Charmed (16 page)

“The first part of the plan involved a Bible. You see, Rowan learned of a Bible that could be used to kill a witch without draining a sorcerer of his powers.”

My stomach flips.
The Witch Hunter’s Bible
. The thing
that got my mother killed. Got me into this whole, horrible mess.

“She would find the Bible, which they would then use when the second part of the plan went into effect.”

A second part of the plan? Everything that had happened to me, every awful thing that I went through, it was all just part one of a larger plan? And if the Chief and his sister are really in charge of it all, then killing Frederick and Leo didn’t stop the Priory after all, like we’d thought it had.

“Unfortunately, that part didn’t go quite as planned,” the Chief continues. “The Family struck again, killing three-quarters of the sorcerer population in our hometown. Fed them to crocodiles. Can you believe such evil people exist?”

I lower my eyes, the realization that he’s talking about me and the swamp debacle the night after homecoming making heat blotch my cheeks. What would happen if he discovered I was the person who killed off the Priory?

“And worse,” he continues, “they erased the memories of countless innocent young ones, such as yourself, for God knows what reason.”

Liar. He just “erased” my memory five minutes ago. What other parts of the story are a lie?

“So why am I here?” I ask.

“I was getting to that.” He smiles at me. “Because we saved you. The Family, they kidnapped you and erased your memory. You see, you’d been a witness to their crimes, and
they didn’t want you to spread the word. But we took you away in the cover of the night.”

He stares at me so long that I feel like he’s waiting for a response.

“Thank you,” I mutter.

“We just couldn’t
stand
that the Family was abusing innocent humans this way, and we couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t strike against you again. Fearing for your safety, we brought you here, to this place. To my home.”

“When do I get to leave?” I ask.

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but then he’s back to smiling that menacing smile.

“Soon, dear. See, what we want to do for you—for others like you—is to offer you protection against these evil people. We want to make you one of us.”

He wants to make me…a sorcerer? That’s impossible. At least, I think it is.

“Hold out your hand,” he says. I hesitate before I shakily offer it to him. He turns it so that my palm is facing up. A red spot appears in the center. I gasp as the spot blooms into a fresh red rose the size of an apple. Dewdrops cling to its velvety petals.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” He takes the rose from me, inspecting it up close. “This, little lamb, is nothing compared with what you will be able to do with our powers. Fancy a new outfit? A sporty car? You can have them. Everything is in the palm of your hand. Wish to make a boy love you,
to make yourself beautiful? Do you have an enemy?” His palm closes over the rose, the petals strangled by his grasp. “Crush him.” He opens his palm and flourishes his hand—the petals turn to shimmering red dust that slowly sifts to the ground. His eyes glint as he smiles at me. “Would you like these powers?”

“What’s the catch?” I ask.

He grins. “You’re smart. See, there is a small catch. We will give you these wonderful, life-altering powers, send you back home to your friends and family with your memory restored. Life will be as it was, only better. And all we ask in return is that you show allegiance to us should a war erupt between factions. The chances of this are very slim—I can’t emphasize that enough. With the numbers we’ll have very soon, the Family won’t want to go to war with us—they wouldn’t take that risk. You likely wouldn’t hear from us ever again, except of course to say hello from time to time.”

“So what’s the second part of the plan?”

“Pardon me?”

“You said the first part of the plan was to steal the Bible—what’s the second part? Not to change me into a sorcerer just in case, right?”

“Well, unfortunately, that is highly sensitive, top-secret information. You’ll just have to trust me.”

I’ll get right on it.

“And what if I don’t agree?” I say. “Can I go home?”

His smile doesn’t falter, but his hands clench his knees
like he might break them with his grip. “We’ve never had someone say no. But should you want to go home, to throw away all this potential, all this great power, then we certainly wouldn’t stop you. Take a minute to think about it.
Really
think about it.” He gets up and paces over to the desk, leaving me alone on the divan. He flips through papers with his back to me, though I can tell it’s just an act to make it seem like he’s not overly invested in my answer.

