Page 112 of Untraced Magic
The voice lacked energy. Void of hope.
My back scraped down the wall until I hit the floor, my knees pulling to my chest.
“You must have something she wants,” he said.
“She?” I pressed.
Another pause.
“Someone you must never give in to. A witch.”
“But what does she want?” I wrapped my hands around my legs in an attempt to keep warm.
“Magic. If it runs through your veins, you must protect it.”
I let my head fall against the wall. Of course. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Did she take yours?”
There was a brief pause. Then, “Yes.”
The despair in his voice itched my skin. I needed to get out of here. Had to find a way.
I looked beyond the bars to the window beyond reach, my only escape route being the large door that led to who knew where.
“Why does she want other people’s magic?” I asked the stranger.
“As she gains more power, she gets stronger.”
“But for what reason?”
“She wants to open the portal to the Underworld. Believes that light and dark can live as one.”
I’d heard of portals in movies, but hell, it didn’t surprise me they were a thing, too. I didn’t want to think about what existed in this Underworld he spoke of. His words clung to the damp air that lay dormant in the room.
Although I couldn’t see this man, I felt his dismay choking the life from his soul.
It scared me to think it could claim mine, too.
“How did she take your magic?” I said quietly.
A long silence followed.
“There are very few people who can take one’s magic and force it on another. No one in their right mind would do it, but given the right circumstances, anything is possible.”
His words chilled my insides.
This was some sick and twisted reality that apparently, I was to be a part of.
My head lifted as a heavyclunkvibrated off the walls, the large lock on the wooden door sliding across.
In walked a woman with sleek hair held back by a tight low knot, her cheek bones hollowed and skin ghastly pale. I stilled, an icy chill coating my skin as realization hit me. The woman from my nightmares. Her manicured fingertips of black whipped in the air as she spoke to someone behind her.
“Bring her to me,” she ordered.
Her voice scraped my spine like sandpaper on my skin, causing a shudder to move over me.
She stepped to the side, revealing a figure behind her. I could tell by the fit of the jeans, the way they balanced on narrow hips, that the figure was male. There was a vague familiarity about the stranger, even as a black hoodie covered his face.
