Waking the Witch

thirty-six

I woke up lying on the dusty floor. My arm throbbed. My head throbbed even worse.

“Adam,” I croaked.

Silence. When I tried to rise, my stomach lurched and I gagged, mouth filling with bile. I spit it out and had to take a second to steady myself, head and stomach both spinning.

When I could finally lift my head again, even looking around made my gorge rise.

I was alone. Beside me, I saw the outline of a body in the dust, then drag marks.

They’d gotten the muscular guy out of the way first, planning to come back for the helpless girl next. That was a mistake. I lifted my fingers and cast a sensing spell. Nothing happened.

Shit.

I fought welling panic. I was fine. I just needed to conserve my energy for one good lethal blast.

I pushed up on all fours. My stomach lurched and I retched. My arm throbbed. I looked down to see an angry red bump. I’d seen marks like that after every shot I’d had in my life. A reaction to needles.

I’d been injected with a sedative.

It took a minute more for me to get to my feet. Another to get steady enough to stay upright. The whole time my brain was screaming at me to get moving. Follow the drag marks. Find Adam.

Logically, I knew if our attacker wanted Adam dead, he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of dragging him off. Still, as I stood there, fighting to keep from curling up in a ball and spilling my guts on the floor, I felt weak. Useless, powerless, and weak.

I finally managed to start lurching forward, straining for any sound of my attacker’s return. The sawmill was completely silent.

I thought about the homeless guy. Had he left? Was he dead? Or was there a better explanation for his sudden appearance and now his silence?

Wasn’t that the perfect disguise for a killer? Roll a real homeless guy, steal his clothes?

I followed the drag marks down a passage that ended at a wider one where the floor had been recently swept.

No more tracks to follow.

As much as I wanted to conserve spell power, I needed to find Adam. I closed my eyes and cast the sensing spell. On the third try, I gave up.

I looked at the puncture wound in my arm. Not a sedative. More of whatever poison I’d been dosed with for the last few days. That’s why I could barely walk without upchucking on my shoes.

I managed three more steps. Then I heard a low moan. I froze, prepping a cover spell before I realized what I was doing. I stopped casting and looked around. Off to my left, a denim-clad leg peeked from between two pieces of machinery.

I raced over, stomach forgotten. As I flew around a processing table, I caught a glimpse of light hair and my heart fluttered with relief. Then I realized it was too long to be Adam’s.

Jesse lay on his back, eyes closed. When he moaned again, I touched his arm and his eyes opened.

“Sav—” He swallowed. “Savannah.”

I shushed him and helped him sit up. He winced and put his hand to the back of his head. Dried blood plastered his hair to his skull.

“Something hit me,” he whispered.

“I know the feeling.”

“I think ...” He made a face. “I think I’ve been drugged.”

He was still wearing his denim jacket, but the bottom of his T-shirt had been shoved up. He pulled it farther and found a pinprick of blood on his abs.

“How’s your stomach?” I whispered. “Do you feel sick?”

“Queasy, but I think that’s from my head.”

I told him what happened. When I finished, his eyes widened.

“The homeless guy. Shit! I found him just after I got here. Even gave him some money trying to get him to leave.” He shook his head. “You said the guard’s dead?”

I nodded. “Cody, too.”

“Cody? I never even saw him. The guard was alive when I got here. I had to sneak around to avoid him. I got a lead on those pharmaceuticals. That’s not only Cody’s illegal enterprise—it’s his supernatural connection. He’s selling cut-rate drugs to supernaturals and raking in a massive profit.”

“Taking advantage of our problems visiting doctors.”

“Right. That’s where Tiffany came in. She set everything up. Her and another supernatural named Timothy Greer. I’m guessing he’s playing the homeless guy. He must have killed Ginny and Brandi because—”

“Not Ginny and Brandi. They were—Never mind. It’s not important now. We need to find Adam.”

“Right.”

I tried to help him to his feet, but lost my balance, and he had to grab and steady me.

“Are you okay?” he whispered. “I’ve never seen anyone actually look green.”

“Poison, I think.”

“What?”

I told him what Adam and I thought was happening, then warned him not to count on my spells.

“Okay,” he said. “We need to find Adam and get you to a doctor.”

We’d gone about ten feet when Jesse pointed at smudged grease on a machine.

“Someone brushed against that,” he said. “This way.”

I bent to examine the spot. “There’s dust on it. Someone brushed against it a while ago.”

He leaned over and frowned. “I don’t see any dust.”

“It’s—Never mind.”

Jesse led the way, picking up more signs, most too faint for me to see. I stayed behind him. He tried a few times to get me to go ahead. “I should be watching your back if your spells are failing.” But I said no, and we kept going.

We’d been searching for about ten minutes when he froze.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered.

I shook my head.

“Over there.” He waved into the darkness under a conveyer belt.

“You hide there,” he said. “I’m going to check it out.”

I crawled into the space. Once he’d slipped around the corner, I snuck across the aisle and ducked behind another piece of machinery, something with knobs and dials.

I was squeezing behind it, my stomach protesting, when I caught a flicker of motion across the way. A crate resting atop the conveyer belt wiggled. Then it toppled, hitting the floor with a resounding crash ... and blocking the space I’d just crawled out of.

I peeked out to see Jesse at the end of the aisle. He stared at the box. It jiggled again, then shifted, better blocking the hole. Twenty seconds passed, then he broke into a run, boots slapping the concrete as loud as he could manage as he raced to where I was apparently trapped.

“Savannah!” He stopped. “Shit! Are you okay?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed the crate, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Fuck! What is in this thing? I’m going to get something to move it, okay? Hang tight. I’ll be right back.”

He ran loudly back down the aisle. Then he stopped, sat on a crate, and leaned back against a table, getting comfortable as he waited for the poison to do its work.