Charmed, page 16
It’s impossible to tell time here, but it feels like I’ve been gone from Los Angeles for ages. I keep waiting for the head-splitting pain to signal that I’m getting shot back home, but it never comes.
Finally, a female guard lets me out of the examination room. I think she must be taking me to the Chief for some sort of punishment for insubordination, but I’m surprised when she opens a door to a dormitory full of military-style steel-frame bunk beds. The kids from the mess hall are inside. They stop chatting and watch as I’m led down the aisle between rows of beds.
My stomach is coiled into a knot at the thought of seeing Paige again, and I sweep my eyes over the room looking for her. The guard stops at an empty bunk at the back of the room.
“Change into the nightgown,” she says dryly. “Bathroom is at the back.” She turns to leave.
“Wait!” I say. “What happened to Paige?”
She looks back over her shoulder at me, one eyebrow quirked high. “The screamer? You’re no longer allowed to associate with each other until one of you tells the truth.”
She gives me a pointed look before spinning on her heel.
I stare slack-jawed at her back as she retreats, her words spinning inside my head. Two male guards step aside from the double doors as she passes, then resume their post and watch over us.
I realize I’m smiling—Paige didn’t tell them what I said. Strong, rebellious, independent Paige is in there somewhere.
I can feel everyone staring at me, so I wipe the goofy grin from my face and sit down on the hard bed. There’s a thin green bedroll at the end; laid over it is a white nightgown and a ziplock bag containing a toothbrush, travel-sized toothpaste, and deodorant. I guess kidnapping is okay in their books, but not smelly victims.
Slowly, the silence gives way to chattering. The girls pass back and forth as they use the bathroom to get ready for bed and, I suspect, to get a better look at the crazy new girl. But I don’t pay them any attention. I split my time between thinking about how I can find out where they’ve taken Paige, and how I can get her to come with me once I’ve found her.
A girl walks down the aisle toward the bathroom, and an idea strikes me. I grab the nightgown and bag-o’-supplies and follow her.
The bathroom has a dozen or so stalls opposite a wall of sinks, plus a row of open showers at the back. The girl I followed is standing at the sink, squeezing toothpaste onto her brush, when I enter. She freezes when she spots me.
“Hi,” I say.
She must sense my intentions, because she runs, her bare feet slapping the gritty tile. I leap in front of her before she can pass me. She opens her mouth to scream but I clamp a hand over her mouth.
“Shhh, I won’t hurt you,” I whisper. “I just want to know where they’re keeping Paige.”
She whimpers, shaking her head.
“The girl from the mess hall—the one who screamed. Where would they be keeping her?”
The girl keeps shaking her head.
“Look,” I hiss, my patience running out. “I said I wouldn’t hurt you, but I will if you don’t tell me the truth. Where is she? Speak. Now.” I lower my hand to her chin.
“I—I really don’t know,” she stammers. Tears spill down her cheeks onto my hand. I drop my arm to my side.
“Say anything to the guards about this conversation and you’ll regret it.”
She stumbles out of the bathroom, whimpering quietly. I’ve hit a new low.
I go into a stall and change into the nightgown—the last thing I need is to arouse more suspicion. When I come out, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My bruises have faded to a pale purple, but dark rings lie under my eyes and my skin is the sallow kind of pale you see only on the sickly and those from Minnesota. I almost don’t recognize myself.
When I walk back out to my bunk, I sweep my eyes over the room as inconspicuously as possible, looking for another exit besides the guarded double doors at the front. But there’s nothing but rock, rock, and more rock. Obviously, these sorcerers don’t care about fire code violations.
As soon as I crawl back into bed, the lights flick out. A few people have whispered conversations in the dark, but it’s not long before the room goes silent, the only sound that of slow breathing.
I can’t believe I’m spending the night in Los Demonios. The witch said the length of my visit would vary each time, but I must have been here for more than twelve hours already. Aunt Penny will have noticed my absence by now—and Bishop too. I cringe thinking about their reactions when they discover I’ve gone MIA again. Aunt Penny might try to send me away to that witch boarding school after all. I won’t get another chance to come back here. I have to make this one worth it.
My eyes adjust to the dark, and the shapes in the room come into focus. The guards are silhouetted against the pale strips of light around the door. Surely they don’t stand there all night. And when they leave, I’ll make my escape. Finding Paige and getting out of a fortified mountain compound shouldn’t be too difficult.
I groan inwardly. Sure, I passed long expanses of empty hallways when those guards dragged me in here earlier, but all it would take is coming across one sorcerer who sees us trying to escape and everything would be ruined. I need a weapon.
I rack my brain for something I can use against a guard, but the only thing remotely weapon-shaped I own is my sorcerer-issue Oral-B.
I get an idea.
I grip my toothbrush in one hand, then roll over in the bed and let my arm dangle over the side. Like I thought, the ground under my bed is made of rock. Huzzah. I press the handle end of my toothbrush firmly into the rock, then begin quietly grinding it back and forth. After a minute of this, I check my progress and am pleased to find that only a few more centuries of grinding should result in a fine shiv for combat. But I keep working at it anyway. It doesn’t take long before my arms feel like they’re made of gelatin and my eyelids are heavy with sleep.
