Wicked Circle

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

I became aware.

I opened my eyes as if I’d been sleeping, and I think I had been, but there was nothing to see but blackness so all-consuming that not even an indication of shape pierced this dark.

My mouth was full of salt. Spitting, I reached up—pain.

It ricocheted around my body with more force than I’d put into the attempt.

A full minute later the pain had subsided enough that sense returned and I could contemplate the state of my own body. I was lying on my side, I was cold, and my wrists and ankles were tightly bound. A length of rope connected the two bindings, further limiting my ability to move and forcing me into an uncomfortably cramped position. Every breath made my shoulder prickle. It remained out of socket. My right fingers were numb and I continued to spit salt. On the plus side, I still wore the dress and shoes.

I blinked and blinked but couldn’t get used to this dark, couldn’t cut through it. As black as the inside of a cat, as Nana would say.

Unwilling to move my body, I used the only other thing I had: my head. Rubbing my cranium against the ground, a feat my neck complained mightily about, I burrowed my cheek into it. What I felt was like sand, but the overwhelming smell of salt in my nostrils made me believe I was lying on a mound of salt.

“Help!” My throat was dry. My call was little more than a whisper. I tried again, putting every effort into projecting my voice. “Help me!”

Not only did the vibration of my voice do terrible things in my shoulder but my words echoed back to me, metallic and dry. I was enclosed in a space that was very big and open and dark.

As long as it’s not Tartarus, I’ll be okay.

Concentrating, searching for a ley line, an intangible part of me reached forth—and instantly recoiled, as if shocked or burned. It made me physically jerk, and the pain made me whimper, but I determinedly tried again, more gently.

The result was no different.

A power barrier.

I couldn’t be Bindspoken. What had Liyliy done?

Hungry, in pain, and pissed off, I decided not to lie there and do nothing.

In movies, people put their out-of-socket shoulders back in by hitting them on something.

I tensed, pouring every effort into rolling onto my stomach.

Searing pain ripped a scream out of me and I threw myself onto my side, as I had been.

That was stupid. A mountain of salt isn’t a firm surface. Being tied up like this ruins the leverage.

My small efforts had won me a cold sweat and a constant throb in my shoulder. I couldn’t fail. Not here, not now, not like this. I didn’t want to be the one to blame if our tripled union collapsed.

I thought of the sorsanimus. Could I reach beyond this veil prohibiting magic by reaching inward to my soul? I thought of Johnny. I need you to find me. I need help.

Exhaustion overcame me, and I was lost again to sleep.