The next part, I knew, would not be so quiet. I dragged a chair up to the door and then grabbed a smaller stool used to get into high cupboards. It was metal and had some heft to it. Would it be enough? I stood on the chair and swung the stool forward into the door’s window. Yup. Enough heft. More than half of the glass broke. One more swing got the rest of it out, and I climbed through the hole into the garage. The whole maneuver was a bit awkward on my part; I wasn’t in that good of shape yet. But, I made it through, incurring only a few cuts on my arms and legs.
I knew, however, I was seconds away from Abigail’s arrival. There was no way that breaking glass had gone unnoticed. Small patches of light streamed into the darkened garage from narrow windows as I peered around. Yes, it was a normal garage-albeit it one with a Jaguar in it. I guessed that was why Art had to keep the SUV in the driveway. Part of me wanted to go kick in the car’s door, but there was no time. I had to assess the garage’s other contents. Scattered tools. Bags of fertilizer. Art’s gardening equipment. A heavy metal wrench held my attention for a moment, but then I decided I needed more leverage with my weakened state. I selected a shovel from Art’s gardening stash, its scoop heavy metal and wooden handle sturdy.
From inside the house, I could hear shouting. It wasn’t going to take Abigail long to figure out where I’d gone when she saw the glass. Grateful for the darkness, I darted over to the side of the door that led into the house, pressing myself as flat as I could against the wall. There was a click as the door from the kitchen opened, but no one came out right away. I could picture Abigail standing there, looking around for any sign of me.
After several heavy seconds, I saw a hand holding a blade-an athame-come out the door first, defensively positioned in case I came charging at her. That wasn’t my intent, though. I wanted to get her from behind. She took one step out, still cautious and slow, looking around everywhere. I had to give her credit for that. She didn’t just barrel forward; she knew I might be waiting by the door. And in fact, when she looked in my direction, that’s exactly what I was doing. My shovel hit her in the side of the head before she could react.
She crumpled to the ground, athame clattering against the concrete floor as it fell from her hands. I knelt down and immediately scooped it up and left the shovel. There was a bloody mark where I’d struck her, and her eyes were only half-open. My hand checked her pulse and found she wasn’t dead yet. She was going to have a hell of a headache or concussion when she woke up-which wasn’t something I could allow to happen any time soon.
I left her lying there on the garage floor and stepped back into the kitchen. I opened a few cupboards and found what I’d hoped I would: the household’s stash of medicine. Tylenol, multivitamins, et cetera. Behind them were a couple of prescription bottles. One I didn’t recognize, but I thought it was some sort of heart medication. The other was Ambien, and I smiled. Just like me, a lot of shamans were insomniacs.
I popped a pill out of the bottle, reconsidered, and grabbed a second. I then propped up Abigail and managed to shove the pills down her throat, with the help of a glass of water and some acrobatics with my fingers. “Payback’s a bitch,” I said when her reflexes kicked in and she swallowed the pills the rest of the way. She wouldn’t be waking up any time soon.
I stepped back into the kitchen and saw all three gentry girls standing there and staring at me. Cariena and Raina looked afraid. Markelle, though she bore a red slap mark on her face from the confrontation earlier with Abigail, looked excited and defiant. I ordered them to carry Abigail downstairs and lock her in one of the rooms. I didn’t know which way Art would enter the house and couldn’t risk him finding her on the garage floor. Of course, if he did come in through the garage, the shattered glass was going to be a dead giveaway that something was up.
Before they took Abigail away, I frisked her, hoping to find another weapon. Nope. Just the athame I’d already taken. I did, however, discover something nearly as usefuclass="underline" a set of keys. On the ring were several tiny keys, the ones that opened up the iron cuffs and bracelets the girls wore. Once they’d stashed Abigail away, I removed all the iron. Relief flooded the girls’ faces, and I scowled when I saw the welts and bruises left from where iron reacted with gentry skin.
“You should have your magic back,” I said, reaching for the phone. “We can use it when we get out of here. What can you guys do?”
I was dialing Roland’s cell phone, and the girls described their magic to me as the line rang. Cariena had a knack for helping plants grow, kind of like Shaya. Raina had some healing ability. Markelle could summon beams and balls of light. I disconnected when I got Roland’s voice mail and promptly dialed Kiyo.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered. None of the girls’ powers were going to help us. And honestly? It wasn’t a surprise. If I were Leith and had wanted to catch girls who would make docile servants, I too would have picked ones with little or no offensive magic.
Kiyo’s phone rang only once before going to voice mail, meaning it was off or he was in the Otherworld. I hung up and prepared to dial my parents’ home number. If Roland hadn’t answered his cell, he likely wasn’t home either, but I had to try. Before I could punch in the numbers, I heard the sound of keys at the front door on the far side of the house. I turned to the girls.
“Downstairs!” I hissed. “Now!”
Markelle looked like she would have stayed, but a stern glance from me sent her scurrying down with the others. Meanwhile, Art’s voice rang through the house.
“Abigail?”
I’m not sure how he knew something was wrong. For all he knew, Abigail could have just been downstairs. Maybe it was just some sixth sense, but I heard him hurrying down the hall toward the kitchen, footsteps fast on the hardwood floor. I had a split second to react, no chance to find a hiding spot as I had with Abigail. Surprise was my greatest weapon now. As soon as he entered the room, I leapt on him with the athame.
The thing that gave me a fighting chance was that he’d armed himself too well in his wariness, a gun in one hand and an athame of his own in the other. Full hands prevented him from fully deflecting my attack, though in many ways, the strength of his arms were more than good enough to block the worst of it. I got a swipe in on his face, however, gaining a fair amount of satisfaction in seeing the blood it produced.
“You bitch,” he said, circling with me in the kitchen as we each sized each other up for an attack. “Where’s Abigail?”
“Taking a nap,” I said. I gave him a wicked smile, hoping I sounded stronger than I felt. With that one shove alone, I’d been painfully reminded that I was not in peak condition quite yet. I couldn’t let him know how weak I was. “Don’t worry. You can join her.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have let him keep you here,” Art growled. “I should have made him drag you back by your hair to your own fucking world like a caveman. But he was too afraid they’d find you.”
“It’s too late. They know I’m here already. See the phone? I got a call in just before you arrived.”
A lie, but an effective one as it turned out. Art’s eyes flicked to the portable phone lying on the kitchen floor. It had come open when I dropped it, and the battery lay nearby. With that slight distraction, I tried again, lunging toward him. I got a kick in-not as strong as one of my usual ones, particularly since I was still in that fucking gentry dress-but enough to throw him off-balance. He was still stronger and faster, though. He’d dropped the athame earlier and grabbed me with that free hand, wrenching my arm painfully to get me to drop my athame. In his other hand, he held the gun but seemed hesitant to use it.
At last, his hand was too strong, and my fingers unclenched, releasing the blade and leaving me defenseless. Triumphant, Art slammed me back against the cupboard and tried to turn me around, probably to bind my hands. I’d noticed a glitter near his pocket earlier and suspected he had handcuffs on him. I fought him the whole time, refusing to turn around, and with only one hand free, he had a bit of difficulty in maneuvering me.