I felt the darkling on my back suddenlyyank my head up. My shuddering heart told me it was about to bashmy head against the plastic-covered floor.
And that's exactly what it did. With a softhissing sound like air escaping a high-pressure pipe, it yanked myhead back then slammed it against the floor.
Pain exploded through my forehead and noseas blood started to drip over my lips. Then the stars started toswim through my vision. These were not the bursts of light thatindicated a vision. No, these were the last sparks of consciousnessbefore I blacked out.
I had time enough to hear Max scream myname before the darkling yanked my head back one last time andslammed it against the moldered-plastic-covered floor.
I lost consciousness with a blast.
Chapter 10
I didn't wake up straight away. Myawareness returned to me in flashes.
I felt myself being carried, heard thepatter of quick feet, felt sinewy arms wrapped around my back.
My eyes were caked with blood, and I couldbarely move them, but I saw bursts of rooftops, of chimneys, offaint flickering lights, heard the pound of rain.
I tried to hold onto my attention, but itflitted in andout like an indecisive insecton the wing.
I heard cars, the putter of engines, thescreech of tires negotiating wet asphalt.
I couldn't smell, though. My nose felt asif it had been wrapped in pure pain. I could feel it was cloggedwith blood, and that same blood felt like a dried mess down mycheek and neck.
… I started to black out again….
The next thing I knew, I was lying on thefloor. It took me so long to be able to wink an eye open, eventhen, I had to fight against the dried up blood covering my faceand making me feel like I had a plaster mask on.
I heard something, right by my face. As Iwinked and I open, I saw an amplifier.
It took my broken mind a long time torealize what it was, but as my eyes ticked over the speaker and sawthe smudged brand name painted across the top, I frowned. Or atleast I tried to frown. I had absolutely no muscle controlwhatsoever.
The amplifier was on, and a low, thrumminghum filled the air, vibrating the floor beneath me.
Finally, I heard voices.
Sharp and quick with a warning. Footsteps, too.
I fought against my fatigued body, trying tomove it. But it would not be moved.
I felt the footsteps shudder up something,and I realized they were climbing stairs.
I had to be on some kind of stage.
Though I squeezed my eyes shut at thefootsteps’ approach, I caught just enough of a glimpse of the roomaround me to realize I was in some kind of bar. It wasn’t just thelow, sultry lighting – I could feel sticky alcohol under my cheeks,smell the left-over musty scent ofsweat and sweet cocktails.
I felt someone draw to a standstill behindme. If I had to guess, there were two or three men. Suddenly, onereached out and pushed me in the back with his boot. “She up,yet?”
I squeezed my eyes tightly closed and triedhard not to move a muscle.
“Doesn’t look like it,” one of them commented.
There was a pause. I felt somebody leandown beside me. My hair was a loose mess around my body, andas theyshifted forward, the treadof theirshoes snagged my long fringe. Icouldn’t help but wince with pain.
Someone grunted, locked an arm around mythroat, and pulled me up.
I fought. Pushed out, jerked my arms andlegs in every direction, but there was no use.
The guy was stronger, so strong, it was asif I were fighting a pro wrestler.
As he jerked me around, I got a betterglimpse of the room and realized I wasright – this was definitely some kind of bar. I was right aboutanother fact, too – there were three men up on the stage with me.One was dressed in an impeccable silver and gray suit with a neat black shirt and tie underneath. The othertwo were nowhere near as smart. One was in torn blue jeans, heavyboots, and a dark shirt.
The other? The other one was the guy thatheld me, and as I twisted around, using all my strength to fighthim off, I caught sight of his chest. Of his neck, too. Andtwisting along his throat was a tattoo. A strange diagram ofgeometrical shapes, almost like a close-up of asnowflake.
The memory slammed into me like a freighttrain. I’d seen this specific tattoo before. And as the guy twistedme around and my gaze sliced across his broken nose and bloodiedeyes, I realizedI knew just who hewas.
I screamed, the noise gurgling from mybruised throat.
“Shut her up, Farley,” the man in the suitcommented.
Farley jolted forward, and I had justenough time to see the sneer spreading his pale blue-white lipsbefore he locked me in a headlock and shoved me forward. Hecrumpled me in half, grinding my cheek into the sticky,alcohol-covered floor.
I pulsed with fear, almost as if my bloodhad been replaced by pure adrenaline. But that pure adrenalinecould do nothing.
I heard one of the men take several stepstowards meand saw two polished expensiveshoes several inches from my nose.
There was the creak of fabric as the manknelt down. “You sure it’s her? Doesn’t seem magical,” hecommented.
Farley, the man who held me – the murdererI’d seen in the woods – grunted. The move was strong enough that itshook through my shoulders as he held me there, crumpledon the floor. One of his knees pinned my long hair,pulling my head painfully to the side.
“It’s her,” he didn’t even pause. “Saw the whole thing. Felther invade my mind.”
“Are you sure she saw everything?”
Farley paused. “Don’t matter. I’m certainshe saw enough to identify me.”
I had no idea what was going on.Their words washed over me as the fear continued topulse and tear through me.
I was crying, and yet I wasn’t sobbing.The tears were simply draining from my eyes, a prelude to the bloodthat would undoubtedly follow.
“What do you want to do with her,Fagan?” The other manasked. “Could she be useful?” he asked in an offhandmanner.
There was a long pause. “Yeah,she could probably be useful. But right now we need toensure this operation is
