The boys fanned out while I faced the gate. “Fuck, please work.” My body and voice shook, my ribs aching with every breath from Joska’s boot. Closing my eyes, I tried to center myself, cut out the noise, though the screams and gunshots zigged up my spine, rattling me. Did one of my friends just get shot? Was Rosie alive? How would I get Warwick out?
“Focus.” I breathed out. Though I had no idea what I was supposed to focus on. There was no manual on my powers. I didn’t even know if this would work, though something deep in me knew my magic was immense. It could cheat death of its victims, control ghosts, bring down a wall between worlds. What else was I capable of? I wasn’t only made from a witch, necromancer, and Druid, but also Aneira, a Seelie Queen of the Otherworld.
“If you are part of me, a good time to show yourself would be now.” I rolled my fists and dug in deep, reaching for the power embedded inside me, screaming for it to take over and demolish this cage. A guttural cry parted my lips, and I flung everything out at the gate.
Nothing, I mean nothing, happened. Not a zap of electricity or whirl of wind threaded through my body.
“Brexley! Now!” Ash yelled, jolting my eyes open.
The thunder of screams, gunfire, and cries roared back at top volume, stabbing up my spine, pushing more fear and panic down my throat.
“I’m trying!” I shook out my hands.
“Try faster,” he barked.
Sucking in shaky breaths, I closed my eyes again, pushing out the sounds of death pinging around me. All these lives depended on me. I was so stupid to suggest this. Arrogant. Cocky. To think I could possibly have the power to do anything more than chat with ghosts. How could I neutralize extensive spells from one of the most powerful Druids in the world?
Burrowing in deeper, I could feel the broken pieces inside me, the fire and heat of my rage building them back together, but it felt like it was on the other side of thin glass, just out of reach.
“No!” I growled, forcing myself deeper, pushing through.
It took me a moment to register the ground vibrating under my feet. The sharp squeal of the gates moving, metal locks opening. My lids flew open.
The gates started to part.
“You did it!” I heard one of the guys yelled over my shoulder, the mass of inmates cheering and running into the tunnel.
No. I didn’t. I knew I hadn’t.
The ground under my feet vibrated harder.
This wasn’t me.
“Wait!” I shouted at the people fleeing, running into the dark channel, but it was too late.
Their shrieks echoed as they hit the spell, flying back, their bones crunching to the ground.
Headlights came into view, blinding me.
Holy shit.
Heavily reinforced, iron-clad SUVs, with guards running along the side, came down the passage, extending back at least six or seven cars. The top of each was armed with a long gun and another soldier, pointing it at us, the symbol HDF on the front.
Instead of freeing these people, I realized I had led them straight into a trap.
We had nowhere to run. Nowhere to go.
I had failed everyone.
Blood and gore covered the floors as dozens were shot dead until the soldiers regained control, rounding us up like cattle.
More than eighty new HDF guards descended on us, guns pointed at our heads, and anyone who didn’t comply was killed or pistol-whipped into submission.
A guard primed a handgun at my temple as I watched a soldier open the door of a hummer, saluting the man inside. The familiar figure climbed out, his eyes latching on to mine instantly, a dainty woman accompanied him.
“Well, well…” Istvan’s voice iced my spinal column. “Why am I not surprised you are at the center of this.” Istvan strolled to me, surrounded by armed guards. The new soldiers were clean, meticulous, and robotic in their movement, reminding me of the night in the square. Their demeanor only highlighted the difference between them and the guards down here, and the change that was happening and would happen to these fresh faces as well.
Markos stopped right in front of me, his eyes glinting as they rolled over me. “I feel a strange pride in knowing you don’t give up. That I raised you to be a fighter.”
“You didn’t raise me,” I snarled, the soldier behind me pressing the barrel of his rifle harder to the back of my head. “My father raised me. Everything I am is because of him.”
We both knew it was a lie. As much as I despised Istvan, he made sure Caden and I weren’t just trained and educated, but could scheme, strategize, and play the game of the cutthroat elite.
He probably never considered his teachings would turn against him.
Istvan gazed down at me with a snarl. “Truer than you even know,” he mumbled, tugging at the cuffs of his new uniform trimmed in gold, similar to the ones we had been sewing. Even more medals decorated his chest and arms, like he was awarding himself more every day. He used them to intimidate and make people believe he was beyond reproach.
He was right; he had taught me a lot. The tricks to influence and change perceptions. Propaganda.
Most people could easily be swayed and not even know they were, instantly bowing, letting you take over. Letting you control their lives, their minds, because of a perceived idea that you knew more and could “save them.”
All smokescreen, lies, and theater.
“Shrewd. Resourceful. Strong. If only you had been born as my son.” He peered down his nose at me. “What a general you would have made.”
“You speak as if those things are coveted. That I would desire them.” A derisive laugh came up my throat. “Males think they are the greatest beings, the highest level achievable. The strongest and the most powerful. Even more so with shiny awards they give themselves on their puffed-up chest. When those things would just limit me.”
You have no idea what I’m capable of. I glared at him. Hell, I didn’t even know what I was capable of.
Istvan’s back straightened, his chin rising at my statement. “We’ll see, my dear.” His lip lifted. “Good thing I changed the Games to tonight.”
Acid sunk my stomach. Tonight?
A tick in the back of my head made me wonder how he was even able to get here so fast if they were called because of our revolt. HDF was over forty-five minutes away on these roads. There was no way unless they happened to be coming here anyway. And if they were coming here anyway, why would he have so many soldiers with him?
“You will see, you and your insurgents here, exactly what happens to those who go against me.” He leaned in closer. “Show me how far you can push those limits, Brexley. How far you will go to survive.”
Chapter 8
Fire crackled and sputtered from the pits, taunting and beckoning us closer. Energy clashed and struck the walls like cymbals. Lights shone down on the arena, the stage. Seats filled up for tonight’s performance.
“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”
Shakespeare was a little too on the nose for me right now. But it’s all we were to Istvan. Chess pieces and bit actors. A game in life, entertainment in death.
My gaze shot to Rosie, imagining this was not how she saw her last performance going. She stood only a few spots down, her eyes glazed, her head still bleeding. She struggled to stay on her feet, but she was alive.