Page 36 of Bewitched By the Djinn (The Bewitching Hour #8)

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

We get the hell out of here, Bennet says.

Sure. No problem. I’ll just conjure a key.

Except... I glance at the thick iron bars and rusted lock on the cell door, then down at my hands.

Maybe I can.

The magic in me is different now. Like Bennet said, it’s more.

Before, it was like a compass needle, pulling toward lost things.

Now it’s a wildfire just waiting for oxygen.

It coils beneath my skin, humming with energy.

But I don’t know how to shape it, how to aim it.

I’ve never had to do anything like this before.

Bennet reads my thoughts. I could come to you.

No. You are surrounded by guards. I’m alone in this cell, probably because they figured there is no need to guard the stupid weak mortal. I can escape, find you, then we can take out your guards together.

You can do it. I can feel it. Bennet’s voice in my mind is a caress full of pride and love.

I close my eyes and push my way through it. The bond pulses bright between us, aiding my magic like he’s showing me how to use it.

I’ve always found things. That’s my thing. A missing necklace. A misplaced letter. The path through the dark. The broken piece in the water heater.

I have to find a way out.

I place my palm flat against the cold metal of the door, exhale slowly, and let the magic rise. I picture it weaving into the iron, searching the bars and hinges and age-worn bolts. Like fingers brushing over braille, trying to read its secrets.

No, not the door. The lock .

I reach for the lock, not with force, but with focus.

The magic inside me recognizes the shape of the lock, understands it on some level I never could before.

The shape of it takes form in my mind, and the shape of a flaw .

Deep inside the mechanism, the metal of the pins thins due to too many cycles of pressure. A tiny crack, nearly invisible.

I scan the cell. The floor is layered in grime and splinters, the corners thick with dust.

My eyes are pulled to a bit of debris near the far wall: a jagged length of rusted wire, no longer than a needle, half-buried in old straw. I scramble over, pry it loose with numb fingers. It’s brittle and bent, but just rigid enough.

Back at the door, I slide the wire into the keyhole, guiding it by instinct, tuned to the lock’s breaking point. I wiggle the metal, press just right, and?—

Click. Then, with a sharp metallic snap, the bolt gives way.

My breath catches. “Holy shit.”

You did it. Pride blooms through the bond.

I blink at the door, then down at my hands.

No time to waste. I ease the cell door open, heart pounding, and slip into the corridor beyond. The dungeon air is heavy and damp, thick with stone and silence.

I press onward, the lure of Bennet like a current in my blood. Hold on. I’m coming.

Blood roars in my ears, my hands shaking as I slip from shadow to shadow, ducking into alcoves and behind crumbling tapestries.

The bond is a compass, tugging at my chest like a magnet pointing north. Bennet. He’s up higher. A floor or two. It’s like there’s a thread wrapped around my ribs, leading me inexorably forward.

My breathing is too loud. I stop for a second, trying to still my racing heart.

Bennet is in my mind, following my steps, staying silent like it will help me stay quiet as well.

Almost there.

The tug in my chest sharpens. So close.

Up here, the halls are narrower. Richer. The stones cleaner, the air colder. I crouch at the corner of a hallway, peeking around—and stop.

Two guards stand outside a wooden door with a heavy latch. Bennet’s behind it. No doubt in my mind.

But I can’t just waltz up and ask them to step aside.

Excuse me, sorry to interrupt your evil overlord shift, but I need my maybe-boyfriend. Could you scootch over a bit?

Bennet chuckles in the back of my mind. Maybe-boyfriend? His incredulity brushes against my senses.

It’s not like we’ve had the whole exclusivity conversation.

His response is dry. I would think the whole fated mates aspect of our relationship would supersede the need for such a thing, but I am willing to talk if you are.

Later. I blow him an imaginary kiss and press my back against the wall, heart thudding as I think. I need to get them away. Make them move. Make it believable.

Wait, Bennet says. His voice hums low and steady in my head. Let me try something.

There’s a pause. A quiet gathering of magic like a breath held beneath the surface.

Then, from inside the room, a loud crash—metal clanging against stone, followed by a snarl of pain and furious muttering.

The guards snap to attention.

“What the hell was that?” one says, hand drifting toward the hilt at his waist.

The other bangs on the door. “Hey! What’s going on in there? Lord Hugh said he would be out cold.”

More thuds. Something shatters. Then Bennet, voice perfectly pitched with desperation, calls out, “Help! I—I can’t breathe—something’s wrong?—”

The guards look at each other, curse, and one scrambles with the latch while the other reaches for the handle.

It opens and a rush of wind blows out, knocking them back and slamming them into the wall before they crumple to the ground.

I surge forward, passing the motionless guards.

Bennet emerges from the room, a smile lighting his face when his gaze connects with mine. The room is a mess, glass everywhere and a broken stool in the corner, but his eyes burn, fierce and bright.

