“I don’t know why you’re so upset. No one saw me take her. Our cover’s still intact.”
Elliot’s eyes go wide as he gestures toward me. “She’s seen both our faces.”
Sasha shrugs. “It’s not like I was planning on letting her go.”
Elliot’s fingers curl into a fist, but he doesn’t swing, even though he looks like he’d like to do nothing better. “Do you think they’re not going to come looking for her? What then? They’re probably on the way right now.”
“No.” She points to the low table. “She can’t use her abilities. I’m not stupid.”
He snorts. “All evidence to the contrary. Seth specifically told us not to hurt her. He needs her alive—at least for now.”
“I didn’t hurt her. I just wanted to find out what she knows. I figure if we could give Seth the plan, we’d be able to move forward faster—”
“Sasha. Do you want to make him mad?” He runs a hand over his brown buzz cut. “We can fix this. Damage control. I bet I can remove the memories from her head, but there’s no way I can explain away the physical damage. How long has she been gone?”
She shrugs. “A few hours?”
“Dammit. Sasha. There’s no way she hasn’t been missed.”
“And I’m telling you there’s no way they can find her.”
But even as she speaks, I sense she’s not right. It’s not that the effects of her spell are waning—I still have no control over any of my abilities. But there’s something deeper that tells me I’m not alone. Elliot and Sasha continue to bicker, but their words fade to white noise as I focus on the vague pulse of energy building in the back of my mind.
Elliot suddenly falls silent, straightening. A split second later, a crash of splintering wood sounds overhead.
Someone’s here. Someone’s come for me.
“We have to get out of here,” Elliot whispers, grabbing Sasha by the wrist.
She struggles against him. “I’m not afraid of them.”
“This isn’t about fear, it’s about staying on mission.” He pulls her toward the stairs. After a moment, she relents.
But it’s too late. Footfalls have crossed the house and now head down to our level. Elliot releases Sasha, who grins, gripping the knife more firmly in her hand.
“Krissa!” Owen’s voice is both panicked and relieved. But he’s not the only one who’s arrived. The second person launches himself at Sasha, aiming for the knife in her hand. Fox.
Elliot charges Owen and the two quickly move out of my sight line. Fox manages to pin Sasha to the wall in front of me. He bangs her arm into the concrete until she drops the blade, which clatters to the floor. She catches my eye. Far from looking upset or distressed at the turn of events, her eyes flash with pleasure a split second before the boiling pain returns, this time encompassing my whole body. The blackness overtakes my vision almost immediately and I long for unconsciousness.
Whether moments or days pass before the sensation fades, I can’t tell. As I struggle to lift my head and open my eyes, a choked animal sound reaches my ears. It’s not until Owen’s and Fox’s voices, repeating my name, break through that I understand where the other sound is coming from: Me. The inhuman moans of agony are mine. When I manage to get control of myself, Owen and Fox exchange relieved glances.
With Sasha’s knife in hand, Fox stands and moves behind me to unbind my hands. Once I’m free, Owen pulls me to him with fierce protectiveness, feathering kisses over my forehead and cheeks. His embrace, though gentle, sets off constellations of pain throughout my body. Every nerve is raw as if exposed directly to the elements. I whimper and Owen pulls back, alarmed. Fox, his gaze fixed on his task, edges between us to cut the cords binding my legs. I can’t get a read on him—though whether due to the spell Sasha cast or the torture I endured, I can’t tell. Still, I’m thankful for it. I don’t want to deal with how Fox is feeling at the moment—or Owen, for that matter. I long for the painlessness of oblivion.
I cry out when Owen scoops me out of the chair. I know he needs to—he needs to get me out of this place—but the pain is almost as bad as what Sasha was doing to me. Before Owen makes it to the top of the stairs, I dip beneath the surface of consciousness into the dark space between waking and dreams.
Chapter Fourteen
Hands jostle me and my eyelids flutter.
“What happened?” Dad’s voice is urgent.
There’s a soft metallic click and then pinpricks of pain as a seatbelt slips across my body. I try to open my eyes, my mouth, but I can’t muster the energy for either.
“We found her in a house on the outskirts of town.” Fox. His voice is low, quiet, and nearby. “For sale sign in the front. The two that were holding her were squatting. We tried to catch them—figured we could bring them to you—but then Krissa started screaming and we had to let them go. I thought they were killing her.”
An arm loops under my knees as another pushes between my back and the car seat I lean against. I moan as white-hot flashes of heat flare through my body, but the arms don’t relent. “I’m sorry, honey,” Dad murmurs as he pulls me to his chest. “I have to get you inside.”
“I sent Bria a text,” Owen says, his voice floating from behind Dad as he begins making careful steps. “She’ll be here soon.”
Bria. She can heal people—I’ve seen her do it before. Can she do anything to help me? Besides the cut on my arm, I don’t think my other injuries are physical. Still, I’m stronger already—I must be. As Dad moves at a painstakingly slow pace across the lawn, up the porch stairs, into the house, I’m able to remain awake.
It takes forever, but eventually Dad lays me on a bed—my bed. For the first time since arriving home, I’m able to open my eyes. Light streams through the banks of windows lining my room, but not the strong light of midday. Just how long have I been gone? What time is it now?
