Page 1 of Wicked Little Lies

ONE

MAGDALENA

The ache in my skull pounds like someone dropped a microwave on my head from a three-story window.

What the actual fuck?

A thick sickening darkness sits on me, covering up everything from when Harry and I—

We stole the Heart of Dark Desires.

We—

Nausea rocks me as a bolt of adrenaline hits. Memories come in thick. Jumbled.

The damn double crossing of Hendrick and Jac. The knock on my door. The gun in my face. Harry’s store.

I don’t understand—

It all tumbles in, threatening to smother me down.

There’s more.

Dream like sequences of being in a room with nothing but a mattress and a toilet. Of vague images so stretched out they’re hard to distinguish. A man, or is it more than one that peers at me? No…voices and faces.

I don’t know how many. Their features melt down into wavering nothing.

In my head they’re faceless, voices blurred to noise. Mine, too.

I could have been in that room hours or days.

I’m not in that room now. Wherever I am, I’m sitting up—propped up. Everything leaden but my mind…that’s clearing.

I don’t know where I am.

It smells dank, earthy. Beyond that? I can’t hear anything. It could mean the building’s insulated or we’re no longer in fucking Delacroix City. I don’t dare move. Because though I don’t hear anything but my breathing, I don’t think I’m alone.

Every second counts.

I don’t open my eyes. Instead, I let the images of jewels dance with each beat of my brain. It soothes me, stops the panic rising, taking over. Stops me from jerking up and fighting.

Panicking.

I don’t like panic.

I don’t like this.

Where the fuck am I?

Things clear a little a little more as I push past the question.

The man with the gun. The jab of it in my back.

Shit. Why is everything wavery?

My arm… He did something. A pinch on my arm. A needle.

No, not that…Harry. I latch on to her. No, Harry’s store. Her basement. It’s important. But…I can’t reach it. I—Oh. Fuck.

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