Hexed (26 page)

“I don’t get it.” Jezebel’s voice breaks up with obvious exhaustion. She slows to a jog, then stops, doubled over and panting. “Why wouldn’t the Family have helped? They promised. It doesn’t make sense. The Priory has the Bible. Why wouldn’t the Family send everyone they’ve got? It’s their own lives on the line.”

It doesn’t make any sense to me either, and I can tell by Bishop’s silence that he’s thinking about it too as he sucks in big gulps of air.

“Come on, we have to keep moving.” Jezebel pushes up and breaks into a sloppy jog again.

The water has slicked higher up my body in the time we’ve spent catching our breath, and though my lungs ache with exhaustion and my overworked heart pounds, I run after her.

Bishop stays at my side even though I know he could have lapped Jezebel twice over. “Take it off.” He gestures to my dress. “It’d be much easier.”

I give him a hard look. “Nice try, but I’m not reenacting your porno fantasies.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

But it’s only a few slow, heavy steps later that I realize he’s right. In a few minutes’ time, the water will be above my waist, and we’ll have to swim. “Unlace me.”

“Oh God,” Jezebel calls from up ahead.

“Hurry up! The water.” I spin around to give Bishop access to the corset-back of my gown. He whirls around, looking for someplace to put the candle before sticking it on a small ledge poking out of the brick.

He splashes up behind me, and even above the
whoosh
of water in the intakes and Jezebel’s splashing footsteps, I hear him swallow hard, hesitating, fingers fumbling with my laces.

“I didn’t come back just because I was ordered!” he yells over the noise.

Familiar tears sting my eyes. Which is stupid, because really—so not the most important thing right now. Water moves up to my hip bones, the skirt of the dress puffing up around me.

“It’s true the Family sent me to train you as punishment for losing the Bible,” he says. “But they had no idea that I really wanted to do it, that I’d been dying to see you again. It wasn’t a punishment at all.” He takes hold of my shoulders, and I draw in a little breath. “The real punishment was being away from you.”

My heart swells so much I’m worried it will burst, relief and happiness causing tears to spill down my cheeks.

“And I only stopped that day at the sand dunes because I didn’t want you to regret anything. I didn’t want you to think back on what you’d done and hate me for it.”

Heat floods my face at the mention of that day, and I’m glad my back is to him so he can’t see it. But as much as I don’t want to forgive him for humiliating me, I know he’s right. I would have felt like he’d preyed on my vulnerability if he’d let things go any further.

“Indie.” He pleads my name, his fingers brushing tentatively along the cold skin of my arm. His touch sends a current down my body.

“Okay, you’re right,” I say tersely.

Silence. And then, “What did you just say?”

I huff and spin around to face him, not bothering to wipe my tear-stained face. “I said you’re right. You’re right and I was wrong. Go ahead and enjoy the moment because it’s probably never happening again—”

He takes my face in his hands and kills my words with a kiss. A kiss so intense it would scare me if it didn’t thrill me so much. Long and deep and lingering.

“What’s taking you guys so … long.” Jezebel slows to a halt.

I pull back from Bishop, my breathing as erratic as my pulse.

“Oh, well, pardon me,” Jezebel says. “I guess I mistakenly thought we were running for our lives.” She turns on her heel and keeps running.

I bring my eyes up to Bishop’s. “She hates us.”

“And I don’t care.”

I laugh. “Okay, get me out of this thing.”

“With pleasure.”

I roll my eyes and hold my arms out as Bishop stretches the corset’s laces until the bodice hangs loose around my bust. Then I wriggle out of the dress with Bishop’s eager help until I’m wearing nothing but my boy-cut underwear and an interestingly shaped bra made specially for open-backed dresses. But Bishop doesn’t seem to notice the ugly bra, his dark eyes exploring me.

“Aren’t you going to strip down?” I ask.

“Indigo, I have a feeling your boyfriend wouldn’t approve of this.” He tosses my dress aside—it lands with a slopping sound before sinking from sight—and then shrugs out of his jacket. Much as I’d like to, I don’t wait for him to get undressed.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say, leading the way into the darkness where Jezebel disappeared.

“Interesting.” Bishop follows on my heels, bringing along the taper. “He looked like your boyfriend when you were snogging earlier. Congrats on the homecoming queen thing, by the way.”

“He kissed me. Against my will. And thanks. Now can we concentrate on escaping this sewer before we drown?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

It doesn’t take long for me to regret our little bonding moment. Not the kiss but the time we wasted; the water now reaches my ribs, and we might as well be trying to run in quicksand for all the progress we’re making, near naked or no. We’re forced to ditch the candle in favor of a headlamp Bishop conjures, and revert to messy front strokes, craning our heads back every few lengths to look for a sewer cover we can escape through. Panic punches the air out of my chest.

“What if we don’t find one?” I struggle to catch my breath between strokes. “What if we can’t get out?”

“No worries.” Bishop’s voice is calm and unconcerned.

