“Rans?” I asked—terrified, and with no freaking clue what was happening. I realized after the name left my mouth that I should have said John, the way he’d said JoAnne. I really, really sucked at this fugitive shit.
“It’s just a warding spell,” Rans said through gritted teeth.
If I hadn’t been fighting panic, I might’ve had a couple of spare brain cells to devote to the idea of magic apparently being real. Goddamnit, I was already running this close to capacity after the past few days. I was not fucking prepared to deal with glowy hands and faerie spells.
Legolas gestured toward the cops, indicating that they should resume putting us in the back of the black Mercedes. I flopped ungracefully onto the upholstery, trying with little success to find a way to sit comfortably with my hands cuffed behind me. Rans followed a moment later with considerably more stoicism and less clumsiness. The door slammed shut, locks clicking with an air of chilling finality. The trunk closed, which I guessed meant the cops had thrown our luggage into the car.
I noticed there were no controls for either locks or windows on the inside of our doors.
Of course, Legolas had controls on his door. The driver’s window rolled down, and he ordered the cops to leave. I craned around, watching them pile back into their unmarked cars and pull away. When they were gone, Rans met our captor’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Oy, I’m being pretty fucking patient here, Tinkerbell,” he said. “I’ve gotta say, though—my patience is in fairly short supply these days.”
“Quiet,” Legolas told him flatly, “or I’ll shut you up myself.”
His unnaturally green eyes grew intense, and he murmured more words in that unfamiliar language before a new glow surrounded both Rans and me in the back seat. I gasped in shock as Rans’ appearance melted into something utterly different—ash blonde hair, face younger and far less striking, and carrying a bit of softness around the waist. Even his distinctive blue eyes were now an unremarkable shade of earthy brown.
Something made me look down at myself. My bare upper arms were pale now, rather than dusky, and I had thick curves that were completely different from my usual slender frame. Bewildered, my eyes flew back to the plain features that had, a moment ago, belonged to a dark angel sculpted by Raphael. Rans shook his head at me, a quelling gesture.
I bit my lip, sitting tense and silent as the car’s engine purred, pulling us out into traffic and toward the highway. Legolas drove us in a generally westerly direction, based on the glimpses I got of the sun peeking through the clouds. The clock on the car’s dashboard was flashing, not with the familiar twelve—twelve—twelve, but rather with a jumble of random illuminated segments that looked like gibberish. As best I could tell, it was about an hour later when he pulled into a long private driveway.
The bustle of the city had given way to something midway between suburban and rural surroundings. The house that was revealed as we negotiated a turn in the tree-lined drive was only a few paint chips and broken windows away from being the next hot property for filming a horror movie. With two stories and a generous attic, it must have been an impressive residence when it was new. The grounds were obviously huge; the driveway itself must have been nearly a quarter mile long.
Legolas parked in a spacious circle drive, and two figures emerged from the front door of the house. He got out of the car to meet them. After a brief discussion, the two newcomers—also Fae, I was sure—opened our doors and pulled us out of the back seat.
“Take them to the basement,” Legolas ordered, lending new urgency to my growing panic.
This was turning into everything I’d feared in St. Louis. If we entered that basement, would we ever see the sky again? Rans was still wearing his sucked-on-a-lemon expression, for all that the face it adorned was unfamiliar. For the thousandth time in the last hour, I wondered how far my growing trust toward him could reasonably be expected to reach.
I tensed, ready to plant my feet and struggle, but his brows drew together in warning. Don’t, he mouthed, pinning me with a hard, mud-brown gaze.
The only thing that held me back was my memory of just how pointless my panicked struggles against Caspian’s guards had been. Even if I could get free, the road was almost a quarter mile away, and it had been dead quiet when we approached this place. Where did I think I was going to go?
I had a phone, but no one to call. I was in an unfamiliar city, and the one person I knew here was the one who was missing—my dad. Lack of any kind of usable plan meant that in the end, I let the Fae guard holding my arm propel me into the house and down a functional, poorly lit stairway to an unfinished basement.
The place had been converted into cells, and that was enough to make me balk. By that time, though, it was too late. My captor hefted me painfully by the upper arms and manhandled me—fairy-handled me?—into the largest cell. Rans and his captor were right behind me, followed by Legolas.
His cool green gaze played over the two guards. “Leave us. The prisoners are to have no food or water for twenty-four hours. I will tolerate no interruptions during the initial interrogation period... disregard my orders at your peril.”
The lackeys dipped their heads in what almost looked like bows. “Yes, Liege,” said the one on the right, and both of them trooped out hastily, closing the door as they went.
I swallowed hard, knowing I was breathing too fast and in danger of hyperventilating. Clammy sweat had broken out across my body as the door slammed shut, leaving me
