Page 7

Six

HARLOW

I’m sorry, Mom and Dad. I failed. I suck. I killed you and now I’m about to die in a vampire’s lair as some blood bag–slash-cure.

Goddess, how my life has changed in twenty-four hours.

After the vampire, whose name I still don’t know and at this point almost don’t care to, leaves, I sit with my back to the door, bringing my legs up beneath me and slipping off the flip-flops to tug the edge of my pyjama pants down over my toes. After hours of being here, the chill is starting to penetrate my body. I rub my arms and legs, willing friction combined with my clothing to be enough before lowering my head. If he’s going to be gone for the day, no amount of yanking on the bars will help, so I may as well preserve my energy to fight later.

Hecate, give me strength. What do I do? How do I get out of this? Please give me a sign.

My silent prayer is useless. She can’t hear me. I doubt She’s even paying attention. Without my magick, I’m nothing more than a human. It’s been a fact plaguing me for weeks, but regardless, I’ve tried not to allow it to bother me. Lighting candles and practicing incantations that did nothing were activities that allowed me to feel closer to Her. Enough that I still felt like one of Her daughters.

But now…now I’m further away than ever. By allowing me to be taken by the witches’ enemies, it’s like She’s forsaken me. Again.

“Goddess, don’t leave me behind. Please. I’m so lost without my fire. Like I’m partially dead already. I can’t handle losing you as well.”

Silence. Or so I think. This cell isn’t equipped with windows, which means the sky isn’t available to me. Just another form of the distance between me and the deity.

Minutes pass with more silence until my prayer is answered. Answered in a way that proves she is indeed punishing me.

The slither along my neck causes me to shiver as the cell grows so black, I can’t see a thing. The accompanying chill is different from the dungeon’s air, similar to being abandoned in the Arctic, and is unmistakably the very thing harassing me for months.

“Stop. Just stop. Go away. Leave me alone.”

Maybe if I begin screaming, the vampire will return. And then what? Beg him to get me out of here? Admit shadows are stalking me? He’ll think it’s a lie to get free, and then he might leave me here longer out of annoyance.

My mind has to stay sharp and not focus on too much, so with a defeated sigh, I unfold my body and shift away from the door, turning to face it instead. I scrape as much of the nearby dirt in front of the door, giving me more to trace through. My powers may be gone, but activating runes is something else entirely. The blood in my veins designating me a witch might be enough to trigger them, and if not, then at least drawing them is a distraction.

I start with the Algiz rune, designed for protection and warding off harm; a straight line down with a V, like two arms, coming from either of the upper sides of my line. Beside it, I draw Thurisaz, another straight line with a V coming out from the right side. Another protection rune.

I spend the rest of the day tracing the runes while ignoring the weight of the shadows, the proximity of the walls closing in, my body going numb with the cold, and my hunger increasing until my stomach twists uncomfortably.

* * *

The walls are closing in.

They’re too close.

It’s too dark.

It’s suffocating.

The walls are coming closer.

So close.

Too close.

…

Time means nothing down here. A day may have passed or a mere hour. Either way, it’s been too long and I need that vampire to return. Fighting against him is a distraction from how small this cell has gotten.

I’ve tried to stand, to walk, to remind myself there’s space , but the anxiety has rendered me useless, and the longer I remain inept on the ground, the worse it’s getting.

This day needs to come to an end. Everything must stop . The cell needs to be larger…

For the millionth time, I trace my runes, but they’re not really doing anything to calm me. So I try to recall some of the advice Mom and Dad have given me over the years, for once welcoming the memories. Since their deaths, I’ve been trying so hard not to think about them, but now I need their teachings more than ever.

When we first learned of my claustrophobia, Mom always told me when spaces felt too small to recount something calming. I discovered reciting incantations helps, and though I no longer have the ability to conjure them, the empty words are still comforting.

For the first time in hours, I use my voice, my lips dry and parched.

“Without the flames, make me warm.” If I had my magick, that would heat my body.

“Fire, Water, Air, and Earth, I summon you.” To call upon all elements, most used by High Priestesses.

