54. Thea
Thea
Cuffs, Goblins, and Sarcasm, Oh My!
Ipush myself to my feet, stumbling slightly as the cuff drags on my energy.
The room is dark, the faintest slivers of light filtering in from a crack under the door.
I squint, scanning the small space. Bare walls, a low ceiling, and empty shelves.
I start searching, my movements slow and deliberate.
I try the door, pressing against the cold metal, but it’s locked tight.
I run my fingers along the edges of the shelves, feeling for anything that could be useful.
“What are you doing?” Benson asks, his voice tight with pain.
“Looking for a way out,” I say without turning around.
He groans softly, his breathing uneven.
“We’re in the middle of… wherever this is. Even if we get out of the room, where are we supposed to go?”
I glance at him, his silhouette slumped in the corner, the cuff glowing faintly against his skin.
“Anywhere’s better than here,” I say firmly. “I’m not going to sit around and wait for them to decide what to do with us. You shouldn’t either.”
He doesn’t respond, his head tilting down as he cradles his wrist. I return to searching, ignoring the gnawing ache radiating from my own cuff.
As my hands skim over the edge of a shelf, I feel something small and metallic.
My fingers close around it, and I pull it out into the faint light.
It’s a thin, rusted nail. Not much, but it’s something.
A spark of determination ignites in my chest as I slip the nail into my waistband and keep searching.
Every corner of the storeroom feels colder, more indifferent to the tightening knot in my stomach.
I move with purpose, touching and examining every inch, knowing the seconds are slipping away.
When I’ve checked every possible hiding spot, I finally sit down next to Benson.
“So, Benson,” I say, keeping my voice light despite the tension in the air. “Last time I had a cuff on, I found storytelling helped with the pain. Gave me something else to focus on.” I glance at him, trying to gauge his reaction. “Want to hear how I turned my coven’s basement into a pool?”
“You turned a basement into a pool?” he asks, his voice rough but intrigued.
“Yup,” I reply, a wry grin tugging at my lips.
“It was supposed to be an illusion spell. I thought I could make the room look like it was underwater. It was a prank; there was this male witch I liked, and I knew he’d need to go down there.
But apparently, my elemental magic decided to come out instead. ”
Benson raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching. “And? Did you impress him?”
“Well, let’s just say he wasn’t a fan of witches who get so wet they flood basements,” I joke. “His loss.”
Benson snorts, the sound turning into a low chuckle despite himself.
“God, you’re terrible.”
“But you laughed.” I glance at him, triumphant. “Your turn. What’s something ridiculous you’ve done?”
“I made my mom a mirror.” He pauses, his gaze distant as if recalling the memory. “I enchanted it to boost her confidence with compliments, Great ones, or so I thought.”
I raise an eyebrow that he probably can’t see. “What happened?”
“The mirror is about as bad as you are,” he says, shooting me a faint smirk.
“It roasts everyone who walks by it, except for her. It affectionately calls me the ‘swamp creature,’ and my one dad is the ‘hairless wonder.’ He has super white hair. My mom, though? Every time she walks by, it calls her ‘The Timeless Wonder.’”
I snort, trying to hold back a laugh. “She actually keeps it?”
“By the front door,” he says, shaking his head with mock despair. “She likes to hear it call her that as she’s heading out for the day.”
“What about your other dad?” I ask.
“He’s the ‘wonderless creature.’ I think I failed and it only knows a handful of words.”
The air between us shifts, and for a moment, the cuffs, the storeroom, and the danger outside all fade away.
We’re just two people — two survivors sharing stories in the dark.
His voice grows animated as he tells me about his attempt to make a soccer ball that would shoot at him that ended up breaking his arm when the sound of heavy boots echoes outside the door.
A sense of dread creeps up my spine, but I shove it down.
A short goblin with plain brown hair and cruel eyes scans the room after the door swings open. His hand rests on the gun tucked into his pants.
“Untied, huh? Someone’s been busy,” he mutters. I hadn’t noticed how pale Benson looked in the dark, but now, as I glance at him, the color has drained from his face. My stomach twists in concern.
Two larger goblins storm in behind him. They move with rough efficiency, grabbing us. Benson stumbles as the goblin yanks him to his feet, his legs barely holding him upright. I pretend to be equally fragile, my knees buckling as I let them drag me from the room.