“What’s the plan? Snorkeling mask? Break through the roof?” I inadvertently swallow a mouthful of slimy water and have to stop, bobbing in the water as I cough and sputter uncontrollably.

“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 …”

I tune out his speech, the truth unfolding before my eyes. Bait—I can’t believe how obvious it is, how I could have missed it until now. “I’ll do it,” I blurt out.

“What?” Bishop turns and touches my shoulder. “Indie, you’re being stupid—”

“Don’t touch me.” I shake off his hand. “Never touch me again, do you hear me? I hate you.”

Bishop’s brows draw together, hurt and confusion muddying his dark eyes.

“Trouble in paradise?” Leo laughs at his own joke, and his minions hurry to follow suit.

I swallow my urge to kiss every part of Bishop’s face until the hurt disappears, and face Leo. “I’ll do it if you promise to kill him.” I cross my arms and jut my chin toward Bishop. “And if you let me and Jezebel go free.”

“I like the sound of this,” Jezebel pipes up.

“Indie, what are you talking about?” Bishop moves in front of me and bends low, trying to force me to look at him.

“Oh, please. Like you don’t know. You are so fake. Fake, fake,
fake
!” I give him a pointed look on the last “fake” and, finally, a glimmer of recognition crosses his eyes.

I move away from Bishop, toward Leo. “Bring me to the Bible.”

Leo’s eyes narrow, and he doesn’t say a word. An icy fear that he’s on to me grips my spine.

As if sensing the danger, Bishop grabs my arm and spins me around to face him. “Indie, please. Give me another chance.” He leans in to kiss me.

I draw my arm back, then lunge all my body weight into a punch that cracks across his cheek like a bat striking a fastball. Bishop stumbles back, hands up around his face.

“What the hell was that?” His voice is high and strained—no acting job there.

“Try it again and I’ll cut your balls off, you—you cheating jerk!” I face Leo again. “Take me to the Bible. You know my terms.”

Leo looks between the two of us, and for one horrible moment I think he hasn’t fallen for it. But then he gives a curt nod. “Take them all to the compound.”

Two of Leo’s goons surge forward, pulling something black out of their back pockets. He pulls the same item out of his own pocket, and I realize now that it’s a bag. “Can’t have you telling your little Family members where they can find us,” he explains, before snapping the bag over my head.

I
’m certain of three things. One is that I’m in a car—this much I can tell from the sounds of doors slamming, an engine rumbling beneath me, and the ticking of turn signals. The second is that it takes roughly thirty minutes to get to our destination before the car jerks to a stop.

The stench of Marlboro cigarettes tips me off to the third thing, which is that Leo is in the car with me.

Doors slam, and then I’m pulled out into sticky, warm air and ushered inside a building, my shoes squeaking on tile flooring.

“You better not be lying,” Leo says.

I stiffen at the sound of his voice so close to my ear, recalling the day when Leo tried to attack me in the gym. Only this time, my hands are bound so tightly with thick rope that it’s impossible to escape. I focus on each breath—inhale through my nose, exhale through my mouth—so that I don’t panic.

Leo shoves me inside a room and pulls the bag off my head. My eyes burn from the sudden brightness, but when they adjust I find myself inside a small room tiled partly in seafoam green, with X-rays of bones lining the top half of the walls. A long, stainless steel table takes up the center of the space, glinting from the spotlight at the end of a mechanical arm coming from the ceiling. Steel surgical tools line small trays against one of the walls, and the scent of antiseptic and alcohol permeates the air.

“You like?” Leo asks.

Bile rises up my throat, and I feel the urge to puke. What have I gotten us into? My plan had seemed so clear earlier, but now that I’m here, what couldn’t be clearer is that I was wrong.

There are scuffling noises behind me. Two suit-clad men push Jezebel and Bishop into the room.

“Close the door, Armando,” Leo says.

The heavyset Latino man who had been pushing Bishop nods and shuts the door.

“Get this damn bag off.” Jezebel thrashes against her ropes and the grip of her handler—a tall, thin man with a hooked nose and a widow’s peak—but I know she could easily use her magic to escape if she wanted to. She knows we’re up to something, and she’s playing along. It’s just a mystery to me why the Priory hasn’t caught on to this fact yet.

“No can do.” Leo slaps something onto the table—the Bible—and then hardens his black eyes on me. “Break the spell.”

My heart freezes up at the sight of the book. It’s been years since I last laid eyes on it—Mom didn’t take it out of hiding very often after the last scare—and I’m surprised to find, to remember, actually, that it’s plain. Only the title—
The
Witch
Hunter’s Bible
—written in faded gold, Gothic-style script, and the two dull gold latches that secure the covers, distinguishes it from any old book. Yet despite its plain appearance, it feels important. It
is
important—Mom lost her life for this book. I take a shaky breath and focus on Leo. “Untie me first.”

So many unthinkable horrors have happened because of this Bible. And if I unlock it now for Leo and my plan doesn’t work, everything will only get worse. Pressure builds in my chest.

“No.” His tone and the hard lines of his face leave no room for argument. I do it anyway.

