by Dodge, Lola
His lips tilted in the rarest of Wynn-spressions.
A smile.
“Promise?” His happy, hopeful little word snuck up into my ribcage and glowed.
I blinked, not even sure what do with Wynn except agree. “Promise.”
Girrar waited for us on Fiona’s fake front porch. He leaned against the side of the house, grinning, and not at all concerned that we’d been wandering the cave. “Your treasures await. Most of them.”
If he’d forgotten shampoo, I’d seriously revolt. “How long are you going to keep us here?”
“Until my brothers are well fed.”
“And if I won’t give you the magic?” I was more worried that I wouldn’t be able to. Baking in a cave was one thing—but a mystical cave? It could seriously screw up the recipe.
“My brothers must feed.” Power flickered in a whip-crack.
The cave floor wobbled and warped.
I threw out my arms trying to stay balanced. The floor stretched like it was made out of taffy, pulling Wynn away from me.
When the rumble settled, Wynn was almost on the porch.
An iron cage had sprung out of nothing, capturing Wynn inside. It had no door. No lock.
The bars sandwiched Wynn in place, giving him no room to move. So tight his arms stuck out straight, helplessly pinned.
Wynn bucked against the thick bars with a snarl. No matter how he shook, they didn’t budge.
And I couldn’t magic him out.
Girrar lumbered toward me. I could still hear Wynn’s gauntlets clanging against the cage, but the sound was dull. Numb in my ears.
All I could see was Girrar.
I had a tiny knife, but the hole in my stomach said I couldn’t fight and win. Not when he could warp reality.
He stopped a foot in front of me.
He was bigger than I remembered. Wide-shouldered and smiling. Worse of all, his power had grown. Now it fluttered like a heartbeat.
Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk.
Thunk-Thunk-Thunk-Thunk.
Getting stronger?
“My brothers will feed.” Deep in the cave, a high, inhuman screech echoed his words. Another voice joined the chorus, then another and another—like a wolf pack crying at the moon. Only their howls were higher, hissing with bloodlust. “You choose their first meal.”
Girrar’s power reached out, brushing against me like a hairy tongue.
I shuddered, stumbling backward.
The knife shook in my hand, but I couldn’t work up the courage to swing. Girrar was too big and looming.
I would’ve sprinted away, but I couldn’t leave Wynn.
When I didn’t make a move, Girrar headed for the cage.
Wynn’s face was scrunched up with fury, but no matter how he bunched his muscles, he could barely wiggle his wrists.
Girrar pulled a knife from his trench coat.
Wynn’s knife.
Stomach bubbling with acid, all I could do was watch while he drew the blade across Wynn’s upper arm. Girrar bent his head.
And licked Wynn’s arm.
He lapped the length of the wound once, catching the drips of blood. Then a second time.
Sucking. Slurping.
“Stop.” My voice sounded woozy. Faint.
Girrar took another long, noisy lick. “Your power is tastier. But this sorcerer has a flavor of his own.”
Wynn wasn’t throwing himself against the bars anymore. He barely moved. Just the slightest tremble—not in fear.
In anger so piercing, it froze the air in my lungs.
That look.
I’d thought I’d seen the worst of Wynn’s hate. Hate that glued me the floor and stopped my breath. Now…
Wynn’s eyes were pits into a hell dimension. Not a dimension of bats and darkness, but a hellscape of volcanic ash and demonic fury.
And he would drag Girrar into those depths.
No matter the cost.
He was going to get himself killed.
“Stop.” This time, my voice came out firm. All I could do was give Girrar what he wanted. For now. “I’ll bake the spell. Let him go.”
“I’ll free him when you carry out your end.” Girrar pocketed his bloody blade. “Best hurry. My brothers smell blood in the air.”
He winked out, disappearing into nothing.
I rushed to the cage. “How bad?”
Wynn’s teeth gritted so hard his Adam’s apple was about to pop free. His angry glare locked onto the spot where Girrar had disappeared.
