Almost done with this miserable bastard!
The Archmage had messed around with her own wards, like the Dominion always ended up doing. They weren’t supposed to let anybody through once up, sure. The thing was, somebody had to be allowed through on the regular, unless Lacewing felt like cleaning her own dishes away; and her mage assistants were on the pass-through list. You couldn’t just cut off a hand and gouge out an eye, though. The wards cared if somebody tried to use a mage-corpse to get access. They didn’t give a shit if the mages were alive, but brain-bleeding chumps, though.
Only thing was, you had to be practically dry-humping whoever you were using as a key in order to keep the wards from closing on you. Razor-Claw could feel a sudden pressure on the back of his skull as the field snapped away the last half inch of his hair. Gotta clean that up afterward, he realized. Can’t let them use my hair to track me.
He’d worry about that later, though. Right now there were two more people in the room than he had planned for.