“Fire, be gone . ” To extinguish the flames.

On and on, I recite as many spells as I know. Ones for healing, for the elements, even for cleaning my bedroom. Anything and everything while I trace the runes. The walls eventually back up. Even the shadows seem to lighten; something that would have been nice to know weeks ago…

Once the walls allow me to breathe again, I lift my head, gazing around at the prison that hasn’t changed in the hours passing. At least I hope it’s been hours—multiple. I’d like to say my grumbling stomach would be screaming more than it already is if days had passed.

I need to get out of here and not allow whatever that sicko vampire plans. Without my powers, I’m left with whatever my body can do—which isn’t much against an immortal. I’ll never be able to take him on physically, and even if I get a chance to bolt, he’ll catch me, exactly as he’s done every other time.

It leaves me with few options: making deals, which I doubt he’d take if his entire thing is to profit from the cure in my blood.

The cure… of course.

It’s impossible to fight a vampire, but less so a human, especially one who wouldn’t be adjusted to the clumsy and slower speed.

Before I fully rationalize the likelihood of this working, I’m crawling all over the cell’s floor, searching for a tool. I pass over smaller ones I won’t be able to properly grip until finding a flatter, longer one. One already in a semi-useful shape.

With it, I drag myself to the cell’s bars and begin sawing the rock, sharpening my weapon.

* * *

The muscles in my upper arms are burning with more effort than they’ve ever been forced into, but the rock is much sharper, filed to the point it’ll hopefully be good enough for my needs.

When the door down the hall clangs, I tuck my new weapon into my palm and return to my old position, head lowered and knees up, feigning misery rather than near victory. An anxious energy makes it difficult to appear beaten, nerves and excitement mingling knowing this can be over for good if my plan is successful.

At the last second, I wonder if he has cameras in here. It’s a place to store prisoners; one would think he’d want to watch them, but the fact we’re inside a dungeon of all things tells me the vampire’s not exactly living modern. So hopefully he has no way of seeing what I’ve done.

In that familiar whooshing sound of his speed, the cell door opens and he appears, no less irritatingly sexy than he was last time. He’s wearing black slacks and a black button-down, both immaculate and no doubt expensive. His hair is damp, as though freshly showered. A spare drop of water drips from a strand when he tips his head towards my runes and merely smirks before stepping over them, his shiny shoes dragging through the design.

Well, that answers that. If the runes worked, he shouldn’t have been able to enter. They’re designed to keep danger out, and he’s the definition of danger.

As he enters the cell, the darkness lifts, the room becoming larger when the shadows evaporate. Just like my bedroom. Whatever’s been sent to torment me seems threatened by the vampire, and right now, I’m not entirely sure which I’d prefer.

The devil you know and all that.

“Cute. You really thought those would work?”

I lift my head, facing him directly while pretending my stomach isn’t in knots. “I hoped.” I curl my hand tighter around the rock, ensuring no part peeks out.

“And if they did, what should they have done?”

“Kept you away.”

“You think I wouldn’t have found another way to get to you?” He flicks the metal bars closest to him. “These cells were erected centuries ago to keep humans within them. Long before I knew about the existence of vampires or became one myself. I could bend them open if I so desired.”

Centuries. So he’s old as fuck. “How old are you?”

His nose lifts up, as though insulted by the question. “Doesn’t matter, nor is it something you need to know.”

“What about your name?”

“Also does not matter to you.”

“I should know the name of my captor.”

The vampire moves closer, his steps silent over the dirt. He bends slightly, hanging over me, parting his lips just enough the tips of his fangs peek out. Their fangs come out when they’re fighting or feeding, according to all the documents my parents had me read.

“Around here, people have to earn the things they want. So what will you give me in exchange?”

Like I’d give anything to him. My freedom’s enough. “Never mind. I don’t want it that much. I’ll be sure to write the vampire who kidnapped me on your tombstone when I kill you.”

His lips twitch before he straightens. “You’re much more entertaining than your ancestors.”

“I’ll be sure to add ‘entertainer’ to my résumé.”

Along with vampire slayer by the time I finish here.