Spellbound

by Kelley Armstrong

  Proof that it was time to reveal ourselves, though? I'd never heard of that one.

  "The signs have been clear," he continued. "Signs that our day of revelation is coming." He paused for a cheer. "Signs that our day of dominance is coming." A bigger cheer now, so loud it made my ears ring.

  Dominance? Seriously? What? Supernaturals are going to take over the world? Were these people idiots? I'd barely passed high school math, and I could do the calculations. Humans outnumbered us by tens of thousands to one.

  "Now we prepare to put our plan in motion . . ."

  What plan? Sharks with frickin' laser beams attached to their heads?

  "First, though, we must complete the gathering of the signs. Once we have them all, others will come. They will join our cause and unite to make this the kind of world supernaturals deserve. A world where we don't need to hide. Don't need to cower. Don't need to fear persecution. And why should we fear persecution? We are supernaturals. We are superior. This is our birthright and we will seize it now!"

  As the crowd roared, the sarcasm bled from my thoughts. I stared out at that room and I saw the exhilaration and the anger, the pride and the resentment. I looked out there and I saw myself.

  This was a force that could grow into something beyond our worst nightmares because it didn't matter how illogical the plan was. What these people felt was not logical. It was a hunger and hatred that boiled in their veins. I'd grown up with that hunger and that hatred--that desire to make my power felt--and even now, I felt the pull of it.

  I heard that voice inside me that said I was special. I was superior. That voice that had screamed every time a teacher tried to tell me what to do. Every time any human tried to tell me what to do. A voice that had begged me strike them down, blast them with a spell, and show them exactly who they were dealing with.

  Growing up meant coming to terms with that voice. Recognizing it for what it really was. Misplaced pride. I'd done nothing to earn my magic. I was born to it, like a princess is born to her crown. In a land without princesses, that didn't earn me jack-shit. I could rail against my fate or I could say that it was only right, that deed, not birth, should earn privilege.

  That egalitarian view didn't come from inside me. It was learned from the examples of those I saw around me, mainly from Paige and Lucas. Had I continued to grow up in my mother's world of dark magic, I could be sitting in that audience, believing that humans were weaklings to be manipulated, conned, fleeced, then mocked over rounds at the pub.

  Yet my mother's crowd wouldn't join this movement. These were the next generation, the ones still naive enough to think they could expose their secrets without consequence, fight humans without selfannihilation. All it might take was some mystical crap about the planets being aligned or signs coming to pass.

  Speaking of signs, that's what Giles was emoting about now.

  "--born of two werewolves, male and female. Not just any two werewolves, but bitten wolves. One infected as a mere child and somehow surviving where adults could not. Then he bites his lover, and she survives. The strength of these two individuals alone must be incredible, but to come together, their blood already joined, and bear children? Twins, a boy and a girl. As it is written in our prophecy."

  Prophecy? Like hell. If this guy was telling these kids that Elena and Clay's twins fulfilled some kind of fucking prophecy--

  "Those children are the genesis of a new breed of werewolves. Part of the next step in our evolution. But they are only one part of that step. We have seen more. One stands before you now. A hybrid of the two spellcasting races, equally adept at both kinds of magic. And she is not the last. There is another, born of witch and sorcerer, a child just coming into her powers now."

  Another witch-sorcerer? No way. I would have heard of it. Just like I would have heard of this goddamned prophecy.

  Rage boiled up in me as I looked out over those stupid, gullible faces. I wanted to scream at them, knock some sense into their empty heads.

  I shifted and glowered, and fought to keep my mouth shut. Faces turned toward me. Only they didn't look up with the dawning realization that they were falling for the blather of a crazy man. When they saw my anger, they saw proof that Giles was right. I was furious because he'd discovered the truth.

  I reined in the anger, forced myself to stand still and listen.

  "Clairvoyants have attained the next step of evolution, too," he continued. "Locked away, deep in the recesses of the Nast Cabal, there is a child, born of two clairvoyants, one of such incredible power his own people kept him hidden from the world. Now the Nasts hide this child because they know the truth--he is but the first of a new breed of clairvoyants that the Cabals are hell-bent on controlling, as they control everything else in our world."

