But Theodore advanced. “Wait!” he shouted. “Don’t shoot! I’m not Union!”
Patrick blinked up at him, tried to see and hear around the bursts of agony pulsing along his collarbone. He could see the underside of Theo’s face, see the terror in his eyes.
“I’m an Artisan!” Theodore was saying now, shouting it. His hands were raised in surrender, the mark of Idia on his arm visible. “I’m an Artisan!”
“Theodore?” came a distant reply, a woman’s voice. “Theodore Shop?”
Patrick rolled onto his side, a hiss of pain escaping him at the pull from his shoulder, but he squinted his eyes to see the brigade of fire Charmers and soldiers approaching them. Now a mere twenty feet away. At its head was a woman with tawny hair. “Is that you?”
“Tell me when to shoot, Pat,” Donny murmured.
Another Charmer s
