Charmed (15 page)

“You okay?” he asks.

Grateful tears spring to my eyes. I don’t normally condone violence, but I can’t imagine what might have happened to me if Cruz hadn’t stepped in. (Well, I can. I just don’t want to.)

I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

“Of course,” he mumbles angrily. He waves a hand, and when I clear my throat, it makes a noise—my voice is restored.

“Thanks,” I say.

Cruz rises to his feet and uses his forearm to wipe the blood oozing from his split lip, his chest still rising and falling fast. He looks me over.

“You hurt?”

I give a little shake of my head. The hurt I feel isn’t what he’s asking about.

“Did he…”

The implication lingers heavy in the air.

“No. I mean, well, he did…but he didn’t.” I don’t know what to say about what Ace did.

He looks over at Ace like he wants to give him another kick in the ribs.

“How did you know?” I ask.

“I didn’t,” he says. “I just came to check on you.”

More footsteps sound from the hall, and then a voice: “Hurry up, Cruz. The Chief’s waiting.”

Cruz reluctantly drags his eyes from Ace. When they meet mine again, there’s something pained there that I don’t
understand. A switchblade materializes in his hand. I gasp as he takes a swift step closer to me. But then he reaches around me and cuts the fabric binding my hands in one quick movement. I shake my hands out, then rub my sore wrists.

He looks behind him at the door before continuing in a rush. “Look, if you want to leave, now’s gonna be your only chance.”

My heart races at his words. At the excitement flashing in his eyes.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Cruz!” someone yells down the hall.

His jaw clenches. “
Mierda
. We haven’t got much time. It’s now or never. You want to get out of this place or what?”

Footsteps sound nearby.

“Yes or no!” he hisses, waving a hand for me to hurry up and answer.

I freeze with indecision. Of course I want to leave—I want to get as far away from the guy on the ground as possible. But Paige might be in this place. I’m so close now.

A man pokes his head through the doorway. “The Chief’s going to bust a nut if you don’t…” His eyes fall to Ace. “What the hell happened to him?”

“We’re coming,” Cruz says.

The man stares mutely at Ace a moment longer before slowly backing out of the doorway.

“Let’s go.” Cruz motions for me to exit the holding tank. The excitement I’d seen in his eyes a moment before has
been stamped out completely, and he looks at me like he’s unbearably sad. I step around Ace’s body. Cruz holds the door open for me, and I pause in front of him.

“Too late now,” he whispers.

But that’s not why I stopped.

I push my face into his chest, my damp cheek against his warm collarbone. He hesitates a moment before wrapping his arms around me.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. His heartbeat drums through his T-shirt.

“Cruz!”

Cruz pushes me off him. The girl standing outside the door looks at the small space between the two of us with an expression of utter disgust on her face. I want to explain so that he won’t get in trouble, but I have a feeling it would be better to just shut up.

“Let’s go,” Cruz repeats, then takes off down the hall.

The girl grabs my wrist and gives me a shove in the opposite direction from Cruz. I walk dutifully, but I can’t help turning to look back at him.

He’s already gone.

O
ur footsteps echo through the tunnel. The girl’s bright blond ponytail swings in front of me as she struts down the hall, not even bothering to turn to make sure I’m following. I could probably make a run for it right now. And I should probably try—it’s what any human would do. But she’s taking me to the Chief, the leader of the sorcerers. And if anyone knows where Paige is, it will be him.

My legs feel weak, and every time I think of Ace’s mouth on mine I have to choke back vomit. I don’t have to wonder if that moment will haunt me forever.

After a while, voices begin to echo from around a bend in the tunnel.

“Who’s there?” a man’s voice calls. We wheel around the corner and come to a stop in front of two beefy guards in tight shirts and skullcaps.

“New recruit,” the girl says, like a soldier speaking to a drill sergeant.

The men eye me for what feels like a century before finally stepping aside. One of them pulls open a heavy metal door behind them.

“Sir, I have a new recruit for you,” he says to whoever is inside. I never would have thought such a cloying tone possible from such a douche. The guy salutes, then turns to me, waving me forward impatiently. I swallow and take a hesitant step. The blond girl starts to come with me, but the other guard steps in front of her, blocking her path.

“Not you.”

“But—”

“Recruits only,” he says. The girl stomps off down the hall. I watch her swinging blond ponytail and suddenly feel very sad to see her go. I’m alone with these men.

I walk slowly up to the door. The guard huffs and yanks me over, shoving me inside and slamming the door with a clank so loud it makes me gasp.

The room I’ve entered is made of the same rock as the tunnel. There’s a little round table set with fancy saucers for tea against one of the walls, and a red divan straight out of the 1800s against the other. A fancy lamp atop a heavy
mahogany desk at the back of the room shines a circle of dim light on a braided rug.