  A grumble quaked across the room. A few people shouted things I didn't quite catch, but I'm sure it wasn't "Long Live the Cabals!"

  "Even the half-demons are evolving," Giles continued. "A child of Lucifer is pregnant with a babe of her own, the first grandchild this lord demon will ever see. Its mother is the key to winning us what may be the most undeniable proof that the gods of evolution have chosen us--supernaturals--as their champions. Proof that resides in the deepest cells of yet another Cabal. The Cortezes."

  That's why Roni had been so interested in Hope. Damn it, I had to get out of here and warn her. I had to warn them all.

  As I looked around--yeah, like a portal was going to miraculously appear and whisk me away--I replayed Giles's words.

  He'd said that Hope was the key to getting them proof of advanced evolution, something that the Cortezes were keeping hidden.

  No, not something. Someone. Jaz. Jasper Haig, a psychopath obsessed with Hope. The guy in her recent visions.

  Kate and Logan. Hope. Jaz. Hope's unborn baby. Adele Morrissey's clairvoyant son. Me. Some other witch-sorcerer hybrid kid I'd never heard of.

  Maybe I'd never heard this exact prophecy, but I'd heard the whispers. About us. Claiming we were signs that something was coming. Something big.

  I'd fluffed it off as superstitious garbage. To every supernatural in a position of knowledge and power, it was just ignorant supernaturals struggling to see patterns in chaos.

  Now, though, we lived in an age where strange events could be shared with every supernatural who had an Internet connection. The people ignoring the "signs" were the informed ones, those from the council and the Cabals, with records to prove these events weren't more than a historical blip. They were the elite, and in any society, the average citizen outnumbers the elite by hundreds or thousands to one.

  I looked out at a small sample of those "average citizens" and I could only imagine how many more hadn't heard Giles's message. Those who needed just a little more convincing . . . like having him gather every one of those "signs" and shove them in the faces of the general supernatural populace.

  The revival meeting continued for another twenty minutes, though Giles added nothing new. Just kept repeating his message and making promises, while his audience hung on his every word.

  The man had the gift of persuasion and obvious experience using it. So where had he come from? I detected a faint French accent. Very faint. It reminded me of Cassandra's, just the barest roll on her r's and buzzes on her th's, signs of a life in France hundreds of years ago.

  Roni had hinted that Giles was old. Really old. Could he be a vampire like Cassandra? When I studied him, though, I could see him breathing.

  She'd also said I was "going to flip" when I found out who he really was. Who he was, not what. Did that mean "Giles" was a fake name? But why?

  Was the goal to convert me? Send me back to the council and the Cabals as a sleeper agent? Or a missionary for those open to his message?

  If that was the case, then my escape route was clear. Fake a conversion. I just needed to be very careful how I did it.

  When the meeting ended, Giles whisked me into the back room, where Roni, Althea, and refreshments waited. Bottled water, juice,
and a lovely meat and cheese tray.

  I ignored the food and drink. Giles joked that it wasn't poisoned, and sampled the offerings first. I still wouldn't touch anything.

  Roni kept casting anxious glances my way, like she couldn't believe I'd heard Giles's spiel and wasn't hailing him as a prophet. Giles and Althea seemed unconcerned. If I had experienced a sudden conversion, they'd know I was faking.

  Yet once it became apparent that I wasn't going to make a good party guest, Giles decided I was spoiling the mood. He hinted that I could stay if I ate something. When I refused it was back to my cell.

  He returned me himself--blindfolded--accompanied by Roni and Severin. He'd sent Sierra on some task with Althea. Did that mean Giles had already decided I was only worth half a guard detail? Good.

  "So what did you think of our little meeting, Savannah?"

  I shrugged, counting off three more steps, then said, "That prophecy you were talking about. I've never heard of it before."

