The door to the prison slams open, striking the stone wall. We all turn, and Cora’s magic snaps. We keep our arms raised and ready, only to lower them when we realize it’s not a witch.
It’s Theo.
He’s covered in more blood than before, and now, some of it appears to be his own.
“We have to go,” he says. “Now.”
“Buy me more time,” Cora snaps. “We’re close.”
We’re not, and we both know it.
“Master’s orders,” Theo says. He smacks the door, holding it open. “Let’s go.”
Cora looks back at me, and for the first time, I think I understand her. Harsh and blunt and at times cruel. She was raised in a world where there wasn’t another option, and she’d done her best to prepare me for the same.
“Go,” I say. I’m surprised at how level my voice sounds, as if I’m not telling them to leave me here to die.
“We’ll be back,” she promises.
“Go!” I scream.
Beatrice doesn’t give Cora the choice. She grabs her, and together, they disappear. The wind howls through the gaping window, and I am alone once more.
I curl into the corner, sobbing as I wait for the witches to arrive.
27
SACRIFICIAL LAMB
GRACE
When I wake, it’s to sunlight on my face. Night has officially passed, the sun has risen, and any hope of Sebastian coming back disappears. My bones ache as I shift into a seated position. A steady pulse beats against my skull, and my mouth is so dry it’s impossible to swallow.
I hope you all made it, I think distantly.I hope you killed as many of them as you could.
“You’re awake,” a voice says.
I startle, craning my neck to look at the doorway. Now that it’s daylight, I realize this building is even smaller than I originally believed. The stones are old and decrepit, with vines growing between the gaps and through the opened windows. Down the way, a cell identical to mine sits empty.
At the doorway, an older witch stands with exaggerated, stiff posture. She reminds me of an old-timey headmistress, the kind who’d make her students walk with books on their heads.
I don’t even know if that’s a real thing. If it is though, she fits the bill perfectly.
“Yes,” I say, stating the obvious, if only because she did first. “Who are you?”
“Your new guard.” She’s wearing bright and layered clothing, the colors of a vibrant autumn day. I always imagined Cora’s people—and mine, I guess—were dark and bleak like she is. I expected black clothing and neglected hair.
This woman is colorful. Full of personality. Of life.
“Brave,” I say. “Considering what my friends did to the last one.”
I want to smirk at her, to make it clear I’m taunting her, testing her. To show her they haven’t broken me like they hoped. Instead, I can’t muster even the barest amusement.
I slept for hours, and yet, I feel emotionally and physically drained. I think I gave away part of my soul last night, trying to escape this hellish place.
“Well, unfortunately for your friends, their greatest enemy is here to protect us,” she says. She walks the length of the room, planting her heeled boots in front of my cell. She’s pretty, for a miserable hag. She looks past me, out my window and to the glaring sun. “By the time it’s safe for them to return, you’ll already be dead.”
I suck in a hard breath. My last guard refused to tell me anything, and though I suspected this was their plan, I hoped it wasn’t. Suspecting something and having it confirmed are entirely different beasts.
