“It’s a long fucking story. The whole night is—which is why we’re here.” I make it clear I don’t feel like getting into the details. I’m too tired and groggy to weave the white lies right now, and even though he’s an excellent partner in things like this, I don’t want him having my full hand.
“Hudson and Grant are unlikely to be happy that we aborted your undercover gig.” He states the obvious, frustrated by my unwillingness to cooperate with his interrogation.
“They’ll be happy enough when they see her.” Grant will understand, and Hudson’s reasonable enough. If I lay out the facts for them, they’ll see I didn’t have a choice. But Rowan’s right that it complicates everything.
“Maybe. But now they’ll be up against it. They’ll have to decide whether to kill her or keep her.” Rowan looks over her like an accountant assessing a balance sheet. She’s of no more value than what she gives us to him. It’s likely to be the same for Grant and Hudson, and it’s a sobering thought.
“We’re keeping her,” I snap without thinking, and Rowan’s brow climbs as his eyes rake downward over me in evaluation.
“Don’t tell me you’ve developed a soft spot for her. They’ll like that even less.”
“Far from it. But she’s my problem, and I’ll decide how it gets resolved.” It’s a lie. I know it for certain as soon as I deny her.
“Well…” He shrugs one shoulder, and we both glance out the window as the plane accelerates. “I’ll let you fight that one out for yourself.”
NINE
Zephyrine
I blink,opening one eye and trying to take in the vast amount of light that’s assaulting my eyeballs. I squeeze my eyes shut to block it out and groan as I try to shift in my seat. I’m held in place by something strapped over my hips. It’s not letting me move like I want. I swat at it. Then I try to pull, using my hands to reach forward to free me, but they come to an abrupt stop. My hands are bound as well. My wrists rub against each other. Reality seeps in through my groggy state. Flashes of what came before start glimmering through my memories, and it sends a wave of panic through me.
I blink my eyes open, still pained from the light and trying to avoid it. But I realize it isn’t actually all that bright in here. It just feels that way because I’ve been asleep for an eternity. Asleep or unconscious. The more the memories come flooding back, the more I come to the conclusion it wasn’t voluntary. I need to get my head straight, try to figure out where I am. That’s the first order of business. Pain or no pain.
The room I’m in is dimmed. A small overhead light above me is the only thing giving me any real illumination, and it feels like a full midday sun because of how much my head hurts. I’ve either been hit with something over the head or I’m hungover.
I’ve been unconscious for an undetermined amount of time. A frightening thought, since it means I have no idea what’s happened to me in this state. Unconscious and tied up, I realize, as I look down at the way my hands are bound together. My heart takes off in a sprint as adrenaline starts to bleed into my consciousness.
I’m being kidnapped.
I’m desperately trying to replay my last memories. The lake. A shower. Father Levi. Father Levi, who isn't Father Levi after all. Instead, he’s bad. I don’t remember how or why he's bad, but he is. Sort of anyway. We certainly left things in a complicated state. I remember that much at least.
I’m cold—freezing cold if the goose bumps are any indication—and the vent next to the light that feels like the brightness of ten suns is also putting out frigidly ice-cold Antarctic winds that are only fueling my discomfort and panic. It makes it hard to concentrate. This is what they do to kidnapping and torture victims, right? They do their best to disorient them. I shift again, trying to get myself out of the direct path but only managing to remind myself that I’m belted down.
Right. I keep forgetting the smallest details. It must be part of the hangover. I finally focus enough to look down at my state and realize I’m wearing a seatbelt. My hands are tied with macramé rope—the same rope from the robes I’d been ironing earlier in the day. The ones I used to tie up Father Levi back at the convent.
Back at the convent.
Those words sink in hard because I am decidedly not at the convent now. And that would be the death of me.
I’m seat belted into a vehicle. One that’s taking me away from the convent. I blink one more time, and my vision finally clears at the same time my brain decides to fire on all cylinders. It’s as if a veil has been lifted.
I’m in an airplane. A small one. It’s a private jet of some sort, and there are only a couple of other people I can see seated nearby. One is Father Levi, or rather Fraud-ther Levi, and the other is a man I don’t recognize. They’re both in street clothes though. Levi has dropped the pretense of being a priest and is instead embracing his real calling. Kidnapper.
My heart is in full breakaway dash now, like I’m racing toward a finish line. My life had only one crucial, formidable, unbreakable rule—never under any circumstances leave the abbey grounds.
“No!” I shout. “Tell the pilot to go back. We have to go back!”
I work to undo my seatbelt despite my bound hands. Tears start to collect in the corners of my eyes. For years, I've done exactly as I was told, but he'll never forgive me for this. It won't matter that it wasn’t my choice. It’ll only matter that I broke the rule. And for that, we'll all suffer as he scorches the earth in his wake.
Levi is asleep, head canted back and eyes closed, but when he hears my shouting, I see him shift. Finally. The flight attendant peers her head around the corner from where she’s preparing something, and I try to motion to her. She quickly ducks it back, though, recognizing that I’m not the one in charge, and she owes me nothing. It’s been a long time since I’ve flown, but I can already say I like the flight attendants in commercial better.
“Levi! Please!” I hope that’s his real name, even if he isn’t a priest. I need him to understand the seriousness of what he’s doing, what it will mean for him. For his friend. For all of us.
I see his head bob for a moment, and then he sits up, rubbing a hand over his face to try to clear the fog of sleep.
Yes. Please. Wake the fuck up so you can put us back where we belong.
I bite the inside of my cheek. The carefully managed tone and mask I worked so hard to cultivate while I was in the convent is already slipping. It’s replaced by dread as I try to get his attention. Every minute feels like an eternity. I'll swear a million times more and a thousand times louder if it means I get his attention. I can’t afford carefully managed now.