I’m starting to doze off when the doors click quietly open. My breath hitches. A third guard enters, and the three of them talk in the doorway in low tones that I can’t make out. I’m already planning my escape when the original two guards exit, leaving the new guard in their place. It must be change of shift.
I sag with disappointment, and I have to tell myself that this is still an improvement—one guard is better than two.
He starts padding down the center aisle, scanning the beds, for what I don’t know. Ace pops into my head. What if he’s returned to get another shot at me? I stiffen with fear, but I tell myself it can’t be him. He was dead. Or very near it. This guy walks with a breezy swagger that would be near impossible after the beating Ace received.
Still. My heart races hard as footsteps approach. I’m not going to get a better chance than this—I need to get rid of this guy, whether it’s Ace or not. If I can take him down, then maybe I can escape before anyone notices that something has gone wrong. And before anyone wakes up and screams loud enough to draw attention.
There are serious holes in the plan, but I don’t see a better one emerging, so I choose to ignore them.
I grip my half-sharpened toothbrush and slowly slip out of the bedcovers, trying to make as little noise as possible.
The walkie-talkie clipped to the guard’s pants hisses white noise as he nears. Each one of his footsteps sends a fresh bolt of fear through me, and when he’s right next to my bed, my heart thumps so hard it’s a miracle he doesn’t turn and beam a flashlight in my eyes. But he doesn’t stop. He passes right by me in the dark.
It’s now or never. I leap out of bed and in one fluid motion land on his back as I jab the toothbrush into his neck. The guard grunts, but he doesn’t go down like I expected him to. My arms cling to his neck, and I strain with all my muscle power to cut off circulation as I hit him hard and deep with the toothbrush. He stumbles left, then right. A few people shift in bed. Someone coughs.
“Stop, it’s me,” the man gasps.
I keep strangling. The singular goal in my mind is to get this guy down, one way or another.
“Stop. It’s Cruz.”
Finally, his words sink into my kill-happy mind. I let go of his neck and slide down to the floor, my bare feet landing on the cold tiles. My heart goes rapid fire in my chest as Cruz feels his neck for damage.
“Damn, girl,” he whispers.
“I didn’t know it was you,” I hiss back.
He grabs my wrist and leads me quickly to the bathroom. He lets go of my hand when we’re inside and paces away from me. I shift from foot to foot.
“Sorry about the toothbrush,” I say.
“Toothbrush—nice,” he mutters. But he walks up to me. In the dim glow of a night-light set into a vanity, I can just make out the smooth contours of his face. In the short time since I last saw him, his black hair has started to grow out of the military style he wore it in, curling around the nape of his sun-bronzed neck. Which, I note, isn’t even bleeding from where I jabbed him with the toothbrush.
“Some people saw us come in here,” I say. “What if they tell?”
“They won’t,” he answers. “It’s not the first time this sort of thing has happened.”
My face flames in the dark, and I become hyperaware of the tiny white nightgown I’m wearing.
“I mean that a guard has snuck away with a girl,” he explains. “Not me. I wouldn’t do that. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“O-kay,” I say cautiously.
He sighs. “What happened in the mess hall? Everyone’s buzzing about it.”
I cross my arms over my chest, reluctant to give away any information. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
“I’m trying to help you,” he answers irritably.
“And how do I know I can trust you?”
He thinks about it for a minute. “You don’t.”
Awesome.
“Well, I’m not telling you anything,” I say.
“Why didn’t you leave when I gave you the chance? I gave you the perfect opportunity to escape and you blew me off. I don’t get it.”
“Not used to girls blowing you off?” I ask.
“You’re avoiding my question.”
I shrug. “I wasn’t ready. Not that it’s any of your business.”
He eyes me a moment before taking a step closer and leaning to speak into my ear. “I know your secret.”
His breath along my ear sends a shiver down my body. I tighten my arms over my chest, refusing to meet his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Why do you remember blowing me off? You were taken to the Chief after I left you. Your memory should have been erased.”
Crap.
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.
“Don’t,” he whispers. “Don’t lie.”
I swallow, trying to hide my rising panic. “So what are you going to do, tell on me?” I ask.
“Yeah, that’s why I changed shifts so I could be the one guarding you tonight. Just so I could tell on you. You caught me.”
I don’t get it. I shake my head. “So why are you here, then?”
“To help you,” he says. Like it should be obvious.
I look into his eyes. Even though it’s dark, I can still make out the intensity there. My heart does something I don’t want to think about interpreting and my mouth feels like it’s been filled with cotton. I don’t know what to say.
“Why would you want to help me?” I finally manage.
He’s quiet for so long I don’t think he’s going to answer. But he does. “I had brothers back home. If anything happened to them—” He shakes his head. “I admire what you’re doing for your friend.”
Tears prick my eyes unexpectedly, and I’m glad for the dark so he can’t see.
