Spectral (17 page)

I raised my eyebrows, wondering what he knew.

“Unless the Florida police have new uniforms, something’s up. I’ve been looking all over for you. Let’s go!”

“Go? Go where?”

My mind reeled. I needed to wait here for Roman. He was coming back for me. He had the dagger. He knew where my mother was. We had a plan. He loved me. I was pretty sure I loved him, too. I couldn’t leave.

Deep voices rumbled through the hall, growing louder by the second. A chill raced along my skin.

Chase tugged my hand forward and pulled at the latch on the window. “Damn it, it’s stuck,” he groaned. Lifting his foot, he smashed down on the lever until it popped and released the window. Relief was short-lived. Just as the cool air outside hit my skin, someone wrapped their arms around my waist and tugged me backward until I squeezed tightly against their body.

Chase turned toward us, his face red. He pummeled whoever held me in the side of the head, knocking him off balance. Heart slamming, I broke free and ran to the window, ignoring every thought I had to look at my attacker. Instinct took over. I just needed to get out. Thousands of luminescent stars now looked like crystalline beacons of hope. I bashed out the screen with my heel.

Behind me, amid the sounds of punches and yelling, someone shouted, “Get her! Get her!”

Chase screamed, “Run, True!”

My foot caught on the window ledge and I tripped. My body dangled half out the window and half inside the room. Dew from the grass licked at my hands.
So close.
A vice-like grip encircled my ankle. I kicked the hold and clawed at the ground, but nothing worked. Wrenching my body around, I turned just as another man covered Chase’s head in a potato sack. I screamed until my throat felt raw. I’d never been so scared. I couldn’t breathe.

My captor dragged me inside, his face contorted into a snarl. Not giving up, I squirmed again accidentally banging my face against the window ledge. The metallic taste of blood trickled in my mouth. He yanked me up.

“Let me go!” I yelled, my voice now harsh and raspy from fear.

This was it. This was how I was going to die.

Determined to face the end with my head high, I turned toward my attacker. It wasn’t Massimo or Paulo. I didn’t know who these men were. But whoever it was, instead of a face filled with menace like I expected, the man’s eyes were unfocused. He shook his head as if confused, and then he started to release me.

“Take her down, you idiot!” the other man snapped.

Whatever fog the other man was in lifted, and he reestablished his grip.

My whole body went ice cold. Something sharp pricked the skin on my neck. Pain surged through me, hot like venom.

The room spun; a cloudy vision of a needle. Then nothing. Complete blackness.

Chapter Twenty

Startled into consciousness by a roaring engine, I could barely open my heavy lids. Through my cloudy vision, my eyes scanned over newspapers slotted into the seat in front of me. The smell of stinky feet festered up into the air.

The needle. Chase. Roman.
I tried to reach for my neck to feel where the needle had pierced my skin; sure there must be a bruise. But when I tried moving my hands, I discovered my wrists were tied to the arm handles of my seat. My heart rate began to climb. I fought against my state of grogginess as I looked around, wondering where I was and who I was with.

A man slept next to me wearing gray slacks and a black turtleneck. His mouth gaped open in a snore and drool dripped down the side of his chin, but I recognized the pudgy round face. He was the man who stuck me with the needle. His shoes were off and his large feet shrouded in black socks sent that stinky smell wafting into my face.
Skunk feet. Great.

I wiggled my own feet that were now slipped into a pair of pink flip-flops that somebody must have put on me when I was passed out. I groaned. The color pink and I were two things that just did not go together.

I leaned forward as far as I could and rested the side of my head against the hard surface of the seat in front of me. Across the aisle, Chase sat unconscious, body slumped, and arms tied to his seat. I recognized the man sitting next to him as the other guy back at Taylor’s house. The one who’d put the potato sack over Chase’s head. His dark brown hair was swept into a Donald Trump comb-over, and a pair of black rimmed glasses sat on the tip of his nose.

I looked around, my head heavy and wobbly with sleep, and I realized we were on a small plane. There was nobody else on board that I could see.

The man sitting next to Chase shuffled his newspaper when he noticed me awake and folded it closed. He picked up a drink from his tray, tilted it toward me and smirked. “
хороший день принцесса,
” he said.

I yanked my wrists, trying to free my hands. “I speak English, loser,” I blurted, not able to contain myself.

“Shame you cannot speak your native tongue of Russian, Jewel.”

“Russian isn’t my native tongue,” I spat through gritted teeth. I shook my head. I was annoyed that I was trapped but relieved I was at least with the Russians and not the Augusti who I knew for sure wanted me dead. It didn’t go over my head that he’d called me Jewel. But I realized he obviously knew who I was anyway. Why else would they have kidnapped me?

The question was—did they take me to kill me or use me?
If they wanted to kill me, they could have done it by now.
I tried to reassure myself with that thought so I wouldn’t spontaneously combust from fear.

