“You couldn’t kill me,” Frederick says.
Jezebel doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. There’s a whoosh of air, then a flash of movement, and suddenly a seven-inch dagger is suspended in the air, a hair’s width from Frederick’s temple. His wide eyes dart to the side, and I have to say, I like the fear I see there. I might be impressed with Jezebel’s skills if she hadn’t looked at me like a beetle scuttling across the floor just moments before—a beetle she was considering crunching under her boot.
“Now,” Jezebel says. “If you’d kindly release my boyfriend, I’ll consider not burying this knife in your brain.”
20
Hold on, what did she just say?
“Do it now, Frederick,” Jezebel says. “My patience is not what it used to be.”
Metal clangs in the background. Jezebel doesn’t look away from Frederick, just holds up a hand, and the huge black pipe careering through the air toward her head clatters to the ground like a No. 2 pencil.
“Nice try,” Jezebel says. “Another move like that and this blade gets better acquainted with your brain.” The knife vibrates, like it’s struggling to stay back and might speed forward into the sweaty skin at Frederick’s temple at any moment. “You have three seconds.”
Frederick’s nostrils flare. “Fine.” He whirls his fingers at the screen, and the rope around Bishop slackens and falls to the ground. Then Frederick tips his fingers forward, and Bishop is sucked through the screen with a loud pop.
Bishop stumbles off the stage. He checks out the red marks the ropes left across his arms, then shrugs.
“Now get rid of this.” Frederick gives a minute nod toward the knife, because any larger a gesture would mean contact with the blade. “A deal’s a deal.”
“What deal?” Jezebel’s eyebrows knit. “I don’t recall making a deal.”
“Very funny.” Frederick’s Adam’s apple moves up and down as he swallows.
Jezebel laughs and looks at Bishop, who hikes up his pants as he nears.
“I was just about to save us,” he says, “but thanks anyway.” Bishop winks at Jezebel. Then, finally, he looks at me. “Hey, Ind. Glad to see you in one piece.”
Jezebel glares at Bishop. “Well, it’s just a regular old lovefest in here, isn’t it?”
“The knife?” Frederick’s voice shakes with barely controlled anger and more than a bit of fear.
“Will you not shut up?” Jezebel rolls her eyes, and for a minute she reminds me of another beautiful, bitchy girl I know. “Last I checked, the person with the knife gets to make the rules.” She looks at Bishop. “Ready, Bish?”
Bish? really?
She doesn’t wait for his answer before walking down the center aisle, doing that hippy sway that I’ve just decided does look stupid on her.
“You get back here!” Frederick calls to Jezebel, like a parent admonishing his child.
“My mom!” I frantically look between the knife still trembling at Frederick’s temple, Jezebel’s retreating back, and Mom on-screen writhing against the ropes holding her to the chair.
“I thought we covered this topic,” Jezebel answers without turning.
I take a two-second break from hating Bishop to plead with him with my eyes. He calls, “I’m not leaving without her.”
“Then stay,” Jezebel says, without breaking stride.
“Fine,” Bishop snaps back.
I decide I hate him a bit less. Which would be great, if I weren’t scared shitless, because now the knife at Frederick’s temple has disappeared, and Frederick gives me a wicked smile.
“Well, isn’t this interesting.” He adjusts the collar of his suit.
“It is.” Bishop nods emphatically. “I’ve never seen a sorcerer so close to tears before. Hey, are you okay, man? I can grab you a glass of water from the concession stand if you’d like. Maybe a moist towelette to clean off your face.”
Frederick’s jaw hardens, and he self-consciously touches his sweat-soaked brow.
The double doors of the theater close with an air of finality. Jezebel’s done it. She’s left us to die at Frederick’s hands.
I shoot my gaze to Bishop and give him a look I hope says “What the hell? Now what? Huh? Huh?” And he sends me one back that says “Relax, I’ve got this covered.”
Frederick wags his index finger at Bishop. “That’s very funny. A sense of humor is a great attribute. In fact, you might not know this about me, but comedies are my favorite kind of movie.” Frederick grins at me, pale blue eyes sparkling, and my stomach knots up all over again.
“And do you know what I find particularly funny?” He pauses a moment, as if to let us answer. “Irony.”
Frederick gestures toward the screen. I slap my hand over my mouth at the sight I find there. The same knife that moments ago was pointed at Frederick’s head now trembles at Mom’s temple. Mom’s wide gray eyes dart to the blade, which gleams in the spotlight. She closes her eyes tight, her body racked by the force of her sobs.