Mine to Spell (Mine #2) (6 page)

Once finished, I pull myself up and limp down the road. I can’t stay where there are only thoughts of how like father I am, where I could be captured at any moment. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to get farther from where I am. From who I’m becoming.

Chapter Five

I spend all night trudging along. Walking and walking, yet unsure if it does me any good. For all I know, Edward lives in the countryside without another soul for miles. Or perhaps he lives right next to town, but I went the opposite direction. Blasted windowless carriages. I’d hex them all to be burnt to charred ash if I could.

              Night deepens. My legs and feet ache, each step makes the pain expand, tearing into my muscles. My stomach growls, mouth dry. It’s like father's here punishing me, once again locking me in the basement for two days, but there’s nothing to be done for any of it. Perhaps there’s some spell for conjuring food, but I’ve never seen or heard of one. I know of nothing to aid this insane mess I've thrown myself into.

I shove on. There’s no other choice. I must find someone, or somewhere, that can help. I don’t want to escape a life of being owned only to die of thirst and starvation on an unfamiliar stretch of road. Walking becomes a mind-numbing journey. Can’t allow myself to think or feel. Dirt and rocks beneath my feet, dark abyss all around.

Finally, there’s a light off in the distance. The closer I get, the more the light multiplies. It’s a town. For a brief moment, the weight pressing me down lightens. But then it’s back, heavier than ever. Without knowing what awaits me there, I can’t be glad. It’s not home. The carriage ride to Edward's was much too long for me to have reached my home on foot, and that’s the one place that would make me truly happy. If I’m fortunate, maybe I can find some food and avoid being apprehended.

Fortune is not my friend.

As I enter the town, I keep to the shadows. The houses are mostly dark, but a rare few have the glow of electric lights and several have the softer glow of candlelight. Stepping lightly, I try to stay in shadows of houses without any light.

It must be past curfew. Though I may have my freedom, there’s no way to prove it. Besides, it’s doubtful most warlocks would care even if there was proof. Since gaining my freedom wasn’t public, as Serena’s was, no one would notice or care if I disappeared. At least no one with the ability to do anything about it.

There are so many houses here. More than I’ve ever seen in one place. They vary more in shape and size as well. Some are tall and skinny, while others sprawl across the land. The further into town, the more the sprawling ones give way to the tall, skinny ones. No sign of food anywhere. From houses to the few shops scattered among them. With so many houses, there must be a lot of people in them. Where do they all get their food?

It doesn’t matter. My limbs can barely move. I stumble around like someone who drank too much wine. My eyelids droop. I’m worse off than a toddler at nap time. As I’m searching for a place to hide and rest, loud laughter echoes down the street.

I press myself against the closest house, pulse drumming through me. Several young warlocks are wandering down the street, playfully pushing each other and casting spells, though it’s difficult to tell what type. It’s not important right now anyway. Fool of a girl, I can’t be trying to learn when their presence means danger.

I slink along the edge of the building, trying not to draw attention to myself before I reach the corner and slip to the other side. Inch by inch, I grow closer to my goal. I’m almost there, almost there. I’m going to make it without being spotted! My foot kicks a rock. The resulting crash is loud, too loud. I freeze.

My hands flex, magic pulsing through me. But the warlocks continue cajoling each other as if they heard nothing. I relax the back of my head against the wall behind me before slinking along again, this time paying extra attention to what my feet are touching.

A few more steps and I’m around the corner. As I enter the alley, I let out a sigh and hurry away. Except I’m not safe yet. Their raucous laughter is growing closer and I’m still visible from the street. I rush to the other end, hoping their noise covers mine. Only the other is a dead end. A brick wall.

Panic claws at me as their sounds come closer. I shove it away as I struggle for a solution. The only things here are garbage bins. Disgusting. But not so vile that I would risk getting caught instead of hiding. Holding my breath, I dart behind them.

I close my eyes and make myself take shallow breaths as I listen to the warlocks, hoping they pass by my alley. They ignore my silent plea. Their teasing gets slowly louder and closer. I wrap my arms around my legs, squeezing myself into a ball as they near the alley.

“Where’re you going, Saban?” one calls out.

“
Need to take care of something.”

“
What? Down there?”

Down there? As in down here? Please, no, no, no!

“Old Grayson could use a little extra something. He’s always so rigid.”

One of the voices is getting closer, and the footsteps. Blast! They crunch against the pebbles and dirt, heading straight for me. If he comes close enough to the tins, I’ll be seen, and there’s nothing to be done about it.

Well, there is something. I’ve always kept my magic secret until yesterday, but if it comes to either my being caught and punished, or using magic, I could hex him. Possibly. But would this be one more thing to make me like father? Would it make me more like the rest of the warlocks? Their cruelty is something I never, ever want to emulate again. But to protect myself, perhaps that is acceptable as long as I don’t become overzealous. My hands shake as I hold them up, ready to defend myself.

The footsteps move closer. The shaking grows more violent, the energy inside me trembling with it. Suddenly, there’s silence.

“Hurry it up, Saban.”

“
There are some things you can’t hurry,” the closer voice shouts back.

The boys laugh. What are they talking about? Is he trying to slowly sneak up on me? Purposefully making a mess of my emotions before dragging me out of the alley? If so, it’s working. Though the strain on my nerves makes me feel like my magic will erupt at the first sight of him. It’s not a consequence he’d expect. However, as bad as my hands are shaking, my aim would be ineffective.

I take several slow, steadying breaths like Zade taught us to do when shooting. There’s a strange sound. Like something I should recognize, but don’t. Like a spray of water landing on something hard? Oh, filth! Is he taking care of his personal business in public? Revolting!

