Chapter 4
FOUR
EMMA
Three days prior.
“You there. Halt.”
My entire body froze as adrenaline shot through me.
I slowly turned, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. A man in military dress stood a few feet away, old and haggard, his uniform wrinkled as if he’d been at this post for far too long. His face was weathered, the lines around his mouth deep, but there was no malice in his eyes.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, sounding gruff but not unkind.
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Every lie I had prepared fled from my mind, leaving only the raw fear of being caught. But when I saw the way he looked at me—almost disinterested, like he didn’t really expect much from me—I realized, he had no idea who I was.
“I…” I cleared my throat, forcing the words out before I lost my nerve. “My sister. She’s giving birth. I need to get to her, in New Hampshire.”
The soldier squinted, looking me up and down. “Your sister, huh?”
I nodded too hastily. “Yes. I just… I need to be there. Please.”
He scratched his chin, glancing toward the road behind me. For a moment, I thought he might call for backup, might radio in my presence. But then he shrugged, his stare drifting lazily back to me.
“Family’s important,” he mumbled. “I understand your need to cross the border. Rules are rules, though.” He paused, then added, “You got any money?”
I blinked; not sure I’d heard him right. “Money?”
He nodded, his expression indifferent. “You know, something to make the paperwork disappear. I won’t stop you, but I can’t do it for free.”
Jesus fuck. Never thought I’d be grateful for corruption, but here we were.
My hands still trembled as I fumbled in my bag, pulling out the small bundle of cash. It wasn’t much but it was all I had. I handed it to him, the bills crumpled in my shaking fingers.
He took the money, counting it quickly, then pocketed it without a second thought. “That’ll do.”
Relief surged through me, so powerful it nearly knocked me over. “Thank you,” I muttered, though the words tasted bitter on my tongue.
“Go on, then,” he said, before jerking his head toward the trees. “And be quick about it. Don’t want anyone else seeing you.”
I nodded, not daring to look back as I started running away from the border, my legs moving on autopilot, even as the pain in my ankle screamed at me to stop.
The trees stretched out before me, their shadows swallowing the faint glow of the moon. Each step felt heavier, my exhaustion clawing at me, but I forced myself to keep going.
Until the relentless ache in my ankle finally gave way, and with a sickening twist, I stumbled, crashing to the ground. Pain shot up my leg like fire, and I bit down hard on my lip to keep from crying out.
“Hey,” a voice called from somewhere behind me. “Are you okay?”
I turned my head, my pulse pounding so loud it drowned out the rustling of the leaves. I rose to my feet as quickly as the pain allowed me to do.
A man emerged from the trees, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. He was tall and lean, with a friendly smile that didn’t quite reach his pale blue eyes. His clothes were plain but clean—jeans and a faded flannel shirt which seemed sort of out of place in this desolate stretch of wilderness.
“Sorry,” he said calmly, almost soothingly. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I couldn’t help overhearing back there, and then I saw you take a fall… Are you okay?”
My heart sank, but I forced myself to appear calm. “I don’t want any trouble,” I said, while trying to keep my tone steady.
“Neither do I,” he replied quickly, before his smile widened. “I just… You look like you could use some help.”
Hope flickered in me; a fragile spark I didn’t dare trust. But I was so damn tired, and my foot hurt so much. “Why would you help me?”
He shrugged, hands now in his pockets as if he were trying to prove he meant no harm. “Call it a good deed. I was raised well, and you’re a damsel in distress.” He grinned. “I might not have a chariot with horses awaiting, but I do have this.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a bottle of water.
The sight of it made my throat ache. My mouth was sandpaper, my tongue thick, a dull throb building behind my temples. I barely registered anything except the promise of relief in the clear plastic.
He held it out to me. “You look like you need it.”
I hesitated, unsure whether to trust him.
“I haven’t drunk from it, if that’s why you’re worried,” he added.
I studied the bottle in his hand, long enough to notice the cap. It was still firmly sealed. Tight. Untouched. The way it looked when it came straight off a shelf, never opened, never tampered with.
My caution wavered under the weight of exhaustion and thirst. My fingers closed around the bottle before my fear could catch up.
“Thanks,” I muttered, before I twisted the cap off and drank deeply.
“So,” he said casually, watching me over the rim of his smile, “where you headed? Canadian border?”