Gently, I tilted his arm. Blood flowed freely—either because the cut was that deep, or there was something in Girrar’s spit that stopped the blood from clotting.
Because vampire bats.
“I need to find you a bandage.” I whirled for the house
“No.” Wynn’s fingers twitched. He couldn’t grab me, but I got the sense he was trying to hold on. “Stay inside.”
“No.” For once, Wynn couldn’t make me do anything, least of all, leaving him trapped alone in a cage so tight he could barely breathe, bleeding and soaking up bat germs. “You’ll get an infection.”
“You can’t be out here if the bats come for me. Go in.”
I poked him in the stomach.
Not hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to make him stop staring machine-gun bullets at nothing and finally look at me. Hate flickered into surprise.
“I’m going in, but I’ll be back as soon as I find you some bandages.” I picked up the knives that had fallen when he was pinned in the cage and pressed them into his palms. He wouldn’t be able to fight, but I figured they’d make him happier.
Wynn gripped the knives, and the same tension that had his body vibrating against the bars echoed in his voice. “You can’t risk yourself.”
“Aren’t we past the point where that’s a choice?” Our chances of escaping together were thinner than a sheet of parchment paper. Alone, even that slim chance ripped in half. “We have to work together, Wynn.”
He didn’t nod or agree, but finally, he let out a little breath and sagged against the bars that held him upright. “Be careful.”
“I’ll be right back.” I rushed into the house.
Piles and piles of miscellaneous stuff mounded over the living room sofa and spilled onto the floor. Sacks of almond flour. A tower of brown egg cartons. Scattered toothbrushes in their plastic packaging.
And heaps of clothes grouped together just enough that it looked like Girrar had dumped someone’s drawers. A pile of underwear ended at my toes.
In total disbelief, I picked up a ball of lace-fringed socks. Underneath, were more identical pairs. Buried deeper in the pile, I spotted a few floral-print house dresses with lace collars.
All things belonging to a ninety-year-old woman.
All things belonging to Fiona.
Ugh.
I should’ve been waaay more specific when I wrote clothes on the list. Had Girrar really just raided Fiona’s closet?
There was an upside. If we didn’t survive, she’d kill Girrar for us.
If she ever found out he was the culprit.
I dug until I found the first aid kit I’d thankfully tacked onto the list. Maybe I should’ve asked for surgical staples.
I jogged back out to Wynn, hugging the kit.
And skidded short.
Three tiny bats clustered at his bloody arm, nestled between the bars.
Sinking in their fangs.
Drinking his blood.
Little rat bastards.
I swung the first aid kit like a meat tenderizer, fueled with anger and sheer when-the-hell-is-this-going-stop indignation. This freaking cave wouldn’t let us take a breath.
I conked them like whack-a-moles.
The bats dropped away. Stunned for a second.
Before I could kick the closest one away, it managed a scamper. It moved just like the bigger monster bats. Running on all fours in that creepy, wing-arm way that made my gut clench.
As soon as they were out of ki
cking range, all three of the bats leaped into flight. I knelt, still shaking a little, and opened the kit on the cave floor. I grabbed out the bottle of antibacterial gel and a bunch of gauze squares.
Now there was so much blood, I couldn’t tell if the bats had made new fang marks or just bit into Wynn’s cut. The ragged edges made my vision spin.
“Are you okay?” Wynn’s voice was low and so inappropriately calm.
“Me?” The question came out a yelp. Was he serious?
“I’m fine.”
“Nothing’s fine.” He was going to need rabies shots. So would I, at this rate. For now, all I could do was bandage Wynn up and start baking macarons at world-record speeds, hoping Girrar would let him free. “Sorry if this stings.”
Wynn didn’t flinch once. Not when I squeezed on the antibacterial stuff. Not when I pressed on the gauze. Neither of us spoke.
What was there to say?
The only sounds that broke the constant chittering of bats were the screaming, keening, nightmare noises that echoed from deeper in the cave.
Girrar’s brothers were hungry.
And I’d better feed them before they indulged their taste for human blood.
