There was something else in that magic—not a smell, but a sense all the same—something sharp, like anger, like hate. A fierceness that didn’t show in the lines of Holland’s face. No, his face was startlingly calm. Terrifyingly calm.
“Scream,” he said.
Lila frowned. “What do you—”
The question was cut off by pain. A bolt of energy, like bottled lightning, shot up her arm where he gripped it, dancing over her skin and electrifying her nerves, and she cried out before she could stop herself. And then, almost as quickly as the pain came, it vanished, leaving Lila breathless and shaking.
“You … bastard,” she snarled.
“Call his name,” instructed Holland.
“I can assure you … he’s not … going to come,” she said, stumbling over the words. “Certainly not … for me. We—”
Another wave of pain, this one brighter, sharper, and Lila clenched her jaw against the scream and waited for the pain to pass, but this time it didn’t; it only worsened, and through it she could hear Holland say calmly, “Perhaps I should start breaking bones?”
She tried to say no, but when she opened her mouth to answer, all she heard was a cry, and then, as if encouraged, the pain worsened. She called Kell’s name then, for all the good it would do her. He wouldn’t come. Maybe if she tried, this madman would realize that and let her go. Find another form of bait. The pain finally petered out, and Lila realized she was on her knees, one hand gripping the cold stone street, the other wrenched up behind her, still in Holland’s grip. She thought she was going to be sick.
“Better,” said Holland.
“Go to hell,” she spat.
He jerked her up to her feet and back against him, and brought the gun beneath her chin. “I’ve never used a revolver,” he said in her ear. “But I know how they work. Six shots, yes? You’ve fired one. That leaves five more, if the gun was full. Do you think I could fire the rest without killing you? Humans die so easily, but I bet, if I’m clever …” He let the gun slide down her body, pausing at her shoulder, her elbow, before trailing down her side to her thigh and coming to rest against her knee. “The sooner he comes, the sooner I will let you go. Call his name.”
“He won’t come,” she whispered bitterly. “Why do you refuse to believe—”
“Because I know our friend,” said Holland. He lifted his gun-wielding hand—Lila shuddered with relief as the kiss of metal left her skin—and wrapped his arm casually around her shoulders. “He is near. I can hear his boots on the street stones. Close your eyes. Can you hear him?”
Lila squeezed her eyes shut, but all she could hear was the thud of her heart and the thought racing through her mind. I don’t want to die. Not here. Not now. Not like this.
“Bring him to me,” whispered Holland. The air began to hum again.
“Don’t—” Lila’s bones lit up with pain. It shot from her skull to her weathered boots and back, and she screamed. And then, suddenly, the agony stopped and the sound died on her lips and Holland let go. She crumpled forward to the cobbled street, the stones scraping against her knees and palms as she caught herself.
Through the pounding in her head, she heard Holland’s voice say, “There you are.”
She dragged her head up and saw Kell standing in the road, the strange magical boy in his black coat, looking breathless and angry.
Lila couldn’t believe it.
He’d come back.
But why had he come back?
Before she could ask, he looked straight at her—one eye black and one blue and both wide—and said a single word.
“Run.”