Chapter Twenty-Four
T WEN TY - F OUR
I wake to the sound of the outer door opening.
It’s not even so much a noise as a change in the air that has my head jerking up, as if I only dared to half doze.
I blink against the dim lamplight and then let my eyes shut again.
It’ll be the guard, come to check on me.
I’ll save him from the awkward moment of having to decide whether or not to speak to me.
I pull the blanket tighter and—
It’s not the guard. The scent that wafts past is familiar, though I can’t immediately place it. I need to do better at this: learning to associate smells with people.
When recognition comes, it gives me pause. Of all the wolves who might visit me, this is the last on my list, and I’m sure I’m mistaken… until the door to my cage scrapes open and there stands Reginald, my father’s elderly advisor.
I jump, eyes flying wide as I feign confusion. “Hello? Who’s—?” I blink hard. “Oh, hello, sir. Does Sil—Does my father want to see me?”
The old man only puts a finger to his lips and motions for me to stand.
That’s not easy. Yesterday, I thought my injuries were slight.
The bruises from Bishop were only a dull ache that brought memories of pleasure instead of pain.
The ones from Henry hadn’t bothered me unless I put pressure on the spots.
But now, as I rise from sleep, everything hurts, particularly the injuries from being knocked down—my tailbone aching, one shoulder screaming in protest at the sudden movement.
I rise bent over and hobbling like an old lady.
Reginald motions me to silence again and then waves at the open door.
I blink harder, no longer faking confusion but trying to figure out what’s going on. It must be daytime and Silas wants to see me. Without windows or meal times, I can’t tell seven at night from seven in the morning.
“My father wishes to speak to me?” I ask again.
Frustration flickers over his face, as if I’m being unreasonably stubborn. He moves closer and whispers, “You don’t belong here, child.”
I go still, blinking at him. He motions for me to follow, but I don’t move, and his frustration surges.
“We don’t have much time,” he whispers. “I’ve sedated your guard, but he won’t sleep for long. Everyone has finally gone to bed, and some will begin to stir again soon.”
I remember what Reginald said to my father, when I’d been eavesdropping. He’d counseled against keeping me here, and he seemed to have counseled against bringing me here at all.
“You’re… releasing me?” I say.
He shakes his head. “I’m taking you to safety, to those who will care for you. Your own kind.”
My gut chills. “The Coven.”
A sharp shake of his head. “No, other witches. Your family.”
My mind skids and slides, trying to make sense of his words. Then the meaning hits, and I back up, hands rising, preparing for a spell. “You’re going to kill me.”
“What?” Genuine shock. “No, of course not, child.”
“My family is dead.”
“Your mother and your aunt, yes. What your father did is…” He looks me in the eye. “Unforgivable. That’s not how an Alpha acts, and I won’t stand by and let him hurt you, too. Now come.”
I dig in my heels. “You said you’re taking me to my family. Do you mean figuratively? Other witches?”
“Child, we must—”
“There are very few witches I trust, and as much as I want to leave, I won’t let you toss me from frying pan to fire. I need names.”
“Your grandmother. I’m taking you to your grandmother.”
Two seconds of silence tick past. Then I rub my hands over my face, erasing whatever I might have revealed in my expression.
That first second had been confusion, as I was sure I was mishearing.
The next had been the jolting realization that I’m in trouble.
Deep trouble. Because this kindly old man is leading me into a trap.
I don’t have a grandmother. I suppose it’s possible that Silas’s mother still lives, but she isn’t a witch, and Reginald clearly said he was taking me to witches.
That would be my maternal grandmother, who is dead.
Absolutely dead and not in the way I’ve read in novels, where someone falls off a cliff and is later discovered to be alive and well.
My grandmother lived with us for the first eight years of my life. I adored her as much as I adored my mother. She died in our living room. Perished from a cancerous growth that slowly consumed her from the inside, and then I watched her body buried. She is not alive. She has not come to rescue me.
And neither has Reginald.
“You will take me to her?” I ask, feigning innocent acceptance.
