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Chapter Eight

W hen I came to, it was not with the gentle return of consciousness that a heroine deserves, but with the sensation of my brain being pressure-washed from the inside by a firehose of seltzer. I blinked, and the room swam around me, every edge wriggling in and out of focus.

For a brief, hopeful moment, I thought maybe I was dead, and this was a particularly trashy version of heaven.

Every surface in the room was aggressively gold—golden wallpaper, golden bedspread, even the faint sunlight leaking in through heavy, brocade curtains looked jaundiced.

The air was thick with the scent of something powdery and overly fragrant.

I tried to move, but the best I could manage was a feeble twitch of my pinky.

I catalogued my bodily sensations. Arms and legs: attached, but uncooperative.

Stomach: sour, clenched. Baby: hopefully safe and sound.

I felt a shudder in my gut and, for a moment, worried I was about to throw up in a stranger’s four-poster bed, but the sensation passed.

I wiggled my toes experimentally. They worked. Promising.

Memory returned in a slow, sickening drip: the brunch, the gnomes, Baba Yaga’s show stopping entrance, the abduction.

The last thing I remembered was the garden gnome pressing a hand over my mouth and the words “Prenze. Brenze.” crackling in my ear like static.

Now I was here, somewhere, presumably still alive but demoted to the role of unwilling damsel.

A man sat in the chair beside the bed, watching me with a smile that split the difference between used car salesman and gameshow host. At first, I thought maybe I’d been rescued, and I prayed this distorted image next to me was just Etienne in a bad light.

Then my vision sharpened enough to confirm it was Linden Lowell, the guy who’d wanted to date me since fifth grade, now all grown up and uglier than ever.

He had never been attractive—unless your type was orc-homely warlock hybrid with an overbite you could dock a steamboat on. But he currently wore it with smug confidence. His hair was slicked back into a helmet of brown, and his big, slightly pointed ears stuck out like sails.

“Mally Jordain,” he said, and I shuddered at hearing my maiden name said out loud. “You’re awake. That’s excellent. I was getting worried you’d miss your own wedding.”

I attempted to roll my eyes, but they felt as if someone had lined the sockets with sandpaper. I made a sound, halfway between a groan and an accusation.

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and regarded me with the patience of a man waiting for a soufflé to rise. “You might be disoriented. Oonagh said you would be. She’s a miracle worker, that one.” He shook his head admiringly. “But it should all come back to you soon.”

I moved my mouth, trying to tell him to eat my shorts, but my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth like a stamp.

“Water,” I croaked.

He produced a bottle from the side table—sparkling, because of course—and unscrewed the cap with an exaggerated flourish. He held it to my lips. “Small sips. You don’t want to choke.”

The water tasted like actual heaven—and I didn’t even like sparkling water. I drank greedily, even as the humiliation of being bottle-fed by this jackass burned hotter than my thirst.

He wiped my chin, using his sleeve. “That’s better. Now, you’re probably wondering where you are, and why.”

He waited, clearly enjoying the moment. I gave him my best death stare, which usually was pretty good, but in this position, I wasn’t sure.”

He smiled wider. “We’re at Oonagh and Silver’s estate.”

Estate? I wanted to shout that this house was directly across the street from my parents’ house. And while a nice house, it was not an estate. But it did make me feel less frightened to realize I was so close to my family. Of course, that would do me little good if I couldn’t move.

“And most importantly, impregnable to scrying and magical detection.” He reached out and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. I recoiled, or tried to, but my head just lolled toward him like a malfunctioning marionette.

“Don’t touch me,” I slurred—sort of.

He ignored the warning, if he even understood it, and patted my shoulder, letting his hand linger a shade too long. “There’s no point in fighting it. The spell will wear off soon, but you’re safe here. No one can hurt you.”

I snorted, which made my head pound.

He gave me a look of profound disappointment, as if I’d let him down personally.

“I know you are upset right now, but you’ll see I’m doing you a favor.

I’m saving you from all those brutes and monsters and—” He paused.

“Well, your ‘husband.’” He made air quotes with his fingers, which was impressive considering he still wore three rings per hand.

I tried to look down at my body, willing myself to move. It don’t work, and I groaned in pure frustration.

Linden sighed, theatrically. “We’re going to be married, Mally.

You, me, and the baby will have every advantage.

You don’t know what the others have planned for you.

For your child.” He shook his head, then leaned in closer.

“Oonagh is preparing the memory adjustment as we speak. By tomorrow morning, you’ll remember nothing except how much you love me.

And you’ll be free of all that unpleasantness. ”

Something inside me snapped. Words came out, albeit sounding like a drunk hopped up on Novocain. “You’re telling me you kidnapped a pregnant woman to marry her? That’s a new level of desperation, even for you, Linden.”

He frowned, then seemed to understand what I’d slurred out. He laughed, delighted. “You always did have a sharp tongue. I love that about you.” His eyes softened.

Gross.

I tried to sit up, but my arms buckled beneath me. “You can’t do this. Etienne will kill you.”

Linden’s smile faded, replaced by a look of pity. “That’s where you’re wrong, Mally. There is no Etienne. Not for you. You’ll forget him, and everyone else. And we will move away to start our life together.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Oonagh is a master. She’s done this a thousand times. You’ll be the perfect wife.”

Thousands of times. That seemed unlikely. But once would be one time too many.

