Free Savage Prophet: A Yancy Lazarus Novel (Episode 4) by James A. Hunter

“If you hurt them”—she nodded at the black-cloaked magi—“well, there’s no going back. For a violation like that, you’ll end up doing twenty-five to fifty in the Tullianum.” She paused, her lips drawing into a fine line. “Leave this to me,” she said with a nod. “I can do this. I can get us through. Just stay close.”
    Without further comment, she stood, primly adjusted her gore-splattered shirt, then ran a hand through her hair as she squared her shoulders and set off toward the guards. Anxiety exploded in my center, pushing out tendrils of fear into my body. There were Gwyllgi closing in all around us. A high-placed traitor gunning for me. A potential death sentence dangling over my head like a razor-honed guillotine blade. Guild operatives standing between me and freedom. And, worst of all—the fact that really had me sweating—my life, my fate, was in the hands of an office worker.
    Jeez.
    But she’d thought of the Cubiculi ex Ostia in the first place, she’d managed to lead us here despite the fog, and she’d been right about the number of guards. So maybe, maybe she could do it. Probably. Possibly. Fine, a total crapshoot. But even a sliver of hope was better than nothing, I guess. I stood with a groan and turned, shuffling backward toward the mausoleum, eyes constantly running over the fog, searching for the telltale electric-blue eyes of the wargs.
    The click of a safety disengaging hit my ears a second later.
    “Halt,” came a no-nonsense female voice, thick with a German accent. “Identify yourselves now.” I stole a look at the guard over one shoulder. She had her sidearm trained on us—a black Beretta 92 with a rail system and a mounted flashlight. A thin beam of yellow light cut a swath through the misty haze before landing on me and Drukiski. I stopped, blinking against the harsh light, keeping my hands low, making sure to move nice and slow.
    I’d hate for anyone to make a mistake, like blasting my head full of lead. Hard to recover from an oopsy like that.
    Drukiski, though, kept right on walking, folding her hands behind her back as she moved, cool and confident, every inch of her radiating an I-have-a-right-to-be-here attitude. Not wanting to be left alone in the fog, I angled my body—so I could keep one eye on the conjured mist and the other on the guards—and crept after her.
    “Blackbag,” Drukiski said, coming to a halt a few feet from the Cubiculi . “Name, Judge Darlene Drukiski.”
    A brief look of confusion flashed across the gun-toting fräulein’s face and the pistol barrel dropped, even if not lowering completely. “Bowling ball,” she responded eventually. Sign and countersign.
    Any thought of the guards left my mind, though, as I spotted a set of blues eyes staring at me from the edge of the silver fog. The rest of the creature remained hidden, obscured by shadow and mist, but there was no mistaking those eyes. They burned with cold fury, regarding me solemnly for a long moment before flickering to the trio of guards loitering a few feet away. Hesitation. Another set of eyes joined the first, these gliding back and forth through the mist as the second creature paced.
    They were waiting for something, but what?
    A third hound joined the party a second later.
    Still, they didn’t come closer, but rather observed the guards behind us, careful to remain unseen. Obviously these things were after us, but maybe they had specific orders not to engage Moorchester’s other personnel? That was the only thing that made a lick of sense to me.
    “I’m sorry, Judge Drukiski,” the gruff officer said, “but the compound is on lockdown. No one in, no one out. General orders, ma’am.”
    “Exactly right, sweetheart,” Drukiski replied calmly, motherly smile glued firmly in place. “In the case of a security breach, all entry and egress points are secured until an all clear is issued by the base commander. All standard procedure in accordance with the Special