Dad kneels beside me, his eyes scrutinizing my body. His fingers extend toward the gash on my arm but don’t brush the skin. “Are you cut anywhere else?”
I shake my head—at least I think I do. There’s something important here I should tell him. The girl said something when she sliced me. “She took my blood.” My voice is barely a whisper and I’m afraid Dad won’t hear it.
His eyebrows draw together and he curses under his breath. “The blood lock. They found out about it.”
“A condition of the lock is that blood must be given freely.” Anya’s voice is nearby. “I’m guessing Krissa didn’t give it over willingly. They shouldn’t be able to use it.”
I pull my gaze from my dad. Owen and Fox stand several paces behind him, their faces unreadable. At the foot of the bed stands Anya, surveying me. After a beat, her attention flicks to Owen and Fox, her eyes narrowing.
“You two had contact with her captors?” she asks. “Physical contact? You touched them?”
The two shift uncomfortably for a moment before Fox nods.
Anya lifts a hand, beckoning to them. “Let me take a look at you. If they transferred something to you—blood, hair—we might be able to use it.”
“Use it?” Fox echoes.
Anya moves to the stairs. “I’ll explain. Come on.”
After a beat, Fox and Owen move to follow her, but before they’re out of the room, I call out. “Wait.” My voice is quiet, weak, but everyone stills. “Can I talk… I need to talk with Owen for a minute.”
Anya’s mouth twitches as her eyes flick to my dad. “I’ll send him back after—”
“No.” My voice is louder this time. “Just a minute.”
Dad and Anya exchange glances again, and I’m sure they’re going to tell me no, but Dad sighs. “Just a minute.”
“And don’t touch him,” Anya adds quickly.
Fox flinches at her words, or maybe I just imagine it.
Owen waits until everyone has descended the stairs, their footsteps thudding dully in the distance, before moving back toward by bed. On his way, he grabs my desk chair, settling it a few feet
from me and sitting. His expression is closed, inscrutable.
Silence spreads between us. I’m the one with something to say, the one who asked him to hang back, but the words don’t come—at least not as readily as I’d like them to. Something needs to be said now, but I’m not happy we need to have this conversation at all. I thought we were on the same page about this. “You shouldn’t’ve kissed me.”
Owen closes his eyes for a beat, exhaling noisily. “You don’t understand.”
“You’re having a hard time keeping your memories from this reality and mine straight.” It’s only fair to acknowledge how difficult this must be on him. “But you know we’re not together here like we were before—”
“That’s not it,” Owen says. “At least, that’s not all of it. I held it together as best I could when Fox and I were looking for you. Neither one of us could sense you alone, but together… I tried not to, but I could feel how he feels for you. And the whole time I kept thinking about how what’s between us is gonna be impossible for him to understand, let alone deal with. I promised myself I’d do better to make things easy on him so long as we’re bound.”
I nod enthusiastically. “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking. But if that’s what you wanted to do—”
“I failed miserably, I know,” he says. “When I saw you, what they were doing to you… I couldn’t help it. I didn’t care that Fox was there—”
“But you have to.”
His face hardens. “No, I don’t. We’ve already lost so much. I care about you, and I don’t want us to lose any more time together. If I’ve learned anything in the last couple weeks it’s that things change quickly—too quickly—and I don’t want to waste a minute.”
I sigh. “And I’ve learned that it pays to be cautious. There are consequences when you run into something too quickly—”
“What consequence could there possibly be to us being together? We’re supposed to be together.”
“We were.” It’s the thing that’s swirled in my mind since Owen first started remembering our shared history from the other reality. As much as I’d love to forget about the past this version of myself lived, I can’t pretend it hasn’t happened. “Maybe we will be again. But right now, there are too many other things going on.”
“I already told you I get it. We’re linked to Fox right now, and I get how that complicates things—”
“You think that’s all that makes this difficult? Have you forgotten about Seth? About the elder council? There are just too many things happening—”
“That’s crap. That’s an excuse.”
“It’s completely valid. I’m sorry if you don’t agree, but there are more important things going on right now than what’s going on between the two of us.”
He leans back in the chair, running a hand through his hair. “That’s where we disagree. I don’t think there’s anything more important than us.”
I open my mouth to respond but am distracted when footsteps sound on the stairs. Without another word, Owen stands, moves the chair back to its spot, and starts out of the room. Moments after he disappears, Bria takes his place, her face pale and tight with worry.
Bria doesn’t talk as she works on me and I allow myself to drift as her small, warm hands do their work. With each passing minute, my body relaxes as the pain ebbs from another area. It’s not until she’s done that I wonder how much the healing has taken out of her. When she healed Dana Crawford’s broken leg, she was almost too weak to move.
When she removes her hands from me for the last time, I sit, studying her. “How are you?”
The corner of her mouth quirks upward. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
I take stock of how I’m feeling. All the tenderness is gone and the cut is mended. She’s definitely done more work on me than she did on Dana, yet she doesn’t look exhausted like she did before. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have no idea she’d just spent so much energy. “How are you not completely wiped out?”
