Page 165 of Their Little Ghost

Eli blanches. “You can’t be serious.”

“We had a deal,” Aiden says. “A deal I intend to keep. We’ve been prisoners all our lives. I’m not forcing Sarah to stay with us against her will.”

“But she’s ours.” Eli’s bottom lip quivers. “All ours.”

“I told you already, I’m not yours,” I correct him, then turn to Aiden. “Thank you.”

He nods curtly, like we’ve completed a business deal. “We’ll leave as soon as we’ve taken all the necessary precautions.” He points at my neck and frowns. “You’re bleeding.”

I shrug. “It’s nothing.”

“Eli.” Aiden goes into leader mode and dishes out orders. “You still have supplies from the asylum, right? Patch her up.” Next, he addresses Lex. “Load up the bikes. We’ll get everything ready for the road.”

“But I can hardly feel it,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t just walk into a hospital anymore,” Aiden says. “The last thing you need is an infection. Let Eli help.”

I guess he has a point. A dead person can’t exactly rock up in the emergency room.

“Have you got the hair dye?” Aiden asks Eli. “Do that too.”

“Hair dye?” I question. “What’re you talking about?”

“You need a disguise,” Aiden says, talking to me like I’m stupid. “We thought dying your hair would be best to avoid you being recognized.”

“What color?”

“I picked it,” Lex says. His eyes glint cheekily. “Red.”

Of course the fire king would pick red. It’s not my usual bottle blonde, but it’ll have to do.

“Make it quick,” Aiden says. “They’ll interview Acacia for hours, but it won’t be long until the news breaks in a town like this. We need to get ahead of this.”

I wonder how three men with no identification and money have been able to get by, but I’m sure I’ll have time to ask questions on the journey. I need to learn as much as possible from them, if I’m going to make it on my own.

“This way,” Eli beckons.

I follow him into the grimy bathroom, where a box of dye is waiting. I guess the color will be okay. It’s the first time I’ve gone red, and it feels fitting, like a phoenix being reborn from the ashes.

“Let’s sort your neck first,” Eli says.

I perch on the edge of the ancient bath.

“It really doesn’t hurt,” I say. “Warner must have nicked me with the needle.”

“Let me take a closer look,” Eli says, gently sweeping my hair out of the way. “I’ll get this cleaned up.” He rests a box on the nearby sink. “I’ll fix this.”

“Make it quick,” I grumble.

“It might sting a little,” Eli warns. “You should probably shut your eyes.”

“Just get it over with it already,” I complain. “Quit dragging it out.”

“Shut your eyes.”

I do as he asks, too tired to argue.

I wince as he wipes my wound with a cool wipe that smells of strong disinfectant.