It was all about the illusion of control. When Aifric had me under lock and key, he’d grown over-confident because he thought he was in charge. This was effectively the same scenario: now the Fomori demons had the terrifying, monstrous Integrity Adair as a prisoner, especially after she’d electrocuted herself, they’d feel empowered. They’d hopefully be curious enough about me to delay their Highland invasion even if only for a day or two. Of course, there was the very real concern that they’d simply cut my throat and be done with me, but I’d removed the threat I presented by knocking myself out. The Fomori were supposed to be evil but how many people would execute an unarmed, unconscious young woman? Especially one they’d want to interrogate first? It had been a gamble but it was a gamble worth taking when you considered the alternatives. Still, when I woke up in even more pain than I had experienced at Aifric’s hands, I was relieved that I’d woken up at all. I hoped that the others had escaped.
I’d wanted to find myself on Arthur’s Seat, the same hill next to the old city of Edinburgh where Byron had been taken. Unfortunately, I wasn’t there – in fact, I couldn’t tell where I was other than that I was inside. Being blindfolded, trussed up and gagged had something to do with that. The Fomori weren’t taking any chances.
I still had two of my five senses left. I couldn’t hear anything but I could smell urine and vomit. Deciding that this situation simply wouldn’t do, I shuffled on my back like an upturned turtle. It took some time but I made my way around the room, estimating it was about the size of a small bathroom. Or a prison cell. There was a metal bucket in one corner, which was where the godawful stench was coming from. I got as close as I could manage, retching once or twice. Given the danger of vomiting when I had a gag in my mouth, I needed to acclimatise pretty quickly.
I assumed that the Fomori demons didn’t have an Ikea they could pop down to when they needed some cheap, disposable hardware. That meant the bucket had either been forged in a blacksmith’s or it harked back to the pre-Fissure era. Either way, I hoped to find a sharp edge on it. Then all I needed was a little bit of friction.
Holding my breath, I figured that sight would help me more than anything else so I flipped onto my stomach and lowered the side of my head towards the bucket’s rim. It took considerable effort – and numerous attempts ? but I eventually pushed the blindfold upwards so that I could see. Only one eye was free and I probably looked like a jaunty pirate, but I felt buoyed by my success.
Sitting up, and scooting as far away from the offending bucket as possible, I took in my surroundings. It was indeed a small room but there were no bars so it wasn’t a jail cell. There was a solid-looking oak door with a spyhole in the centre; thankfully, it was closed. No matter how hard I listened, I couldn’t make out anyone on the other side but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone there.
My head hurt and I felt weak and trembly. There were some grazes on my arms that hadn’t been there before but other than that I seemed to be injury free. That boded very well for the future; as long as the Fomori weren’t in a hurry to maim, torture or kill me, hope remained. I grinned. Hope always remained.
There were a number of ways that I could free myself from the rest of the restraints but the easiest and the quickest would be to use Apportation and simply magic away the ropes and bonds. I could even call any nearby rats and encourage them to gnaw through the bindings. But I wasn’t Cinderella any more than Tipsania was, and I had serious doubts that I could make wild animals do my bidding. Besides, rats? Bleurgh. No, it made sense to conserve what magic I had. Alongside Kirsty Kincaid’s Truth Gift, I now had Healing from Aifric and the ability to grow things from Morna. As I’d stolen those Gifts in their entirety, they were going to stay with me. The other magic I’d stolen from the Sidhe at the Cruaich was little more than a trickle now, even Illusion. I needed to be sparing.
With that in mind, I glanced at the bucket. There was a steel handle on one side of the rim which was attached by a nail. It wasn’t very sturdy. It would take some doing – and no doubt more retching – but I reckoned I could use the sharp edge of the nail to saw my way through my bonds. Once my hands were free, I could unfasten everything else. It would take a lot of time but it wasn’t as if I was going anywhere and it would give me ample opportunity to consider my next move.
In the end, it took me little more than an hour. I faced the door in case any demons appeared. My hands kept slipping and I almost knocked over the bucket on at least three occasions. Thankfully it stayed upright; the last thing I wanted was to be soaked by the contents of someone else’s bladder and bowels.
Although the rope was wrapped tightly round my wrists and the knots were cleverly secured, it wasn’t difficult to free myself. My thief background made it easier for me than it might have been for someone else, but the ease of the process gave me pause. I inspected the frayed edges of the rope; it wasn’t very well made. I pursed my lips and considered. There was still no sound from outside and I seemed to be very much alone. I was beginning to wonder, however.
Shrugging, I loosened the gag. My mouth was unpleasantly dry and I’d have been tempted to sell Bob for a glass of water. I tried to work up some saliva and began to unknot the rope round my ankles. I didn’t hurry; I had a feeling about what was going to happen once I was free. When I unwound the last loop and kicked the rope away there was a scuffle on the other side of the door and it swung open. Shite. Sometimes I hated being right.
The light was dim and the figure staring at me was difficult to make out. I tilted my head to one side and squinted. The Fomori demon spat on the ground and stepped inside. As his features grew clearer, I realised he wasn’t looking at me with fear or apprehension. There wasn’t any malevolence or sense of triumph in his gaze; he seemed simply curious. ‘Adair.’
I decided that was a question. Staying on the ground to show that I was happy to remain subservient, I nodded. ‘Yes.’
He grunted. In stilting, albeit grammatically accurate English, he asked, ‘Why did you not use magic to free yourself?’
So it was a test. What would they have done if I’d had Teleportation as a Gift? Were they prepared for every eventuality? Given the neutrality of his expression, I thought the answer was probably yes.
I chose my words carefully, wanting to ingratiate myself without appearing manipulative or sneaky. ‘One who relies on magic alone is a fool,’ I said.
The demon rolled his tongue around his sharp, yellowing teeth. I suppressed a shudder and continued to look at him as if we were having an idle chat in a café.
He nodded. ‘This will be interesting then.’ He stretched out his bony arms and cracked his fingers one by one. I guessed I was supposed to be intimidated and I was. I was probably also supposed to ask why ‘this’ would be interesting but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
If he was disappointed by my silence, it didn’t show. He looked at me and I looked at him and absolutely nothing happened. It was like a bizarre staring contest. I was tempted to remain quiet and see if I could break him. Be good, Tegs, I told myself. This wasn’t about my ego.
I licked my chapped lips. ‘You speak English very well.’
The demon snorted. ‘Yes. Our kind spent considerable resources learning Gaelic so we could communicate with your people.’ He didn’t crack a smile. ‘Imagine our unbridled joy when we discovered that more spoke English than Gaelic.’
My eyebrows raised. Sarcasm? From a demon? ‘Are you in charge here?’ I asked.
‘No.’
‘Then,’ I said, without irony, ‘take me to your leader.’
‘No.’
I scratched my head. Okay, then.
The demon gave a guttural noise and two more appeared and walked past him. They looked more nervous than him as they hauled me up by my armpits until I was face to face with their apparent boss, even if he wasn’ttheboss.
‘We know of your prophecy,’ the demon said.
‘Prophecies are tricky things,’ I returned. ‘They often don’t come true.’