It’s all a lie. He’s using these humans for something else. Something much more sinister than what he’s admitted to. All I know for sure is that he wants revenge on the Family. The fire in his eyes when he spoke of them—you can’t fake that kind of hatred.

“I’ve made up my mind,” I announce. He turns around slowly, his eyebrows raised so high that his forehead creases with wrinkles. “I want to become one of you.”

His face breaks into a wide grin. “Excellent. I had a feeling you’d say that.”

Just then, a knock sounds on the door.

“Enter,” he calls cheerily. The door cracks open.

“Sorry to interrupt, sir,” a female voice calls.

I recognize that voice.

“It’s all right, dear, we’re finished. What would you like?” He waves the female forward. The door groans open farther, and the girl comes into view.

Jezebel.

A
t first I think my eyes must be playing tricks on me—there’s no way Jezebel could be in this place. And yet there she is, all five feet nine of her, gorgeous auburn waves trailing over the back of her moto jacket.

Has Jezebel been kidnapped too? If so, she’s doing a good job of hiding her fear; she looks just as at ease in this place as the Chief himself.

“Rowan’s sent through another three recruits,” she says.

“This is good news,” the Chief answers, smiling ear to ear as he steeples his fingers. “Delightful news.”

Jezebel gives one of her trademark tight smiles. “The word is they landed in rebel territory, but we’ve got teams
out there looking for them. They should be back before sundown.”

“Excellent!”

“But there
is
a problem,” she says. “Rowan says the media are starting to notice all the disappearances. It’s made the national news, and she worries—”

“That’s enough,” he says, cutting her off. His smile vanishes. “Thank you for the information. I’ll deal with it shortly.”

Jezebel exhales sharply; it’s obvious she’s not used to being spoken to this way by him.

The full realization of what’s happening sinks into me. Jezebel’s betrayed us. She’s working for the Chief.

I’m overcome with the desire to lunge at her. To tear out her gorgeous hair and smash her face into the ground. I dig my fingers into the velvet divan so hard I can’t believe the fabric doesn’t puncture.

Jezebel’s eyes land on me, and she gasps. If it’s true, and she’s part of the Chief’s plan, this could all end right now. All she has to do is out me as a witch and I’m a goner.

“You can leave now,” the Chief says. “Thank you, Jezebel. Your hard work is appreciated.”

Jezebel keeps staring. I beg with my eyes,
Please, Jezebel, don’t say anything
.

But why should she do me any favors? Last time I checked, I did almost slam her into my bedroom wall.

Finally, she breaks eye contact with me. “Thank you, sir. I’ll keep you updated.” She retreats toward the door.

She didn’t tell on me. It’s shocking, but I don’t for a second think it’s because she’s not up to something after all. This much is clear: Jezebel is a traitor. She’s working for the same sorcerers who had my mother killed. Who kidnapped my best friend.

“Oh, and, Jezebel?” the Chief says. She stops in the doorway. “Please send in a guard on your way out.”

She salutes, avoiding my eyes as she slips out.

I’m still reeling with anger when two beefy guards enter the room.

“Please escort Miss India to her living quarters. And remember to treat her nicely—she is our
special
guest.”

It’s impossible to suppress my shudder at his words.

I don’t bother resisting as I’m escorted down more winding, nondescript rock hallways. Eventually, we come to a stop in front of heavy double doors. The muted chatter of voices filters into the hall.

The room is about as big as the cafeteria at school. Though its walls are the same dark rock as the rest of the place and there are no windows to the outside world, the track lighting overhead is so bright you almost don’t notice. In addition to the puffy couches set up around big-screen TVs and card tables, there are braided rugs thrown down over the dark wood floors, modern art on the walls, and bright green planters springing up from every corner of the room. If it weren’t for the glass cubicle hanging from the center of
the ceiling that holds a guard who surveys everyone with his hands clasped behind his back, it might even be called cozy.

The room is filled to the brim with teens. They’re wearing clean clothes and don’t look like they’ve been tortured recently. More shocking: they look happy.

I take a tentative step inside, listening in on a conversation at a nearby table in hopes of overhearing something useful about this place, but they’re just politely arguing the rules of rummy. People glance up as I pass and give me friendly smiles, which I find hard to return. I scan the group of teens around one TV, then another.

