I collect my pile of treasure and tramp toward one of the reading chairs by the window. When I’m halfway across the brass pentagram inlaid into the floor, a body-length streak of bright light materializes in the air.

“Step back!” Laasya shouts.

I jump to the side so fast I topple onto the desk. The books thump to the floor. I’m about to ask What the hell? when a tweed-dressed leg appears, followed by Quinton’s slim form. The light widens to the shape of a door, and Flanagan’s giant mass towers behind the Councilor.

With my mouth open, I grip the edge of the desk as the scintillating light shrinks to a point and blinks out, leaving the two men standing in the middle of the pentagram.

Laasya giggles.

“I apologize, Michael,” Quinton says. “I forgot you were both here. I should have sent a signal.”

“How…?” I’m speechless.

“Gating,” he says by way of explanation. “The ability to walk through from one point in spacetime to another.”

Through spacetime? Holy Star Wars.

My attention switches to Flanagan. He doesn’t look like he’s been in a fight. His blond hair remains in its knot, leather vest appearing clean, but the silver of his eyes has a feral glint. His intense gaze is fixed on me. He pulls a key from his pocket, strides over, and without a word, proceeds to unlock the manacles on my wrists and ankles, then releases the collar.

“What happened at Headquarters?” I ask, wondering if it has something to do with this sudden change of heart regarding the chains.

“Nothing happened,” he answers in a clipped tone. “It was over when we arrived.”

“Are they all right?” Laasya asks.

Quinton shakes his head. “Nine Guardians lost their lives. The laboratories are now in ruins. But the Blood Guard did not leave with any Channelers. I suppose we might consider that a minor win.”

Laasya throws her hands up. “Why didn’t they call on us? We could have helped. Was the prince there?”

Flanagan’s jaw tightens even more. A cold fury rolls off him like steam.

Quinton sighs. “Commander Belanger is a proud man, Laasya. Fortunately, the prince was absent from this attack.”

Flanagan marches to the door, the chains dangling from his fist. I’m not free of them yet, then. “Come, Michael. We’re leaving.”

The words I’m not your fucking dog burn my lips, but I keep them back. I’ve got a feeling I’ll be doing that a lot in Flanagan’s company. “Where are we going?” I ask instead.

“Training.”

“What about the interview?” Quinton asks. “I could do that now.”

“Tomorrow, Councilor.” Flanagan throws the door open and exits the room. “Now, Michael,” he barks from the corridor.

Quinton’s lip twitches, but he reaches down and retrieves one of the books I dropped on the floor. “This is the book you need, Michael.”

Valentin Sabel. Monster or King.