I jerked my head up, panic clamping down hard on my chest. How did he know that?
“Don’t worry,” he went on easily. “I’m not a mind reader.
You’re not the first one to head north after learning we’re surrounded by wizards.
” He chuckled. “But I must warn you, my buddy’s up in Canada and he told me they’re everywhere, not only in the US.
If I were you, I’d stay right where you are. ”
He didn’t know. He didn’t realize I was one of these ‘wizards.’
Relief loosened my lungs, a little, and I drank again, greedier this time.
I’d finished half the bottle when something shifted. My legs felt oddly loose beneath me, as if the ground had softened. My grip slackened as I lowered the bottle, a sudden dizziness washing through my skull.
Huh.
My eyelids grew heavy.
That’s when I felt it—the tension sliding back into his posture, the friendliness draining from his face like it had never been real to begin with.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he asked, colder now.
My stomach twisted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Why did my voice sound so wrong?
“Sure you do,” he said, smiling again, though this time it was all teeth. “Nobody crosses the border on foot unless they’ve got something to hide.”
I turned to run.
I didn’t even get a step.
His hand snapped around my wrist, grip iron-hard. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Panic surged, white-hot and blinding. I fought him, kicking wildly, but my body felt sluggish, uncooperative.
His other hand dove into his pocket, and before I could scream, the world went black.
I woke to the sound of chains rattling.
My head throbbed, and the faint smell of damp earth filled my nose. My arms were tied behind my back, my wrists bound tightly in cold, unforgiving metal. The dim light of a single, swaying bulb illuminated the small, dirt-floored cellar.
“Ah, you’re awake,” the man’s voice said from somewhere in the shadows. It was different now, no trace of warmth or friendliness, only malice.
I struggled against the chains around my ankle, the metal biting into my skin, but it was no use. He stepped into the light, his smile a chilling leer. “You really shouldn’t accept drinks from strangers.”
Terror clawed at my throat, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a scream tore from my lips, raw and desperate.
It was cut short by the brutal impact of his fist punching my cheek. Pain exploded through my skull, and my vision blurred as tears sprang to my eyes.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, his tone dripping with venom.
Before I could even catch my breath, his fist drove into my stomach, once, twice, with merciless precision. The air rushed from my lungs in a choking gasp, and I doubled over as much as the chains allowed, heaving and gagging against the pain radiating through my torso.
He loomed over me for a moment, his shadow swallowing what little light the room offered. His lip curled in disgust before he spit on me.
Without another word, he turned on his heel, boots crunching against the dirt floor. The sound of the heavy door slamming shut echoed in the small, suffocating space, leaving me gasping with the metallic taste of blood thick on my tongue.
The cellar was silent except for my ragged breathing and the faint creak of the chains as I shifted, testing the restraints. Pain throbbed through my cheek and stomach, but the adrenaline kept the worst of it at bay, for now.
A soft rustling noise cut through the stillness.
I froze, straining to hear, every nerve on edge.
“Hey.” The whisper was faint, almost inaudible. My head snapped toward the sound, scanning the shadows until I spotted movement in the far corner. A figure emerged, stepping into the faint pool of light, a chain clear around her ankle too.
She looked about my age, maybe a year or two younger, with tangled hair and hollow cheeks.
Her clothes hung off her frame like they belonged to someone else, and her expression—sunken and glassy—spoke of exhaustion and fear.
She clutched the edge of a threadbare blanket draped over her shoulders, her movements hesitant.
“You’re new,” she said softly, trembling but clear enough. “He doesn’t usually bring anyone else here.”
Her words hit me like a gut punch. Usually. Which meant…she’d been here long enough to know.
“How long?” It came out rough, barely above a whisper.
She hesitated, her fingers twisting the corner of the blanket. “Almost a month. Maybe less.” Her gaze darted toward the door, as if she half-expected him to burst back in at any moment. “He took me the night the magi came out of the broom closet.”
Four weeks. My stomach churned.
“What’s your name?” I asked as evenly as I could.
“Amy,” she replied, her voice cracking on the single syllable. “Yours?”
“Emma,” I said quickly. “Amy, does anyone know you’re here?”
Her laugh was dry and bitter, a sound that didn’t belong to someone so young. “Do you think I’d still be here if they did?”