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.”
