Child of Fire

I turned back to her. “Killing people is easy,” I said. “It doesn’t impress me. What would impress me is if you could wake up and see what’s going on.”

“All that talking must have left you parched,” Tiffany said. “Why-“

“Tiff,” Phyllis said sharply. “The boys over there are getting bored. Why don’t you talk to them for a while?”

Tiffany looked a little stung as she retreated toward the door. I didn’t pay much attention.

“So,” Phyllis said, “How is it that you can blow into town and see what’s going on, but we can’t?”

I couldn’t tell her anything about Annalise or the spells she’d put on me. “Willingness to believe,” I said. It was the wrong moment to play coy with her, but I didn’t have a choice. Annalise was already unhappy that I’d showed the scrap of wood to Emmett Dubois. I didn’t want to repeat the mistake.

“What about your lady friend?”

“Never mind her.”

Phyllis turned to Bobby, “Speaking of which, they’re late.”

Bobby took out a cell phone and started to dial.

Oh no.

Phyllis looked at me. “We’ll ask her when she gets here.”

“You didn’t send men after her, did you? You didn’t give them guns or anything?”

“Don’t break a sweat, kid, I told them not to hurt her.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The salty chips had made me thirsty; I took a swallow of iced tea just to bide my time. So much for recruiting Henstrick. I felt a little dizzy.

“No answer,” Bobby said.

“Don’t bother,” I said. “They’re dead.”

Phyllis glared at me. “What do you mean, dead?”

“I mean, if you sent men to strong-arm my boss the way they’ve been trying to strong-arm me-with guns and knives and bad manners-they are dead. Thirty men couldn’t kidnap my boss. Get it? If you want to talk to her, visit her yourself or send someone to ask politely.”

My head started to feel light. The lights went dim. I suddenly felt very tired.

“Dammit,” I heard Phyllis say. Her voice sounded far away. “Send someone after them. Find out what’s going on.”

Then, darkness. My last thought was that I was helpless now. They could do anything they wanted to me. I took that thought into oblivion.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I awoke suddenly. I was sitting up, leaning against a pile of pillows. My hands were bound.

I’d been handcuffed to the post of a bed. I rolled off the mattress. I didn’t want to think about who had been on it before.

Each of my wrists had a handcuff of its own. One end was locked on me; the other end was locked tightly around the thinnest spot in the post, which was about the width of my two thumbs. It looked like a hack setup, but after ten minutes of trying I still hadn’t managed to free myself. So much for hack.

The room was slightly more homey than a hospital room but slightly less homey than a Best Western. The wallpaper, curtains, and bedcovers were decorated with a dense, multicolored pattern that reminded me of a counter at a diner, like they were designed to hide stains.

A big LED clock on the bedside stand told me the time was 8:45. There were no windows anywhere, so I couldn’t tell if it was morning or evening. I was hungry again. Damn.

No one had left any saws or key rings nearby. I wanted my ghost knife. I closed my eyes and reached for it, searching for the slightest tickle that would tell me it was close. Nothing. If I survived this, I’d have to practice sensing the ghost knife from farther and farther away.

I wrapped my arms around the post, stood on the box spring, and laid my shoulder into it, using my weight to try to break it off. No good. A better plan would have been to kick the top of the post, but that would have made noise. I didn’t want to let people know that I’d woken up.

I lay back on the bed, set my heels on the top of the post, and grabbed the chain of the cuffs. Then I pressed with my feet, holding myself in place with the cuffs. I had leverage, but the strain on my wrists prevented me from using my full strength.

I heard a key turn in the lock. I redoubled my efforts, gritting my teeth against the pain, but I didn’t hear the slightest sound of cracking wood.

The door opened. A voice said, “You were right. He’s up.”

“Hear hear,” a woman said. “Stop that right now.”

I let my feet drop to the ground and stood. A man and a woman approached me. They were in their late forties and looked as average as any supermarket shopper. He was balding and walked with a plump shuffle. She was heavily done up and carefully balanced on high heels.

She carried a tray with a platter of fish and chips on it. “Here you go, dear. You’ve been up here a couple hours, and I’m sure you’re hun-“

I kicked the platter out of her hands. Greasy fish and dark vinegar splashed onto the ceiling and wallpaper