CHAPTER TEN
KENNEDY
Growing up in New England, I’ve learned to make the most of the unpredictable weather. Today is one of the few perfect days, and most of Boston is out enjoying it. At least that’s what it seems like as I sit on my steps, iced coffee next to me and a book in hand.
Normally, the chirping of birds is a welcome addition to such a beautiful day. However, the constant cawing of the black crow perched outside my window isn’t as relaxing as it is annoying.
After several moments, I do what any sane person would do—I converse with the bird in question.
“What do you want? I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for you to eat,” I inform my persistent new buddy.
His response is a quick squawk and a tilt of his head.
Without giving it much more thought, I return to my spicy romance book and sip my coffee, glancing every so often at my feathered friend.
For the better part of an hour, I read and enjoy the day. But the loud and sudden caw of the bird sweeping down and nearly brushing the top of my head with its wings has me jumping up and about to run back inside.
“Oh, don’t mind him, he’s harmless,” a vaguely familiar voice states from a few doors down. When I turn to see who it is, I’m shocked to see the crow perched on the shoulder of the tall, beautiful blonde woman who had impersonated Aradia at my office just last week.
“You,” I snap in a huff. “How dare you—” The woman holds up her hand to stop me from continuing.
“Whatever you’re going to say, I assure you, it’s not necessary,” she informs as she strokes the bird.
“Blah, blah, blah,” she mocks, puppeting her hand.
“You came into my office and pretended to be a patient,” she whines, and I can feel my anger begin to surface.
“Let me save you the time. I don’t care.
I merely had to see the woman who has captured Reaver’s heart. ”
For a moment I stand, unable to formulate enough words to adequately convey my anger.
It isn’t until she’s standing directly in front of me that I can feel her malevolence.
The mention of Reaver’s name on this woman’s lips has me wanting to surge forward and wrap my hands around her long, perfect swan neck and choke the words out of her.
But something about her has me taking a tentative step back. It’s as if evil is wafting from her in waves. It’s the most unsettling feeling I have ever experienced, and I know without a shadow of a doubt, she isn’t human by any stretch of imagination, despite her facade.
Clearing my throat, I do my best to gather my wits about me. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong. I haven’t seen or heard from Reaver in months. If his heart has been captured by anyone, it most certainly isn’t me.”
If I thought for one moment that her evil presence was the most unsettling thing about her, it was only because I hadn’t heard her laugh. The sound that comes from her at my mention of Reaver is much more of a cackle than a jovial, light-hearted laugh.
“You really have no idea how these boys operate, do you?” she asks, taking a step forward, which has me, on instinct, taking another step back until I’m standing on the top step, hand poised to grab the handle and retreat into the relative safety of my brownstone.
“I think his actions toward me speak loud and clear,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Yes, they do,” she adds. “Which is exactly why I’m here. They’ll do anything to protect what they love. Even keeping their distance.”
Swallowing down my growing fear, I steady my nerves to ask the question that’s been haunting me since she stepped foot in my office. “Who are you and what do you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything from you. You mean less than nothing to me. And honestly, I wouldn’t be here if there were any other way to get Reaver’s attention. But there’s none, and he owes me a debt, which I intend to collect. And you, my little human friend, are the bait.”
I’m about to run inside and call Salem to ask for help, but my hand barely touches the door handle before everything goes black and the last sound I hear is her haunting laugh.
*~*~*
My head feels like I’ve been hit by a truck and left for dead on the side of the road.
The last thing I want to do is open my eyes, because I know I’m not in Kansas anymore, or Boston, as the case may be.
And if I do open my eyes, whatever or wherever this is, it will become reality, and I’m not sure I can handle that just yet.
So instead, I roll onto my side, tuck my legs up as tightly to my chest as I can, and do my best to try and breathe.
My first real inhalation of air has me coughing and gagging.
Just another layer of proof that wherever I am, it isn’t home.
