Charmed (18 page)

“Toothbrush—nice,” he mutters. But he walks up to me. In the dim glow of a night-light set into a vanity, I can just make out the smooth contours of his face. In the short time since I last saw him, his black hair has started to grow out of the military style he wore it in, curling around the nape of his sun-bronzed neck. Which, I note, isn’t even bleeding from where I jabbed him with the toothbrush.

“Some people saw us come in here,” I say. “What if they tell?”

“They won’t,” he answers. “It’s not the first time this sort of thing has happened.”

My face flames in the dark, and I become hyperaware of the tiny white nightgown I’m wearing.

“I mean that a guard has snuck away with a girl,” he explains. “Not me. I wouldn’t do that. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“O-kay,” I say cautiously.

He sighs. “What happened in the mess hall? Everyone’s buzzing about it.”

I cross my arms over my chest, reluctant to give away any information. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“I’m trying to help you,” he answers irritably.

“And how do I know I can trust you?”

He thinks about it for a minute. “You don’t.”

Awesome.

“Well, I’m not telling you anything,” I say.

“Why didn’t you leave when I gave you the chance? I gave you the perfect opportunity to escape and you blew me off. I don’t get it.”

“Not used to girls blowing you off?” I ask.

“You’re avoiding my question.”

I shrug. “I wasn’t ready.
Not
that it’s any of your business.”

He eyes me a moment before taking a step closer and leaning to speak into my ear. “I know your secret.”

His breath along my ear sends a shiver down my body. I tighten my arms over my chest, refusing to meet his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Why do you remember blowing me off? You were taken to the Chief after I left you. Your memory should have been erased.”

Crap.

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Don’t lie.”

I swallow, trying to hide my rising panic. “So what are you going to do, tell on me?” I ask.

“Yeah, that’s why I changed shifts so I could be the one guarding you tonight. Just so I could tell on you. You caught me.”

I don’t get it. I shake my head. “So why are you here, then?”

“To help you,” he says. Like it should be obvious.

I look into his eyes. Even though it’s dark, I can still make out the intensity there. My heart does something I don’t want to think about interpreting and my mouth feels like it’s been filled with cotton. I don’t know what to say.

“Why would you want to help me?” I finally manage.

He’s quiet for so long I don’t think he’s going to answer. But he does. “I had brothers back home. If anything happened to them—” He shakes his head. “I admire what you’re doing for your friend.”

Tears prick my eyes unexpectedly, and I’m glad for the dark so he can’t see.

“You have brothers?” I ask, just to get past the awkward moment.

“Two—they were five and eight when I was sent here. That was four years ago. Joel probably doesn’t even remember me anymore.”

I bite my lip, my chest squeezing up at the emotion in his voice. I’m not used to a guy wearing his heart on his sleeve. Bishop gets weird the minute girls get emotional. Forget about him crying himself.

“Four years,” I say. “That’s a long time.”

He shakes his head as if coming back from a memory. Then he clears his throat, and when he speaks again, his voice is low and gruff. “Tell me about it.”

“So how did you get sent here, anyway?” As soon as I ask, I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

“I did some stupid stuff when I was younger.”

I raise my eyebrows, which makes him give a low chuckle.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“How reassuring.”

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

I think about it. I don’t know him, but for some reason, I do trust him. “Yes,” I answer.

“Then that’s all that matters.”

His eyes are so intense as he looks at me. He has a way of stripping my guard with just one look, like he’s seeing right through the tough-girl exterior to the fragile girl inside. It makes me feel utterly exposed, like I’m standing naked in front of Mrs. Davies’s homeroom class, and yet I’m not uncomfortable.

Suddenly, the space between us feels small. “Um, sorry again. About the toothbrush and the strangling. I feel bad.”

He smiles without breaking eye contact. “And I’m sorry about kidnapping you.”

I can’t help grinning now. “And about that time I left you with the bat thing. That was really rude of me.”

He chuckles quietly. “Forgiven….Friends?” He looks at me earnestly, his teeth biting into his bottom lip. My stomach does a massive flip.

“I thought you said there were no friends in Los Demonios,” I say. Is it just me, or has my voice gone hoarse?

“Well, maybe I’m reconsidering that,” he answers.

He takes a step closer, narrowing the already small space between us. Body heat radiates off him in waves, the scent of
soap and sweat and
man
filling the air. I make the mistake of looking at his lips.

“I need to find Paige,” I mutter.

He reaches up and brushes my hair behind my ear, tingles trailing where his fingers touch my skin. He cups my face with his hand, his thumb moving to graze my bottom lip. I can’t seem to catch my breath. He tips his face to mine. I should leave. I need to leave. This is wrong, wrong,
wrong
. But I don’t move. Anticipation builds up inside me until I feel like I might explode.