Groaning, I plunked back against my seat. What happened to Roman? A sinking feeling crept over me. He’d taken the dagger I so badly needed and left. He’d told me he would hold them off and promised he’d come back for me. But he didn’t.
They
came instead. They’d assaulted and kidnapped Chase and me.

I swallowed past the increased burning in my throat, stretched my fingers to pull up the shade on the small oval window to my right, and gazed outside. Puffs of clouds floated aimlessly far below.

I couldn’t deny the possibility that Roman had duped me this whole time. But the softness in his eyes when he looked at me, and the way he touched me seemed so real. I thought of the last time he’d kissed me with his perfectly full lips. He’d said he loved me and I’d totally believed him. Was that a lie, too? Could I really be that naïve? There was that word again. Naïve. Really, what did I know about romance and sincerity anyway? I’d been fooled by my parents my whole life and fallen for it, and well…romance hadn’t exactly been a part of my life until recently.

But if it was true that Roman had been tricking me this whole time, then why didn’t he just hand me over to the Augusti the first time I saw them when I’d walked home from Taylor’s house?

I pinched my eyes tight and worried my lower lip between my teeth as a sickening thought came to me. The Augusti probably needed the dagger to close the deal. Roman seemed obsessed with me finding it from day one. I’d thought the reason for that was because he needed the dagger for
me
—for my quickening and to save me.

Now I realized it was most likely because he needed the dagger to help
kill
me; to end the whole abomination problem. I didn’t know if I was more hurt or angry. It was definitely a strong combination of both.

I heard a moan and craned forward to see who it was. Chase stirred, opening his eyes and tugging at the ropes tied around his wrists. When he couldn’t move, his big blue eyes popped wide in alarm. His blond hair that was usually neatly styled was messed up, and his Manchester United soccer jersey was wrinkled. But even under duress, the boy looked ridiculously hot.

“Chase,” I called.

Funky Hair Man pursed his lips at me and then tapped Chase’s wrist. “Calm down and sit still,” he said in a thick Russian accent. “Soon we’ll be landing.”

I looked back out the window to the thick billows of clouds that now surrounded us. The plane rocked slightly as we passed through. We were definitely descending. I had no clue how long we’d been in the air, and no idea where they were taking us.

“Landing?” Chase’s voice sounded husky. “Landing where? What are you talking about?” His eyebrows scrunched together. He looked across the aisle at me and then back at Funky Hair Man. “What’s going on? We were just at a party. We didn’t do anything wrong. I want a lawyer!” He yanked harder against the rope. “What the hell’s going on?”

I felt bad for Chase. Of course when these guys rushed Taylor’s house, he’d thought it was just a police raid. He’d probably figured they smelled weed and arrested everyone or something. When he’d come looking for me and found me hiding in the office, the worst thing he’d probably thought was going to happen was a serious grounding from his parents. Being drugged then waking up on a plane bound to a seat had to be confusing and disturbing, to say the least.

How would I begin to explain that he was in this mess because of
me
? That because I was really a Spectral witch—who was a pawn in some crazy scenario, and he happened to be at the wrong place, wrong time—now his life was in jeopardy, too. Yeah, that’d go over
real
well.

Funky Hair Man reached across the aisle and nudged Mr. Drool next to me. I swear the man could sleep through a tsunami if left unattended. “Vladimir,” he called as he stretched across the aisle and tugged his sleeve.

Okay, so not only were these guys speaking Russian, but drool guy’s name was Vladimir. But the Augusti Forza is Italian like me.

Definitely not the Augusti Forza.
But if this isn’t the Augusti, who are they? Did my family set this up? Why didn’t they just take me themselves?
Cowards.

Vladimir stirred and wiped the drool off his chin with the back of his sleeve while Chase still struggled to free his arms. “
То, что происходиt?
” Vladimir said to Funky Hair Man.

“The needle. Give it to me,” Funky Hair Man answered.

Vladimir glanced at me, and then back at Chase. Bending over, he pulled out a black leather briefcase from beneath the seat in front of him. He clicked it open and the lid popped up. “Do you want me to give a shot to this one, too, Sergei?” He ticked his head in my direction.

A shiver crept down my spine when I saw the rows of syringes inside filled with a blue-colored liquid.

Sergei pushed his glasses up on his nose. “First this guy. Hurry up, Vladimir. This one is getting on my nerves.”

Chase grunted and tugged harder at the ropes.

“Leave him alone,” I yelled as Vladimir took a syringe from its slot in the briefcase. “Chase, don’t struggle or else they’ll knock you out again,” I pleaded. The last thing I wanted was for them to stick Chase with another needle. Who knows what was in that crap and what effect it could have if given repeatedly.

“Why is that, Jewel-ka?” Vladimir asked me, stressing the sound ‘ka’ at the end of my name. “Is he your boyfriend?” he asked with a laugh. He flicked the syringe with his pointer finger, then pushed the plunger. A quick squirt of liquid shot up through the air. “You miss his touch, Dа?” His chubby face broke out into a wide grin. “I can take you for a spin in the bathroom in just a few moments if you like?”