And standing in front of the desk is the Chief.

He doesn’t look anything like I’d expected him to. The name had inspired images of a long-haired, bare-chested Tarzan type, but the man standing before me wears a burgundy smoking jacket over a button-down shirt. His light blond hair is dusted with gray, and he wears it short, save for a cowlick that sweeps above his forehead. He watches me with interest, his eyes intelligent and calculating. When his mouth stretches into a wide smile, his teeth are so big they look like they belong in another man’s face.

I shudder—I think I’d prefer the Tarzan type.

“Don’t be scared,” he says, still smiling that Cheshire cat smile. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I feel around inside for my magic. Nope, still not there.

“Would you like some tea?” he asks. “Coffee, perhaps?”

I give a tiny shake of my head, never breaking eye contact with him.

“Suit yourself. Why don’t you have a seat?” He gestures to the divan. He watches me for so long and with such intensity that I move to the seat almost not of my own volition. I clasp my shaking hands in my lap as he walks over to the round table and pours himself a cup of tea.

I flash my eyes around the room.

“You can’t escape,” he says, without so much as a glance
my way. “The walls are solid rock for a half mile in any direction, and it’s heavily guarded both inside and out.” He sends me a sidelong smile meant to seem kind, but with his large teeth, it only seems demented. “You’re probably very confused,” he continues, stirring sugar into his cup. The spoon clanks against the china. “I bet you’re wondering where you are. What’s going on.”

I manage to murmur “Yes.”

“You needn’t worry,” he says. “You’ll be at peace very soon.”

I wonder if that’s supposed to be comforting.

His eyebrows rise high as he slurps his drink. “Mmm, that is
fantastic
. Are you sure you don’t want a cup?”

“Who are you?” I finally ask.

“Oh, how rude of me!” He sets his cup down and crosses over to me, stretching his hand out. “Everyone calls me the Chief.” I reluctantly take his hand, trying to repress a shiver as he grips mine. “And your name?”

“Ind…dia. It’s India.”

I don’t know why the fake name tumbles out of my mouth, just that it doesn’t seem smart to tell him the truth if I don’t have to.

He gives me a big-toothed smile. “India, what an unusual name—beautiful name. Welcome to my home.”

He watches me for a long moment, and I have to scream at myself not to squirm under his stare. At first I think he’s
waiting for me to thank him for the compliment, but when he raises his hand up and points a long finger at my face, I realize it’s something much worse.

I gasp, automatically covering my face with my hands.

But nothing happens.

I keep waiting, and after a while, I lower my hands. The Chief’s grin slowly slides off his face.

“What did I just say to you?” he demands. I sink into myself at his angry tone.

“Um.” I rack my brain for his last words, not at all sure what I did wrong or why he’s suddenly so angry. “You said I had a beautiful name?”

“Impossible! Why didn’t it work?” He kicks his leg out, and the tea cart goes crashing to the ground. The door opens.

“Everything okay, sir?” one of the guards asks.

“Did I tell you to enter?” he yells. “Did I tell you to open the goddamn door?”

The door is pulled closed. When the Chief faces me again, his eyes flash with a terrifying rage. He looks like he wants to rip off my face.

He points his finger at me again.

It comes to me in a flash—the sad look on Cruz’s face, the Chief’s words that I’d be at peace soon—he was trying to erase my memory. Only I’m a witch, so it didn’t work. Holy crap. He’s going to find out an enemy snuck into his camp. And then he’s going to kill me.

His finger vibrates in the air. I realize with alarm that if I’m going to stay alive, I’ll have to make him think his spell worked.

I fall back on the divan, pretending that I’ve passed out. And then I remember waking up seated in Mrs. Malone’s office the day my memory really was wiped, which ixnays the possibility that passing out happens during the spell. I push myself up quickly, one hand pressed to my temple as I whip frantic looks around the room.

“Who are you?” I ask. “Where am I?”

The Chief’s mouth twists into a smile.

“They call me the Chief.” He reaches out his hand almost reverentially. I don’t take it, but his smile never fades.

“Would you mind very much if I sat down?” he asks. “I’d like to tell you a story that might shed some light on where you are. Who you are. You’re probably finding that you can’t remember much right now.”

He sits lightly on the end of the divan and smoothes his hands over his trousers.

“Once upon a time, there was a boy named”—he twirls a finger in the air—“Ivan. Ivan had a sister named Rowan. When he was just a very young boy, Ivan discovered that the world wasn’t as he thought it was: it was filled with fantastical people—witches and warlocks and sorcerers. People who used magic. He learned that he had magical potential too, as did his sister. Their parents were both sorcerers. As you can imagine, young Ivan thought that life would always be
grand with this power at his hands, but that wasn’t so.” The Chief’s face grows serious.

