Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
A phone Emma left me rings, and I answer. “What did you do?” she asks, direct and straight to the point.
My attention is still clinging to the now regular mirror. I’m so pale. The dark circles under my eyes make me look awful. “Huh?”
Eloquent of me, I know.
I also know what I did. Contacting my parents was a massive risk, and I feel guilty.
“You got in touch with your parents. Really, Kricket? What were you— You know what? Never mind, it’s my fault. I thought I was clear when I said they were watching your parents.”
“I used a charm,” I say softly, sinking down on the bed.
“Used or made?”
Gosh, she’s worse than my mum. “Made.”
“You made a communication charm?”
“Something like that.” I rub my face.
“They have cameras inside the house.”
“What? Why? How?” I bolt to my feet. “Can we remove them? You said they were safe.”
“They are safe. I have friends in high places that will continue to keep them safe. Nothing will happen to your family, but what you did has made things so much harder.”
“I’m sorry.” I sit back down. “Can we remove the cameras?”
“We decided it was better not to.”
They decided. That’s nice to know.
I wish Emma would have told me at some point that they have cameras inside the house.
I can’t help but wonder what else she’s keeping from me.
I wouldn’t have made such a mistake if I’d known.
I groan. That’s me again, being cocky with my magic and making a mess of everything.
I’ve only been awake for a few hours; it’s like I’m cursed or something.
I pull my knees to my chest and hug them.
To be sure, I better clarify things, such as, “My parents, do they know?”
“Yes.”
Ah, that’s good to know. It’s why Mum kept interrupting me, going on about the stupid photo. It was her way of protecting me, winding me up so I’d forget my train of thought and cut the conversation short.
Well played, Mum.
I don’t think I said anything to reveal my location, and I know I didn’t say anything about who is helping me. But I did talk about the charms, and now whoever is listening knows there’s a stash in the house. Nice one, Kricket. I groan. “I’m a bloody idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot. I should have said something.
Although I didn’t think you’d magic up a communication charm just after waking from a magically induced coma.
” Her sweet voice is full of censure. “Please don’t do that again.
No magic for a while as we still don’t know if they can track you when you make a new charm. ”
“Track me? Who? The Creature Council?”
Emma is silent.
“The gargoyles?”
Nothing.
It must be the baddies. It seems she’s keeping everything close to her chest. It also seems I’m not allowed to know about my life or the danger I’m in.
I don’t know if that’s a blessing, but the saying forewarned is forearmed isn’t famous for nothing. “Emma, I need to know these things.”
“Yes, I guess you do. I’ll talk to you tonight and tell you everything; keeping someone in the dark about this stuff usually works for other people, but you—” She groans.
“We’ve never dealt with anyone who can make magic out of thin air.
Even the fae with their rune magic need parchment paper, and the ones that don’t would never in a million years need our help.
Okay, I’ll tell you everything tonight.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, and before I forget, around midday, expect a delivery of food from the local supermarket. The driver can be trusted.”
When the bell rings, I hustle to the front door and swing it open. The delivery driver is tall, broad, and green—a troll. He grins, revealing sharp, yellowed teeth with prominent lower tusks. “Delivery for you,” he says in a gravelly voice, holding out a digital device for me to sign.
“Uh, thanks.” I quickly scribble a random signature as I can’t very well use mine.
He nods, seemingly satisfied, and starts to unload the crates from the back of his van. Despite his hulking frame, each movement is precise and efficient. He carries my groceries to the doorstep with ease.
“Been a busy day?” I ask, trying to break the awkward silence.
He chuckles, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You could say that. Trolls don’t get much downtime. The supermarket gig isn’t so bad. Better than living under a bridge.”
I laugh, unsure if he’s joking or serious. “I guess that makes sense,” I say to be safe. I shove the bags through the door and pile them in the narrow hallway.
After setting down the last load, the troll waits for me to grab the last of the shopping, then stacks the blue delivery crates together and tucks them under his arm. “Have a good rest of your day.” He turns to leave.
“Thanks for bringing the shopping all the way to the door.”
“No problem,” he says. “I’m just doing my job.” He gives me a friendly wave and climbs back into his van. I watch him leave.
As I go to close the door, a woman getting out of her car across the street stares at me. I give her a small smile as our eyes meet, and she narrows hers.
“You,” she mouths.
Me? Shit. Me. An instinctive alarm goes off in my head. I think I’ve been made.
It’s only confirmed when she pulls her phone out, smashing the buttons on the keypad as she hurries away.