He hauls me to him, mouth coming down over mine, the kiss savage and wild as the bond burns even brighter between us.

“Wow.” When we finally separate, my legs are shaky.

Bennet holds on to my waist, keeping me steady. “We must find Helen. He’s starting the ritual now.”

The pressure in the air shifts, like the sea pulling back from the shore right before a thundering wave. My breath catches, the hair on my arms standing on end. My magic, still buzzing from the bond, flickers wildly in my gut.

Bennet’s hands clench on me. “You feel that?”

“It’s like something’s trying to suck all the air out of the castle. What is that?”

“Power. The ring.”

A chill skates down my spine. The Ring of Solomon . It’s like a moon. A gravitational pull, not just of power but of intent. An ancient hunger being woken up. Used. Controlled.

We move, fast and silent. The deeper we go, the colder the air gets and the more the castle around us changes.

The walls are no longer decorative or grand, only raw stone and flickering torchlight.

Older. Forgotten. A hidden corridor, a stairwell spiraling down, deeper and deeper into the foundations.

The magic pulses again, stronger now, rhythmic, like a heartbeat echoing through stone.

A voice rises with it. Low, but getting louder.

Chanting. Each word makes my skin crawl, like the syllables weren’t meant to exist outside of nightmares.

The energy sharpens like a blade. I grab Bennet’s arm and nod toward a heavy door cracked open enough to let a sliver of golden light spill through.

Bennet peers through the crack and I duck into his side to view what’s happening inside.

A wide, circular chamber stretches out, lit by a ring of fire that dances in unnatural colors, violet, blue, and a sickly green that makes my stomach revolt.

Symbols are etched into the floor, glowing beneath a circle of black stone. At the center of it all is Helen.

She’s on her knees, bound by chains that shimmer with magic. Her head hangs low, dark hair falling into her face.

Standing above her is Hugh, and next to him, another Helen. Fake Helen, draped in a deep purple ceremonial robe.

Circling the chamber like hungry wolves are three smoky ifrit charged with lightning.

Hugh lifts his hands above his head. Darkness swirls around him, drawn in by the magic, wrapping around the false Helen, and then the real one, tying them together.

His voice echoes through the chamber, proud and venomous. “You should be honored, Helen. Despite your half-blooded weakness, you will be the instrument of our victory. Through you, we will become what the old blood only dreamed of. We will transcend . ”

Helen raises her head, defiant even as her limbs shake. “You mean you will. You’re using them. Just like you used my parents. Just like you used me and Bennet and everyone . ”

Hugh sneers. “They were foolish. Weak. Your father allowed you to be born through mortal seed. Your mother clung to peace and treaties instead of domination. I warned them, and they ignored me. So I did what had to be done.”

Then his hand sparks with magic and he lifts the flare overhead to strike.

Bennet bursts into the chamber like thunder, magic pulsing off him in waves that crack the stone beneath his feet. “Don’t you dare.”

Hugh whirls around, the ring in his hand spitting sparks of furious gold.

“I wanted to be like you.” Bennet’s gaze locks on Hugh. “I thought you loved me. I thought what you taught me meant something.”

Hugh’s lip curls. “ Love . You fool. You haven’t learned a damn thing from me. You’re weak. Powerless. The ifrit understand power. They don’t shirk their duty for their feelings. They don’t dilute their bloodlines for love. ”

I sprint to Helen’s side while they face off. I grab the chains around real Helen’s wrists. They are looped through another chain, attached to the floor. They sting like acid, but I don’t let go. I have to get her free.

Bennet stands tall, his eyes burning with the fury of betrayal and grief and barely leashed magic. “You killed my parents for this? Because love made them weak?”

Bennet takes a step forward, and the flames bow away from him. His magic surges around him like a rising storm.

“You don’t understand strength. You think it’s about domination. About the pursuit of power with no limits. But real strength—real power—is about protection. It’s standing in the fire and saying: I will burn before I let those I love get hurt. My parents knew this. I pity you, that you don’t.”

I try to tune out their argument, knowing Bennet isn’t just trauma dumping. Thanks to the bond, I know he’s giving me time to free his sister. Where is it? Where’s the weak link? But these chains are new, and?—

“Cassie. Behind you!” Helen screams.

Fake Helen lunges for me.

Time slows, my magic flaring. Of course Hugh let Bennet talk. A distraction while his minion goes for the weak link—me. It’s the giants all over again, dammit. My heart hammers, instincts screaming. I need a solution. Where? Where?

There. Between the steps of her awkward gait and the angle of her charge is an opening. A narrow, perfect fraction of a second where her weight will shift off balance.

I dive sideways, kicking out and tripping her at the kneecaps. She stumbles, crashing to the ground.

Praise the gods.

“What do you think you are doing?” Hugh’s fury boils over.

The ring flares and he throws everything he has at us.