The sound trickles on for much too long before finally stopping. I’m so shocked and dismayed that the shaking in my hands has lessened at least. But as his footsteps sound again, the shaking returns. Until I realize the sound is fading away. I let my shaking hands fall to my lap as he and his friends leave, laughing over his crude manners as they go. Still, I don’t relax until there’s no sound left.

Once it’s silent for a minute, I start to lean back against the wall. The thought assails me of what that warlock just did. My back goes hexed straight.

Ugh. How incredibly foul. The only place that would be worse to be right now is back at Edward’s. As exhausted as I am, there won’t be any relaxing this close to where someone relieved himself. I just can’t.

I stand, brush myself off, and walk toward the street—this time keeping far from the walls. Not far enough, though. My skin itches with the need for scrubbing. I brush myself off again, but it does nothing to ease the feeling. When I’m to the street, I cringe and creep toward the wall, though I don’t touch it. Only the need to stay safe and hidden is keeping me here.

I peek around the corner and examine the street. No one is coming. When I’m sure no one’s there, I slink out and hurry away from the tainted alley. The extra energy coursing through me after almost being caught wanes. I pass several alleys before I finally pause in front of one.

This isn’t where I want to hide. What makes this alley different from the last one? It could be just as tainted. My eyes drift closed as I try to find a solution. My body sways out where anyone could see. The realization means it doesn’t matter if the alley is tainted or not. If things stay like this, I will be caught.

I enter, taking my time and carefully sniffing. It doesn’t smell pleasant, like mildew and kitchen waste, but at least it doesn’t smell like a water closet. I make my way to the back and hunker down behind the bins. The stench of waste is stronger here, but at least I’m out of sight.

I shift around to make myself comfortable, but it’s impossible to gain any sense of comfort in this place. I give up and simply huddle tight with my eyes closed. The swirling drift of coming sleep quickly follows.

A drip wets my face. I jolt awake, fearing someone is now using me like the previous alley. But there’s no one. Just another drip and another. Coming faster and thicker. It’s raining. Of course it is.

It’s cold and wet. All. Night. Long. At least my gloves supply warmth, little though they add. And my thick skirts protect me some, but still manage to get soaked through.

Morning comes just as wet and cold. My stomach aches, reminding me the elements aren’t my only problem. I need to find food, and hopefully better shelter than I had last night. There’s much to fear from wandering about, like what will happen to me if someone should recognize I’m unchaperoned, or worse, Edward’s recent purchase in need of punishment followed by a swift return. Yet, if I continue like this, there won’t be anything left of me to punish.

I peek around a bin. There’s no one in the alley, though two warlocks pass by on the street without glancing my way. I jerk back. It’s not so bad being cold, wet, and hungry. Telling myself that doesn’t work as well as I think it ought.

Suppose I’ll have to pretend to myself as well as everyone else. The only things I have are the clothes and jewelry I’m wearing. When father was my master, I used to keep food hidden on me somewhere, a habit I should never have given up, even if things seemed safer. I sigh and comb my hair back with my fingers before returning it to a bun, letting my magic smooth it down.

Once I’m feeling a little more prepared for what may await me, I stand and plod to the street. No one is paying me any mind—yet. I step out and move along as if this is exactly where I belong, keeping my face lowered, and pretending like I’m following someone even though no male leads me.

People wander around, walking down the street, going in and out of shops. Mostly males, but occasionally a woman accompanies one. I make my way to an empty area and stand next to a building, out of the way, not knowing what to do or where to go. What I need is information. And food. And shelter. A bath would be nice as well. But where does one go to discover any of that? It’s not like I thought this through. If I had—no, if I had thought it through, I would have done the same thing. Except to perhaps make a plan for what to do afterward. Then again, maybe not. Plan making isn’t a skill I’ve ever excelled at.

For the most part, I’m ignored. Save for one man, with an umbrella protecting him from the downpour, hiding his features from me. Every time I peek down the street he’s still there, hovering. The only reason he’d have for watching me isn’t good.

He’s thin but in a strong sort of way. The way his coat hugs his frame speaks of trim muscles, not the bulge so many warlocks carry. He's short, at least short compared to Zade, though probably just taller than me. I can’t know for certain without him coming closer. And he is coming closer. Blast.

Pretending a nonchalance I don’t feel, I head away from him. My legs throb with the desire to move faster, to race away, but I force myself to stroll. Slowly, I increase my pace until I’m going as fast as I dare. Is he following? I can’t look back. Which is safer? Stay on the main streets or use a side street? If I take a side street, it could be another dead end, but the main streets have warlocks who will side with him.

My stomach rumbles, growling with a gnawing pain as if I needed to be reminded of one more problem. I’m hungry and dirty and tired, sloshing as fast as I dare through the mud, without any idea what to do.

Suddenly, the warlock is at my side, strolling next to me as if this was planned all along. Except I don’t even know who he is. He’s perhaps a year or two older than me, my height as I suspected, with dark skin just like the way I make a cup of chocolate with a dollop of cream stirred in. It tugs at a memory of others having darker skin at the tournament last year. Deep-brown eyes hiding behind the framed windows on his face also stir memories. Those like him wore red at the tournament, I believe.

There’s a faint smile teasing his lips that, despite its size, seems to radiate joy. Probably not the type of joy that will bring me any happiness.

“Can I help you, miss?” His odd request drawls out in a slow, lazy sort of way.

My pulse is pounding so hard it almost hurts, yet I don’t know what’s making it faster this warlock or my quickening pace. Probably both. I’m careful to keep my head lowered and voice submissive. “No, I don’t think so, sir.”

The statement doesn’t deter him from continuing on, nor does it stop him from staring at me. Not that I expected it to, but things would have been easier.

“
Are you certain? You look lost.”