“More like bought one,” I say.
If it weren’t for the witnesses, he’d kill me this instant. Of this I am sure.
“She’s mine!” he repeats.
“Relax,” Cruz says. “She’s the Chief’s.” He nods at the two men who joined us. “Take her to the holding tank. And good job, Ace.” He squeezes Ace’s shoulder. The guards each grab one of my bound arms.
I can’t breathe.
“Cruz!” I cry. But he doesn’t so much as look at me as I’m ducked through the doorway. The small shred of hope I’d dared to have at the sight of him is snuffed out completely. The world sways under my feet.
The guards don’t loosen their grip as they lead me through some sort of dank tunnel set inside the mountain, which is stupid since I can’t exactly get far with my hands bound behind my back.
Low lights set at intervals into the curved walls paint strips of shadow onto the rock so that it looks like we’re walking through the bowels of a petrified snake. Our footsteps echo against the stone ceiling. Otherwise, it’s completely silent. The air is close and smells like dust.
The tunnel twists and turns through the mountain. I try to make a mental map of where they’re taking me so that I can remember how to get out later, but after the first dozen turns, I give up.
The good news? We haven’t passed another person the entire time we’ve been walking. If I don’t find Paige in this place, it’s nice to know I can search for an escape without worrying about getting past dozens of guards.
We stop suddenly in front of an unmarked metal door with thick metal straps bolted across it. One of the guards, a nondescript blond with a stony expression, lets go of my arm to press a fat key into the lock. The door creaks as he pulls it open.
It’s dark inside the room, but a sconce in the hallway shines a pale beam of light inside. The walls, ceiling, and floor are made of dirt, with thick roots poking out at intervals.
“This is the holding tank?” I ask.
The guard doesn’t answer, just grabs me by the wrist and tosses me inside. I stumble to my knees in the cold dirt. A beetle scuttles across the floor. I shriek, just as the door closes and I’m left in darkness. Boots clomp outside, and then the only sound is my heartbeat and my ragged breathing. I think of the beetle and struggle up. I know that I have much bigger things to worry about than bugs, but still—bugs.
I wonder how long they’re going to leave me here. I tug at my wrists, trying to get free of the ropes, but they’re bound so tight that all it does is make my hands go numb.
The walls of the minuscule room press in on me. It reminds me of the attic of the Black Cat, of the oppressive feeling of its close walls and secret places in the dark. I remember the last time I was up there, to look for The Witch Hunter’s Bible for Mom while she remained downstairs with the nosy cop.
My heart gives a painful thump at the unexpected memory. I’ve been trying not to think of her, because every time I do, I end up a heap of tears and snot. It’s normal for a grieving daughter to cry, but I haven’t had the luxury of grieving properly. I’ve needed to search for Paige, and how was I going to do that if I was in bed crying?
But I think of her now.
I think of her radiant smile when I entered the Black Cat after school. Of her shining gray eyes and wild hair that matched my own. I think of the way she rocked into parent-teacher conferences wearing a half ton of silver jewelry and striped leggings, completely unashamed to be who she was even if it embarrassed the crap out of me. I think of her in the bleachers, cheering me on while I cheered on our football team. Of her ribbing me about my boyfriend choices, of her complaining about Aunt Penny’s partying even while she made pancakes with ginger for her hungover sister. I wish I’d known how great I had it, that I’d told her I loved her every chance I got.
I’m so caught up in my memories that I don’t hear the footsteps until they’re outside my door.
The lock clanks, and then the door creaks open. The figure looking in at me is backlit by the pale light from the hallway, so I can’t see his face, but I recognize the shape of his hat instantly.
Ace.
I open my mouth to scream, but with one movement of his hand, my voice dies in my throat. Terror rips through me. I try to run past him, out the door, but he gives me a hard shove in the center of my chest, knocking the wind out of me. He jumps into the room, swinging the door quickly closed behind him.
He’s inside the room with me, in complete darkness. A bone-crushing fear that something Very Bad is about to happen overwhelms my senses.
I call my magic. I think of the earth swallowing Ace up. I think of a violent wind knocking him back. Desperately, I think of as many bad things happening to him as I can. But nothing happens. Not only is the spell over, but I can’t even summon the usual heat of my magic.
The price, I realize with a start. Bishop said all black magic comes with a price, and you never know when you’ll have to pay it.
I’m suddenly not so happy about the empty tunnels. I suddenly wish they were crawling with people. Anyone with the potential to stop Ace.
I can’t see him, but I can feel his presence. I keep still, trying to hear better so I can anticipate his moves.
A hand brushes my shoulder blade. I spin around and kick out, but my foot only sweeps through the air. In the moment it takes me to get stabilized on my feet again, he’s behind me. His hands are low on my hips, his cigarette breath hot on my ear. I try to move, but he pulls my hips back hard, against him, then moves one arm around my shoulder to pin me to him.
He spins me quickly, and then his mouth is on mine. I bite down on his lip so hard my teeth smash together and I taste his blood. He roars as I spit his blood into his face, then tackles me against the wall. The air is punched out of me, but that doesn’t stop me from delivering a swift knee to his groin.
The door swings open. Ace turns.