  He chuckled. "I'm not surprised. Your circle keeps you quite insulated, don't they?"

  "No. I'm a lot better informed than most of those kids. I have complete access to council records, agency records, Cabal records, Coven records, even the werewolf Pack's Legacy."

  "Everything fit for your reading consumption."

  I scrunched my nose, turning my blindfolded eyes toward him in feigned confusion. "Huh?"

  "They give the appearance of total access. But all the information is filtered through them, is it not? If, for example, Paige Winterbourne had council records she didn't want you to see, she'd simply remove them from the files."

  I said I didn't think she'd do that, but let some doubt creep into my voice, and he replied with a condescending, "I'm sure she wouldn't."

  I counted off another three steps. "So this prophecy . . . do you think the Cabals have it?"

  "Somewhere. Though I wouldn't be surprised if even your guardians didn't know about it. Their access is filtered as well. It's all filtered, Savannah, to keep everyone in her place." A beat pause. "Especially you."

  This time I'm sure it was him who was counting off steps before he said, "They're afraid of you, Savannah. You know that, don't you?"

  "As well they should be."

  He chuckled. "No confidence issues, I see. A breath of fresh air, compared to those young people you just saw in the auditorium. They've been raised to believe their powers are a threat."

  "To hide their light under a bushel."

  "Exactly."

  "Well, that's not how I was brought up. Paige and Lucas and everyone know how powerful I am, and they're fine with it."

  "Are they?"

  "Sure. They even help me improve my powers through practice and control."

  "Control . . ." He let the word hang there.

  I struggled to look like I was considering his words, maybe chafing at the thought of that control.

  "Are you sure they're fine with it?" he said. "Your level of power? The dark source of that power? Do you share all your magic with them?"

  I twitched at that. I didn't mean to. He gave a soft chuckle.

  "I didn't think so." A door creaked. "I'd like you to consider that, Savannah. Why do you feel it necessary to hide things from them? Do you think they're holding you back? I suspect, deep down, you do."

  Hands pushed me forward. Rough hands. Giles said, "Careful, Severin. She's our guest, not our prisoner."

  Severin yanked off my blindfold and I found myself back in the dark cell. The door clicked closed behind me. Alone again.

  nineteen

  Giles had given me the perfect excuse for conversion. Let him think I was questioning Paige and Lucas, let him keep prodding me along that path until, bingo, I had an epiphany. As much as I loved my friends, I had to admit they were holding me back. Holding all supernaturals back.

  Viva la revolution!

  When my door opened about an hour later, I was all ready to start my campaign of capitulation. Only it wasn't Giles. It was Althea with Severin and Roni.

  I didn't greet Althea--no need to get chummy too fast. But when she waved Severin over to untie me, I said, "I think I should have taken you up on the water offer. I haven't had anything to drink since breakfast, and I hear dehydration is a nasty way to go."

  She smiled. "Of course. Roni? Please get Savannah a bottle of water and put it in the van."

  "Van?"

  "This was only temporary lodgings for the meeting. We have a more comfortable place. It's a bit of a drive, though. I'll have Roni get you something to eat as well."

  They transported me--still blindfolded--to the van. I asked how long the trip would be, and speculated on how far it'd been from Riverside to here. Althea didn't bite. I expected she wouldn't. If I didn't fish, though, it'd look suspicious.

  Severin removed my blindfold once I was in my seat. Then he gagged me, retreated, and slammed the back door. Everything went dark. Why had they brought food and water, since I obviously couldn't eat or drink? Made me wonder if the gag had been Severin's idea, not Althea's. Great.

  So now I was stuck--alone--in the back of a windowless van. Alone. In a van. Hmmm.

  It took me at least an hour to get a hand free. I won't detail the process. Suffice it to say, that free hand came with a lot of cursing and a loss of skin and blood and a few moments where I was convinced I'd rubbed open my wrists and was about to bleed out on the van floor.

  I got the rope off my hands, then my legs, and finally removed my gag. A week ago, the gag would have been first, my concern for my spellcasting outweighing my concern for mobility. How quickly priorities change.

