Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
YOU TALK TOO MUCH
My eyelids feel impossibly heavy, swollen and tender, and for one blissfully empty second that stretches like eternity, I have no idea where I am or what is happening to me.
The world exists in a foggy, distant haze where nothing has shape or meaning.
Then the memory crashes into me all at once, the powder, the immediate burn of it in my eyes and nose like ground glass, the sharp, chemical sting that stole the world out from under me and sent me tumbling into darkness.
Pain radiates behind my eyes with such vicious intensity that it makes my stomach turn, churning bile up my throat.
The metallic taste of nausea floods my mouth and the overwhelming need to vomit, to purge whatever toxins are causing this agony inside me, has my body jerking reflexively to the side.
I try to lift up, to bring my hands to my stinging eyes and angle my body away from whatever surface I’m lying on, but I get nowhere.
My limbs are sluggish and disconnected, like they’re moving through thick syrup.
Panic surges through me in a cold rush as I discover I’m completely unable to move.
My arms and legs are secured, bound tight against something solid and unyielding.
The restraints around my wrists are pulled so taut that the leather or rope, has already cut off circulation, leaving my hands numb and tingling.
My ankles are fixed as well, spread wide enough to tell me that whoever did this wanted to make absolutely certain I stayed exactly where they put me, helpless and exposed.
I force myself to breathe through the rising tide of terror, focusing on what I can actually sense rather than spiraling into the thousand horrible possibilities racing through my mind.
The surface beneath me is stone, cold, unforgiving granite that seeps its chill through the thin fabric of my dress and straight into my bones.
The night air carries a sharp bite, heavy with the rich scent of damp earth, wet leaves, and old bark.
Somewhere close by, wind moves through unseen trees in a soft, restless whisper.
Before I can piece together anything more about my surroundings, actual voices cut through the mental haze still clouding my thoughts.
“Did you find the grimoires?”
My entire body goes rigid at the sound of that familiar voice, every muscle tenses despite the restraints.
Even through the fog of whatever drug is still working its way through my system, I recognize Lenora’s voice immediately.
There is no mistaking that clipped, elegant precision, the way every word sounds like it has already passed judgment and found everything wanting before it ever leaves her mouth.
A man answers, his voice low and hurried, tinged with nervous energy. “I couldn’t find them anywhere. I searched the back rooms of the shop, went through every cabinet, every shelf, every hiding spot you told me to check. She walked in before I had time to finish.”
The voice clicks into place with sickening clarity, Councilman Montgomery.
After the way he spoke to me the other day, dismissive and condescending, I shouldn’t be surprised to find him here.
I am though. He seemed so mild-mannered despite his obvious disdain for me, all bureaucratic politeness and small-town officiousness.
I never would have pegged him as my aunt’s willing accomplice in whatever this is.
“You were told to bring me the books,” Lenora says, and now there’s a thin, dangerous edge beneath her usual composed demeanor, something sharp enough to slice through bone. “Not my niece. Not yet, Harold.”
“I brought her to you, didn’t I?” Harold shoots back, his voice cracking under the strain of trying not to sound as terrified as he clearly is.
“She was alone in that shop. When was I going to get another chance like that? She’s always surrounded by one of them, or that damned Familiar of hers.
I took the opportunity when it presented itself. ”
He fumble his words as he pushes on, “You have no idea what it took to get her out of there. One mistake and the whole town would’ve been on me.”
Lenora falls silent for a long, ominous beat, and somehow that quiet is infinitely worse than her sharp words.
The paralysis from whatever was blown in my face is beginning to fade just enough that I can turn my head slightly.
Through the haze still blurring my vision, I can almost make out her silhouette, tall and imposing, probably fixing Harold with one of those withering stares that could burn holes through steel.
Then she sighs, a sound full of disappointment and barely contained frustration.
“Fine,” she says at last, each word measured and cold.
