Chapter 17
My head aches. I slit my eyes open, trying to make sense of things. I’m in pain, everything is dark, and I can’t move.
What the fuck is going on?
Where am I?
I open my mouth and my voice comes out hoarse and muffled. “Hello?” My throat burns and the taste of blood is on my lips. I force my eyes open and think for a moment that I’ve gone blind.
And then everything comes rushing back to me. I was speeding into town and a truck ran a stop sign. It T-boned me on the passenger side and the last thing I remember is the airbag going off.
Then everything went black.
And it’s still black, but not because I’m blind. It’s because I’m in the dark, wherever I am. I’m on the floor, and it’s cold and hard beneath me. My hands are bound behind my back and the blood I’m tasting is coming from my nose.
I’m really tired of waking up tied up.
I shake my head to try and get the hair out of my face, but it’s stuck in dried blood on my cheeks.
I do a quick check to survey the damage.
I’m beat to hell but able to move, well, as good as I can since my hands are in cuffs behind my back.
Pushing up onto my feet, I slowly inch forward to see how much room I have.
I flex my fingers and bring in energy around me, sending it to my hands to start a magical fire, melt the metal cuffs, and get the fuck out of here.
But I can’t.
“Fuck me,” I mumble, and spit out a chunk of dried blood that was stuck to my lip. The cuffs I saw in the dream had some sort of inscription on them. I couldn’t read it, but I figured that it was able to block out powers. It worked on Rachel, and now it’s working on me.
Okay…stay calm. I’ll figure this out. I know where I am—more or less—since Mr. Trent is the one who owns these fucking handcuffs. I’m in one of the buildings I was going to investigate. Probably. Maybe.
Or I could be any-fucking-where.
I don’t know what time it is, but I do know come sunset, the guys will come looking for me and I can’t let them. They are what Trent wants.
I slide one foot forward, feeling around the room. I bump into a wall and move down it until I come to another wall and eventually a locked door. I think I’m in a large closet, and as far as I can tell, there’s nothing in here with me.
Stay calm. Stay calm. If I panic, it’ll call the guys to me faster. Someone will find me. I left Gemma a message and a note on the basement door. My car has to be on the side of the road, and evidence from an accident will be apparent to whoever drives by.
It’s not like I can just disappear like the rest of the magical children.
Leaning against the wall, I sink down to my butt and bring my legs up to my chest. In a move I’ve only seen done in movies, I painfully pull my legs through my cuffed hands so that my arms are no longer bound behind me.
Going back to the door, I try the knob. It’s locked and I can feel a deadbolt above it. The door is solid. If I try to break it open, I’ll end up hurting myself, and I need my physical strength. Without my powers it’s all I have.
I crouch down by the door and put my ear up to it, listening. At first I hear nothing. Time passes. Maybe minutes go by. Maybe an hour. I’m completely in the dark and starting to feel disoriented.
And then someone walks down a hall. Their footsteps reverberate through the room and muffled voices get louder and louder. Suddenly, bright lights turn on above me. I squeeze my eyes closed, getting hit with a sharp pain in my head from the sudden brightness.
Slowly, I open my eyes, trying to get my vision to adjust as fast as possible.
The first thing I notice is that I’m covered in my own blood.
My nose must have started bleeding when the airbag went off, and blood dripped all down my front.
Pieces of glass cut my forearms, and now that I can see the angry red lines on my skin, I can feel the pain.
The deadbolt shoots back and I scramble up, heart racing. Charles opens the door, eyes widening when he sees me. He steps aside and motions for me to leave the empty closet.
Stepping out, I set foot in the big office I saw in my dream. It’s exactly the same as I saw it, and Mr. Trent is sitting behind his desk. He’s staring into what can only be described as a crystal ball.
“Ah, Acelina. How nice of you to join us. Did you have a nice nap?” He stands, buttoning his suit jacket, and comes over to me. Charles puts his hand on my arm and guides me forward, stopping me right in front of Mr. Trent.
“Fuck you,” I say, and jerk forward, head-butting him hard in the face. He cries out in pain and stumbles back, hands flying to his face. Blood drips from his nose, and though the impact hurt my already aching head, it feels good to see him bleeding too.
“What the fuck?” he exclaims, and leans over, blood dripping to the ground. “The carpet,” he angrily mumbles, and races to his desk. “It’s nineteenth-century and worth more than your car!”
“My car’s not worth shit because you crashed it, asshole,” I spit. “And you will be buying me a new one, by the way. Except bigger. I’m thinking an Escalade or something.”
“Sir,” Charles says as he clears his throat and hands Mr. Trent a handkerchief. He takes it and mops up his face. “Time is of the essence.”
“What the hell do you want?” I demand. “You kidnapped me. I’m a cop. You’re going to be in serious trouble when I get out of here.”
Mr. Trent laughs and folds the handkerchief in half, holding it against his face. His voice is muffled, he’s bleeding, but he’s still smug as fuck. I really don’t like the guy.
“You’re free to go, Miss Bisset,” he starts. “When I get what I want.”
“Then you need to tell me exactly what it is you want.” I need to buy some more time. The sun is still up, streaming in evening light from the large window in front of me. I couldn’t have been out for long.
“Oh, you know.”
I roll my eyes. “Obviously you’re not sure I have what you want and you’re trying to bait me into listing off every magical item in my possession.”
“Have a seat, Ace,” Mr. Trent says, waving to a leather chair in front of his desk. Charles, who left after giving him the handkerchief, comes back into the room with a damp towel. Mr. Trent cleans up his face and then strides over to the window.
“There’s an old legend that’s been passed down through my family for centuries.”
“Okay?” I look down at the handcuffs. The words are written in Latin, of fucking course. At first glance they look typical, but now I see there’s no hole for a key.
