Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Once Damien has finished proving his point, he looks a little green around the edges. Oh, he pretends to be fine as he barks orders at his men to take me inside. But I can see his soul, and the Dragon’s Eye magic has taken Swiss cheese bites out of it.
Is the Grand Claw a short-term position?
Hopefully Damien won’t be up for torturing me for at least a few more hours until he’s had a nap.
“Take her to the cube,” Damien tells the guards.
I’m not going to attempt to run away, so the guards yanking me towards the cube, a cell or room, wherever it is, isn’t necessary. Even though I’ve been released from the spell, I can’t seem to get my legs to move. I feel as if I’ve been hit in the head with something hard.
I don’t know if it’s from the Dragon’s Eye magic or shock.
Probably shock.
I feel numb. It’s not every day that you realise your entire hometown is dead.
My cobweb-filled mind clings desperately to the environment around me instead of trying to make sense of what I’ve learned. If I can concentrate on moving my feet, I can ignore everything else.
I was wrong. Not all the buildings in town were gone. The town council’s office is still standing. The invaders still need a headquarters, and the ley line gateway is in the basement.
It’s a grand Victorian building that I’ve never been inside.
The facade is adorned with large arched windows and intricate carvings of mythical creatures and ancient symbols.
The heavy oak doors swing open, and the scent of aged wood and polished brass greets me as I’m bundled inside with my entourage of guards.
It’s as if nothing has happened outside these walls and evil hasn’t touched this building. I can see where our taxes have gone. People in town have struggled for years, and the council has this. Is that gold wallpaper?
The lobby resembles the destroyed library, with high ceilings supported by ornate columns. Unlike the library, chandeliers hang from above. Their crystals catch the light and scatter it in a thousand directions, creating a mesmerising pattern of colours on the marble floor.
To the left, a grand staircase spirals upwards, its bannister an elaborate twist of wrought iron and dark mahogany. We ascend the steps and march down a corridor lined with heavy doors. Finally, from the sign on the door, we reach the main council chamber.
The double doors groan open, revealing a vast room dominated by a long, polished table. High-backed chairs, each with intricate carvings, surround it, and the walls are adorned with tapestries depicting long-forgotten histories.
Sunlight streams through the tall windows, casting long shadows and bathing a ten-foot cube of Perspex in a golden glow.
The cube is set within a circle. I trace it with my eyes.
They used chalk to make the circle. Then they used some herbs, a mixture of blood, and the runes.
It must be dragon magic, as the runes surrounding it are very unusual.
I recognise a few of them instinctively, and they call to me.
It would be beautiful if it weren’t so ominous.
As soon as we get close, I’m boldly picked up—in case I attempt to damage the circle—and launched over the lines and into the Perspex cube.
Landing heavily on my knees, my loose hair flips forward, covering my face, and I cringe when the door slams closed. I feel odd. I can no longer touch my magic. Half of me doesn’t care. The magic I have has caused nothing but problems.
Without magic, I’m just a girl.
I rock back on my heels and swipe my hair from my face. There’s no furniture, no comfort—just a box, a magic circle, in a beautiful room. I sit on my bottom and hug my knees. I’m left to think of all the mistakes I’ve made.
What the gargoyle said keeps rolling around in my head, that I’m responsible for the deaths.
Whether I pulled the trigger myself or the invaders did.
It’s my fault. If I hadn’t sold the charms, nobody would have got hurt.
Nobody would be dead. Has my selfishness caused this?
Or would it have happened anyway? The dragon bloods have always been a target, and it was only a matter of time.
I don’t know.
I can’t help thinking about all my friends, the people from the supermarket, and the old lady who hit me in the face with a fish one Sunday morning because she bought it at a reduction and didn’t eat it straight away.
So when she came to eat it, it smelt. I know it smelt ’cause I had a good whiff when she battered my face. She’s dead.
The teachers from school.
My nan’s colleagues at the library who helped me learn about the world and introduced me to fiction. They’re all fucking dead. I don’t know how to cope with it, being alive when so many good people will not take their next breaths.
Yeah, the guilt inside me is just… Even if I had done nothing, the guilt of my family’s being alive when everyone else has died, the relief I feel. I hate myself, and I don’t know how to cope with it.
Shit, I’m a complete mess.
I flop back, look at the light pouring in from the window, and wonder if this cube has enough air. Again I don’t care. Slowly suffocating is probably what I deserve. I didn’t save anyone. I didn’t do anything but make them aware of their situation before the invaders killed them.
I groan. This is getting me nowhere. I wipe the tears and snot from my face with my sleeve. I need to woman up and plan my next move ’cause soon Damien Hass will come through that door and he will start asking questions, questions that I need to answer—even if it’s not the truth.
What do they say? Everybody, whoever they are, breaks under torture.
I can do one of three things: roll around on the floor and cry, allow Damien Hass to torture the location of the charms out of me and my family, or step up and fix this mess. I need to have a plan and give him some information that makes sense.
Sometimes you’ve got to use what you’ve got.
Sometimes you’ve got to be brave even if you don’t know whether you’re the villain in the story or the hero. I guess time will tell.
The magic Damien uses isn’t his. It’s a dragon charm, dragon-made, and the same magic I’ve been playing with most of my life.
Dragon magic is why the Creature Council secretly locked up everybody with even a trace of dragon blood.
If Damien with one charm can create spells that can control minds, spells that can eat buildings, an entire town, I can only imagine what would happen if he used me, used my magic. I’d destroy the world.
He can’t know about me and can never find out about my magic. I need to send him on a wild goose chase, and to do that, I need Gary Chappell.