“I need my hands to break the spell,” I say. It’s at least partly true. I don’t really know how to break the spell, but my hands were involved in at least half the magic I’ve learned so far.

“It’s true,” Bishop says, then grunts when Armando lands an elbow in his stomach.

Leo watches me for a long moment, and I try not to squirm under his stare.

“Fine.” He walks behind me. Something cold presses between the rope and my skin, and the ropes come loose. I rub my raw wrists. “Now do it,” he says. “No more wasting time.”

I take cautious steps up to the table. Pressing my palms against the cold metal, I lean in toward the Bible resting in the spotlight between my hands.

Leo knocks on the table. “Anytime now.”

I swallow, focusing my attention on finding the heat in my core and pulling it into my chest. As soon as it’s a thought in my mind, the power surges like I lined my insides with accelerant, igniting my chest with a pulsating ball of fire. I move the heat to my fingertips, press them to the Bible, and close my eyes, willing the spell to break. After a minute or so, I open my eyes.

“Did you do it?” Leo leans across the table, practically vibrating with anticipation.

“I think so.”

If I was trying to hide my uncertainty, I failed. Leo scurries around the large table and snatches up the book. I hold my breath as he fumbles with the latch.

“You liar.” He slams the book down so hard the sound echoes through the room, then pokes a finger into my shoulder, hard. I flinch. Spittle flies out of his mouth as he speaks. “I can’t open this. You haven’t broken the spell.”

A million different emotions—regret, disappointment, fear … mostly fear—slam into me all at once. Why did I think this would work? I’m an idiot. Of course I can’t break the spell. I’m a beginner; this is way beyond my scope. But I can’t let Leo see how I’m feeling.

I shake my head adamantly, my throat tightening as though I’m using a boa constrictor for a scarf. “Let me try again. Please.”

Leo’s chest heaves, but he allows me to move around him to reach the Bible. This time, my hand is shaky when I press it to the Bible. When the heat stings my fingertips, I focus on the latch, on popping it open.
Sequere
me
imperio
movere, sequere me imperio movere …
When the latch doesn’t budge, I wipe sweat from my temple and repeat the words aloud.
“Sequere me imperio movere, sequere me imperio movere, sequere me imperio movere.”

Of course it doesn’t work.

Leo lets out what can only be called a battle cry and reaches for me.

I stumble back and hold a hand out to stay him. “Just let me try one more time. Th-that’s it—once more. What could it hurt?” Tears sting my eyes, and an uncontrollable sob rises from my chest. The full weight of my mistake presses on me. Leo will kill all three of us, and if what he said about Aunt Penny being a witch is true, he’ll go after her next. Even after what she’s done to me, I don’t wish that on her.

I pick up the Bible and clasp it firmly in my hands.

Aunt Penny. Why isn’t she helping me?

Tears stream down my cheeks.

Her nervousness, the way she looked at me before I left—she must have known what was going to happen. Why did she let me do it? Why didn’t she try to stop me? And then I remember her advice when Devon and I left for the dance. If you need help, call … oh, who was it? Some weird name—Alice or something. But I’m sure it’s important now, and not just some friend of hers who could give me a ride home if I were too drunk to drive.

“Do it!” Leo hisses in my ear.

“I am.” What was the name, oh God, what was it?

Leo paces behind me.

“Alice F-French. Alica French. Alica Francis, uh, Alica Franz.”

“Alica Frangere?” Bishop pipes up.

“Shut up!” Leo yells.

That’s it! “Alica Frangere.”

The room silences, and I open my eyes.

I nod at Leo. “Okay.”

He gives me a long look through narrowed eyes, then snatches the Bible up. This time, when he fumbles with the latch, it pops open with ease.

I sigh, folding in half with relief.

Leo hurriedly flips through the pages, and a slow smile stretches across his face. But only moments later, a frown turns down his lips, and he snaps the book closed.

“What is it?” I ask. “Is there something wrong?”

Leo casts a glance around. “Well, I suppose this place is as good as any.” He skirts around me, holding the Bible against his chest. “Lock them in separate rooms. Remove everything—I mean everything—from their rooms. I don’t want them doing anything stupid before the ceremony.”

Armando snags Bishop’s arm and tugs him forward. He stumbles along lazily, and I know if I could see his expression he’d be wearing that same casual/bored one I saw on him at the theater when he was tied to the chair. Jezebel, on the other hand, predictably kicks and fights against her captor, but doesn’t conjure any of the impressive magic that I know she’s capable of. I’m very tempted to tell her that she’s going to get us caught if she doesn’t amp up the acting job a few notches.

Other Priory minions shuffle in to remove the table, surgical tools, and trays, until it’s just me and the X-rays in the room. A very small part of me is relieved to see the sharp tools go, though a larger part knows it’s probably not because they plan to be really kind to us.

Leo pokes his head back inside. “Try to escape and I send a unit over to see your auntie.”

I stumble forward. “How long? When are you coming back?”

A wicked grin pulls up his marred cheek. “Just until you starve.”

The door slams shut with an echo of finality.