The dim corridor leads to a warehouse with metal walls and concrete floors. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows. Standing at the far end of the room, is the tall goblin with startling yellow hair and matching eyes, his posture rigid, his gaze calculating.
I’m shoved forward, my knees hitting the hard floor with a jarring thud.
The sting of the impact shoots through my legs, but I bite down on the pain, refusing to let it show.
I glance up at the goblin leader, meeting his cold stare.
Benson falls beside me with a weak groan, but I force myself to look straight ahead.
Showing concern will only make him a bigger target.
“Looks like you’re as weak as they say,” the goblin leader sneers, his deep voice dripping with mockery. He takes a slow step forward, his boots echoing in the silence. “The cuff barely seems to be affecting you.”
I force a smile.
“Then there’s no need for it, is there?” I say, my voice sweet as honey. My gaze flicks briefly to the cuff on my wrist. “And honestly, it doesn’t even match my outfit.”
His lips curl into a thin, cruel smile. His eyes narrow as he studies me. He takes a slow step closer, a grunt escaping him as he shifts his posture.
“You’re bold,” he growls. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”
I tilt my head and smirk.
“Probably a lot longer than you would if the situation was reversed,” I say coolly. “So, are you going to get to the exposition or can I go back to my nap?”
He snorts, taking another step closer.
“You got spirit, spell-doll.” He chuckles darkly, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Word is you’ve got a thing for goblins. Must be your lucky day.”
“Oh!” I feign surprise, lifting my brows. “And here I thought I was being kidnapped, not rewarded.” I glance around the room, pouting theatrically. “But all I see are old, ugly goblins. Got anything in blue? Maybe something… fresher?”
His face flushes under the fluorescent lights. I wait. His anger simmers just beneath the surface. His fists tighten at his sides and I brace myself, waiting for the blow. But I don’t flinch. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“You’ve got quite the mouth on you,” he snarls.
I shrug nonchalantly, the sharp edge of my smile still in place.
“What can I say? I’ve been told it’s one of my better qualities.
Right up there with my questionable instincts and keen eye for décor.
” I gesture to the cavernous, steel-and-concrete space around us.
“This place? Not exactly screaming ‘villain hideout.’ Maybe splurge on some actual walls, or at least a rug to break up the monotony. You don’t even have an ironic bloodstain. ”
Benson groans softly beside me and reaches out to grab my hand. I dare a quick glance at him. His face is pale, his body trembling with pain. His breath comes in short, labored gasps.
“Thea…” he mutters, his voice tight and strained. “Maybe you should—”
The leader’s attention snaps to Benson with alarming speed, cutting him off mid-sentence. His cruel smile stretches wider as his large frame looms over him, casting a long, dark shadow.
“What’s this? Trying to shield your fragile little hexer?
Cute.” He squats beside Benson, leaning in close enough that I can hear the low rasp of his voice.
Another grunt escapes him, frustration seeping into his every movement.
“Tell me, Imp, do you think that will save you? You can barely stand up. If you’ve got something to say, better make it quick. Before I decide what to break first.”
I glance at Benson, then back to the leader, my smirk never faltering. I crush my fear beneath practiced detachment. The second they sense weakness, they’ll use it.
“Wow, Grunt,” I say, my voice dripping with mockery. “That was a lot of words at once. Does your little brain hurt?” I ask, raising my voice in exaggerated concern as if I’m speaking to a child. “You know, maybe I could get you a warm drink. It might help with all that thinking.”
“What did you just call me?” His voice darkens with irritation, his teeth gritting together and another grunt sneaks out, causing my lips to tilt up.
I cock my head, drawing it out. “Grunt. You know, like the noise you make when you think.” I tap my chin, feigning innocence. “Can’t say I’m impressed by the intellectual prowess on display. Want to tell me who’s really doing the thinking here?”
The tension in the room escalates, the air thick with the promise of violence. But I don’t cower; I hold his stare and let him see exactly how unafraid I am.
“You want to keep running your mouth?” he spits, his voice dripping with venom as he steps forward, his hand darting out to grab my jaw roughly.
His fingers dig into my skin, forcing my head to tilt upward so he can glare down at me.
“Fine. You won’t be talking when I break you. And trust me, doll, I will.”
The cold fury in his words proves everything. I force my lips into a smirk, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Promises, promises. Just don’t be disappointed when you realize I’m harder to crack than you think.”
