“Finally stopped sucking face, huh?”
Bishop pulls up short, shining the light from his headlamp onto Jezebel, who stands just a few feet in front of us. Her hair is sucked flat against her head, the ends fanning out around her like jellyfish tentacles in the water, and her arms are crossed like a petulant child’s.
“It’s a ‘to be continued’ sort of thing,” Bishop retorts.
Jezebel’s nostrils flare, but she changes topics. “Found one.” She gestures up at the barely noticeable outline of a circle in the curved roof.
“Oh, thank God,” I say.
“Or thank me. But whatever. Bish, help me with this. Not enough room to fly in here.”
Bishop hoists Jezebel up—and I have to remind myself that his arms are around her for a good cause, and that it’s petty and stupid to be jealous just because they used to date and she’s super hot. Jezebel pushes the sewer cover off with ease. Streetlight falls into the hole as she pokes her head aboveground. “We’re good.”
Bishop pushes her up the rest of the way, then turns to me. “You’re next.”
Bishop’s more handsy than necessary as he pushes me up, but I don’t complain. Jezebel doesn’t come over to help, just lets me grapple clumsily at the pavement until I finally make it out. She gives me an up-and-down appraisal as I get to my feet, and I become aware that I’m standing, soaking wet and near naked, on a Pasadena street.
“I so don’t get it, but whatever. I guess he’s a butt guy.”
I cross my arms over my small chest.
“Am not,” Bishop says. “I like boobs as much as butts. Little help here?” He extends his arm out of the sewer.
The water is so high now that I can easily reach Bishop. Jezebel and I each take a hand and hoist him out. He lands on the pavement with a loud slop.
As soon as he’s on his feet, Bishop gives me the same appraisal Jezebel did. “Hmm, we should get trapped in a sewer more often.” He whirls a finger in my direction, and a tank top and shorts—albeit skanky ones—appear on my body, along with a pair of boat shoes.
“You know, this is getting a bit boring.”
I gasp. All three of us whirl around at the same time. The dozens of sorcerers from inside the Athenaeum pack the otherwise quiet street, Leo standing at their head.
“I think I might have to kill you and forget about breaking the spell after all,” he says, stepping forward.
“He wouldn’t kill you,” Bishop says. “He’d drain his powers.”
“You forget we tried to kill you once already, Bishop,” Leo says. He grins, his hooded eye twitching erratically. “Not sure how you’re alive right now, after that poor kid lost his powers killing you, but we’re not afraid to try again. There are more than a few people here that are very, very dedicated to the cause. Would give up their power in a second to see a witch go down. Isn’t that right?” Everyone behind him nods. “And I do have a few other tricks up my sleeve. Tricks I think you’ll particularly enjoy.”
“Don’t listen to him, Ind.” Bishop moves so he’s standing in front of me “If he kills you, he loses his chance at breaking the spell.”
“Wrong again, Bishop. Then I target Penny Blackwood. She might be the most useless witch on planet Earth, but I do what needs to be done.”
“Aunt Penny?” I croak.
Leo cocks his head. “What? Don’t tell me you didn’t know your aunt was a witch?”
Bishop’s speech at the Hollywood sign slams back into my mind. Based on my grandparents’ genes, Mom had a fifty percent chance of being a witch, which means so did Aunt Penny. My heart sinks even lower, right around knee level. Why didn’t she tell me? And if she’s a witch, why isn’t she helping me now? Better yet, why haven’t the Priory targeted her? Surely she can’t be more useless than a witch with about five seconds of experience. I don’t get it.”
“You just have to face it.” Leo takes two steps closer, rubbing his chin like some sort of gangster. “We’re just smarter than you. Like your little bait idea, for example. We were on to you before it was even a thought in your mind.”
Something about the word “bait” sticks out, and I latch on to it. The Family didn’t help us tonight, like they’d said they would. The Family hasn’t helped us, really, since the moment the Bible went missing. It doesn’t make any sense. None of it makes sense. But suddenly, everything clicks into place, and a humorless laugh slips from my mouth. “Bait,” I mutter.
Bishop shakes my arm. “Indie?”
“You see”—Leo walks closer, the yellow light of a streetlamp magnifying the bright pink craters in his burned skin, making them appear like lakes on a globe of the world—“we’ve got intelligence in areas you wouldn’t even dream. Would never in a million years consider. Not only that …”