A firework of pain explodes in my temples. I gasp, my hands coming up around my ears.

“What’s wrong?” Cruz asks.

Black spots flash in front of my eyes. I try to fight it, to stamp down the awful pain radiating inside my skull. I fall to my knees. Cruz’s words float around my head.

One minute, I’m in Los Demonios. And the next minute, I’m gone.

I
f it weren’t for the damp earth smell, I wouldn’t know where I am. I’m lying in complete and utter darkness, the stone floor ice-cold through my thin nightgown. I keep waiting for my eyes to adjust so that I can see something—anything—but they don’t. I can’t even see my hand when I hold it up in front of my face; light doesn’t penetrate the room.

Something drips from deep within the cave, but otherwise it’s completely silent. The witch is gone, and more important, so are her painkillers. My head throbs like it has its own heartbeat.

A realization strikes: the witch didn’t expect me to make it back.

Thanks a lot, lady.

Anger fires up inside me at her complete lack of confidence in me, but then I realize I’m being unfair. Even I didn’t think I’d make it.

Cruz flashes into my head. His sexy smile. His fingers through my hair. And in the same flash, I think of Bishop. My gut throbs with guilt.

Nothing happened
, I remind myself.
You haven’t done anything wrong
. But I know it’s not the truth. One more minute in that place and we would have kissed. I can’t lie to myself that I wanted it then. That I want it even now.

I’m suddenly desperate to see Bishop again.

I try to get up, but my limbs feel like they’ve been strapped with weights and my head pounds in such intense waves that I think I’m going to puke. I sink back to the ground, gasping for air.

Do it, Blackwood. Get up
.

Biting down hard on my lip, I push past the unbearable pain and force myself to my feet. I have to fight the urge to let myself fall back to the ground as I put one foot in front of the other, my hands reaching out in front of me. It feels like I’ve walked forever when my fingers finally bump into the cool, pebbly surface of a wall, and I almost cry with relief.

Keeping one hand against the wall, I move forward on shaky feet, following invisible twists and turns in the cave. My head brushes against the low ceiling at times when the path narrows. I’m thinking I can’t keep myself upright any
longer when finally, mercifully, a faint outline of light appears above my head, so pale that at first I think I’ve imagined it. But when I get closer, my feet run into something I realize are stairs: I’m back at the entrance to the witch’s shop.

I fall onto the stairs, the last of my strength finally draining out of me.

“Help!” I call feebly.

There’s no way I’m going to make it up these stairs. I won’t make it a few more minutes unless I can get the witch to hear me. I swallow, then take a big breath.

“Help!”

A long moment passes. And then the door at the top of the stairs opens. The witch looks down at me like I might be a specter come to haunt her.

“Surprise,” I say flatly. “I’m not dead.”

I know I should go straight home, but I need to see Bishop right now.

My head still thumps with the ghost of a headache as I drive. All the lights are off inside his house, but as soon as I pull into the driveway, he appears on the doorstep. I can’t see his face, but I don’t have to see it to know that he’s angry. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he leans against the doorframe, waiting for me to come to him instead of
meeting me halfway. My stomach clenches. He knows—somehow he knows about Cruz.

But that’s impossible, I remind myself. There’s no way.

I slip my keys into my purse and get out of the car, approaching Bishop slowly, like he’s a wild animal instead of my boyfriend. He watches me almost clinically, and he doesn’t look shocked that I’ve shown up to his house in the night, pale and bruised and wearing a strange nightgown. It makes me unbearably sad.

“Where were you?” he asks.

His lifeless tone hits me hard. I stop in front of him, but I can’t look at his eyes.

“And don’t say you were at work,” he adds. “I talked to your aunt.”

“Look, it’s complicated—” I start.

“It’s not complicated,” he interrupts. “It’s simple. You lied to me again. Why?”

I look up. His forehead is creased with wrinkles, and his mouth is set in a hard line. It’s not the Bishop I know—the smiling, carefree, joking boyfriend I fell for. The worst part is it’s my fault.

Desperation overwhelms me, and I grab hold of his wrists, tugging his hands away from his chest. He resists, but I pull his head down and kiss him hard. At first his mouth is rigid against mine, but before I can get too embarrassed, his lips soften and match mine, moving urgently until we’re both short of breath and clutching at each other. I press myself against him,
relishing his warmth, the feel of his body against mine, his apple-and-clean-laundry scent. Being with him feels so right it’s overwhelming, and I fight the urge to let out a maniacal laugh. To push him to the ground and climb on top of him.