She settles on the mattress by my feet. “Lexie.”
Panic flares. Has she been drawing energy from Lexie without her consent? I don’t want another issue like we had with Griffin.
Bria holds a hand out, sensing my concern. “It’s okay—she knows. I called her on my way over here, and I’ve been checking on her through the link the whole time. It’s pretty amazing, actually.” Jealousy flickers over her features, but it disappears before it can take root. “I just kept thinking about how I’d need to stop because the energy would run out, but it never did. Is that what it’s like all the time for witches?”
“Once you’re connected with the natural energy around you, the possibilities can be endless. But keeping up the connection can be hard. Even making the connection is difficult when someone’s just learning.” I flex my arms experimentally, relieved when shocks of pain don’t sear through my body. “I’m grateful Lexie was willing to help.”
Bria makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. I attempt to push forward with my abilities enough to sense what she’s feeling, but although my physical injuries have been mended, whatever spell Sasha cast is having lingering effects.
“How’s that going, by the way?” I try to keep my tone light. “You being linked with Lexie, I mean.” I bite my lower lip. I don’t know anything about Bria and Lexie’s history in this reality. In my own, they were best friends, but now it seems that the two go out of their ways to hurt one another. I want to ask, but I’m not sure how much my alternate self already knew.
Bria stares across the room, her lips pursed. She’s quiet for so long I’m beginning to think she won’t answer when she finally sighs. “We used to be friends.” She turns her heavily-lined eyes on me. “Did you know that? Maybe not. I think by the time you moved here, Crystal already had her hooks in her. I’ve tried to block it out for so long…” She shakes her head. “I didn’t understand, you know, at the time. Lexie and Crystal were never really close. Lexie always thought Crystal was kind of stuck up. Then, out of nowhere, Lexie started spending more and more time with her. I called her on it one day. Crystal was always more popular than we were—but we didn’t care about that. At least, I thought we didn’t. So I accused her of being a follower, of just trying to get people to like her… That was the last time she talked to me like I was a person. After that, I was just her target.” A humorless smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Well, you know that. But I get it now. Lexie found out she was a witch. And then Crystal did what she does best—she manipulated her so she wouldn’t be friends with me anymore because I’m not one.” She snorts softly. “How is it that I’m actually starting to feel a little bad for Lexie?”
“Because you’re a good person?” I offer.
“Or a sucker. It’s just I keep catching these glimpses of what’s going on in Lexie’s head and… she’s more like the friend I remember than the person who’s gone out of her way to torment me for the last five years. But she hasn’t apologized for any of it. I feel bad for still holding it all against her, but why should I?”
I’m not sure if she’s actually looking for an answer, so I keep my mouth shut. Besides, I’m not sure what kind of advice I’d give her. I remember the Lexie from my reality and I’d give anything to have her back, but ultimately the choice is hers alone to make. Maybe Bria shouldn’t forgive her until Lexie admits she’s done something wrong. Perhaps that’s the first step in getting back the girl she once was.
I’m about to say this to Bria when a creak on the stairs draws my attention. My mom’s head appears and she offers a tentative smile. “Can I come up?”
“Of course,” I say.
“Yeah, I’m all done here,” Bria adds. She stands and heads toward the stairs as my mom crests them. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I call as she leaves the room.
Mom eyes me warily as she crosses to the bed. “Your dad said you had a rough day,” she says as she perches on the edge of my mattress.
“Yeah,” I agree. Did he not tell her what really happened? I suppose he can’t have told her much as he doesn’t have much information himself. Even if Owen told him everything he knows, there are still missing pieces.
She studies me before shaking her head. “I know you and your dad aren’t telling me everything, and I’m trying to be okay with it, but it’s hard. I’m trying to look at it logically—this whole situation with psychics and magic and evil wizards trying to take over the town is so beyond anything I know or understand, but I can’t help feeling like…” She purses her lips, closing her eyes for a moment. “It feels like your dad’s come back and suddenly there’s no room for me in your life.”
I open my mouth but she’s already got her hand up to silence my words.
“I know that’s not the way it is. I just feel…” She forces a smile and scoots closer to me. “Owen. He seems like a nice boy.” Confusion must be evident on my face because Mom offers another smile, this one more natural. “He was downstairs talking to your dad when I got here. He said he was waiting for Bria so she could take him home.”
“Oh.” It’s all I can think to say.
“So…” Mom begins slowly, “are you and he…?”
I bite back a groan. The last thing I want to do is discuss my disastrously tangled relationship issues with anyone, especially my mom. But before I tell her I don’t want to talk about it, I catch the look on her face. It’s guarded but hopeful. She’s looking for something—anything—to share with me. Something to keep us connected. “He is nice,” I begin carefully. “I’m glad he and I are friends again.”
Mom raises an eyebrow. “Friends, huh? I may not be psychic, but I think I’ve got good enough intuition to know he wasn’t here strictly out of friendship.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Things are… complicated.”
“Because he likes you?”
I blow out a breath and nod.
“And, let me guess—Fox hasn’t given up on the idea of you two getting back together.”
I nod again.
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