  When I was free, I looked at the van door and realized I'd overlooked one problem. Getting free didn't mean getting out.

  I took a step. My sneaker clunked on the bare metal floor and I winced. I got to my knees and crawled instead, until I could reach the handle. I twisted it, ready for the lock to engage--

  The door opened. Almost flew open, the wind grabbing it so fast I had to brace myself to get it shut again. Then, after a deep breath, I cracked it open . . . and looked down at pavement zooming past at sixty miles an hour.

  It's a testament to my desperation that for a moment, I actually thought, Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I jumped. Then I saw the dual lanes of busy highway traffic, imagined myself lunging straight into the grill of a truck, and decided against it.

  I then considered throwing open the door and playing kidnap victim. I was a young woman, bloodied, and trapped in a panel van. Someone would call 911.

  Only one problem. My captors weren't humans acting on psychotic impulses. They were supernaturals with a plan, one that would take into account such contingencies. My chances of actually escaping were slim.

  Normally, I'd reject slim. But I thought of Logan and Kate, and how I'd practically hand-delivered them to these people by introducing Roni to Elena. I thought of Hope, and how they had my cell phone now, with her number, and how easy it might be to trick her into giving away her location.

  I should take slim. It might be the only chance I'd get.

  But what if it wasn't? Didn't I owe it to Elena and Hope to take the best chance to warn them? Wait and attack Severin when he came around to get me? But what if we stopped in the middle of nowhere, with Sierra, Giles, and the whole gang waiting to grab me after Severin failed?

  I couldn't make up my mind.

  Damn it, I could always make up my mind. This new indecision could be a sign of maturity, but it felt like weakness.

  Wait and see--No, open the doors.

  Oh hell, maybe I should just give up all hope of making rational decisions and start flipping coins.

  I might, if I had a coin to flip.

  Okay, that was it. I was just going to--

  The van slowed.

  Shit. Oh, shit!

  I peeked out the door to see that we were pulling into a highway gas station. I looked at the trees and fields surrounding the service center.

  Hey, why make decisi
ons when the hand of God can just deliver a better choice?

  There was only one vehicle behind us--a car with Mom and a passel of kids. The car turned off toward the restaurant and the way was clear. I was about to throw open the door when the van swerved to drive beside a parked tractor trailer, affording me the perfect cover. I waited until we drew alongside the truck. Then I jumped. Kind of hopped, actually, arms and legs pulled in, letting myself drop, then roll under the trailer.

  A beautifully executed move, if I do say so myself. Of course, it would have been even better with a blur spell to hide me and a knockback to tap the van door shut. Fate favored me there, though. No one in the van noticed my escape. And the door swung closed with a click.

  Two minutes later, I was inside the service center, hiding in a fast-food line as I peered out the window and watched Severin. He filled the tanks. He paid. He got back in. He drove off, without ever realizing I'd escaped.

  Now I had to get out of here. For that I needed cash.

  Being dinner hour, the travel center was packed full of tired, hungry travelers. The thing about being tired and hungry? You're focused on getting through the lines, getting a burger, and getting back on the road. You put one of your kids or your coat at an empty table to reserve it.

  I snagged a jacket from a table, and yanked it on to cover my bloodied wrists. Then I stole a purse someone left on a chair while she went to grab napkins.

  I'd feel bad about the purse. Later. For now, it contained cash and it had a cell phone. I took both and left the purse in a bathroom stall. Then I called a cab.

  My plan was to call Paige on the cell. But as I got into the cab, I realized the obvious: Freedom had come altogether too easily.

  They'd let me escape.

  Or had they?

  I wasn't sure, but if they had let me escape, the reason would be obvious. They wanted me to lead them to the others.

  I couldn't call Paige or Lucas. Probably shouldn't call anyone who might be even peripherally on their captive list. Or their hit list. But I did need to warn Elena and Hope.

  I dialed a number.

  "Prevail Aluminum Siding," a voice chirped. "How may I direct your call?"