Eventually, I forced my eyes open, only to be met by utter darkness. The sort of darkness that came with deep underground caverns or perhaps even crypts.
Fear stirred through me, but I pushed it down and did a mental checklist of my situation. My knives were gone, but they had to be somewhere close, because I could feel the pulse of their energy. I called for them, but they didn’t answer, which was no doubt due to the pulse of magic encasing the space I wasin. While I couldn’t be absolutely certain, I suspected it was the same magic that had stopped the air answering my call in the warehouse. I reached for it anyway, just to be sure. Heard the briefest howl of wind from some distance away, and the slight brush of air past my fingertips, but that was it.
I mentally swore and continued my silent checklist.
My boots were also missing, as was, oddly, one sock. Something heavy was wrapped tightly around my left calf—on the same leg that was missing its sock—but I could wiggle my toes without causing a screaming tide of agony, which suggested I hadn’t broken anything. My coat was also gone, and moisture—blood?—coated the left side of my face, which felt swollen and bruised. My bottom lip was also swollen, so I ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth; all teeth accounted for and seemingly unbroken. My fingers moved as ordered, as did my arms—or at least, they moved as much as the rope hog-tying me would allow. I carefully rolled my neck from one side to the other and felt no stab of agony. All in all, it appeared I’d come out of the accident rather well.
I just had to hope Mathi and Henrick had....
I pushed away the concern that surged and jerked into a sitting position. A dozen new aches broke out across my body, and pain hissed from my lips.
Somewhere beyond the darkness that encased me came a squawk, then the soft tones of someone speaking. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, so either my hearing was fucked or the magic that enclosed my prison was also muting any sounds that might otherwise seep inside. Perhaps it was also the reason it was so damn dark.
I carefully reached forward and examined my leg. The inseam of my jeans had been cut open, and the thick bandage stretched from just above my ankle to just below my knee. If they’d taken the time to treat my leg, they obviously did notintend to kill me. That should have stirred relief but did the exact opposite.
I prodded my leg lightly and felt only the gentlest whisper of pain, which suggested whoever had bandaged the wound had also treated it with some sort of numbing salve. If that were true, then maybe, just maybe, the leg wouldn’t hinder me too much if I got the chance to run. Of course, it also meant I wouldn’t be aware of any additional damage I was causing, but I’d rather that than sit here and let them do whatever the hell they were intending to do.
I glanced around and tried to figure out where I was despite the darkness that blanketed the room. It felt small, and the walls I couldn’t see exuded a chill that spoke of stone rather than wood. I drew my legs up slightly to provide some slack on the rope and felt along the edge of the stone I was sitting on. It was about two inches thick and a lid of some kind. I bent and skimmed my fingers down the base as much as I could. More stone. Perhaps my initial fuzzy thoughts had been right—I was not only in a crypt but sitting on a sarcophagus. There was no easy way out of this damn place, that was for sure.
Unless... I glanced down at my wrist. The Bruadar bracelet remained, so maybe I needed to use it—presuming, of course, that the magic that stopped my knives from answering didn’t also restrict the Bruadar’s magic. The urge to test it rose fiercely, but I battered it back down. Using the Bruadar might allow me to escape this situation, but it would also give Carla time to run and the time to form a new plan of attack. That was not going to happen. The bitch was not going to get the chance for further attempts on my life; one way or another, it was going to end here, tonight.
From outside came the sound of footsteps, then the rattle of a key in a lock. I tensed, my fingers twitching with the need to call my knives. I resisted. Until I knew where I was, why I had beentaken—though I could pretty much guess that, given who’d I’d heard at the crash site—and just how many of them there were, it was better to hold my ace in check.
The door opened, and light speared into the room, the sudden brightness blinding. I looked away, blinking rapidly against the tears, but nevertheless caught the shadows of those who entered—three men, one woman. The man holding the light remained in the doorway, shining it directly onto my face.
I reached again for the air and the distant storm. This time, the latter was louder, closer. It was coming, but my ability to wield it was still being restricted by the damn magic protecting this place. I wondered what it would take to break it. Wondered if I had the time to find out.
“It won’t work, you know,” I said, my voice little more than a harsh rasp. “I know who you are, Carla. More importantly, Mathi and Cynwrig know who you are.”
“You may know one name,” she replied evenly. “You have no idea who I truly am or how to find me.”
“Ah, but you’re wrong. We have the information Macsen stole, and it will lead us to you.” Only the faintest hint of anger crept into my tone, and that surprised me. I would have expected a whole lot more, given what this bitch had done. But perhaps the accident and the madmen banging away in my head were somehow divorcing me from my emotions.
She stopped in front of me, just out of kicking range, and crossed her arms. With the light directly behind her, it was impossible to see her face, but her silhouette was tall and slender, and her hair was short. “While it is true that what Macsen stole will stop me from using several identities, it matters not, because you, my dear pixie, are out of time.”
“Your boss doesn’t want me dead, Carla. Or should I call you Brídín?”
Her shock ran through the air—and if I was feeling that, then the magic in this place was faltering. “How do you know that name?”
“Oh, I’ve been listening to your fucking conversations for weeks. Who is he, Carla? What position does he hold in the IIT?”
“Well, aren’t you the enterprising little witch? Our relationship going forward could be more fruitful than either of us had anticipated. Hold her.”
Before I could process the end part of that statement, the three men grabbed me—two gripping my arms and pulling them away at such an angle from my body that my shoulders burned and the ropes binding my wrists bit into my skin. The third man stepped between me and Carla, then dropped to his knees and pressed his bulk again my legs, pinning them against the sarcophagus.
It was only then I realized what her earlier statement had meant.
“Don’t do this. Carla,” I growled, trying to keep a grip on rising panic, and failing. “Youwillregret it.”
“Oh, I regret many things in my life, but this will not be one of them.”
She produced a blade from somewhere on her person. It was long and thin and glowed with a fierce and ruddy light. Bia’s Blade, of that I had no doubt. I swore and fought the grip of the three men, throwing myself to one side and then back in a desperate attempt to get free. It didn’t work. I reached for the wind, for my knives, for the Bruadar, and felt the tingle of their separate responses but also an odd restraint. The magic. It was still stopping them responding in any meaningful way.
Then Carla stepped forward and plunged her knife into my shoulder.
I screamed, the sound echoing through the silence. Somewhere in the distance the skies rumbled in fury, and the airin the crypt stirred. It wasn’t enough. Not to pull the knife free, and not to blow the bitch and her people away from me.
I needed more time. I didn’t have it. The knife’s glow sharpened, its heat pulsing through me, a foul snake whose resonance crawled across every part of my inner being, trying to claim it for its own.