Even on the hottest, most humid days, riding Boston’s T, it never smelled this bad.
I do my best to fight back the tears that are threatening to pour from my eyes.
Whoever the woman is who came for me has severely overestimated Reaver’s feelings towards me.
The only hope I can foresee is that Salem will become concerned if a few days go by and she hasn’t heard from me.
I’m trying to keep my breathing shallow so I don’t vomit, although the smell of vomit might be an improvement.
“Try not to think about it,” I whisper aloud to myself as I wrap my arms around my legs and begin to rock. “Think, Kennedy, think.”
“FUCK!” I yell into the dark abyss as I sit up and open my eyes, taking in my surroundings for the first time.
In my deepest, darkest imagination, I couldn’t have conjured up where I now find myself.
Over the last few years, I became accustomed to things I never thought possible.
Hell, my best friend turned out to be an honest-to-goodness witch who married a fallen Archangel, who is more of a vampire than I’d care to admit.
I’ve spent time at The Black Door club, which is probably the scariest place on earth after dark.
But none of that prepared me for where I am right now.
I can feel the panic begin to settle into the pit of my stomach.
Slowly, I stand on shaky legs. I’m not sure how much time passes as I just stand stone-still and look around my cell.
Reaver never really wanted to open up about his time in Treachery Prison, a place in Hell so vile that few ever leave.
Of the few things he did tell me, the stench was one of the things he could never get used to, and if it was anything like the putrid rot now permeating my nostrils, I can see why.
“Try not to think about it,” I mumble, but opening my mouth only makes it worse, so I clamp my lips shut and do my best not to wretch.
Willing my feet to move, I take a few small steps forward until I’m pressed up against the rusted metal bars of my cell.
The only source of light is from a burning torch on the wall outside my enclosure.
It flickers, making the shadows seem to dance, only adding to the haunted prison ambience.
My cell doesn’t seem to be much more than an ancient cubicle of crumbling stone with a makeshift cot under some straw.
Glancing around, it’s hard to tell how wide the cell is, since the light from the torch only illuminates the first few feet. Pressing my cheek up against the bars, I strain to see down the corridor. The only torch that appears to be lit is the one in front of me. How considerate.
Bending down, I pick up a small stone and stick my arm outside the bars, ready to toss it down the walkway.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a gravelly voice says from the darkness behind me. The sudden realization that I’m not alone has my heart beating at double-time as I scurry over to the nearest wall and plaster my back against the cold, damp stone.
Incorrectly, I assumed I knew what fear was when I thought I was alone in the dilapidated cell that smelled of putrid death. But I was wrong. True fear is now knowing that I am not alone, and who or whatever just spoke to me is hiding in the shadowy darkness.
My body is trembling uncontrollably as my mind begins to conjure up images of what could possibly be in here with me.
Gripping the stone that is still in my hand, I hold it up, ready to throw it at whatever emerges from the darkness.
“Hello? Who’s there?” I can’t stop my voice from trembling.
Even if I tried, it would be impossible.
“I have a weapon,” I add, shaking my hand in the air that holds the golf ball-sized stone.
Even against a child, my weapon would be useless, and I’m certain that whatever is here with me isn’t a child, or at least not a human one.
“You can put your…weapon down,” the scratchy, disembodied voice whispers from the darkness. “I’m not the one you should be fearing.”
“Where are you?” I ask, refusing to drop the only ammunition I have against whatever may emerge.
“Don’t you mean—” The voice cuts off under the strain of speaking to a barrage of coughing and throat clearing.
But finally continues, “Don’t you mean, where are we?
” The voice poses the question that has been on my lips since I opened my eyes.
There’s rustling in the darkness, as if whatever is there is preparing to show itself.
“Are you human?” the voice asks, and if we were in any other place, I would find the inquiry odd, but not here.
I can hear it take a few steps toward me, and if I could retreat into the stone, I would.
But as it stands, there is no place for me to escape to.
