"Okay, you're right. We stick to the plan." He held his hands up in a placating gesture. "I'll go around to the side and climb up the porch trellis."
Or not.
You know what they say about the best laid plans—they often go awry. Especially when Adeline Severance is involved. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I was cursed at birth.
The sound of a car approaching the house stopped us both in our tracks. I half turned, catching Nicholas's attention with a 'what do we do now?' look. He knew the property better than me, and I was relying on him to get us to a safe hiding spot. Given our location on the property, that was a tall order. We'd moved too far from the cover of the boxwood hedge but were still too far away to duck behind any shrubs adorning the side of the house.
In other words, we were sitting ducks.
Nicholas knew how to think on his feet. He licked his finger and used the saliva to reactivate the temporary glamour ink I'd used to create his disguise. A gardener, complete with lightweight khaki coveralls and hedge trimmers, stood where a beach bum had been seconds before. Following his lead, I transformed myself from carefree tourist to another gardener in matching overalls, dark green baseball cap to hide my natural hair, and a handheld weed sprayer.
We walked toward the house with the illusion of confidence as firmly in place as our new disguises.
The black luxury sedan turned onto the driveway, eventually pulling to a stop in front of Winslow's mansion, where another of the Footmen on his payroll waited to meet the car. The security guard opened the right rear passenger door, and with more effort than I would have expected given his size, pulled a disheveled Karen Brown from the back seat. She was worse for wear since I'd last seen her with bruises adorning her face, but that didn't stop her from putting up one hell of a fight getting out of the car. Whatever fate awaited her inside that house had her scared to death.
And death was no stranger to an Angel of Mercy.
Her torn dress hung from her left shoulder, exposing part of her phoenix tattoo. The ward I'd created on her back sang to me, small tendrils of magic calling out to their maker like a siren's song. Karen must’ve felt it too. She turned, eyes wild, searching for any sign of rescue. Disappointment and resignation wiped away the brief flicker of hope I'd seen on her face when all she saw were two gardeners standing in the middle of the yard.
Nicholas and I stood paralyzed, gardening tools in hand with matching looks of disbelief on our faces as we watched Winslow's hired hand drag Karen Brown inside his house. Winslow stepped out of the car, an old-fashioned black leather doctor's bag in one hand, his cell phone held close to his ear in the other. He followed his man and his captive up the steps and onto the porch as if it were any other day and he hadn't just kidnapped a young woman. And then he stopped, disconnected his call, and turned to look at us.
We'd just been spotted.
Winslow's smile confirmed my suspicions. The wards we’d thought we avoided came to life along with the property we'd trespassed upon. Alarm bells wailed, flood lights flicked on, snarling dogs barely restrained with choker collars and leashes were held back by a swath of security guards who'd been waiting in the wings at Winslow's command. He’d set the trap, and we’d taken the bait.
Or at least I did.
Suspicion swirled in my mind. Had Nicholas been playing me for a fool this whole time? Had the beating he'd taken in his uncle's office, the sob story of his position as family outcast and troubles on campus all been a complex and convoluted ploy to gain my trust? But what about the book I'd found in his workshop, the one his father wrote? Or the photo of his father and Grim we'd found in the safe at Something To 'Ink About?
I didn't know who to trust or what to make of it all. But the one thing I did know was I would not give Winslow the satisfaction of thinking he’d caught me afraid, hiding under a cheap disguise. Rubbing my forearm against the jeans I wore beneath my illusion, I removed the temporary mark. The glamour wavered, the fake gardener and my true self a messy blur, before it finally broke and revealed yet another part of Winslow's plan.
Me.
Before we disposed of Aldridge, he’d told us that Winslow had plans for me. With Karen's disappearance and my particular skill set, it wasn't hard to piece together exactly what that plan was. Like an idiot, I'd ignored all the warning signs, partnered up with Winslow's nephew against all reasonable judgment, and ultimately handed myself over on a silver platter.
In other words, things were pretty much going according to plan. I just wished it had been my plan.
Nicholas dropped his illusion as Winslow's men descended upon us, denial of the accusations he knew I was thinking but hadn't spoken in his eyes as he was led away to a different part of the house from where I was being taken. I wanted to believe him, to believe I hadn't been a fool for trusting him or that he'd somehow manipulated the way our magic reacted to one another.
But under the harsh light of Winslow's floodlights, I found myself unable to do so.
In one last act of defiance, I dug deep and found the strength to fight off the guard who'd moved closer to put me in restraints. We exchanged blows, the guard landing the better of them. His elbow connected with my eye, splitting the skin over my brow bone. Using the trickle of blood, I managed to draw my mark on his arm. He dropped like a sack of potatoes.
I left him there, prone in the grass, as I took off in the direction of the hedges that marked the end of Winslow's property and the possibility of my freedom. Two more men chased me, their hands partially marked with the same spell I used to drop their teammate, as they continued to grab at me.
Someone screamed for me to run, not to look back, to keep going. Nicholas. The double—no, triple agent? I couldn't keep track of his betrayals and escape capture by Winslow's security at the same time. I tried to block him out, but the shift from shouts of encouragement to howls of pain slowed my pace and had me looking over my shoulder.
