Spells
Page 81
One was bizarrely asymmetric—the left half of his body was withered and gnarled, but the right half would have looked at home on a world-class bodybuilder. The other troll’s face looked remarkably human, but the bones in his shoulder were twisted and uneven, pulling one shoulder back and one forward, twisting his legs as well, so he moved with a strange, shuffling gait.
David looked up at Laurel with wide eyes, but she shook her head, faced forward again, and continued climbing. They reached the top of the stairs and were greeted by two more trolls, also armed. These looked more like the goons who had thrown Laurel and David into the Chetco last year, with drooping cheekbones, offset noses, and mismatched eyes. One even had a shock of red hair combed back from his fearsome face. But of course it couldn’t be Barnes’s old lackeys; Tamani had disposed of them. Laurel paid them no heed and turned the corner at the top of the stairs.
“Chelsea!” She gasped as her friend came into view.
Chelsea was blindfolded and trussed to a chair with a gun at her head. “Finally,” she grumbled.
“I told you she’d come,” said a gravelly, all-too-familiar voice. “Laurel. Welcome.”
Laurel’s eyes left Chelsea and traveled to the man who held the gun against Chelsea’s temple. The face, the eyes that haunted her dreams—even more than a year later.
Jeremiah Barnes.
He looked the same—exactly the same. From his broad, football-player shoulders to his very slightly crooked nose, and those dark brown eyes that looked black from across the room. He was even wearing a rumpled white shirt and suit pants that completed the eerie sense of déjà vu and made her feel like she was trapped in one of her own worst nightmares.
“Little Miss Noble. You even brought your old human friend to die with you. I’m impressed.”
The trolls surrounding them chuckled. Trying not to draw attention to herself, Laurel flexed her hand, crushing the glass vials together in her pocket, letting the two elixirs mix. The glass jabbed into her hand and she forced herself to breathe normally as the serum reacted, burning her fingers as it became a hot steamy vapor that Laurel hoped Barnes wouldn’t notice. She just needed a few minutes…if it worked. Please work, she begged in her head. “No one’s here to die, Barnes. What do you want?”
Barnes laughed. “What do I want? Revenge, Laurel.” He smiled dangerously. “How about this? I shoot you in the shoulder, so you know how it feels, then we go down to that old cabin and you show me where the gate is. Then, if you’re not dead by that point, maybe I’ll put you out of your misery.”
“And what about my friends?” Laurel asked. She met Barnes’s eyes, glare for glare. “If I agree,” she said steadily, “what happens to my friends?”
The potion burned on her fingers and Laurel longed to pull her hand out of her pocket and rub the liquid away. But it was too risky. She gritted her teeth and continued staring at the hulking troll.
Barnes licked his lips and grinned. “I’ll let them go.”
It was blatantly obvious that he was lying, but Laurel played along. “Let them go now,” she said, stalling for time, “and we’ll go to the land.”
“Right. I don’t think so. You faeries are tricky bastards, especially when you’re fighting a losing battle. Your friends go when—and only when—you’ve shown me the gate.”
“No deal.”
Barnes turned the gun on Laurel now.
She didn’t even flinch.
“I don’t think you’re in any position to bargain,” he said. “We’re going to do it my way. I’ll tie you up, toss you in my Hummer, and we’ll go down to Orick. It’s that, or you all die here tonight. Oh, and we can take care of that shoulder thing now,” he said, lowering the gun so it pointed at her shoulder. Laurel closed her eyes and flexed her entire body, waiting for the impact.
“No,” David said, yanking her backward and stepping in front of her. “I won’t let you.”
Barnes laughed his harsh, almost wheezing laugh, making Laurel’s skin crawl. After so long she still remembered that laugh with absolute clarity. “Won’t let me? Like you can do anything about it, little boy,” Barnes taunted. He gestured to the other trolls. “Get him out of here.”
One troll grabbed Laurel by the shoulders to keep her still, then the redheaded troll closed his hand around David’s arm, but David was ready. He spun, breaking the troll’s grip, and swung his fist. It hit with a resounding crack! and the troll staggered back two steps.
Laurel watched in horror as David cradled his hand, then wound up to try again. She couldn’t move—couldn’t yell for him to wait, to be patient—without giving herself away. He’d saved her from Barnes’s gun and now he would suffer instead of her.
“David?” Chelsea’s voice sounded so small, so helpless, Laurel felt a lump grow in her throat.
The next troll was faster, kicking out one leg and catching David in the chest. Laurel grimaced and tried to pull away as she heard at least one rib crack under the impact of that foot, but the troll holding her maintained his iron grip. She glanced at Barnes; he was watching with an amused smile on his face, his gun still trained on her. She hated his smug smirk. Just looking at him made her a lot less upset about the gun she had tucked away.
“David!” Chelsea yelled again as a strangled groan escaped David’s mouth.
