My palms stung, bright red lines marring my skin where the electricity got me. As a fire witch, I could withstand heat and flames that would cook another witch alive. Needless to say, I wasn’t used to getting burned. Not by fire anyway. Electricity, on the other hand, could burn me like a mother… Chemicals too.
I cast my gaze to the ceiling, making sure there wasn’t a massive showerhead up there ready to rain acid on me if I tried to escape. The only things occupying space in this cell besides me were a stone slab attached to the wall and a hole in the back corner of the floor that I could only imagine was supposed to be my toilet.
That or it was the passage some hellish animal would crawl through to come eat me in my sleep. Yikes.
I scrambled to my feet and peered inside, but I couldn’t see a thing. Lighting a fireball in my hand, I held it over the hole, illuminating the top half of the crevice. I still couldn’t see the bottom, so I turned my hand over and dropped the flames inside.
A whoosh of rancid air shot out of the hole when it reached the bottom, and my fire danced across the surface of a sludgy pool of muck.
Yep, definitely a toilet. Gross.
I extinguished the flames, lest I light a ball of methane and create a literal shit storm in my cell, and I tugged my phone from my pocket. No signal, of course. This was Hell, after all.
I set the useless device on the slab and focused my attention on the lock. Fire wouldn’t melt it. I knew it wouldn’t, but without a spell kit or a lock-picking set, I had to give it a shot.
It started as a spark in the core of my being, the magical fire building inside me, gathering in my chest, growing hotter and hotter, until I could no longer contain it. Heat rolled down my arms, blue-tinged flames erupting on my palms before I shot streams of witch fire at the lock.
If I were in a mundane prison, the entire mechanism would have melted. But I was in Hell, so…you guessed it…not a damn thing happened.
I called the fire back and dropped onto the stone slab. I started to hang my head in my hands, but the moment they made contact, the electrical burns screamed at me. Ugh! If only I had Patrice’s healing salve.
“Think, Cinder. There’s got to be a spell that’ll bust open this gate without a potion.” I racked my brain, sorting through all the charms and incantations I’d memorized over the years. I remembered the spell I’d used to break into the Boston Magic Society’s library, but it was a doozy. That spell didn’t just open doors, it temporarily neutralized wards and erased all evidence of entry. I’d definitely need a potion for that.
“It has to be something simple. Oh, I know.” I rose and stood in front of the bars, holding my hands toward the lock. “Iron bound and sealed so tight, hear my call and yield to might. By flame and force, I break your core. Unlock, unbar, and open the door.”
Magic gathered in my chest and flowed down my arms, shooting out my fingertips and entering the lock. I leaned forward, waiting, listening for the telltale thunk of the mechanism disengaging.
Nothing happened.
“Son of a bitch.” I shook my hands and gently pressed my palms together, closing my eyes and trying my best to ignore the pain. “I call on the goddess Hecate. Please hear my prayer and grant me the power to escape this cell.”
“You’re lucky that cell is enchanted to keep magic from escaping.” I recognized Discord’s deep, gravelly voice, but I chose to ignore him.
“Hecate, please hear me.”
“I warned you not to invoke your goddess in this realm. You have no idea the extent of her wrath when she finds out what we’ve done.”
I opened my eyes and arched a brow. “What we’ve done? I hope you’re not including me in that plurality.”
“You are as much a part of the problem as I am.” He crossed his meaty arms, his biceps flexing with the move.
“I’m not the one who got bested by a witch. Twice.” I mimicked his posture, though my muscles barely protruded beneath my skin.
His brow slammed down, and he stared at me for a few seconds before he spoke. “How did you recognize me?”
I rested my fingertips on my hips, careful to avoid irritating the burns. “I’m the one who summoned you, dingus. How could I not?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m wearing a shroud. I can change form in this realm.”
I shrugged. “You look the same to me.”
He flicked his gaze to the sigil on my arm, and it glowed deep red. “Interesting. It seems our bond allows you to see through my disguise.”
“Lucky me.” I splayed my fingers and dropped my hands to my sides.
“What happened to your arms?” He stepped toward the bars, his eyes tightening even more. “And your hands? I ordered the sentry dogs not to harm you.”
“Yeah, well…” I gestured to the bruises before holding up my hands. “And these lovely wounds are courtesy of your electrified bars. If you could turn the pain amplification down a notch or two, that would be fantastic.”