“Are you human?” the voice asks again, and this time, when it takes another step forward, the light casts a shadow on a small, clearly female figure.
She is just inside the shadowy darkness, and I can’t make out any distinct features of her face or body.
But she is small, much smaller than me, and skeletal thin.
Lowering my arm, I toss the small stone to the ground. “I am human. Are you?” I regret the question as soon as it’s out of my mouth, and it seems to linger in the air, waiting for her to answer.
“What year is it?” she asks instead of answering the simple question. “I don’t know how long I’ve been here,” she chokes out as she takes another step into the dim light.
At first, I’m relieved to see that it’s a frail human woman.
She’s filthy, and her clothing, at least what’s left of it, is dirty and threadbare, hanging on her slight frame as if it once fit.
But then she takes another step, and I see the unmistakable talon on the top of her wings rising just above each of her bony shoulders.
“What year?” she repeats.
I swallow down my fear before answering. How is it that we’ve gone from me asking her questions to her asking me? “It’s twenty-twenty-six.”
“WHAT!” she screams. “What do you mean it’s twenty-twenty-six?
That can’t be. It can’t be. That’s not possible.
I’ve only been here a few months!” she cries, and I can feel her pain and anguish as she drops down to her knees and drops her head into her hands.
“No wonder no one has looked for me,” she sobs.
My years of training kick in, and I immediately go to her, kneeling beside her. I do my best to soothe her as I run my hand over her long, matted hair, any fear I had vanishing as I try to console her. “What year did you think it was?”
“I don’t know, twenty-fourteen, maybe twenty-fifteen. That bitch took ten years from me. No wonder no one is looking for me. They all must think I’m dead.”
“Who? Who took ten years from you?” I ask, wondering if it’s the same woman who took me, and if I will be her in ten years—devoid of hope and confused at the passing of a decade. Without warning, the woman before me surges forward, grabbing me by the neck and slamming me back into the stone wall.
“Pestilence, that fucking bitch,” she snarls through gritted teeth.
Then something in her snaps, and she turns toward me, glaring.
“You’re lying. This is just another one of her tricks, isn’t it?
” For a woman who looks to be on the brink of starvation, she’s remarkably fast and incredibly strong as she descends on me with outstretched hands.
Cold hands that wrap around my neck and lift me up as she squeezes the air from me.
“She’s trying to break me, isn’t she?” she laughs, devoid of any humor.
“No,” I squeak out as I gasp for breath and try to pull at her fingers.
“My name is Kennedy. I don’t even know who she is.
She’s looking for my—” I pause, not knowing exactly what to call Reaver.
We were never actually together, and now I’m stuck here so he can pay some debt. “She’s looking for Reaver,” I spit out.
As soon as his name leaves my lips, she releases my neck, and I fall to the ground at her feet, sucking in rotted air as quickly as I can.
“Reaver, Reaver, Reaver.” She mutters his name repeatedly as she circles the cell.
“Ugh, why can’t I remember?” she yells as she knocks her fist against the side of her head.
“Reaver, Reaver, Reaver. I know the name, I know I do.” She continues to chatter as if completely forgetting that I’m even here.
I want to scream at her and tell her to stop repeating his name, but I don’t think it would do any good.
Finally, after what seems like hours, she stops abruptly as if having an epiphany. “He’s one of the twins,” she says very matter-of-factly, and my heart drops, because this strange, lost woman who only moments ago had no connection to me at all, knows who Reaver is.
“Who are you and how do you know Reaver?” I demand, doing my best to keep any hint of jealousy out of my voice. After all, being held captive in what appears to be the seventh level of Hell isn’t exactly the best place to have a jealous fit, especially over someone who couldn’t care less about me.
The woman pauses and stares off into the darkness as if she’s trying to remember her own name.
“Jenna. My name is Jenna,” she whispers, though her name comes out as more of a question than a statement, almost as if she hasn’t said her own name out loud in quite some time. “I never knew Reaver, but Gabriel did.”