere—the no-vaulting zone was still in place.
    Already footsteps pounded in their direction, swift and ominous. Iolanthe and Kashkari burst out of the broom cupboard, she calling for illumination, he shaking open a spare carpet.
    The room was crammed with soaking tubs, cloth presses, and drying racks. She didn’t bother to try the door or the flat window set high on the wall. The laundry room was a later addition to the house, stuck onto one end. She raised her hand, and a flash of lightning shot up and blew a hole in the ceiling.
    They climbed onto the carpet and sped up into a drizzling and cold night. Mist closed in, the vapors vaguely orange in the light of the streetlamps.
    Windows opened in nearby houses. A voice that sounded very much like Cooper’s rang out. “What’s going on? Did we get struck by lightning?”
    Iolanthe closed her hand. All the flame illumination within a two-hundred-foot radius went out. The night turned pitch dark.
    â€œHead west,”