Page 61 of Investigation of a Quest

“What are you doing here?” Griffin spat, his eyes flicking to Eamon as he surged forward to make the arrest. “What the hell is going on?”

Bel didn’t know how long she’d been tied to the chair. She didn’t know how long it had been since she’d drunk water. All she knew was the pain threatening to pull her arms from her shoulders. Her wrists had been bound behind her back for so long that her spine burned and her neck locked. She’d raged against the ropes at first. It was hopeless. She knew that, but still she fought. It left her raw and stiff, her thirty-five years rearing their heads in her joints. Her flesh counted for naught against the rough fibers, but she couldn’t give up. She’d been the sacrifice before. She would not revisit that altar. She would not let this witch ruin the peace she’d brought Eamon. He’d been a monster for centuries, and he deserved a future where he might atone for his sins. He deserved a happy ending with her. She didn’t need kids. In that moment, with her shoulders screaming and her brain fogged, she had her answer. She could live without children, but never without her soul’s other half. He’d fought so hard to resist the first witch’s curse. He’d fought his own nature to become a man worthy of her. She had to fight to save him from this fate, but she could barely move her head, let alone continue to fight these bonds. Mortality. What a bitter cross to bear.

“Wake up.” A palm slapped her face, and Bel jerked awake, her neck protesting the awkward angle.

“Drink this.” Dorothy shoved a bottle against her lips, but Bel twisted her head. She hated her weak body for falling asleep. This witch had every upper hand. She couldn’t give her another one.

“I didn’t poison the water.” Dorothy grabbed Bel’s jaw and forced her back to the bottle’s mouth. “I can’t have you dying on me… not yet, at least. So drink.”

“No,” Bel growled through a dry throat.

“Don’t push me.” Dorothy tightened her grip on her jaw. “I need you alive, but I don’t need you whole. I would prefer this to be clean and efficient, but as long as your heart’s still beating when he comes for you, my curse will take root. And your organ will beat regardless of whether you have fingers or toes or ears or even skin. So drink, Detective. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“You think you’re going to curse him,” Bel said. “You think you’re going to win. You won’t. He will kill you. You’re the one who doesn’t have long to live.”

“Even in the face of defeat, you fight.” Dorothy lifted the bottle to Bel’s lips with a smirk. “Too bad you aren’t a witch. You’re a woman I would welcome into my coven.”

“I would rather be dead than serve you.”

“Don’t worry, dear.” Dorothy patted her cheek. “You will be. Now drink.”

Bel obeyed this time. She wasn’t going down without a fight. She wouldn’t accept her fate lying down. She would resist until her heart stopped, but she couldn’t do that dehydrated. So she drank.

“Thank you.” Dorothy pulled the empty bottle away from her lips and waved a hand over the chair. The rope’s knots slid undone, and they fell from Bel’s body. Ugly bruises peppered her skin, and standing was a lesson in suffering, but she fought with everything she had not to show more weakness than she already had. Dorothy yanked her to her feet and shoved her toward a narrow, windowless concrete room. A small mattress lay on the floor, and a bucket sat in the corner. A prison to hold her until her execution. She’d been a fool to think the ropes were difficult to escape. They were nothing compared to this impossibility.

“I’ll be back.” Dorothy forced Bel inside, and try as she might to resist, the detective was no match for a witch. “But for now, I have to help your sheriff on this case.” She smirked as she watched the horror bloom on Bel’s features. “Oh, I didn’t tell you? I’m filling in for you while you’re ‘dealing with a family emergency’. I have full access to your station, and I’m working closely with your partner and your boss. Good friends of yours, I believe.” She basked in Bel’s panic. “It would be a shame if something happened to them.”

“Don’t you touch them,” Bel snarled. Dorothy didn’t have to spell it out. If she disobeyed, Gold and Griffin would pay the price. She couldn’t disobey, but she had to. She had to find a way out of this prison. “Don’t you dare touch them. You have me. You have what you need. Leave them alone.”

“We’ll see.” Dorothy stepped out of the small room. “I’d say I would update you on the case when I return, but you’ve already figured out who the killer is.” And with that, she slammed the door.

“No!” Bel lunged forward, her fists banging on the solid door despite her exacerbated shoulders. “Leave them alone!” She beat the door until her knuckles split open to spray crimson droplets onto the chipped paint, and she froze, staring at the tiny beads of red. Blood. Without her necklace, Eamon couldn’t track her, but her blood was his drug of choice. He’d beable to smell it for miles. If she could just find a way to bleed her scent outside these walls.

But calling him here would lure him into Dorothy’s trap.

He was her only hope, the world’s only hope, but she couldn’t let him find her. He would let the world burn for her, but could she? If he failed to save her, Dorothy would curse him, and humanity would end under a monster even the Impaler himself would fear.

Bel lowered her hands to her sides. She couldn’t fight this. She couldn’t bleed. He couldn’t come for her. She wouldn’t let her death spark the apocalypse, but Eamon mattered more. She’d pulled the human out of his devil. She’d undone centuries of violence. She refused to let him return to the darkness.

So she wouldn’t beat the door. She wouldn’t beg for freedom. She wouldn’t bleed. It was a good thing she’d lost her necklace. He was safe as long as he never found her. Her friends and family were safe. The world was safe. It was better this way.

Bel sat on the cot and folded her hands in her lap. She wouldn’t bleed. For Eamon, she wouldn’t bleed.

“What the hell is going on?” Griffin repeated when Eamon didn’t move from his stance beside Bel’s dog.

“Eamon tracked me down. I’m here to help,” the intruder said. “I owe this town that much.”

“You owe this town a life sentence,” Olivia snapped.

“We need him,” Eamon finally interrupted. “Using humans to pull Isobel to safety doesn’t solve our witch problem. The minute she’s out of reach, I’ll kill Morrigan, and if she’s as strong as you claim, I might need backup. A bear is good. A bear and a werewolf are better.”

“He’s a murderer,” Olivia argued.

“He’s an alpha predator,” Eamon said. “So, you will tolerate him. We aren’t dealing with the law or human rules. This is my world, and here, I am king. You will listen to me.”

“He’s a werewolf?” Morana West asked.

“I am,” the newcomer said, for he was none other than Bajka’s former deputy, Ethan Rollo. The same man who murdered five cast and crew members of the now-canceled TV show Aesop’s Files for their sin of sacrificing his grandmother to seal their deal with a devil.