“If she made it back to Ruby Springs, if she successfully claimed the manor and the shop and bonded with the Familiar, then there must have been enough magic left in her after all these years. It seems I miscalculated the potency of the spell the first time around.” Her voice drops lower, becoming thoughtful and calculating in a way that makes ice form in my veins.
“No matter. We can correct that mistake tonight. Permanently.”
I listen to her casual admission of guilt, her open acknowledgment of what she’s done to me, and for a moment my heart plummets into my stomach.
The betrayal cuts deeper than I expected, the complete lack of familial love or care, the blatant disregard for my life and wellbeing from someone who should have protected me.
Tears blur my vision, though they do help ease some of the chemical burn in my eyes.
I don’t let the hurt linger. I push it away as fast as it arrives, letting anger slice cleanly through the lingering confusion. This is not the time for grief or self-pity. This is the time for fury.
Lenora did this to me. Deep down, I’ve known it all along.
My suspicions were correct, every horrible possibility I’d considered.
She took what was mine before I was even old enough to know I had something to lose.
For thirty-five fucking years, I’ve felt like only half of myself, like something fundamental was missing from my core.
For so long, I’ve carried that emptiness like a wound that never healed.
The rage builds so quickly it’s almost dizzying. I pull hard against the restraints before I can stop myself, the leather biting viciously into my wrists, drawing what feels like blood. The grunt that escapes my lips apparently silences their conversation.
“Oh shit,” Harold says, panic threading through every syllable. “She’s waking up.”
“Then tighten the bindings and stop hovering like an incompetent fool,” Lenora snaps. “We’re already running out of time, and I won’t have you bungling this any further.”
Footsteps rush toward me across what sounds like packed earth. I keep my breathing deliberately shallow, my face slack and expressionless, but the moment rough hands touch my arms to check the restraints, I wrench my eyes open and lock them directly onto Harold’s face.
He startles so violently he nearly jumps clean out of his own skin, stumbling backward like I’m about to Hulk out and break free from my bonds through sheer force of will.
As much as I desperately want to punch this pathetic excuse for a man square in his cowardly face, I’m somewhat limited by my current position.
Still, for one glorious second, the sheer terror written across his features almost makes this entire nightmare worth it.
His eyes go wide as dinner plates. His mouth opens and closes as he searches for words. He looks less like a town Councilman and more like a man who has realized far too late that he has made a catastrophically stupid mistake that’s about to cost him everything.
“You,” I rasp, my throat feeling like it’s been scraped raw with sandpaper, “are so unbelievably stupid.”
He recoils even further, like I’ve physically slapped him across the face with my words.
“This wasn’t my idea,” he blurts immediately, because apparently his first instinct under pressure is to start snitching. “Your aunt made it very clear what needed to happen here tonight. She threatened me, said she’d destroy my business, ruin my family’s reputation. She made me help her.”
“Harold.” Lenora’s voice slices through the clearing like a blade, sharp and deadly.
He flinches at her tone like he’s been struck, and I’m suddenly more inclined to believe that she really did coerce him into participating in this makeshift kidnapping scheme. It doesn’t excuse his actions, but it does explain the obvious terror radiating off him in waves.
I turn my head as far as the restraints will allow and take in my surroundings properly for the first time.
We’re deep in the woods beyond town, in a circular clearing that’s been lit by old-fashioned lanterns set into the ground at regular intervals.
The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across a ring of ancient standing stones that look like they’ve been here far longer than Ruby Springs itself.
I’m strapped to a flat slab of rock in the center of it all, which would probably be appropriately dramatic and terrifying if I weren’t currently too absolutely furious to appreciate the theatrical atmosphere my aunt has created.
“Oh, this is perfect,” I mutter, letting all my sarcasm and disdain color the words. “A forest altar. Of course, you dragged me out into the middle of nowhere for this. Why commit a magical felony somewhere convenient and comfortable when you can add unnecessary melodrama to the whole production?”