“Speak for yerself,” Robby muttered.

“If ye have the slightest inkling of danger,” Angus continued, “ye must teleport away immediately. Then call us, and we’ll take you somewhere safe. Phineas will give you his cell phone number. Memorize it. What do ye say?”

Stan took a deep breath. “All right. I will do it.”

“Good.” Angus turned to Phineas. “He’ll be reporting to you. Take him away and make yer plans.”

“Yes, sir.” Phineas took hold of Stan’s arm. “Let’s go.” He teleported away, taking the Russian with him.

Robby shook his head. “I should have killed him.”

“Nay,” Angus said. “He’s much more valuable as a spy.”

“We canna trust him,” Robby argued. “Casimir could have sent him as a double agent. I should have killed him.”

“Robby.” Emma descended the stairs, frowning. “All this talk about killing—it’s not like you. I know they did terrible things to you, and it breaks my heart, but—”

“I doona want yer pity,” Robby growled. “And I’m no’ sorry for what happened. It bloody well opened my eyes. We should have killed all the Malcontents years ago. I say we teleport to Moscow immediately and hunt Casimir down.”

“We will.” Angus motioned to Zoltan. “Call Mikhail in Moscow. Find out if there’s any news about Casimir.”

“Got it.” Zoltan headed up the stairs, slipping a cell phone from the pocket of his black leather jacket.

“If it’s still dark in Moscow, we’ll teleport there right away,” Angus told his wife. “If no’, we’ll go as far as our castle in Scotland.”

Emma nodded. “I hope Stanislav was telling the truth.”

“’Twill be bloody well impossible to find Casimir in Russia,” Robby grumbled. “The place is huge, and he knows it much better than us. I think we should divide up—”

“Robby,” Angus interrupted. “Lad, ye’re no’ going.”

He stiffened. “Of course I’m going. My hands and feet are healed—”