Free Lady of Misrule (Marla Mason Book 8) by T.A. Pratt Page B

connections in the underworld – I don’t mean the mob, I mean the land of the dead – and once Nicolette’s a corpse, she’s pretty much entirely in my power. She’s lucky I don’t take her seriously, because if I did, she might have an eternity of unpleasantness ahead of her, but the fact is, when Nicolette is not actively pissing in my face, I don’t even think about her. So, fuck it. I’ll just let her die, as soon as I can get word to Death, which will be shortly.”
    Crapsey shook his head. “Come on, Marla. Even if you think Nicolette’s stupid, that she’s a joke, you know she’s not that stupid. She’s taken steps to keep you from just letting her die. She said that in the letter, too –”
    “Yeah, she kidnapped Pelham and Rondeau, and she’ll arrange for them to be killed or maimed if I let her die, I get it. I’m going to rescue them, or send people to rescue them, assuming they don’t just rescue themselves . But I don’t have time to deal with Nicolette myself. If that hurts her feelings, tough.”
    Crapsey shook his head. “I’m taking you with me, Marla. You are going to see Nicolette. Rondeau and Pelham, kidnapping them was just to get your attention, and to keep them out of my way while I had this little talk with you – they are not Nicolette’s dead-man’s switch. I don’t know what she did, exactly, or what her plans are, but she’s pretty pleased with herself. She was straight-up chortling last time we talked, and she wants to give you the big reveal herself, let you know exactly how she outsmarted you.”
    “I’ve never gone wrong yet underestimating Nicolette, and I don’t intend to start.”
    Crapsey thought she sounded doubtful, though, or at least concerned. With Marla it was hard to tell how much of her act was bravado and how much was actual bedrock self-confidence. The woman was often wrong, but rarely uncertain. “Fine. You can keep right on underestimating her, just as long as you get in the Jeep I’ve got waiting and behave yourself on the way to the airfield.” He hefted the shotgun and pointed it at her. “You can walk, or I can drag your bleeding and screaming carcass. I don’t care which.”
    “Will you go ahead and do something already?” Marla said. “How long are you just going to stand there and watch?”
    Crapsey frowned. “What the hell are you – “ His eyes suddenly felt heavy, like they were window shades being dragged down, and he blinked and swayed. How had Marla managed to cast a sleep spell on him? She didn’t have anything with her, no charms, she’d spoken no incantation, and she was no more psychic than your average kumquat, so how ... He yawned as widely as he could – and with his magical jaw, that was very wide indeed – and felt himself falling forward, but was deep asleep before he hit the ground, sparing him the indignity of feeling the impact.

Bradley on the Road
    “I didn’t know you could do that,” Marla said. “I figured you’d just throw a rock at his head or something, make a distraction so I could take the gun away and feed it to him.” She nudged Crapsey’s unconscious form with her toe.
    “I’ve learned a few new tricks.” Bradley stepped from the mouth of the tunnel where he’d been hiding, into the pool of overlapping lantern light. “I’m not much good when it comes to mind control, and that’s kind of a gross and evil thing to do anyway, but making somebody really sleepy is a lot easier, and handy, too.” He moved to stand beside Marla, looking down at Crapsey, who was curled up and snoring outrageously. He wore a blue sharkskin suit, perhaps the most impractical desert attire Bradley had ever encountered.
    “I’d hug you, but I’m covered in filth,” Marla said. “Oh, screw it, the robe is covering most of the filth.” She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight. “I know you’re not my B,” she said into his ear, “but it’s good to see you anyway.”
    “I’m very, very