Twenty
The problem with macarons was they needed time to dry out. This cave situation?
Way too humid.
But screw it. I didn’t need to bake textbook perfect. I just needed the death spell to work. After digging my ingredients out of the living room heap, I flew around the kitchen, mixing the speediest, sloppiest batch of my life.
I was in such a rush, I pricked my finger too deep. A few extra drops of blood soaked into the batter.
Maybe with more blood, I could make the recipe strong enough to kill?
Worth a shot until I found a more realistic way of escaping.
When I finally left the macaron shells to dry before baking, I dashed to check on Wynn. More little bats fed from the exposed skin of his arms. One had crept between the bars, sinking teeth in his neck.
Fuming, I knocked them away and bandaged him up.
Again.
“I’m fine,” Wynn insisted. “Go back inside.”
I wanted to poke him again. Instead, I gritted my teeth. “Hold on.”
I rushed and rushed, only slowing down to double-check that the spell was working. The same deathly energy as ever hid inside the finished macarons.
While they were hot, I scooped them into casserole tray that was the only big dish I could find in the equipment pile. I wasn’t bothering with fillings. It wasn’t necessary for the spell.
“Ready,” I called out, knowing Girrar would hear. When I opened the front door, he and his dozens and dozens of bat brothers jammed the cave.
They mobbed up to the porch and crowded Wynn’s cage.
But they weren’t biting him. Yet.
“Here.” I tossed the macarons like I was slopping pigs, sending everything in the tray flying in a huge arc. Most never touched the ground.
It looked like bat rugby.
The humanoid bats ripped and clawed at each other. Jumping on shoulders. Launching into half flight and fighting for every crumb. Only the biggest, strongest monster bats ended up with a mouthful. The smaller ones were pushed to the side.
The normal-sized actual bat bats abandoned the ceiling, flying to safer perches where they wouldn’t be battered and grabbed. A few of them were snatched and gulped down like the macarons.
Because this nightmare wasn’t bad enough.
It needed bat cannibalism.
When the feeding frenzy died, the man-bats bled away. Girrar stayed, holding a handful of macarons. For the first time ever, he made no move to shove them in his mouth.
Instead, he tucked them into his pocket.
There was no way he had the patience to wait on eating.
Was he saving the magic for someone else?
I’d find out. Later.
For now, I moved to stand beside Wynn. “I delivered. Let him go.”
“Will you keep baking?” Girrar asked.
“Yes. Just let him out. Please.” It hurt my teeth to ask nicely, but what else could I do?
Girrar didn’t so much as twitch, but the bars winked away. Wynn fell forward. Landed on one knee.
I bent to help him to his feet, but he was faster than me. Already lunging for Girrar. I caught the back of his T-shirt and dug in my heels. Wynn stopped as suddenly as he’d started and I thunked into his back, jamming my nose between his shoulder blades. I gripped his T-shirt tighter, twisting it in my hands. “Calm down.”
Girrar could kill us both with a thought. If Wynn was going to keep attacking, Girrar wouldn’t keep him breathing.
I jumped in front of Wynn before he could make another lunge. “I promise I’ll keep baking macarons, but you have to call off the bats. I can’t work with them attacking us.”
“I don’t control the little ones.” Girrar’s gaze tipped up toward the ceiling—the bats that had scattered were slowly reclaiming their perches. “They hunger. As do I.” His creepy gaze plastered onto me, so weirdly possessive that Wynn stepped in front of me again.
This time, I didn’t stop him from moving.
“We’ll be waiting for your next batch.” Girrar faded away.
As soon as he disappeared, Wynn wobbled. Now I grabbed his arm. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” He braced a hand against his thigh but didn’t push me off. “Muscles cramped up in there.”
“Come inside.” I kept a gentle grip on Wynn’s gauntlet, careful not to brush his wounds.
He let me lead him. Another first.
I knocked a pile of supply junk off the sofa, making him a spot. “You need to rest.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
There was his stubborn streak.
