Page 26 of The Fallen
Shit, did I smoke as well as drink too much last night?
I lift my head with effort, blinking blearily as I reach up to rub my temples. Or attempt to, at any rate. I blink down at my body and freeze, terror swallowing my confusion as I stare at the rope securing my arms to the arm rests of the chair.
It doesn’t take much tugging for me to know ropes are securing my legs as well. I blink down at the light gray sweatpants covering my legs. I don’t remember changing clothes, and I know for a fact that I don’t even own gray sweatpants.
In fact, the sweats are the only article of clothing I’m wearing at all.
What the hell happened last night? Maybe this is a really lucid nightmare? No, even lucid dreams aren’t this realistic.
Nausea rolls through me as my stomach cramps.Don’t throw up, please don’t throw up.Not until I can figure out what the hell is going on.
My senses finally start sending messages to my addled brain: the cool damp air I’m breathing in, the smell of wet stone. Chanting. The cadence familiar enough for me to know it’s a summoning spell, even though I can’t hear the words. Over it all is that reek of incense and a hint of sulfur.
I take a shallow breath, trying to keep myself from inhaling in too much of the smoke. There is way too much of that shit floating around. I hate incense because it always makes my asthma act up, which is why I tend to forgo it whenever I do a summoning.
But this isn’t my summoning.
I finally peer around, taking in the small room. A bare bulb dangles above me, casting weak yellow light. The walls are stone, shiny in the dim lighting so I know they are at least damp, but I can see clear chisel marks. Wherever I am, it’s manmade. Twisting around, I see an archway behind me, flickering candle flame reflecting off the wet stone.
Whoever is doing the summoning is just around that corner, the soft chanting echoing enough to distort the voice.
What the hell happened last night?
Licking my dry lips, I dart my gaze around the small room. Besides my chair, there’s nothing here except a lot of rock. Probably used as a storage room at some point.
Gritting my teeth, I twist my wrists, tugging at the ropes and trying to ignore the pain as the rough material rubs me raw. The ropes aren’t as tight as I first thought, and with enough wiggling, I’m able to slip my thumb out of one of the loops of rope.
Elation shoots through me as soon as the ropes sag, and I have to fight down the whoop of joy that wants to fly out of my mouth. That would be an embarrassing explanation if I end updead. I can just imagine it, whoever meets me on the other side will ask how I died and I reply
“Oh, I got super excited and made a bunch of noise and my kidnappers killed me before I could escape.”
Yeah, nope, not going out like that.
Maybe I should have watched those spy movies Ben always raves about. Figure out a way to get out of these ropes quickly and quietly and maybe moonwalk past my kidnappers. Okay, I probably won’t moonwalk anywhere with how clumsy I am.
Grunting, I twist and tug my arm, working the loop of rope over my hand until it slides off my fingers to hang loose around the arm support. The rest of the rope sags and I can easily slide my arm out and off the chair. Immediately, I reach over and start tugging at the rope around my other arm, biting my lip in concentration.
A few tugs on the knot later and the rope comes undone. Completely undone. As does the ropes tying my legs to the chair.
I freeze, my heart thudding so hard that it’s all I can hear. But I can feel a presence behind me; a cold, malicious presence that sends fear like cold water down my spine.
“Going somewhere, little lamb?”
My heart stutters and I jerk my head around, eyes widening. Jacob, the asshole that has been the thorn in my side since he saw me making out with another guy,stands in the archway, thick arms folded across an equally thick chest as he smirks at me. Though, I don’t think I can call the feral stretching of his lips asmirk. It’s too. . . insidious.
His gray eyes narrow as he stalks toward me and I shrink down in the chair. I’ve never been a fan of Jacob. He’s the kind of guy who punches kittens and laughs about it.
Seriously.
My first semester at the Academy, he convinced one of his buddies to use magic to trap a cat. He claimed he just wantedto see if it could be done due to how fast a cat’s reaction time was. He then used the cat as target practice for all sorts of sick “games.”
He and his friends thought it was uproariously funny. It wasn’t. When one of them not so jokingly wondered if they could use it as a furry Fleshlight, I stepped in.
Ever since then Jacob has kept an eye on me. Not out of caution or worry either. And I don’t think it’s because I ended his fun. It was more how I ended it. “Borrowing” Professor Stevenson’s very human aggressive cockatrice is typically frowned upon. Letting it go in the middle of a group of grade A asshole students to cause chaos and potential maiming while I slipped away with the cat, a cause for suspension.
I admit, not the best way to go about the whole situation
I watch him warily as he prowls closer, his body practically vibrating with tension, until he’s looming over me. The bulb behind him leaves him in shadow, but I swear his eyes have a slight glow to them. He’s human; his eyes aren’t supposed toglow.