Just in time to see the dogs had been unleashed.
One made a meal out of Nicholas's leg while the other was headed straight for me. Even at a full run, I didn't stand a chance of outpacing the German shepherd. With its mouth open as it charged toward me, all of its teeth were exposed. Teeth that would puncture and tear through flesh once it got hold of me. The sight of Nicholas being gnawed on like a piece of rawhide was enough to halt my escape. Hands in the air, I stopped running and waited for the security team to catch up.
The first guard to reach me hit me mid-back with his shoulder like he was trying to sack a quarterback. The air rushed out of my lungs around the same time my face made impact with the ground. Within seconds, his knee was pressed against my spine, pinning me to the ground while he yanked my arms behind my back hard enough to stress the shoulder joints and then zip tied my wrists together.
"Had these made just for you. The Warder special." The security guard leaned in when I tried to swipe my fingers across the top of the hand he used to tug on the zip tie, his breath hot against my ear. "Not this time, sweetheart." His tongue snaked out, tracing my earlobe. I tried to jerk my head away, but he had his hand fisted in my hair. "Who do you think taught that to your daddy?"
He knew Charles. More than that, he’d given Charles the mark to hold me prisoner in foster care while he and his magic junkie wife siphoned my energy. My heart raced like a rabbit as memories from my childhood flooded back and pushed me into a full-on panic attack. I couldn't breathe, my lungs burning from lack of oxygen. Little black dots danced along my vision. I was on the verge of blacking out when another memory from my years as a foster child surfaced.
Grim.
The look in his eyes as he stood next to the dumpster I'd been picking through, his hand outstretched to me. His words of reassurance, that everything was going to be fine, that I'd be okay, replayed in my mind. I knew them for the lies they were then and even more so now that I'd been caught by Winslow. But just like when I was a kid, hearing it for the first time, I let the soothing sound of his voice lull me int
o a false sense of security. A renewed sense of calm that only Grim had ever been able to provide settled over me.
And with it came a piece of his advice.
As bad as things are, they could always be worse. So never give up and never give in.
While I would have preferred my memories of Grim provide me with some sort of spell that would save my ass, offensive magic wasn't my skill set and had never been part of my training. His unusual brand of wisdom would have to do.
I was alive. Karen Brown was alive. All I had to do was figure out how to keep us that way.
Without giving Winslow what he wanted.
Chapter Twenty-One
I WAS DRAGGED TO WINSLOW's office along with Karen Brown. Things hadn’t happened the way I imagined them, but I'd take my victories where I could find them because they were few and far between.
The fainting couch I woke up on proved much more comfortable than the ground I'd apparently fainted on. Or been knocked out on, if we were being technical. The security guard who was somehow connected to my foster parents had landed a final blow to the back of my head that put my lights out and left me with a raging headache. Various quadrants of my skull throbbed like the electronic game Simon Says, complete with flashing lights and weird sound effects.
It had been a while, but I still recognized all the signs of a concussion. Choking back the nausea, I pushed myself up to a sitting position and tried to blink away the feeling causing the room to spin. I felt like I'd woken up with the world's worst hangover, but I was lucky to have woken up at all.
Another victory.
"Ah, you're awake." Winslow.
My eyes struggled to bring his features into detail, but I recognized his voice.
"We could have done things the easy way. All my incompetent nephew had to do was gather the evidence I needed to force your hand."
"You mean all the evidence you needed to put me in a lead box." Talking made my headache worse which made the nausea worse, both of which made my mood worse.
Or maybe it was the lead-laced collar around my neck. My zip-tie handcuffs had been removed, but I was far from unrestrained.
"Thou shalt not suffer a Warder to live." Winslow tsked. "You of all people should be familiar with that part of our doctrine. A lead cell is a merciful alternative to being burned at the stake."
"Some would argue any death is merciful compared to one of the Magistrate's cells." I pried a finger between my neck and the collar, hoping it would make breathing easier.
"Yes, I suppose some would. But you and my worthless nephew decided to do things the hard way, so you'll find no mercy here." Winslow got up from the chair behind his desk and took a seat closer to me. "Or anywhere else for that matter."
"So far none of this conversation makes me want to help you." Given the fact I was suffering a concussion and lead poisoning, the amount of bravado I mustered up was impressive.
Or at least I thought so.
Winslow, on the other hand seemed less impressed, answering my retort with a backhand across the face. My bottom lip, the same one Nicholas had healed, split open and instantly swelled. The laughter that bubbled from inside me probably wasn't the reaction Winslow had expected.
"You think this is funny? That it's some sort of game?" He hit me again, open handed from the other direction.
"I think it's funny how scared you and the Magistrate are of Warders." I lapped at the trickle of blood with my tongue, wincing at the sting from the cut on my lip and the radiant heat from the slap on my cheek.
"You think we're afraid? Of Warders?" Winslow scoffed at the idea. "Quite the opposite. We've hunted your kind to near extinction. After we disposed of that tattooed freak pretending to be your father, there was only one left in the Northeastern territory. You." Elbows on his knees, he leaned in with a sneer on his face. "You don't hunt what you fear."