I can feel the rage vibrating in the air between us, like a storm ready to burst. Good. Let him seethe. The more frustrated he gets, the more mistakes he’ll make. And the more mistakes he makes, the better my chances of getting out of here.
His breath comes heavier, like he’s fighting to keep his temper under control. Then, in a sudden move, he shoves me. It catches me completely off guard and I crash into Benson. His arms shoot out just in time to catch me as we collapse to the cold floor.
“Take them back to the storeroom,” Grunt growls, his voice like gravel grinding against steel.
“But we haven’t gotten to the fun part yet!” I protest, my tone dripping with mock indignation. “Call me when you’re cleared to do more than grunt and glare.”
They drag us through the warehouse and we’re thrown into the storeroom. I stumble, barely catching myself against the wall. The heavy door slams shut behind us with a metallic clang. The lock clicks into place, sealing us in.
Benson’s frustration flares as he turns on me.
“What the hell was that, Thea?” he snarls. “Was that fucking necessary?”
I brush myself off and flash him a smug smile.
“It was fun,” I reply with a playful shrug. “And also absolutely necessary.”
He drops painfully onto the floor, propping his back against the corrugated metal wall.
“How?” he asks, his voice tinged with exasperation. I lean against the cool metal wall, slide down next to him.
“What did you learn from your chat with Grunt?” I ask, deliberately baiting him.
Benson’s voice rises, his irritation boiling over. “Nothing! I learned nothing! All you did was piss him off!”
I raise a finger as if I’m delivering a lecture. “Exactly. Even with me thoroughly pissing him off, he didn’t strike us, didn’t torture us, and most importantly, didn’t tell us why we’re here.”
Benson’s brow furrows. “And?”
“That means,” I continue, my smirk widening. “He’s not the one in charge.”
Benson exhales sharply and rakes a hand through his hair.
“You’re impossible,” he mutters. But then, after a pause, his tone softens, a reluctant admiration slipping through. “You’re lucky you’re good at this.”
I grin. “Don’t I know it.”
“Why are you so good at this?” he asks, and I let the words hang.
I watch as tension in his face sharpens. He flexes his fingers, wincing as the pain hits him again.
When we were in the light I realized he looks worse than he should. Pale. Trembling. He’s being drained faster than his body can handle it. My gut tightens, instinct telling me this isn’t just the cuff working as it should.
“Benson, is your cuff goblin-made?” I ask, forcing down the creeping panic. His brows furrow, his gaze locking onto the cuff as he shifts his wrist, tilting it toward the faint light near the door.
“No,” he says softly. “These are witch cuffs.”
“Fuck.” The word slips out before I can stop it.
Benson looks at me, confusion in his eyes.
“What? What does that mean?”
I swallow hard, my throat dry. “It means we don’t have much time. Witch cuffs stop all magic, and goblins can’t live without their magic.” I grit my teeth, forcing myself to look at him and not away, because this is something we have to face together.
“How long?” he asks. Steeling himself for my answer.
A goblin stronger than himself will be dead in a few days.
“Maybe a week,” I lie.
“A week?” his voice is barely a whisper, filled with disbelief.
I grab his hand. “I will get it off you,” I promise. “You’re good with magical artifacts, which part is the one that keeps them locked?”
He studies it for a moment. “Right here,” he says, pointing to a faint pattern etched into the metal. “But you need something metal to scratch it out with.”
“Lucky for us, I found this.” I hold up the nail with a small, triumphant smile.
Taking his wrist gently, I press the nail to the inscription and start scratching.
The rusted tip digs in, slow and unsteady.
As the nail grates against the metal, I glance up at him.
His face is pale, sweat dripping from his brow as he presses his other hand to his chest, trying to steady his breathing.
I will get this cuff off and he’ll never know how close he came.
I try telling him stories again, but he’s drained.
It doesn’t take long before I hear the subtle change — the deep, even rhythm of someone slipping into sleep.
I glance over my shoulder. His head against the wall, his face slack with exhaustion.
Despite everything, I’m relieved he can rest, even for a moment.
When my eyelids begin to droop, I know I’ve pushed myself too far.
With an annoyed sigh, I slide the nail into its hiding place.
My body aches as I rest my head against the cold steel wall, feeling the faint warmth of Benson’s presence beside me.
It’s a small comfort in an otherwise miserable situation.