“Ivan’s parents were killed when he was just seventeen, his sister a mere nineteen. Brutally murdered at the hands of witches who feared his parents’ power.” He looks at me. I give a nod to show him I’m following.

“These witches,” he continues, “were a part of a very corrupt organization called the Family. Their sole purpose in life was to rid the world of sorcerers so that they could be the only magical people on the planet. They were a very greedy and very evil bunch.”

I want to interrupt and tell him that I know all about sorcerers, and that they’re not so innocent themselves, but I’m smart enough to stay silent.

“Ivan and Rowan were justly angry at the loss of their parents, but they were only children, really, just two sorcerers against a massive, powerful organization. The people who were supposed to stand behind them—other sorcerers—agreed that the Family needed to be stopped. They told Ivan and Rowan not to try to exact revenge themselves. You see, due to a powerful spell, sorcerers could not kill a witch without being drained of their powers, thus leaving them defenseless. But these sorcerers—the Priory, they called themselves—they promised that they would do everything in their power to get the revenge that Ivan and Rowan so sorely desired. And so, trusting them, Ivan tried to live a normal life. He finished school. He met a girl. He even had
a child. His sister, on the other hand—she never could forget. She got into quite a bit of trouble, and disappeared for a few years with some underground group of sorcerers. But Ivan was good. He listened to the rules the Priory had set out for him. He tried to be happy, but all the while he burned for the blood of his parents’ killers to be on his hands. And then one day his sister returned: she’d heard of more murders. A group of a dozen sorcerers had been killed. No reason, just that the Family decided to do it. Can you imagine?”

The Chief dips his head toward his chest, pausing for effect. This guy deserves an Oscar.

“By this time, the Family had doubled in size and grown more powerful than ever. Ivan was angry—he’d trusted his people to protect them against further deaths, but they’d let him down. He decided in that moment to join his sister in her bid for revenge. But the Family were smart, constantly moving their headquarters, and Ivan and Rowan didn’t know where to find the leaders. They decided that, instead of trying to scout them out, they would bring their enemies to them. Knowing that keeping the world of paranormals a secret was the most important value of the Family, Ivan killed a human. He cut off her head and raised it on a staff in the middle of a popular town monument.”

He smiles as if the story were his own cherished memory, and a chill shudders through me. I suddenly realize how the Chief got his nickname—he is that murderous boy in
the story. He is Ivan. I had an idea that he was sick and demented, but had no idea of the depths of it.

“But that didn’t attract the Family,” he continues. “Ivan and Rowan realized they’d have to match their brutality to the Family’s to catch their attention. And so they killed dozens more this way. But as determined as the siblings were to best their enemies, the Family caught up to Ivan during an operation gone bad. He was captured. Thankfully, Rowan escaped.”

His eyes turn dark at the memory, and he laughs without humor. “Oh, they pretended to give him a trial so that the other witches and warlocks would think they’d been fair, but it was no surprise to anyone when they found him guilty. The Family had access to a portal to another dimension, a dimension completely cut off from the rest of the world, filled with the dregs of the paranormal world. And this is where they sent him. His sister would be left to suffer alone with the debilitating grief of the loss of their parents. He would never see his wife again. Never see his baby grow. And the sorcerers who were supposed to be on his side, to protect him? They did nothing to stop it.”

I can’t keep quiet any longer. “If he cared so much about his wife and baby, then he should have thought about the consequences before murdering dozens of innocent people.”

“Do
not
interrupt!” he yells.

I’m stunned into silence. The Chief closes his eyes for a
long moment, and when he opens them again, he’s composed himself.

“This place, it looked like his home, but it wasn’t. He tried everything to escape, but not even the wealth of magic available at his fingertips could take him home. Though time passed, his anger burned on inside him. He awoke every day with the singular goal of escape—of revenge against the Family. Over time his skills grew and he became a leader inside this horrid place. And then one day, many years after he’d been incarcerated, Ivan had a special visitor. His sister, Rowan, had bribed a witch for access to the Family’s portal. Ivan thought his sister had forgotten him, but she assured him this wasn’t so. She’d been planning a way to help him escape since the day he was sent away. Together they plotted. It was difficult for them to wait to enact their plans, but both of them knew everything had to be perfect this time, couldn’t be rushed—they weren’t going to risk getting caught trying to sneak out of the portal when Rowan left after one of her visits. And all of their patience was worth it. One day Rowan came to Ivan with great news: She’d found a way.” The Chief’s eyes get bright, the closest thing to a genuine smile possible on such an evil man lighting his face.