Chapter Forty-TwoDiggy reached inside his denim pocket and withdrew a small cylindrical tube. He shook it once, pressed his thumb and slid it down, left, right. The tube lit, grew, formed a small sword, the blade polished black.
“If we find the ward's creator inside,” Zantry said to him, “I'll keep him occupied while you search for evidence and get Roxanne out of here.”
Zantry glanced down at me, extended a hand and helped me stand, but instead of taking a step back, he took one forward. He placed his palms on my cheeks, his thumbs brushing the corners of my lips. His eyes were confident and unafraid, and the frisson of energy from his circling fingers had my nerves settling. His lips touched mine once, a warm quiver of energy shooting from him to me. He pulled back a fraction, left his