“You have brothers?” I ask, just to get past the awkward moment.
“Two—they were five and eight when I was sent here. That was four years ago. Joel probably doesn’t even remember me anymore.”
I bite my lip, my chest squeezing up at the emotion in his voice. I’m not used to a guy wearing his heart on his sleeve. Bishop gets weird the minute girls get emotional. Forget about him crying himself.
“Four years,” I say. “That’s a long time.”
He shakes his head as if coming back from a memory. Then he clears his throat, and when he speaks again, his voice is low and gruff. “Tell me about it.”
“So how did you get sent here, anyway?” As soon as I ask, I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
“I did some stupid stuff when I was younger.”
I raise my eyebrows, which makes him give a low chuckle.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“How reassuring.”
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
I think about it. I don’t know him, but for some reason, I do trust him. “Yes,” I answer.
“Then that’s all that matters.”
His eyes are so intense as he looks at me. He has a way of stripping my guard with just one look, like he’s seeing right through the tough-girl exterior to the fragile girl inside. It makes me feel utterly exposed, like I’m standing naked in front of Mrs. Davies’s homeroom class, and yet I’m not uncomfortable.
Suddenly, the space between us feels small. “Um, sorry again. About the toothbrush and the strangling. I feel bad.”
He smiles without breaking eye contact. “And I’m sorry about kidnapping you.”
I can’t help grinning now. “And about that time I left you with the bat thing. That was really rude of me.”
He chuckles quietly. “Forgiven….Friends?” He looks at me earnestly, his teeth biting into his bottom lip. My stomach does a massive flip.
“I thought you said there were no friends in Los Demonios,” I say. Is it just me, or has my voice gone hoarse?
“Well, maybe I’m reconsidering that,” he answers.
He takes a step closer, narrowing the already small space between us. Body heat radiates off him in waves, the scent of soap and sweat and man filling the air. I make the mistake of looking at his lips.
“I need to find Paige,” I mutter.
He reaches up and brushes my hair behind my ear, tingles trailing where his fingers touch my skin. He cups my face with his hand, his thumb moving to graze my bottom lip. I can’t seem to catch my breath. He tips his face to mine. I should leave. I need to leave. This is wrong, wrong, wrong. But I don’t move. Anticipation builds up inside me until I feel like I might explode.
A firework of pain explodes in my temples. I gasp, my hands coming up around my ears.
“What’s wrong?” Cruz asks.
Black spots flash in front of my eyes. I try to fight it, to stamp down the awful pain radiating inside my skull. I fall to my knees. Cruz’s words float around my head.
One minute, I’m in Los Demonios. And the next minute, I’m gone.
20
If it weren’t for the damp earth smell, I wouldn’t know where I am. I’m lying in complete and utter darkness, the stone floor ice-cold through my thin nightgown. I keep waiting for my eyes to adjust so that I can see something—anything—but they don’t. I can’t even see my hand when I hold it up in front of my face; light doesn’t penetrate the room.
Something drips from deep within the cave, but otherwise it’s completely silent. The witch is gone, and more important, so are her painkillers. My head throbs like it has its own heartbeat.
A realization strikes: the witch didn’t expect me to make it back.
Thanks a lot, lady.
Anger fires up inside me at her complete lack of confidence in me, but then I realize I’m being unfair. Even I didn’t think I’d make it.
Cruz flashes into my head. His sexy smile. His fingers through my hair. And in the same flash, I think of Bishop. My gut throbs with guilt.
Nothing happened, I remind myself. You haven’t done anything wrong. But I know it’s not the truth. One more minute in that place and we would have kissed. I can’t lie to myself that I wanted it then. That I want it even now.
I’m suddenly desperate to see Bishop again.
I try to get up, but my limbs feel like they’ve been strapped with weights and my head pounds in such intense waves that I think I’m going to puke. I sink back to the ground, gasping for air.
Do it, Blackwood. Get up.
Biting down hard on my lip, I push past the unbearable pain and force myself to my feet. I have to fight the urge to let myself fall back to the ground as I put one foot in front of the other, my hands reaching out in front of me. It feels like I’ve walked forever when my fingers finally bump into the cool, pebbly surface of a wall, and I almost cry with relief.
Keeping one hand against the wall, I move forward on shaky feet, following invisible twists and turns in the cave. My head brushes against the low ceiling at times when the path narrows. I’m thinking I can’t keep myself upright any longer when finally, mercifully, a faint outline of light appears above my head, so pale that at first I think I’ve imagined it. But when I get closer, my feet run into something I realize are stairs: I’m back at the entrance to the witch’s shop.
I fall onto the stairs, the last of my strength finally draining out of me.
“Help!” I call feebly.
There’s no way I’m going to make it up these stairs. I won’t make it a few more minutes unless I can get the witch to hear me. I swallow, then take a big breath.
“Help!”
A long moment passes. And then the door at the top of the stairs opens. The witch looks down at me like I might be a specter come to haunt her.
“Surprise,” I say flatly. “I’m not dead.”
I know I should go straight home, but I need to see Bishop right now.
