“Oh, thank God,” I say.
“Or thank me. But whatever. Bish, help me with this. Not enough room to fly in here.”
Bishop hoists Jezebel up—and I have to remind myself that his arms are around her for a good cause, and that it’s petty and stupid to be jealous just because they used to date and she’s super hot. Jezebel pushes the sewer cover off with ease. Streetlight falls into the hole as she pokes her head aboveground. “We’re good.”
Bishop pushes her up the rest of the way, then turns to me. “You’re next.”
Bishop’s more handsy than necessary as he pushes me up, but I don’t complain. Jezebel doesn’t come over to help, just lets me grapple clumsily at the pavement until I finally make it out. She gives me an up-and-down appraisal as I get to my feet, and I become aware that I’m standing, soaking wet and near naked, on a Pasadena street.
“I so don’t get it, but whatever. I guess he’s a butt guy.”
I cross my arms over my small chest.
“Am not,” Bishop says. “I like boobs as much as butts. Little help here?” He extends his arm out of the sewer.
The water is so high now that I can easily reach Bishop. Jezebel and I each take a hand and hoist him out. He lands on the pavement with a loud slop.
As soon as he’s on his feet, Bishop gives me the same appraisal Jezebel did. “Hmm, we should get trapped in a sewer more often.” He whirls a finger in my direction, and a tank top and shorts—albeit skanky ones—appear on my body, along with a pair of boat shoes.
“You know, this is getting a bit boring.”
I gasp. All three of us whirl around at the same time. The dozens of sorcerers from inside the Athenaeum pack the otherwise quiet street, Leo standing at their head.
“I think I might have to kill you and forget about breaking the spell after all,” he says, stepping forward.
“He wouldn’t kill you,” Bishop says. “He’d drain his powers.”
“You forget we tried to kill you once already, Bishop,” Leo says. He grins, his hooded eye twitching erratically. “Not sure how you’re alive right now, after that poor kid lost his powers killing you, but we’re not afraid to try again. There are more than a few people here that are very, very dedicated to the cause. Would give up their power in a second to see a witch go down. Isn’t that right?” Everyone behind him nods. “And I do have a few other tricks up my sleeve. Tricks I think you’ll particularly enjoy.”
“Don’t listen to him, Ind.” Bishop moves so he’s standing in front of me “If he kills you, he loses his chance at breaking the spell.”
“Wrong again, Bishop. Then I target Penny Blackwood. She might be the most useless witch on planet Earth, but I do what needs to be done.”
“Aunt Penny?” I croak.
Leo cocks his head. “What? Don’t tell me you didn’t know your aunt was a witch?”
Bishop’s speech at the Hollywood sign slams back into my mind. Based on my grandparents’ genes, Mom had a fifty percent chance of being a witch, which means so did Aunt Penny. My heart sinks even lower, right around knee level. Why didn’t she tell me? And if she’s a witch, why isn’t she helping me now? Better yet, why haven’t the Priory targeted her? Surely she can’t be more useless than a witch with about five seconds of experience. I don’t get it.”
“You just have to face it.” Leo takes two steps closer, rubbing his chin like some sort of gangster. “We’re just smarter than you. Like your little bait idea, for example. We were on to you before it was even a thought in your mind.”
Something about the word “bait” sticks out, and I latch on to it. The Family didn’t help us tonight, like they’d said they would. The Family hasn’t helped us, really, since the moment the Bible went missing. It doesn’t make any sense. None of it makes sense. But suddenly, everything clicks into place, and a humorless laugh slips from my mouth. “Bait,” I mutter.
Bishop shakes my arm. “Indie?”
“You see”—Leo walks closer, the yellow light of a streetlamp magnifying the bright pink craters in his burned skin, making them appear like lakes on a globe of the world—“we’ve got intelligence in areas you wouldn’t even dream. Would never in a million years consider. Not only that …”
I tune out his speech, the truth unfolding before my eyes. Bait—I can’t believe how obvious it is, how I could have missed it until now. “I’ll do it,” I blurt out.
“What?” Bishop turns and touches my shoulder. “Indie, you’re being stupid—”
“Don’t touch me.” I shake off his hand. “Never touch me again, do you hear me? I hate you.”
Bishop’s brows draw together, hurt and confusion muddying his dark eyes.
“Trouble in paradise?” Leo laughs at his own joke, and his minions hurry to follow suit.
I swallow my urge to kiss every part of Bishop’s face until the hurt disappears, and face Leo. “I’ll do it if you promise to kill him.” I cross my arms and jut my chin toward Bishop. “And if you let me and Jezebel go free.”
“I like the sound of this,” Jezebel pipes up.
“Indie, what are you talking about?” Bishop moves in front of me and bends low, trying to force me to look at him.
“Oh, please. Like you don’t know. You are so fake. Fake, fake, fake!” I give him a pointed look on the last “fake” and, finally, a glimmer of recognition crosses his eyes.
I move away from Bishop, toward Leo. “Bring me to the Bible.”
Leo’s eyes narrow, and he doesn’t say a word. An icy fear that he’s on to me grips my spine.
As if sensing the danger, Bishop grabs my arm and spins me around to face him. “Indie, please. Give me another chance.” He leans in to kiss me.
I draw my arm back, then lunge all my body weight into a punch that cracks across his cheek like a bat striking a fastball. Bishop stumbles back, hands up around his face.
“What the hell was that?” His voice is high and strained—no acting job there.
“Try it again and I’ll cut your balls off, you—you cheating jerk!” I face Leo again. “Take me to the Bible. You know my terms.”
Leo looks between the two of us, and for one horrible moment I think he hasn’t fallen for it. But then he gives a curt nod. “Take them all to the compound.”
Two of Leo’s goons surge forward, pulling something black out of their back pockets. He pulls the same item out of his own pocket, and I realize now that it’s a bag. “Can’t have you telling your little Family members where they can find us,” he explains, before snapping the bag over my head.
31
I’m certain of three things. One is that I’m in a car—this much I can tell from the sounds of doors slamming, an engine rumbling beneath me, and the ticking of turn signals. The second is that it takes roughly thirty minutes to get to our destination before the car jerks to a stop.
The stench of Marlboro cigarettes tips me off to the third thing, which is that Leo is in the car with me.
Doors slam, and then I’m pulled out into sticky, warm air and ushered inside a building, my shoes squeaking on tile flooring.
“You better not be lying,” Leo says.
I stiffen at the sound of his voice so close to my ear, recalling the day when Leo tried to attack me in the gym. Only this time, my hands are bound so tightly with thick rope that it’s impossible to escape. I focus on each breath—inhale through my nose, exhale through my mouth—so that I don’t panic.
Leo shoves me inside a room and pulls the bag off my head. My eyes burn from the sudden brightness, but when they adjust I find myself inside a small room tiled partly in seafoam green, with X-rays of bones lining the top half of the walls. A long, stainless steel table takes up the center of the space, glinting from the spotlight at the end of a mechanical arm coming from the ceiling. Steel surgical tools line small trays against one of the walls, and the scent of antiseptic and alcohol permeates the air.