Finally I see her.

My heart lodges in my throat, the air punched out of my chest.

Paige looks exactly like she did the last time I saw her. Her shoulder-length brown hair is pulled back into a spiky ponytail, her bangs brush the rims of her leopard-print glasses. She’s wearing a T-shirt with the name of some band I’ve never heard of and a pair of tweed trousers rolled up at the ankles to show off her Converse sneakers. She sits with her feet up on a coffee table, reading a large book spread open in her lap. Even the way she reads strikes a familiar chord in my heart.

I realize I’m smiling, and quickly wipe the grin off my face. I flick a glance up at the guard in the cubicle, but he’s looking the other way.

All I want to do is run over and pull Paige into a hug, but I can’t attract attention. I slowly cross the room, feeling the space between us shrink little by little. My chest is so tight I can’t breathe properly. I scan Paige’s arms as I approach, looking for signs she’s been hurt in some way….Nothing. Her face doesn’t contain a pinch of worry.

She doesn’t look up from her book until I’m standing over her and she’s steeped in my shadow. I open my mouth, ready to blurt out that I’m here to save her, that she doesn’t have to worry anymore, but the polite look she gives me stops me dead. She smiles and reaches out her hand. “You must be new. I’m Paige. Nice to meet you.”

Pain bursts through my chest.

“Are you okay?” she asks, leaning forward. “I can call the guard.”

“No,” I answer too quickly. I wipe my slick hands on my pants and then reach out to shake her hand. “I’m fine. I’m…” I almost say India, but then I drop my voice an octave and say, “Indigo. Indigo Blackwood.”

I watch her face closely for a flash of recognition, but she just smiles.

Oh, Paige. What have they done to you?

The discovery that she’s happy here should be a comfort, but instead I feel more disturbed than if I’d found her bound and gagged. What they’ve done to her is almost worse than physical torture. They’ve taken away the part of her that is Paige and left a hollowed-out version of her in its place.

Our hands drop. The world sways at impossible angles beneath me. I fall into the nearest seat so I won’t pass out.

She’s eyeing me strangely now, so I grab the nearest book off an end table beside the couch and open it to the first page. The words blur together.

“It’s strange the first day, but they’re really nice here,” Paige says.

I look up. Her face is so open—it’s like she really believes what she’s saying. My heart breaks.

I force a smile. “That’s good.”

She goes back to reading.

I don’t know what to do. I’ve gotten this far, but none of it will matter if I can’t get her to come with me.

She
has
to remember me. We have almost sixteen years of shared history—one spell can’t possibly erase all that.

“Too bad they haven’t got
Atlas Shrugged
,” I say, patting myself on the back for remembering the name of her favorite book.

“What’s that one about?” she asks.

Strike one, Indie.

“Just some cool book,” I mutter. God, how far back did they wipe?

She gives me a weak smile and returns to reading.

“Do they let us listen to music?” I ask.

She furrows her brow. “No, not really.”

“Not even a radio? Why do you think that is?” I lean forward, but then I realize the guard is watching our interaction
and force myself back against the couch. When I glance over at Paige again, she’s still watching me.

“I don’t know,” she answers carefully.

I see it in her eyes—the spark of curiosity. The doubt.

“Do you think there’s something they don’t want us to hear?” I whisper.

She looks up at the guard’s glass case.

I should shut up. I should stop talking to her when she’s becoming anxious. But I’m so close now. I can feel it. She doesn’t trust the guards or she wouldn’t be nervous about them hearing our conversation. And Jezebel could tell on me any minute—this might be my only chance.

“They’re not good people, are they?” I whisper.

She snaps her book closed.

“Paige, don’t go.” My words come out in a rush. “I have something important to tell you. I know you don’t remember me, but that’s because these people have erased your memories. We’re best friends. These people killed my mom and they kidnapped you and took you here. They’re not who they say they are. I can get us out of here.”

She gets up.

“Paige!” I grab her wrist.

She glances down at my hand.

And then she screams.