“Chelsea, it’s okay,” Laurel called, but she could hear the terror in her own voice. “Please just hold still.” To Laurel’s relief, she stilled instead of trying to wiggle away from the thick, calloused fingers clenched at her neck.
David looked up at Laurel with wide eyes, but she shook her head, faced forward again, and continued climbing. They reached the top of the stairs and were greeted by two more trolls, also armed. These looked more like the goons who had thrown Laurel and David into the Chetco last year, with drooping cheekbones, offset noses, and mismatched eyes. One even had a shock of red hair combed back from his fearsome face. But of course it couldn’t be Barnes’s old lackeys; Tamani had disposed of them. Laurel paid them no heed and turned the corner at the top of the stairs.
“Chelsea!” She gasped as her friend came into view.
Chelsea was blindfolded and trussed to a chair with a gun at her head. “Finally,” she grumbled.
“I told you she’d come,” said a gravelly, all-too-familiar voice. “Laurel. Welcome.”
Laurel’s eyes left Chelsea and traveled to the man who held the gun against Chelsea’s temple. The face, the eyes that haunted her dreams—even more than a year later.
Jeremiah Barnes.
He looked the same—exactly the same. From his broad, football-player shoulders to his very slightly crooked nose, and those dark brown eyes that looked black from across the room. He was even wearing a rumpled white shirt and suit pants that completed the eerie sense of déjà vu and made her feel like she was trapped in one of her own worst nightmares.
“Little Miss Noble. You even brought your old human friend to die with you. I’m impressed.”
The trolls surrounding them chuckled. Trying not to draw attention to herself, Laurel flexed her hand, crushing the glass vials together in her pocket, letting the two elixirs mix. The glass jabbed into her hand and she forced herself to breathe normally as the serum reacted, burning her fingers as it became a hot steamy vapor that Laurel hoped Barnes wouldn’t notice. She just needed a few minutes…if it worked. Please work, she begged in her head. “No one’s here to die, Barnes. What do you want?”
Barnes laughed. “What do I want? Revenge, Laurel.” He smiled dangerously. “How about this? I shoot you in the shoulder, so you know how it feels, then we go down to that old cabin and you show me where the gate is. Then, if you’re not dead by that point, maybe I’ll put you out of your misery.”
“And what about my friends?” Laurel asked. She met Barnes’s eyes, glare for glare. “If I agree,” she said steadily, “what happens to my friends?”
The potion burned on her fingers and Laurel longed to pull her hand out of her pocket and rub the liquid away. But it was too risky. She gritted her teeth and continued staring at the hulking troll.
Barnes licked his lips and grinned. “I’ll let them go.”
It was blatantly obvious that he was lying, but Laurel played along. “Let them go now,” she said, stalling for time, “and we’ll go to the land.”
“Right. I don’t think so. You faeries are tricky bastards, especially when you’re fighting a losing battle. Your friends go when—and only when—you’ve shown me the gate.”
“No deal.”
Barnes turned the gun on Laurel now.
She didn’t even flinch.
“I don’t think you’re in any position to bargain,” he said. “We’re going to do it my way. I’ll tie you up, toss you in my Hummer, and we’ll go down to Orick. It’s that, or you all die here tonight. Oh, and we can take care of that shoulder thing now,” he said, lowering the gun so it pointed at her shoulder. Laurel closed her eyes and flexed her entire body, waiting for the impact.
“No,” David said, yanking her backward and stepping in front of her. “I won’t let you.”
Barnes laughed his harsh, almost wheezing laugh, making Laurel’s skin crawl. After so long she still remembered that laugh with absolute clarity. “Won’t let me? Like you can do anything about it, little boy,” Barnes taunted. He gestured to the other trolls. “Get him out of here.”
One troll grabbed Laurel by the shoulders to keep her still, then the redheaded troll closed his hand around David’s arm, but David was ready. He spun, breaking the troll’s grip, and swung his fist. It hit with a resounding crack! and the troll staggered back two steps.
Laurel watched in horror as David cradled his hand, then wound up to try again. She couldn’t move—couldn’t yell for him to wait, to be patient—without giving herself away. He’d saved her from Barnes’s gun and now he would suffer instead of her.
“David?” Chelsea’s voice sounded so small, so helpless, Laurel felt a lump grow in her throat.
The next troll was faster, kicking out one leg and catching David in the chest. Laurel grimaced and tried to pull away as she heard at least one rib crack under the impact of that foot, but the troll holding her maintained his iron grip. She glanced at Barnes; he was watching with an amused smile on his face, his gun still trained on her. She hated his smug smirk. Just looking at him made her a lot less upset about the gun she had tucked away.
“David!” Chelsea yelled again as a strangled groan escaped David’s mouth.
“Chelsea, it’s okay,” Laurel called, but she could hear the terror in her own voice. “Please just hold still.” To Laurel’s relief, she stilled instead of trying to wiggle away from the thick, calloused fingers clenched at her neck.
