There’s an entire subway hidden under Boston. Hidden with magic. I’ve fallen into the Dresden Files.
Something Domingo had absolutely no intention of voicing out loud, as he moved forward to trade point with Tiburon, eyes searching along the rails for any tricks or traps the swordsman might possibly have missed. The madmen he was with would probably start arguing about who fit which character, and he’d be damned if he was going to be nicknamed Murphy. Drakon was better. Sort of. No matter how odd it was.
A distant rattle caught his ear; Domingo paused, waiting a moment to be sure the noise didn’t grow louder. Walking into enemy territory along subway tracks was not his idea of a good time. But given he’d seen Malachy already break, mangle, and bend steel bars like someone else might fiddle with pipe cleaners, he believed the man when the martial artist said he could drag them all to safety if a train did roar through. There was something about Malachy’s quiet confidence, his carefully banked fury at his niece’s peril, that anchored Domingo’s own rage. Let him contain it, and think, when otherwise he might have rushed headlong into deadly peril. Because he knew better, he did – but Sarah and Matt were the center of his world, and he wasn’t thinking straight, not at all.
Well, if I’m insane, at least I’m in with the right crowd–
Ja’far straightened from a wary crouch, and held out an empty hand.
“What do you have?” Simon said quietly, hand on his cutlass.
Domingo almost rolled his eyes; yes, swords, he was with insane maniacs-
Except there was something in Ja’far’s palm. Not quite visible, more a heat-shimmer than anything his eyes could focus on – but something. Like a glitter of dust in sunlight.