I tried to nudge him to sit. “I’ll just be in the kitchen.”
Wynn grabbed my wrist—not hard—just tugging until he could see my finger. “Whose blood is this?”
“Mine.” The finger-prick that was more like a finger-puncture had oozed and I hadn’t bothered wiping or covering the wound. A trail of crusty, dried blood dribbled down to my palm. I pulled away and clutched the hand to my chest. “Does it matter?”
We were both covered in scrapes and wounds but his were definitely worse.
“It matters.” He maneuvered around me and suddenly he was the one nudging me to sit. “You need to rest.”
He was probably right because I didn’t have the energy to argue. “We should both rest.” My magic well wasn’t fully recharged from casting all those flames, and between the constant bat attacks and the recipe for death, I could use a nap.
And a deep breath.
I kicked more of Fiona’s stuff off the couch and tossed Wynn one of the throw pillows. “Can you wake us up in a couple hours?” I didn’t want to sleep too long and risk Girrar—or his bat brothers—coming knocking.
“Easy.” Wynn took the offered pillow and cleared a spot at the foot of the couch. He lay down next to me and for once I didn’t want him getting an inch farther away.
I closed my eyes for what felt like thirty seconds, but I knew I dreamed of bats. Swooping, diving, pooping bats.
Until something pinched.
And something else crashed.
My eyes popped open.
Wynn was lunging for the flesh lump on my arm.
I had just enough time to process bat! before he ripped it away and flung the thing across the room.
Blood trickled from my arm.
I gripped the wound, trying to cover the fang-marks that still oozed. It didn’t hurt yet, but I might throw up.
Instead, I dry-heaved. My stomach was too empty to hurl.
Wynn grabbed the metal shovel from Fiona’s fireplace and started swinging it like a tennis racket. There were more bats scampering through the room on all fours. A few swooping across the ceiling.
And I used to think rats were disgusting.
I tried to ignore the strangled
squeaks as he knocked them out of the room. My compassion meter was stuck at zero while my own blood streamed through my fingers.
Wynn scooped up the scattered remains and chucked them out the front door. “I’ll find where they snuck in.”
He prowled around the living room with his shovel, checking windows and peering up the chimney.
I was totally okay with sitting still and letting him handle the problem.
He disappeared into the bathroom.
A ceramic crash clanged through the house.
“Wynn?” I jumped to my feet, fueled by a fresh wave of adrenaline.
“Found where they’re coming in.”
I hurried to the source of the noise. Wynn stood over the toilet seat, peering into the bowl.
Bats clustered under the toilet’s rim.
Total.
Nightmare.
Wynn closed the lid. I shuddered so hard I had to grab my arms. But the motion pulled my new fang wound and I hissed.
“Let me see.” Wynn pulled my arm. He tilted it to get a closer look, fingers firm but gentle. “Where’s the first aid kit?”
“I don’t know.” I’d tossed it somewhere, hours or years ago.
Wynn found the kit and pushed me back onto the couch. I sat numb while he bandaged me.
Faint chittering still bothered my ears. It wasn’t in the cave. More bats were hiding somewhere inside. The curtain next to the fireplace rustled.
“There’s more.” My voice came out as exhausted as I felt, flat and lifeless.
“Saw. Those aren’t the ones we need to worry about.”
After Wynn covered patted down the gauze on my arm, I jumped to check the curtain. Because I was worried about all the bats at this point.
A group of six white cotton balls clung to the fabric.
I’d need Gabi or some kind of bat textbook to be able to name their species, but even I could tell these weren’t vampires. The fanged, fugly-face ones who loped around on the ground looked nothing like the teeny white ones who trembled against the curtain.
These had big ears and—I hated that I was thinking this word—cute puffy bodies. Little poofs with big, soft eyes and the faintest, fluffiest aura of magic. They ducked their heads like I was the one who was going to hurt them.
Wynn had just whaled on a bunch of their relatives—
A sudden flash of lightning knocked away my foggy cloak of despair. I hustled to peer through the front window and actually look at the ceiling.