Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
The sound of braying wolves makes me jerk, and the rough bark burns my wrists as I wobble precariously and scramble to keep a death grip on the tree.
Wolf shifters. Ah, I should have thought of them being on Team Fake Dragon.
It makes sense, as the guards are so big.
The stink of that charm’s magical signature has thrown me off; it hides a multitude of things.
I’ve made a colossal mistake if they have wolves; I’ve underestimated the power of their senses. Shifter noses are incredible, and now I’m in a pickle as I haven’t tried to disguise my scent. It doesn’t matter that I’m hidden. The trail will take them right up to this tree.
I have the cleaning charm in my pocket, and it won’t take much—a tiny push of the magic, even at this distance—to eliminate my scent. If I’m careful to use the lightest touch of magic. I can even waft everything around at the front of the building, making it all the more confusing.
I can’t.
Then I can use the disguise spell to hide my scent so no one can smell me.
I bloody can’t. I’m already pushing it, and if I’m caught, they’ll be suspicious. Perhaps I should go all out, use my magic, and give myself a proper chance to escape, but again, I can’t give myself away. The secret of my magic is too important to risk saving myself.
I press the side of my face against the trunk and watch for the opportune time to run for the ward. It might be best to wait until it gets dark.
There’s a snap of a dry branch and a rustle of foliage. Something grabs hold of my foot, and I’m yanked down. I yelp. I fall oddly, almost upside down, scraping the side of the trunk with my stomach and hitting each branch on the way down.
There’s a crack, something snaps in my arm, and there’s a moment before the pain registers.
Ow. Ow. Ow.
Damn it, I’ve broken my arm. Damien gives me a look of disgust as I lie crumpled on the forest floor. No one even bothered to catch me.
“Well,” he says, “that was exciting. You only lasted about twenty minutes. You didn’t even move towards the ward. You sat there, clinging to the tree like a primate. As if I couldn’t see through that rubbish spell.”
I blink up at him and his guards.
Ah, I was right to be cautious; they had eyes on me the entire time. I wish I could take a full breath. My poor ribs are hurting so much. I feel like someone’s punched a hole in my diaphragm. I just lay there, gasping.
“Somebody grab her and take her back to her cube. Honestly, this was supposed to be a fun training exercise; instead, it was a waste of time. You’re a waste of time, such a disappointment.
The magic that you found is awful. Primitive.
I had thought there was something special about you.
I was wrong. The witch, Gary Chappell, why would he want you?
You’re pathetic. We’ll talk about your friend’s location soon.
Take her away. I can’t look at her anymore.
She’s annoying.” He gives me another look of disgust, and on the way past, he boots me in the ribs.
I’m helped inside, or should I say I’m dragged inside. I haven’t got time to access a charm to heal myself before I’m shoved back over the repaired and improved circle and into the Perspex box.
I hold my arm to my chest; it’s throbbing.
My fingers are swollen and look like sausages with a purple tinge.
At least the bone hasn’t come through the skin, and it’s not wonky-looking, so I don’t think it needs resetting.
It’s just excruciating, and my breathing hasn’t improved, so I’ve probably bruised my ribs.
There’s another big problem, I have a massive gash on my side. One of the branches, or several, pierced the flesh just above my hip. I don’t think anything vital was stabbed. I’m bleeding, and it hurts.
Everything hurts.
“Can I get some first aid please?” I break my silence.
I need to ask because the broken arm needs sorting, and the cut could become nasty if not treated soon.
The guards all march out the door; they don’t look back.
Can they hear me? With my good hand, I tap on the Perspex.
“Hello? I really need some help.” The door closes behind them, and I’m left staring.
I look back at my arm. “Oh well, that went well.”
The door flings open, and Anton Hill walks through. He’s got a swagger in his step and a massive grin on his face as if he’s having a wonderful time.
He’s having a wonderful time because he set me up.
That little whispered speech and opening the door, scuffing the circle.
I’m an idiot. He set me up. Damien wanted to see if I had any magic, and because I didn’t perform any massive magic tricks during my escape, I became useless.
It’s probably only a matter of time before they kill me. But it’s better than the alternative.
I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be a martyr, but my magic is better dying with me.
At least now I know they can’t detect my power when I’m circumspect. If given the chance, I need to refine my magic more and be sneaky, and at least I’m fully recovered from my three-day nap. I frown. Or I was before being pulled out of a tree.
Anton Hill pulls a sad face when he sees me looking at him.
His bottom lip comes out in an exaggerated pout.
“Oh, did you hurt yourself? Do you need a plaster? I heard that you were a monkey in a tree”—he makes a monkey sound and scratches underneath his armpits—“and you only got so far before you shit yourself and hid. That’s hilarious.
What? What’s wrong?” His boots stomp across the floor, and he gets closer to the circle. His toes brush the edge of the chalk.
“Did you think I was helping you escape? Did you think the Claw Brotherhood wouldn’t have a man on the inside?
I’m the man on the inside.” He thumbs his chest. “The boss said we had to knock that pride and confidence right out of you. What better way than giving you hope and then taking it away?” He smiles brightly, flashing his square chewing-gum teeth.
What better way, indeed.
I shuffle around and turn my back. I just can’t. I’m in too much pain to hear him confess he was the town’s inside man. I can’t. I just can’t. Everybody was trapped here, and he’d put himself here on purpose. To spy.
More and more, I think that this wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about my magic. I wasn’t the catalyst, not really. They were waiting for the right time and used the charms as an excuse to act, and now Anton is all smug and happy that he’s back with his Claw Brotherhood buddies.
Back still to him, I hobble to the corner, slowly slide down the wall, and sit. The cube’s edges do an excellent job of holding me up. I won’t be able to lie down. I need to keep this arm elevated.
“Aren’t you going to ask questions? Are you not going to talk about what I learned? What I did? Who I am?” He looms over me, watching, and his voice slowly rises. “Don’t ignore me, Kricket. I want to know. I want to know what you think. I won. I’m the winner.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you won. You’re the winner,” I hiss. I’d sarcastically clap, but I can’t be arsed to do it one-handed.
Surprised I’d answered him, he takes a breath, and then he’s silent, waiting.
“You’re such a big man, killing frightened, innocent people, our friends and neighbours.
You really deserve that pat on the back.
Good job…” My voice cracks. I have to swallow a few times to get around the massive lump in my throat.
“I hope in the dead of night, when you’re trying to sleep, you remember the faces of the people who’ve been kind to you.
Kind even while you were selfish and cruel.
You didn’t just come to the town, sit in the background and spy.
While you were here, you made everybody’s life hell, and then you watched them die. ”
“You don’t get to say that. You have to be nice to me because you won’t get any food if you’re not. I’m sure you’re thirsty. I’m sure you need help with that arm. You need to be nice to me. I… I’m… You…” he splutters. “I’ll make you be nice,” he snarls, stomping out of the room.
The oak door slams closed.