“Mm!” Devon tried to yell through the tape over his mouth. “Mm-mmm!”
He tried to get loose, but the heavy ropes bound him too tightly to the chair, and all he could do was strain and strain against them and go nowhere. Our eyes locked, and his cold despair punched me straight in the heart.
But I forced myself to look away from Devon and focus on Grant, who was swaggering toward me. He slashed the dagger through the air again, and I couldn’t stop myself from shivering. So maybe I was a little more than just moderately terrified, but I’d planted the idea in his head and now I had to use it to my advantage—or die trying.
Grant stopped in front of me. I started struggling, even going so far as to kick out at him with my legs. Of course, he easily sidestepped my clumsy blow. He jerked his head at the two men still standing behind him.
“Hold her still,” he said. “I don’t want any mistakes.”
The men came to stand on either side of me. They clenched their hands around my upper arms, using their strength Talents to hold me in place. I waited a second, then strained my hands against my bonds. Nothing happened. The men weren’t using enough of their magic on me to get my own transference power to kick in. Not nearly enough.
So I started struggling again, bucking and heaving and thrashing with all my might. The men easily subdued me, but I kept fighting. And finally—finally—I felt that first faint chill of magic deep in the pit of my stomach.
I just hoped it would be enough to save me.
The men tightened their grips so much that their fingers pressed against my bones. I couldn’t move a muscle—not a single one—but that chill slowly began to grow colder and colder, morphing into something more, something greater. I had to draw this out for as long as possible.
Grant stopped in front of me, and my gaze locked onto the dagger in his hand. It was an ashy black, just like my mom’s sword, although the edges glinted, thanks to the lone light burning above. Black blades were unbelievably sharp, with the sort of keen edges that would filet you like a fish. And you wouldn’t even feel the wound until it was too late—and your guts were spilling everywhere.
Grant grinned when he realized that I was staring at the dagger. “Do you know why they call them black blades?”
I didn’t answer because I already knew. My mom had told me all about black blades and how dangerous they could be.
His grin widened. “Because the more blood you get on them, the blacker the blade turns. I’ve always wanted to find out if that was really true. Now, I finally have my chance, thanks to you, Lila.”
I struggled again, forcing the men to use their strength to hold me still. One of them cuffed me upside the head, putting a bit of his magic in the blow. It took me a moment to blink the white stars out of my vision and focus on Grant again.
He raised the dagger, resting the pointed tip against my heart. “You know, I’m actually sorry about this, Lila. I really did like you.”
“Just not enough to keep you from trying to kill me multiple times, right?”
“It’s nothing personal.” He shrugged. “I never liked anybody all that much.”
I thought he would pull back and plunge the dagger through my heart. He hesitated, as if he was considering the idea. But in the end, he wanted my Talent too badly to kill me outright. He dropped the dagger from my heart and twirled it around in his hand a final time.
I looked past him at Devon. Once again, our eyes locked, and I felt all of his rage, worry, despair, and guilt—guilt that he had dragged me into this.
“Don’t worry,” I called out, trying to reassure him. “Everything’s going to be okay. You’ll see.”
“Mm! Mm-mmm!” Devon tried to scream through his gag, probably yelling at Grant to stop.
But it was too late.
Grant gave me an evil grin, then stabbed me in the side with the dagger.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
For a moment, I didn’t feel anything.
Not a nick, not a cut, not a brutal stab, nothing.
I looked down, staring at the dagger embedded in my side.
Then the pain rushed to my brain in one blinding, white-hot blast.
I screamed when Grant thrust the dagger into my side, and I screamed again when he yanked it back out. He held up the weapon so that everyone could see my blood staining it a bright, glossy, sickening red.
But my blood didn’t stay on the blade for long.
Almost immediately, the stains began to vanish, bit by bit, drop by drop, as the bloodiron soaked up all the liquid that coated it. I could have sworn I could actually hear the metal sucking up my blood, like a kid chugging down a glass of cherry soda through a straw.
Slurp-slurp-slurp.
And Grant was right. The more of my blood the metal absorbed, the darker the blade became, going from a dull gray to a deep midnight, until it was almost glowing with blackness, if that was even possible.
Grant’s eyes lit up with delight at the macabre sight. Devon kept screaming through the tape over his mouth. The two guards looked mildly bored. No doubt they would have killed me by now and been done with it.
“You were right, Lila. Practicing on you will be loads of fun,” Grant said in a cruel, satisfied voice.
I kept screaming and screaming, wondering if the pain would ever end. Hoping that it would. Praying that I hadn’t miscalculated, and that my own magic would kick in and save me the way it had so many times before.
But there was just pain . . . and more pain . . . and more pain still . . .