I felt my pulse thud in my neck. The thought of forgetting Etienne—my whole life, my children, my family—made me want to scream. Instead, I gritted my teeth and forced a smile. “You’re forgetting something, Linden.”

He cocked his head. “What’s that?”

“Witches are very, very hard to reprogram. We are all different.”

He blinked. “Oonagh has accounted for that.”

I looked around the room, taking inventory of my possible weapons.

The only sharp object was a crystal vase filled with lilies.

The curtains were too heavy to strangle anyone with, and the only other exit was blocked by a wall of spell work so dense I could practically taste the ozone.

It didn’t leave me with a lot of options.

“Why me?” I asked, trying to buy time. “You could have had any woman. Why bother with all this?”

He frowned, as if this had never occurred to him. “Because you’re special. You’re the only witch I’ve ever loved.”

Was he serious?

“And this baby—” He gestured to my belly. “This baby is the most magical child—probably ever. Imagine what it will be, with the right parents.”

I laughed, which turned into a coughing fit. “You’re not the right parent, Linden. You’re not even the right species.”

He bristled. “I’m a warlock. A powerful warlock. I’m more than enough. And I’m doing you a favor. Once you forget Etienne and the rest of your so-called family, you’ll thank me.”

I doubted that very much, but I kept it to myself.

He reached out and took my hand, squeezing it with a tenderness that would have made my skin crawl if my nerve endings hadn’t all gone on strike. “Rest up,” he said. “I’ll see you at the altar.”

He stood and straightened his robes, then paused in the doorway, turning back to look at me. “You always look beautiful in candlelight. I asked them to set the ceremony for midnight. Very dramatic.”

He left, and the door clicked shut behind him.

I stared at the ceiling, trying not to panic. I focused on my breath, on saving my baby, on the slow return of feeling to my fingers and toes. Linden might think he had won, but I still had my wits. And maybe, just maybe, my magic.

The lilies trembled in their vase, and a single petal dropped to the floor as I tried to focus my magic. Pitifully as usual.

I didn’t have much time to wallow in self-pity, though. There was a click at the door, and a sliver of light painted the silhouette of Oonagh Licorne—a true b-word of a witch. She glided in, all silver and stiletto, carrying a lacquered tray topped with an ornate teapot and two delicate cups.

“Awake already? Oonagh said, her voice like sugary sweet arsenic. “Good. We like our brides lively.”

She set the tray on the nightstand and poured tea, her motions precise and terrifyingly maternal.

Her white blonde hair was swept into an updo so complicated it looked like a wig.

Maybe it was. Her dress—no, gown—was black and shimmered with tiny mirrors, throwing flecks of light across the room every time she moved.

She pressed a cup to my lips. “Drink. You’ll need your strength for tonight.”

I tried to twist my head away, but some of the liquid spilled on my tongue. I tasted floral notes that were laced with a heavy dose of something stronger—maybe belladonna, maybe just sedatives for fun. My mouth tingled as she set the cup aside.

“Really going all out, aren’t you?” I said, glad my speech was coming back. “If this is the bachelorette party, I can’t wait for the honeymoon.”

Scratch that. I did not want to think about that.

She grinned, showing sharp, perfect teeth.

“You’ll enjoy it. Linden is very attentive.

Once the memory work is done, you’ll hardly remember your previous…

attachments.” Her eyes sparkled, and she sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle in the coverlet.

“The Licorne family is delighted by this union. Your child will be the jewel of our family.”

I glared at her. “What do you mean?”

“Once I reprogram you, you will think Silver and I are your family.”

So gross.

I tried to flex my magic. I focused on my fingertips, willing them to produce even a flicker of rose-gold sparks.

At first, nothing. Then, a faint warmth, a shimmer of color—just enough for me to know my power was still in there somewhere, even if it was locked away under a few layers of hostile magic.

“Don’t bother,” Oonagh said, patting my knee. “This suite has held everything from vampire lords to demons. Your brand of girl power won’t crack it.”

“Worth a try,” I said, managing something between a smirk and a sneer.

The door opened again. Linden breezed in, all cologne and swagger. He shot Oonagh a grateful look, then loomed over me, hands in the deep, billowing sleeves of his robe.

“I hope my bride is feeling better.” He tilted his head, surveying me. “You’ve looked better, but we’ll get you fixed up before the ceremony.”

Seriously, he was criticizing me when he was wandering around looking like Shrek’s less attractive brother in one of Hugh Hefner’s smoking jackets. I really wanted to hurt this idiot—and I considered myself pretty nonviolent.

I scanned the room for weapons again. There was a heavy crystal perfume bottle on the nightstand, a book and a unicorn statue. That horn might hurt if I could get my hands on it.

“I’m not marrying you,” I croaked.

“I don’t think you are in any position to argue,” Linden pointed out.

Pretty valid at the moment, but it wasn’t going to stop me. If I could buy some time, I was feeling more confident that I could get my magic to work. It had to. “And what did you do to Jocko?”

Linden waved a hand. “Your familiar is fine. A little shaken, maybe, but he’ll get over it. As for you…Oonagh is prepping for the wedding as we speak.”

“My husband is going to kill you,” I said again, with more bravado than I feel.

“Your husband won’t find you,” Oonagh said with a sweet smile. “He’s about to be very busy fighting a war.”

“A war?” I managed to lift my head.

Both Oonagh and Linden nodded, pleased with themselves.

So, I did the only thing I could at that moment, I feigned passing out.