Cruz flashes into my head then, and the guilt of it is like a knife to my gut. I push him back out and kiss Bishop like it can erase the bad thoughts from my mind. The thoughts that I’ve turned into a terrible person. That I always was and am only just now realizing it.

Bishop stops suddenly and grabs me roughly by my wrists. I heave for breath.

“What’s wrong?” I try to pull him closer but he’s resistant.

“You have to tell me what’s going on with you. You have to stop lying.” His voice wavers, and I can’t be sure in the dark, but I think his eyes might be brighter than usual.

I drop my gaze, studying the lettering on his Sex Pistols T-shirt. The water fountain in the driveway splashes quietly, and crickets chirp in the grassy hills around his home.

I know I can’t lie anymore. And I don’t want to.

“I’ve been going to Los Demonios,” I say quietly.

He doesn’t respond, and for a moment I worry he hasn’t heard me. But when I look up, his face is hard and impassive.

“I’m sorry,” I add. It sounds so insignificant.

His throat moves up and down as he swallows, his nostrils flaring. “More than once?” he asks. His voice cuts like glass.

“Twice,” I admit. Tears prick my eyes. God, how did things get so out of control?

He exhales and rakes a hand through his hair. I’ve never seen him look so mad. I know instantly that I can’t tell him about Cruz—not right now. Not yet.

“I was going to tell you,” I start lamely.

He laces his hands behind his head, his elbows folded over his face as he paces the doorstep. My heart pulses with a profound ache.

“Bishop—”

“When?” he interrupts, spinning on me.

“The day we fought,” I say, surprised at how hoarse my voice sounds.

“And tonight?”

I nod.

“How…” He stops, seeming to reconsider his line of questioning. He wipes a hand down his face. “Do you know how much danger you put yourself in? Do you have any idea?”

I look up at the softening of his voice. He quickly pulls me into a hug that I don’t deserve. All the stress of the last few weeks releases in one big wave, and I let out a sob.

“You could have gotten yourself killed,” he says into my hair, running his fingers down my back so that warm tingles spread through me. “You’re crazy, Indie.”

I don’t deserve his kindness. I cry into his chest until his T-shirt is wet under my cheek and I don’t have any tears left. And then he pulls me over to the stairs, and we sit down, leaning against each other in the dark. I trace the colorful tattoos snaking up his arm, while he absently plays with the
ends of my hair. After so long the silence seems impossible to breech.

“Well, did you at least find her?” he finally asks.

I take a shuddery breath and nod. “They wiped her memory. She doesn’t even recognize me.”

He kisses my shoulder, saying so much without any words.

“How did you do it?” he asks. “Get there, I mean.”

I wipe my cheeks, sniffling. “A witch at the black market has been helping me.”

He looks at me, as if trying to decide if I’m telling the truth.

“What?” I say.

“You’re amazing.”

I am the opposite of amazing.

“I met someone inside who’s been helping me,” I spit out.

“Who?”

I hesitate.

“Come on, no more secrets,” he says. “I want to hear all the details.”

“His name is Cruz.” My cheeks flood at the mention of his name in front of my boyfriend.

Bishop’s eyebrows raise just the tiniest bit, like he can see right through me. I look into my lap and hope he hasn’t noticed the guilt on my face.

“He kidnapped me the first time I went there. He was going to let me go before I got attacked by this gargoyle thing. And the second time he saved me from this guy who
was attacking me, and he was going to break me out of the dorms where they keep the teens except I got shot back here before that could happen.”

I realize I’m babbling and stop myself.

Bishop’s quiet for a moment, and my chest tightens in anticipation of what he might say.

“That’s great,” he finally says. “I’m glad you’ve had help in there.”

I’d thought I wanted him not to be mad at me, but hearing him be so charitable just makes me feel even worse. I’m a bad person.

We’re quiet for too long.

“Come on,” he says, giving me a gentle nudge with his shoulder. “Tell me what’s going on. And start at the beginning. You weren’t making a lot of sense back there.”

I force a smile.

I tell him all about the teens who have mysteriously gone missing in L.A. and shown up in Los Demonios. I tell him about Jezebel and the Chief’s speech, about the Chief’s sister, Rowan, and everything in between. I talk for so long that my throat is sore when I’m done.

“That doesn’t sound good,” he says when I finally finish.

“Understatement of the century,” I mutter. I pick up a pebble and toss it across the driveway. It plinks against the pavement.

“Don’t get mad at me,” Bishop says. “But…I think we should tell your aunt.”

My instinct is to tell him he’s crazy to even suggest doing that, but deep down, I know he’s right. Something big is going on. Too big for us to handle alone.