Hans made a face. “Of course not! I am a chef! I like to feed people!”
“Hmmm.” I bit into the sandwich, which was, in fairness, the best PB&J I’d ever had. “Well, thank you.”
“Do you like it? I used three jams! The combination is what makes it superb.” He kissed his fingertips.
“It is wonderful,” I said.
He nodded, satisfied. “Drink your juice. Then interrogate the man and get him out of here.”
I saluted.
Cade grinned.
Ana waved.
And Hans hurried up the stairs, straightening his chef’s hat as he went. Jude and Hedy arrived just a second later. Caro, Ali, and Haris trailed in after them, all of them dressed in PJs. Ali and Haris wore the footie kind—Ali was a dinosaur and Haris was a turtle.
I stifled a laugh at the sight of the deadly Djinn.
Haris raised a brow at me.
I pressed my lips together.
“Cleary you’re up against something big, Bree,” Jude said. “Hans has a nose for it.”
“That’s what I thought might be happening.” He was like a skinny mother hen in a chef’s hat.
Caro came to join me, squeezing my hand.
“Where is he?” Hedy’s voice was all business, though her silver bathrobe was not. The many pockets bulged, however, so she was clearly armed for duty.
Cade swallowed the last of his sandwich, then started toward the cell. “This way.”
Hedy hurried after him, digging into her pocket.
Ana and I took our sandwiches with us as we moved closer to the cell door and watched as Hedy hovered her hands over the man, who was prone on the cot within. He snored as she let her magical stone work, trying to detect any dangerous charms that might be clinging to him.
After a while, she stood, the silver inspecting stone gleaming from her hand. “He’s clean, from what I can tell. But I’d get rid of that charm around his neck just to be safe.”
Cade reached down and yanked the necklace off the man.
Caro stepped up and took it. “I’ll take it to Emily. She can transport it away from here.”
She hurried out of the room, and Hedy turned to us. “Want me to wake him?”
“Aye,” Cade said.
Hedy returned to the room and pulled two little vials from her pocket. She uncorked the blue one.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Truth potion,” Hedy said. “A rare formula that I developed. It actually works. Prevents any clever phrasing that might lead us astray.”
“Oh, nice.” Not all truth serums could be trusted.
“Yes. And it’s best to administer it while the suspect is asleep. That way, there’s no nasty struggling.” She tilted the vial over the man’s open mouth. He sputtered but swallowed, then kept snoring.
“He looks so normal,” I muttered. Just a dude—average height, brown hair, plain face. Nothing particularly evil about him.
It made him creepier, actually.
“And next, the smelling salts.” Hedy uncorked a small silver vial and held it under the man’s nose. He snored, inhaled a big whiff of the stuff, then jerked upright coughing and waving a hand in front of his face.
Then his gaze landed on us, and his eyes widened. He scrambled back on the cot. “Don’t hurt me!”
“We’re not going to hurt you.” Cade walked forward, towering over the man.
He cringed backward, paling. “Then what are you going to do?”
“Question you, then turn you over to the Order of the Magica.”
It didn’t seem possible, but the man paled even more. “That might be worse.”
“Then you shouldn’t have sided with an organization full of kidnappers and murderers.” Cade crossed his arms over his chest. “This could have all been avoided.”
The man spat at him, his face twisted with rage. Cade sidestepped, his unnatural speed helping him avoid the man’s spit.
Jude looked at me. “You will question him. It’s a normal part of Protectorate procedure, and you should get the practice.”
I nodded, then stepped up to join Cade. “Tell us about the Rebel Gods stronghold at Kart-hadasht. What magic keeps it in place?”
“I don’t—” The man coughed, his brow wrinkling. “I don’t know what—” He coughed again.
“You can’t lie or prevaricate,” Hedy said. “The words just won’t come out. So tell us the truth.”
“Something makes that realm exist in the middle of nowhere,” I said. “It’s neither human realm, nor god, but in between. So tell us what keeps it going? Is it the weird magic we felt there? How did the Rebel Gods create it?”
The man snapped his lips shut, his dark eyes flashing at us. I glanced at Hedy.
“Wait for it.” She winked. “He’ll talk.”
I turned back to the man, whose cheeks had blown up like Ratatoskr’s when he’d filled them with magical acorns.
“Come on, dude. Spill.” I waved my hand in an encouraging motion.
“The magic that powers the stronghold is stored in the middle of town.” The words rushed out of him, and his cheeks deflated. “It’s powerful magic that the Rebel Gods stole from a powerful being. It fuels the place and keeps it…existing.”
“Okay. So we have to destroy the magic,” I said. “And that will destroy the town.”
He scoffed. “You can’t destroy the magic. Not magic like that.”
He was right. Almost no one could destroy magic. It just wasn’t possible. “What is the magic stored in?”
“A flame in the temple. So if you’re thinking of stealing it, think again. You can’t. It’s part of the stronghold itself, and you can’t steal fire.”
Damn. That could be a problem. Unless we could find someone to transfer the magic…
“What spells keep the stronghold active?” I asked.
“None. Not anymore. Not since they put the magic into the stone that fuels the place and keeps it going.”
All right. Then we’d definitely have to get the magic out of that flame.
“What’s your role?” I asked. “Why were you in a room full of books and scrolls?”
His cheeks puffed up again as he tried to hold his words back. I tapped my foot, willing to wait. It wouldn’t be long, anyway.
Finally, they spewed out of him. “Fine! I’m the accounts manager. I oversee our finances.”
So we’d stolen their accountant. “Why do the Rebel Gods need money?”
“They don’t. Not for themselves. But to keep their operations running, they need cash.”
“And what are those operations?”
“All sorts, all over the world. People in desperate situations are more prone to believing in higher powers. Like the Rebel Gods. So they create desperate situations.”
“And reap belief from those people,” I said. “They just want fame?”
“Fame isn’t just fame, to a god. It’s power. It makes them stronger. It keeps them alive.”
Hmmm. Okay, fair. Fighting for your life was a solid motivation. “Tell me more about these desperate situations.”
I glanced at Jude, who nodded. This was the info the Protectorate really wanted. With it, they could go in and help these people.
The man’s cheeks poofed up again, but finally, he spoke. “There are operations all over the world. Sweatshops in Asia, mining in Africa, slave trade in South America.”