The sound that came from Garrett’s throat was pure disgust. “Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone has a breaking point, especially a twenty-year-old girl. What you’re doing,omnimancer, is giving her a false sense of security. You’re helping cause her death.”
“I’mhelping?—”
“Stick around,” Garrett snapped, pulling out a leaf, “and think about it.”
It was a red. By the time Peter got out a “no,” Garrett was already gone, teleported with a pop—leaving him alone and utterly unable to get down from the wall.
He struggled for a minute before giving up the slim hope that he could free himself without magic. It could, of course, be worse. Garrett could have killed him. But hanging here for a day and a half until Beatrix came to work Monday morning—no food, no water, no toilet—might land him in the hospital. Even if she stopped in after church, he was looking at a fifteen-hour wait at minimum. There seemed no way he could drop off into a sufficiently deep sleep to get a message to her subconsciously.
When she did find him, he would be an embarrassing mess. No doubt that was what his assailant had counted on—that, and the odds that he’d get down from the wall a quivering wreck. Garrett really didn’t know anything about him. He hoped.
He let his head loll forward, expelling a long and bitter breath. The air just beyond him fogged up. Not like air normally would, there and gone, but rather like a car window on a cold day.
Ohfuck.
His heart raced. He huffed out hot air in more spots, testing his horrible theory, hoping to God it was wrong. But no: All around him, against the wall behind him and a couple inches out in front, the air reacted in exactly the same way. Hehadmanaged to cast the protection spell. And it had gone terribly wrong.
It wasn’t safely on his body like a second skin, allowing him to breathe. It had bubbled out around him, keeping everything—including air—from getting in.
Each breath brought him closer to suffocation. He didn’t have a day and a half. He didn’t have fifteen hours. He had perhaps a single hour, and then he’d be dead.
CHAPTER 34
Beatrix walked back into the now magically protected dining room, nerve endings still tingling from the memory of Peter’s hand in hers, to find all three women staring at her with identically worried expressions.
“What?” she said, heart sinking.Nowwhat?
“Take the car and go check on Meg,” Rosemarie said.
“Her name was on the hotel contract—they must know who she is,” said Lydia, no longer pacing around the table. “I want to make sure she’s OK. We should have gone hours ago.”
She was right. None of their lockets extended past their property, so they had no way of knowing whether their treasurer had also received a visit. Even Peter’s stopped at the town limits, which didn’t include the college and its dormitory.
Calling, obviously, was out of the question.
“Try to get her back here to allow for an actual conversation,” Rosemarie said.
Beatrix sighed, thinking of their last interaction—the Vow. The shouts and tears. “She won’t want to see me.”
“I’ll come with you,” Ella said, rising from her seat.
Hazelhurst College was a mile and a half out of town, close enough to walk if you weren’t in a rush, which was how Lydia got there most days. By car, it was hardly a trip at all. In five minutes, they were knocking on Meg’s dormitory door.
Nothing happened for a moment. Then the door opened a crack and Meg stared out at them, eyes wide, face drawn.
“Um—hello,” Beatrix said awkwardly.
“It’s not safe to talk here,” Ella added in a whisper. “Could you come home with us?”
It seemed as if Meg would refuse. But whatever internal struggle the girl was having resolved itself in their favor. She stepped out, locked the door and followed them to the car without a word.
“Don’t worry, everyone’s all right,” Ella murmured, sitting in the back with her.
Beatrix eyed Meg in the rearview mirror. She’d expected her to look better than the last time she’d seen her. Certainly not worse. “Areyouall right?”
Meg’s eyes welled up and Beatrix focused on starting the car, embarrassment and guilt gnawing at her in equal measure.
“What classes are you taking next semester?” Ella said, apparently hoping to hit on a subject that would not prompt tears.
