Chapter one
Bridget
Ahard plastic chair dug into Bridget’s spine as she sat, waiting for her name to be called. The buzz of hushed voices and unending activity grated against her skull, making her temples throb. Sterile white walls seemed to suck the air from her lungs, and the sharp sting of antiseptic did nothing to soothe her. Hospitals had always twisted her stomach into tight knots…especially when it was thelastplace she needed to be.
Bridget winced and pressed her fingers to the wound beneath her shirt. The same damn scar. Again. Droplets of blood trickled out and stained her maroon shirt. Heat radiated across her side, almost making her sweat despite the unescapable frigid Boston air. Sometime during her workout, she’d reopened the annoying thing. It was her own fault, of course. She’d never given it enough time to properly heal. Since September, the scar had split open and been stitched shut more times than she could count. Her bathroom cabinet looked more like a first-aid station than a place for toothpaste. But this time, an angry ring of red marred her skin, daring her to keep ignoring the ever present wound. An infection was the last thing she needed, especially when hospitals and doctors tended to ask too many questions.
Staring harder at her phone screen, Bridget tried to ignore the older woman sitting across from her. She was trying to catch her eye. Again. For the last thirty minutes, she’d watched the woman shift from person to person, asking questions that went on too long and digging just a little too deep. One by one, her victims had escaped, ushered behind double doors by a nurse. But now, with only a sleeping teenager in a surgical mask slumped against the far wall, Bridget had become the sole remaining target.
She sighed and slipped her phone into her purse. Avoiding eye contact clearly wasn’t working. She didn’t hate talking to people. In fact, during her time working at Hungry Pies, she’d mastered the art of small talk. A smile and some quick banter usually led to a better tip. But something about the woman’s demeanor reminded her of Cora.
And that was someone she’d rather not think about during waking hours.
Maybe it was the unnervingly steady gaze, or the way she kept her hands folded perfectly still in her lap, Bridget wasn’t sure. She just knew the woman’s presence wasn’t helping settle her nerves. With a to-do list a mile long, a pit stop at the hospital was throwing a wrench in her perfectly planned out day.
Apparently tired of being ignored, the woman waved her hand. “Have you been waiting long?”
“Just a little,” Bridget replied. Seventy-nine minutes to be exact. Not that she was counting.
“I’m sure you’ll get called back soon. They seem to be getting through the list rather quickly today. My throat is just a little sore, so I told them I don’t mind waiting. I’m Maude.” The woman’s gaze darted to the scars on the back of Bridget’s hands, then to the long thick one on her forearm from a Kastronian sword. “Did you serve?”
Are you an officer?
Were you abused?
Did youhurt yourself?
Bridget added the woman’s question to the list of reasons people had tried to come up with for her skin’s appearance. For some reason, people felt it was their right to know what had happened, even without knowing her name. Not that she ever explained. Some things were better left unsaid.
Actually, most of the things that had happened to her were better left unsaid.
Do you work at Hot Topic?was Bridget’s favorite question when it came to her hair. After she’d passed through the gate, the bottom six inches of her hair had turned stark white. Magic taking a price, she assumed. She hadn’t bothered to fix it yet.
Maude’s stare continued to burn holes in her skin.
Bridget ground her teeth together. “No.”
Her favorite one-word answer usually shut people down.
Maude didn’t bat an eye.
“What happened?” she asked, scooting to the edge of her seat to get a better look.
Bridget put back on her leather jacket. She wished she hadn’t forgotten her gloves on the kitchen island earlier. “A car accident.”
Shehadbeen in a car accident... Once. Sticking to a somewhat truth was easier than always coming up with a lie. Bridget eyed the sliding glass doors that led to an escape. Maybe she was being paranoid and she wasn’t seeing signs of an early infection. Maybe she didn’t need medicine. Maybe…
“Mrs. Sanderson?”
Saved by the nurse.Bridget slumped back in her seat, her side twinging a bit. She tried to ignore the victory swirling in her gut at the sight of Maude’s clear irritation to the interruption of her interrogation.
Bristling, the older woman stood up. “Yes, that’s me.”
“We’re ready for you,” the nurse said. Despite the dark bags hanging under his eyes, he wore a good-natured smile. Waving a hand, he directed Maude to a back left door, but not before his gaze trailed over Bridget. He suddenly stopped. “Wait… I know you.”
Blinking, Bridget searched his face. Nothing about his features were familiar to her.Andrew, his name tag read. A common name, but surprisingly, she had never met one in her life. A hint of panic shivered up Bridget’s spine. “I don’t think so…”
“Yes, it was New London. I remember now,” he said, planting himself in front of her.
