Chapter 6 #2
Killian exhaled with frustration. “Of course, this had to come bite me in the ass,” he muttered.
“I honestly can’t think of one weakness.
I made sure of it. I even had Tad double spell all doors and exits in the prison, so it was impossible to break out.
Built it deeper in the mountain. I designed it to be impregnable. ”
Scouring at my head, I paced the tiny cell. There had to be a way. We would not die here.
“What about the gate up at the factory?” Ash hissed over to us. “They guard it the most.”
“Tad spelled the gate,” Killian responded. “But only once, since I never planned to use that floor for inmates. It was merely meant for trucks and supplies. It would be the weakest point here, though it is smart enough to know the difference between prisoners and everyone else.”
That’s what I had thought.
“Weakest point?” Scorpion restated.
“Yes, but it doesn’t make it easy to break. Druid spells can’t be broken by anything other than a Druid.”
“Have any of those lying around?” Ash said dryly.
“We did in Halálház,” I muttered to myself. Thinking about Tad, a memory of what he said to me came back. “Your family line at one time were Druids.”
What if it was possible? What if the spell recognized my family’s Druid blood in me? Could I counter it?
“What about me?” I sputtered out.
Scorpion pushed off the wall. “What do you mean, what about you?”
“My mother is a witch, but at one time, she was from a powerful Druid line. I also have the magic of a queen . . . I mean, my magic works down here when yours doesn’t. What if I have the power to undo Tad’s spells?”
“Shit, I didn’t even connect that your magic worked here.” Scorpion shook his head, the notion finally hitting him. “You’re similar to them.” Meaning those human-fae mutants.
“No, they’re trying to be me,” I smirked at Scorpion, folding my arms.
“What is she saying?” Ash barked, all of us still trying to be so quiet, though the sounds of the prison, the clanging metal and howls, kept our conversation muted to guards.
“Brex’s magic isn’t blocked. She’s wondering if she could break—”
“More like loosen,” I punched in.
“Sorry, loosen the Druid spell. Is it possible?” Scorpion finished.
Heavy silence came from both sides.
“I have no idea,” Killian finally replied. “My first instinct is no. Tad is no ordinary Druid, and she has no training nor is she a true Druid, however, Brexley doesn’t seem to follow the rules either.”
“We don’t play by the normal rules, Kovacs. You and I make our own.” Warwick’s sentiment from weeks ago vibrated in my chest, filling me with determination to at least try.
“Are these locks spelled by Tad? Can I try on these?” I reached out for the iron gate as Scorpion relayed my question.
“No!” Killian replied sharply. “The magic on these cells isn’t Druid cast, only the main entrances and exits. But these are spelled to trigger an alarm if messed with.”
Figures.
“There is warning on the main ones as well, but if we are escaping, it doesn’t really matter if they are going off,” Killian added.
“The Games are scheduled in three days’ time,” Ash muttered over to us. “If we do this, we should try to do it then. We’re all out and together. Be a good time to start a coup. Before any more can die in the pit.”
“Agreed.” Scorpion nodded fervently, having had a taste of what it was like in the arena.
Terror gripped my stomach. We had so much to do in such a short amount of time.
“So, I go in blind.” I had no idea if what I was planning was even possible, just a gut feeling, an intuition.
“It’s worth a shot.” Scorpion winked, shrugging down at me.
“A shot might be all we get.”
“Then make sure we go out with a bang.”
My plan spread through Věrh?za quickly. So quickly I started to worry the guards would catch on or overhear as we moved through the day.
Bitzy and Opie had woken me up early with information they got from other inmates—positions of guards, their break times.
Nothing groundbreaking, but it was a start.
“The cerulean creature says as long as she gets steak, sex, and a drink after she’s all in.
” Opie folded his arms over his lederhosen, which appeared to be made out of an oat burlap bag and were so short they could have been bikini bottoms. His chest was left bare under the suspenders.
He tied another burlap strip around his beard and wrapped his hair into a high bun, with carrot leaves springing from the top like a fountain.
Bitzy had booty shorts and a bow tie in the same burlap.
“Sounds like Kek,” I smirked. “Anything else?”
Opie peered down, ramming his toe into my leg.
“What?”
“I tried—”
Chirp!
“We tried,” he corrected himself. “To unlatch some locks at the top . . . thought we could help.”
“And?”
“I couldn’t—”
Chirp!
“We couldn’t.” Opie’s face looked pained. “The Druid spell blocks us too. We tried to find you when you went missing, but we were blocked.”
Because Tad had spelled Killian’s cabin too, keeping them from finding me.
“Oh.” My shoulders sank. I wasn’t relying on them, but damn, it would have helped. “It’s fine. We’ll find a way.”
We had to. We didn’t have a lot of time. Every day someone was beaten or killed here, and it was only days until the next Games. I had no doubt there would be even more death and new levels of hell in Istvan’s plan for us.
Our goal was to do it the afternoon of, when we were all still in the factory and some guards were away, setting up for that night’s event.
Purpose is a powerful thing. It bloomed hope—a reason to continue when you have no incentive to do so. This place quickly drains it out of you, swallowing you whole in horror, despair, and anguish. To the point death would be mercy.
Death himself was losing hope. As much as Warwick tried, he could no longer keep me out. Though it didn’t really matter, he had receded to the far crevasses of his mind. Breathing, but no longer living.
Boyd and his merry band of dicklickers continued to torture Warwick in the most excruciating ways. They had his feet and hands bound together behind his back, curving the huge man into a painful position, drowning him in stimuli over and over again.
“Warwick.” I kneeled next to him now, my hand brushing at his face. I could feel the blood, sweat, and dirt crusting his skin, beard, and hair. “Please hold on.” I gritted my teeth, trying so hard not to cry. Hoping I was easing his pain.
There was no response. His eyes were too swollen to open, his black hair, almost red with blood, knotted over his face. His frame was nothing but old and new wounds, deep and oozing, some even infected.
He may still be alive, but I could feel him slipping away mentally. Even the Legend had a breaking point. I was scared if he did let go, I would never get him back, his mind lost to the darkness.
“Please.” I leaned into him, my lips grazing his torn and swollen mouth. The wounds felt like braille against my touch. Heat radiated from his skin in a fever, sticky and clammy. “We fight, Farkas. We survive. That’s what we do. Whatever it takes, remember?”
He was my world. And if this world took him from me . . .
I would burn it to the fucking ground.