“And the legend says that four of our brothers were struck down by a dark magician, held captive for years by the very blood that brought them their demise.”
Holy fucking shit. Mr. Trent hails from descendants of the Templar Knights. That’s why Jacques recognized the symbol. He’d seen it before, back in his human days. I swallow hard and force myself to take slow, steady breaths.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“The knights spent years trying to find their missing brethren. Loyalty was important to them. And so was vengeance. But nothing was found. No blood. No bodies. It was as if they disappeared.”
Mr. Trent turns around, taking in a dramatic breath. Something tells me he’s practiced this speech before and is having fun seeing how much further he can weasel his way under my skin before I crack.
“I am a descendant of Hugues de Payens,” he says, like that’s supposed to mean something to me.
“And our family never forgot. On the search for our lost brothers, my fathers before me made it their mission to find and destroy every magical item or being they could. They believed no one should possess the power of magic. It was dangerous. Only God should have that much power.”
He sits at his chair, turning slightly so he can gaze upon the collection of occult items behind him. I have a feeling I know where this is going, and the outcome isn’t favorable.
“And for centuries, that’s what we did,” he goes on. “Until my great-grandfather realized just how beneficial it could be to use the magical items instead of destroying them.”
“Thanks for the history lesson, Professor,” I sass. “But I still don’t see how I fit in here. Just let me go now and I’ll make sure you don’t end up as someone’s butt-bitch in prison.”
“You’ve got spunk, kid. I like that.”
“Kid?” I cock an eyebrow. “I’m not that much younger than you.”
He laughs. “On the contrary. Take a guess at how old I am. Come on, now, this will be fun.”
“Forty-two.”
“Ohh, ouch.” He winces. “I was hoping to pass for forty. Though forty-two is still a far cry from my actual age of eighty-six.” His eyes flash as he waits for me to gasp in surprise and ask how in the world that’s possible. “Aren’t you curious, Ace? Aren’t you going to tell me I’m lying?”
I shrug. “You just said you’ve spent your life collecting magic shit to use for personal gain. I’m sure an anti-aging spell was found somewhere along the way.”
His face goes slack. “You’re no fun, you know.”
“So I’ve been told. All work and no play makes me a dull girl.”
“Dull, but still pretty. Even with blood all over your face.” He tips his head, inspecting me.
“I prefer my women to be a little more curvy with bigger tits, but I’m sure you’ll clean up nice.
” He holds up his hand. “Not to worry, you’re not my type.
But you will look good on my arm when we’re in public. ”
What the fuck is he talking about? If he thinks he can keep me like one of his magical relics, he’s got another thing coming. “I thought you said I was free to go.”
“Oh, you are, but only if you give me what I want.”
I shake my head. “You’ve been dancing around that since I met you.”
His lips curve into a smile. “You were right, Ace, about me not being sure if you actually have it. You see, throughout my years of collecting, I never lost sight of what got us started in this business. And as you know, there’s little money can’t buy.
So I hired a historian to go through eons of records. And you know what they found?”
“That narcissistic assholes run in your family?”
He ignores me. “A report of winged creatures of the night plundering villages across Europe. But one thing was the same in all these reports: a pagan sorcerer was said to be behind them all. But that only went on for a few years and then the local legends stopped mentioning these winged creatures.” He waves his hand in the air.
“Fast forward five hundred years or so and witches are being burned left and right at the stake. Four stone statues were offered as a trade to a small church in France in exchange for the lives of a coven of witches. That record was hard to find. It was almost a shame I had to kill the historian who dug that one up.”
I swallow hard, keeping my expression neutral.
“Another few hundred years later and the statues were moved, brought to America on a ship that was said to have sunk during a terrible storm while crossing the Atlantic.” He laughs.
“My father wasted millions exploring the ocean floor and came up empty-handed. But me…I had a different approach.” He smooths out his tie and stands up again.
“We’d been focusing on objects for so long.
Spell books, elixirs, enchanted pens that would write the correct answer to any question asked.
” He turns to me, eyes narrowed. “Why not go right to the source? If I have my own witch, I can have whatever magical item or cure I need.”
He’s not selling the children at auctions. He’s keeping them as his own personal slaves.
“You’re fucking psycho, you know that, right?”
“What you call psycho I call genius. Let’s skip the melodramatics. With my own team of witches, I was able to locate the statues. But when I went to your house, they were gone.”
He comes around the desk and stops just a foot in front of me.
“I’m having a hard time believing you. There were four gargoyle statues on that house.
I’ve seen the photos. Statues that large and heavy couldn’t be moved easily and would require a team of specialists who would have cost more than anything you could afford.
The only way they’d be removed that easily is if they came down themselves. ”
“Like I said, you’re psycho. And really, you think you can just go in and take four creatures of the night or whatever you called them and they’ll be okay with it? They plundered whole villages. I don’t think any sort of anti-aging elixir can save you from the damage they’d do.”
He flashes a cocky grin. “That’s where you come in. The runes. You have them, and I want them.” He goes back around his desk and opens a drawer, pulling out a taser. “I’m going to get them from you one way or another.”
“Torture me, but it won’t change the fact that I don’t know where these runes or the statues are. Maybe you shouldn’t have killed your historian so fast. You could have tracked down who bought the statues before I moved into the house.”
Mr. Trent clicks on the taser and holds it up. Blue electricity jumps from one prong to the other, sizzling and zapping. I’ve been tased before as part of training. I can handle it…I think. But it’s still going to suck.
“I need those runes,” he goes on. “And you’re going to give them to me.
” He comes over and, with no warning at all, shoves the taser against my arm.
“Because once the runes are in my possession, I’ll be able to perform a ritual and bind them to me.
” His eyes glint and his lips pull back in a sneer. “And then I’ll control the creatures.”