Chapter 7 Not Exactly a Romantic Getaway
Wynn
Marlow doesn’t notice as I approach his cell.
I rap my knuckles against the bars, and he jumps, doing a double take.
He shakes off the surprise a moment later and joins me near the front of his cell like he was expecting me in the middle of the night.
Whatever he's about to say dies on his lips when he catches my expression.
His mouth snaps shut. Good. This is already going well.
"Don't speak," I warn. "Don't say a word. Swear to God, I'll turn around if you try anything funny. The only thing I want to hear is an answer, an honest one. Do you understand?"
Marlow nods.
"Drink this." I extend a potion vial. He reaches for it, his fingers grasping the bottom while I hold the top, carefully avoiding contact. He raises an eyebrow in question.
"It's a truth potion."
"Is this really necessary?" he asks quietly.
"You better hope I don't start asking that question. Is it really necessary to stick my neck out for you, to risk my own freedom on a man who's already tricked me and—"
"Okay, you were right. No talking. My bad." He mimes zipping his lips.
I roll my eyes and gesture for him to hurry up.
His whole face scrunches up as he figures out the logistics of drinking something when he just mimed zipping his lips. Ridiculous. He makes a quick slashing motion over his mouth, undoing the imaginary bind he just made, before gulping down the potion quickly.
We both wait. The potion needs a minute to settle into his bloodstream. Standing still and waiting has never been harder.
I go over everything in my mind for the millionth time.
The last guard made his rounds an hour ago and already checked on the prisoner for the night, so we should be in the clear there.
Since we live in a magically protected area run by covens, our pack trusts magic and the enchantments fortifying Marlow’s cell.
The patrols up top have tripled as a precaution, but I memorized the rotation. If I've calculated correctly, we'll slip through the gaps between shifts.
No one should get in trouble for the prisoner escape either. Marlow’s already escaped custody once, so he's capable of doing it again. And his rap sheet was obviously missing a few details since it didn’t include his little gargoyle friend.
Okay, then. This is it. Moment of truth. The potion’s circulating in his system. There are two things I need to know.
"Did you kill anyone?" I ask.
"No," he answers without hesitation. Good. That's good.
"Are you really my mate?"
He grimaces. "It's the only thing that makes sense."
Crap. That's less good.
"That wasn't a straight answer," I point out.
"You asked for honesty. Don't blame me if you aren't happy with the results. Blame your potion."
"Well, you got me there." I smile. "That potion has nothing to do with finding out the truth."
The look of annoyance as he realizes I've fooled him is so satisfying. "What? Then why the hell did you—?"
"So that maybe I'd get an honest answer, or at least as close as you get to the truth," I say without remorse.
"What did you just dose me with?"
"Your way out of here."
"Oh." He stops protesting, shuffling awkwardly now that he's no longer able to complain without being ungrateful. "Uh, thanks."
Unfortunately, the actual potion works slower than it appeared to in my little ruse. Marlow can't go anywhere until it kicks in.
The man clears his throat. "Can I talk now?"
"You already are."
"Good, because this is super important."
My heart clenches tightly. Oh god, what now? Is there something I missed, some variable I overlooked? Are we about to get caught before we’ve even begun?
Marlow looks me in the eye very seriously, speaking with grave importance. "What the fuck are you wearing? That’s the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen in my life."
My mouth drops open. "Are you serious? What does that have to do with our escape?"
"You needed to know," he says like he just did the world a public service.
"We have more important things to worry about."
My roommate is a witch, and I borrowed the frock she uses for concealment.
She crocheted it back when she was trying to develop a new hobby.
The brown… shawl-type-thing, for lack of a better description, is lumpy and misshapen.
Little blobs of cloth are attached in places that were supposed to be some kind of decoration, perhaps mushrooms or flowers, but instead are just… little blobs.
"Not sure I can be seen with you wearing that," he complains, staring at the brown frock like he’s trying and failing to pull his eyes away.
"Then it’s a good thing we need to avoid being spotted."
"Yeah, but I still have eyes. What am I supposed to do?"
"You're going to deal with it. Or I could just leave you here."
"Hmm." Marlow tilts his head, thinking about it. "Tough call."
I take a deep breath and try not to second-guess myself for the millionth time. It doesn't work. "I already regret this."
"You should regret your style choices," he tells me.
I look at him and scoff. Seriously? It’s actually a little insulting. "You honestly think I choose to dress like this?"
"Uh, maybe?"
Oh my god. "I rent a room from a witch in Concordia, and this is her Cloak of Cloaking. Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t name it. She uses it to smoke in her office at work. It should help me avoid detection."
My roommate abandoned crocheting after this disaster.
Marlow's right, this thing deserves to stay hidden, and fortunately, the magic flowing through the cloth handles that. I intentionally revealed myself to Marlow, but the cloak will mask me and my scent from everyone else. Since I’m supposed to be on vacation and all, my pack can’t pick up a fresh trail from me while they’re hunting an escaped prisoner.
“Okay,” Marlow says. “That eyesore will shield you. How do I—oh.” The answer to how he’ll escape and avoid detection becomes clear before he finishes talking, and he looks down to watch as his physical form starts changing, going from solid flesh to hazy and transparent.
The bars and walls are magically fortified to resist attempts to break free. The best solution isn’t to fight the magic but go around it entirely. Well, go through it.
"Whoa," Marlow breathes, holding up his hand and watching as it fades before his eyes. The look on his face, there's this wonder in his expression that catches me off guard.
I didn't expect that reaction. Didn't expect the way fascination softens the sharp angles of his face. He’s awed and looks—fine. Awe looks fine on his face. No big deal. Whatever.
"Ready to go?" I ask.
"Yeah, sure." He's still staring at his arm until he notices me waiting and snaps out of it. "Sorry. Never seen myself like this, not this side of me."
This side? "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Uh, nothing." He waves an insubstantial hand. "Don't worry about it."
He’s intangible, untraceable, and hard to see. From what I remember, this is as good as it gets.
My ex-girlfriend Ava brewed this intangibility potion.
Her magical specialty isn’t in potions, but she didn’t want other witches asking questions.
A real potions master could extend the duration longer than thirty minutes and grant total invisibility instead of almost invisibility, but at night we should be okay.
Ava didn't trust me. So she drank the potion, phased through my bedroom wall, and searched for whatever evidence of infidelity she'd convinced herself existed.
Except she forgot one crucial detail: incorporeal hands can't actually grab anything.
Can't open drawers. Can't flip through journals.
After I discovered her, she gave me the rest of the batch as an apology for her crazy behavior.
I never thought I'd have use for the potions, but I was glad for the whole experience because it showed me that I needed to cut ties.
“Here goes nothing,” Marlow says, drawing me from my thoughts.
He steps up to the bars and I hold my breath. He walks forward, right through the bars of the cell, and stands beside me. The gargoyle follows along, squeezing through the bars.
Just like that, the demon is free from his prison.
It worked. We're really doing this. I freed him and either made the best or worst decision of my entire life.
Either way, we need to get out of here.
We have thirty minutes to get as far as possible before he becomes solid again.