"I beg to differ." I should have quit while I was ahead, but hearing him admit responsibility for Grim's death ignited a fire inside of me.
A fire Winslow's guard quickly snuffed out.
"Oh, you'll beg all right." His fist connected with my temple, and the lights went out again.
THE SCENE WAS THE SAME when I came to again, apart from Winslow's addition of two new players to our little shit show. Karen Brown and Nicholas Marks.
"Great, the gang's all here." I cradled my head in my hands to ease the throbbing.
" I thought I’d have broken you by now." Winslow sounded surprised. “You've got quite a mouth on you.”
"It gets worse after multiple blows to the head." I winced, expecting another blow from the guard, hating myself for giving them the satisfaction, but relieved when none came.
"Lucky for us, your particular brand of work doesn't require you to have the ability to speak." The Councilman leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest with an air of confidence that had my stomach churning.
I knew, without a doubt, what came next wasn't going to be good.
The guard, whose name I still didn't know but whose face I'd never forget, stuffed a handkerchief in my mouth and stretched a piece of tape across my face to hold it closed. Within seconds, I realized Winslow's version of the silent treatment was worse than I'd expected.
The cloth and tape were both laced with lead.
Exposure would cause itching and burning followed by blistering. Left on too long, scarring was inevitable. Even the best healers couldn't undo long-term lead poisoning. At best, I had twelve hours before Winslow left me looking like a comic book villain. I'd already progressed to burning around the collar on my neck. Blisters were soon to follow.
"I think we all know what comes next." The guard who knew my foster parents and somehow knew things about my childhood, though I have no memories of him in it, stroked my hair like I was his favorite cat. He gripped my face with his other hand, squeezing my cheeks, causing deeper contact with the lead tape and cloth, and forced me to look at the terrified Karen Brown.
On cue, Winslow produced my backpack and went about setting out my tools like he had some knowledge of warding and how I set up my station. I supposed he did. His informant was beaten to a pulp, slumped over on the floor in the corner of the room. Nicholas hadn't uttered a word or a sound for that matter. I shifted my gaze from Karen's trembling body, blocking out her whimpers, and tried to see if Nicholas was even breathing.
The flood of relief I felt when I saw a small rise and fall in his shoulders with each inhale and exhale surprised even me. Why I felt anything for the person who’d most likely set me up was a mystery. Was it because I was just that naïve? Or because his injuries made Nicholas acting as Winslow's pawn and ultimate betrayal less likely?
For the time being, the answer to that question didn't matter. Winslow was about to call checkmate in his deadly chess game, and I couldn't see my next move on the board. I needed to come up with a play that would keep all of us alive.
Even Nicholas.
The guard left my side long enough to roll the metal work tray his boss had set up beside Karen and move a wooden straight-backed chair behind her for me to sit on while I worked. Once the makeshift workstation was ready, complete with client, he yanked me up from the couch, his arm wrapped tightly around my middle as he escorted me across the room before shoving me into my seat.
"You have everything you need so don't bother with any antics to stall for time. I've done the research on what's required for the spell." Winslow steepled his fingers in front of his face. "Let's begin, shall we?"
At least one of us felt confident. I'd done the research on reversals, too. It was part of my training, but my customers weren't in the habit of asking for a refund, so to speak. Theory was one thing; practice was another. And I certainly hadn't had any of that where a reversal was concerned. If Winslow had done all his homework, he would have known that as well.
Not that he cared so long as he got his Angel of Mercy.
Giving Winslow what he wanted was without a doubt the last thing I wanted,
but I didn't have an alternative. Not yet. The best I could do was take my time and hope an idea came to me before I finished unraveling my ward on Karen. My hand shaking, I reached for my liner and tapped my magic. The machine hummed to life when I pressed the tips of my toes on the foot pedal, but I couldn't say the same for my magic.
Nothing happened.
I would be a liar if I said that didn't terrify me for more reasons than just the feeling of emptiness that came when magic left a witch. The Magistrate called it being Goddess cursed. Since I was pretty sure I'd truly been Goddess cursed at birth, I knew better. It was just a scare tactic used by council members and campus professors to keep young witches in line—don't go against the Magistrate or you'll be Goddess cursed.
The Goddess didn't mess with your magic, but she did occasionally fuck with your fate.
There were two things that affected a witch's magic, one of which was wrapped around my neck, shoved in my mouth, and taped to my face. The other was old age. At twenty-three, I was barely out of my infancy as a witch. It was clear what the cause was and equally clear the effect could be long-lasting.
Nicholas chose that moment to come to.
"There's too much lead." He spat the words out behind a mouthful of blood. A spray of red dots fell on the beige carpet around him. He struggled to keep his head up, choosing to rest it on his right shoulder at an awkward angle instead. "She can't work like that."
Winslow seemed to agree with his nephew, blaming the guard for the grievous error rather than admit his own mistake. With a snap of his fingers, he instructed his man to remove the collar from my neck and gag from my mouth, all of which were replaced with a traditional shackle around my ankle at the end of a chain that snaked across the floor and fastened on the other end around the foot of the couch.
'Ink It Over: A Touch Of Ink Novel Page 14