He turned his head slowly away from the syringe to stare into my eyes. His blue eyes sparkled like miniscule stars twinkling in the sky. Then oddly, they turned green. Then hazel. Then mud-brown. And then the darkest black, like tar. It was mesmerizing.

Suddenly, I was in the cramped airplane bathroom, my hands pressed against the cool, wet sink. Vladimir groped my body from behind me, as he huffed and puffed. His calloused hands scratched against my arms as he checked out our reflection in the mirror. I twisted, squirming to get away from him.

“Leave her alone!” I heard Chase bellow, and then I was back in my seat.

I blinked my eyes, confused, holding tightly to the arm handles of my seat, shocked.

Vladimir looked down at me, his eyes returned to their natural shade of blue, his round face turning into a giant smirk. He reached out to touch my hair and I jerked away, shaking like a wet dog. It felt like a gazillion bugs had just crawled all over my skin.

I realized I hadn’t left my seat at all. He obviously had some unusual endowment to be able to place those gross images so vividly in my mind.
Serious slime.
“In your dreams,” I spat and scrunched up my nose.

“Was it good for you, as me?” he asked me with a wink.

“You’re sick,” I said leaning away.

Chase yanked so hard on the ropes holding him that I thought the whole arm of the seat would pop off. Sergei gripped both of Chase’s arms.

My heart pounding, I squinted at Vladimir. “You should stick that needle into your own neck,” I hissed.

Vladimir pursed his lips, tilted his head to one side, and looked at me as if pondering my words.

“Stop it,” Sergei yelled over his shoulder, still struggling with Chase. Chase headbutted Sergei, making Sergei’s head snap back and his nose bleed.

I returned my gaze to Vladimir. “Like
now
!”

The next thing I knew, he plunged the needle deeply into his own neck. The empty syringe dropped to the floor, and Vladimir’s head drooped to his chest.

“What have you done?” Sergei’s face contorted into angry angles as he glared at me.

I bounced in my seat as the plane hit the runway a little harder than it should. We’d obviously landed. Somehow I needed to escape with Chase, and I only had moments to come up with a plan. “I think you need a nap, too,” I said, staring at Sergei. “Come and get some medicine. It’ll make you feel better.”

Chase stopped struggling and stared at me. “What’re you doing?”

Great. He thinks I’m a freak now, too. Perfect.

Sergei released Chase’s arms. He unbuckled his seatbelt, rubbed his head, and then stood. “I do feel sleepy, actually, Princess.”

“That’s right,” I nodded enthusiastically. “But first untie my hands,” I said slowly.

Sergei paused, massaging his temples, absorbing what I’d said. “No, I don’t think—”

“You will untie me now! You want to do it,” I said firmly. “Hurry up!” My hands trembled as I tried to see over the seat in front of me and up to the cockpit, terrified the pilot would walk out any moment.

Sergei shook his head as if struggling to fight against the idea of what I suggested, but leaned across Vladimir and methodically untied my hands.

I rubbed my wrists, relieved at my new freedom, and then glanced at a stunned Chase. I motioned for him to be quiet. Not that he was talking or even moving at that point, but I didn’t want to risk breaking Sergei’s trance. My heart raced uncontrollably, pounding against my ribs.

I jerked my head toward the syringes in the briefcase. “Take one and stick it in your neck. Now.”

Sergei picked up the syringe just as I heard a loud click from the front of the plane. A tall figure walked out, partly obscured by the wall up front.

Crap, crap, crap, I’m too late.

“Sergei, put the needle in your neck! It will feel good,” I pressed.

His eyelashes fluttered but he held it to his neck, the needle touching his skin, even as his hand shook, seemingly trying to fight against my persuasion.

Somebody struck his hand, knocking the syringe away.

“No!” I yelled, looking up at the man who came from the cockpit and to Sergei’s rescue.

The man staring down at me with bright green eyes was my father. At least the only father I’d ever known. Shocked, I widened my eyes. “Dad?”

Sergei, regaining his composure, began yelling at him. “I thought you said she had no powers yet?” He slammed his fist against the seat. “Idiot,” he said in a strong Russian accent.

Blood trickled from his nose and Dad passed him a tissue.

My dad passed Sergei a tissue
.

The realization of that stung sharper than the needle they had pricked me with at Taylor’s house. He was actually helping the man who had kidnapped me. But what did I expect? My father was probably in on the kidnapping from the beginning. But maybe I hoped that after all these years of raising me, I’d come to mean
something
to him.

“Mr. Remington, what’s going on?” Chase asked. “Tell this loser to let us go.”

Mr. Remington. Right.
Chase was so out of the loop calling Dad by his fake name. He was in way over his head. But I couldn’t take my gaze away from my father’s.
“
Dad?” I said again, my voice breaking this time. “What’s going on?”

I wanted him to tell me everything was going to be okay—that really he came to save me and to make things right. I clung to that last thread of hope. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t true. He didn’t answer me. Instead, he bent to pick up the needle that had dropped to the floor and replaced it in its slot in the briefcase.