Great.
Why did I think opening the door without a disguise charm was a good idea? Because I haven’t got one and Emma said I can’t make one. I’ve messed up again, and it looks as if this safe house is blown.
While I think of what to do, on autopilot, I put away all the essentials that need the fridge or freezer.
The tip line must be inundated with false calls.
I lean against the kitchen counter and strum my fingers.
I’m probably overreacting, but sometimes you have to go with your gut, and my gut is screaming at me.
I might have lost it with everything happening, but it’s best to get out of here for now, even if it’s just a few hours. Decision made. I use the sock charm to change my clothes into jeans and an oversized hoodie. Granted, my gut has had a workout lately, and I’m paranoid and anxious.
It’s not paranoia if people are out to get you.
When I go to grab the phone, I catch my bright red hair in the mirror. I need to cobble together a charm to disguise myself. I didn’t promise not to make a new charm. I just agreed it wasn’t the best idea. Things have changed, and this time, it’s an emergency.
I send a pulse of magic out, requesting help from my materials, with a focus on changing my appearance.
I’d prefer a nice piece of stone or wood, but that would be way too easy.
“Not again.” I groan when I find the old lager bottle cap pinging excitedly to my call.
It’s wedged behind the pedal bin in a cupboard, and the scent of hops still clings to it.
Ew.
When I open the front door, my bright red hair is gone, replaced by a short dark brown pixie cut. My skin tone is darker, my nose is narrow, and my eyes are closer together. Little changes are easier to maintain than trying something flashy that could go horribly wrong.
With my hands in my pockets, I set off. I’m halfway down the street when four cars screech past me to a halt outside the safe house. I turn my head to watch. The car doors open simultaneously as if choreographed, and massive dark grey men emerge.
Gargoyles.
Is asking for one hulking killing machine in each vehicle too much?
No? No. It’s a team of gargoyles—at least a dozen of them.
Heart pounding, I turn my head and keep walking.
One foot in front of the other, all nice and casual.
When people around me hurry, I match their pace—there is no need to stand out.
“You, stop,” bellows a familiar voice behind me.
No one else stops, so I keep moving.
Nothing to see here, guys.
“It’s her. I can smell her.” Ew. Gargoyles have super sniffers. Who knew? I sure as hell didn’t. “Nothing girl! Kricket Jones, you’re wanted for questioning.”
I turn the corner and run.
Crap. That was my gargoyle back there.
“Why am I always running?” I huff out. Talking to myself somehow settles my nerves and tricks my body into thinking I’m not running for my life. If I’ve enough oxygen to speak, everything is okay. “This is so unfair. Why can’t I leisurely stroll away from the baddies?”
Being so massive, I hope they can’t run fast. “When this is all over, and if I make it out alive, I’m going to take up running—proper running with fancy trainers and everything, with leggings that don’t chafe,” I add as the jeans burn my inner thighs.
I don’t know where I am, and I have no idea where I’m going. I turn onto another street and sprint down an alleyway as fast as possible. I’ll need to stop soon and alter my face, scent, and clothes. I dash around a bend and risk a look behind me.
I think I’ve lost them, lost him.
And I bolt straight into someone.
I hit them hard, bouncing off their solid frame. I crash to the pavement and wince as I jar my bottom. “I’m so sorry,” I say as I gasp for air.
The man I ploughed into stares down at me. His face is all sharp angles, his blond hair is floppy, and his eyes are so pale there’s barely any pigment. He reaches down, grabs my wrist, and hauls me up.
I let out a sound of dismay. I don’t need any help. But I ran into him, and it’s rude to snatch my hand away, so I allow him to guide me to my feet—panicking a little when he doesn’t immediately release me.
“I’m okay. You can let go.” I attempt to pull away, but his hold gets tighter. So tight the bones in my wrist grind together. “Ow.” I hiss. “I said I was sorry. Please let go. You are hurting me.”
“Ah, my missing witness, the dragon blood.” His voice has a strange accent. “Don’t struggle. You’ll only hurt yourself.” He drags me towards the road just as a car pulls up.
The car’s tyres thud, thud, thud against the kerb, and the rear door is flung open.
I dig my heels into the pavement, but that doesn’t stop the stranger from effortlessly dragging me towards the gaping door.
I look about wildly and open my mouth to scream for help, and he cuffs me across the back of my head.
Black dots and wiggly worms fill my vision, and before I can shake off the blow, I’m in the car and the door slams closed.