“I’ll take you to her confederate. A fellow witch. She’ll escort you to your grandmother.”
Of course she will. A fellow witch, like Henrietta. A stranger, who will take custody of me and deliver me to someone. Not my grandmother. Not kindly witches who want only to help.
I don’t know who Reginald is delivering me to, but every instinct in me screams that my initial assessment was correct.
Out of the frying pan. Into the fire.
My mind whirs, looking for a way out of this. And then my gaze lands on a literal way out.
The door.
My cell door is wide open.
I hit Reginald with a knockback. It catches him off guard and sets him stumbling, and a second one knocks the old man off his feet. Then I run.
I race out the open door. Ahead is the heavy metal door leading to the stairs.
I yank on the handle. At first, it doesn’t budge, but then it gives, and I heave it open as my brain shouts that a mere knockback won’t keep Reginald down for long.
Footfalls pound behind me, and Reginald calls softly, as if trying to be quiet.
“Child! No! You’re making a mistake.”
I squeeze through the door and come out in a dimly lit vestibule. My guard sits slumped in a chair with a spilled glass at his feet. Sedated, as Reginald said.
I race up the stairs with my skirts hiked. The door at the top opens easily, and I fly through. Then I pause, panting as I look about wildly.
Down the hall is the door. The one that leads outside. The one Bishop and I have taken for our walks. It’s not even latched. Of course it isn’t. This is a house full of werewolves. They don’t need to lock their doors.
I race to the exit, pull it open, letting the night air hit me. Then I stop short, as if that chill has finally woken me.
The exit is right here. With the curtain even drawn back to show it’s the way out. It’s unlocked. All the doors have been unlocked and unguarded, the way clear.
The way clear so Reginald could spirit me out?
Or the way clear so I would try to escape?
That story about my grandmother made no sense. Reginald is a Pack advisor, a clever, even brilliant man. Why make up such a clumsy lie? So that I would see through it. So that I would bolt out that conveniently open cell door and flee.
Reginald wants me gone. He made that clear to my father. But it isn’t about me. It’s about the Pack.
I’m a distraction. A liability. Silas is obsessed with his legacy, with grandson heirs, and he’s already sacrificed one wolf for it.
If Silas won’t let me go, then Reginald will resolve this himself by setting me free.
My plan from yesterday slams back.
Get a horse. Ride to the stream. Abandon the horse and lose my scent in the water.
That was a plan for another Cordelia, the one who had an aunt to return to. It was also the plan for a Cordelia who no longer considered Bishop Daniels an ally.
I know Bishop’s true plan, and when it’s done, I trust he’ll set me free, as he promised.
I’ve also seen what Silas is capable of. The cold-blooded murder of a woman who dared challenge his authority. How far can I push before he declares me a lost cause and snaps my neck? Would attempting escape be enough to send him over the edge?
I need to prove that I consider myself trapped. Even that I consider myself safe. A caged bird flung out into the wild, only to wing her way back as quickly as she can.
I look back over my shoulder. I can hear Reginald, but he isn’t climbing the stairs yet. He’s making no attempt to catch up and stop me.
Of course he isn’t.
I veer and race down the hall, heading for the stairs up. I need to get to Bishop. Or Julius or Oliver or Claude or Felix. Marjorie. Tabitha. Even Ann. There are a dozen people in this house who would help me. I just need—
A huge shadow steps from an open doorway.
Seeing me, Henry Cain stops short. Then he smiles, and it’s an ugly twist of a smile. I’ve escaped. That means I can be punished. Punished any way he sees fit.
I wheel to run the other way. There must be another hall. Some alternate route.
As I reach the back door, I hear Reginald climbing the stairs, and I want to scream.
Maybe I should scream. That could be the answer. Bring someone running. But that presumes Reginald or Henry wouldn’t kill me before help arrives.
She was escaping. I tried to stop her. I don’t know what happened.
I remember how quickly Silas snapped my aunt’s neck. Then I run exactly where they are herding me because I don’t see that I’ve a choice.
Out the exit door.