Charmed (23 page)

“Thank you,” I say now to Jessie.

And then I take one last look around my Mexican knickknack-littered house and engrave it in my memory. As much as Aunt Penny wants to believe I’m coming back, the reality is that this might be the last time I see this house again. I wish I had more time.

I give them one last wave before I go outside.

The sun has dipped behind the houses of Fuller Avenue, painting the sky with thick brushstrokes of orange and pink. A few trick-or-treaters already skip down the street with bags full of candy. It’s just another Halloween for them.

Bishop takes my hand and leads me toward his Mustang, the shiny red paint glinting in the fading sun.

We don’t have more time. All we have is now.

“I
ndie. Indie, wake up.”

A warm hand brushes my cheek. When I open my eyes, Bishop is standing over me, backlit by a blue-black sky studded with stars. His brow is creased with concern.

I gasp, a vague recollection of the spell at the boardwalk flashing into my mind. We did it. We got back to Los Demonios.

All of sudden, I realize that my arm isn’t screeching with pain, like the last two times I woke up in this place. The wound has already been wrapped in clean white gauze. It throbs dully under the bandage, but nothing like the pain before. Bishop kneels beside me, the backpack I wore into
Los Demonios open at my feet. His arm is also bandaged, albeit more messily than mine. He’s been up for a while. A flash of jealousy spikes through me. He’s handling this like a pro, like coming here was no more challenging than a harrowing trip to the grocery store.

“Here, take this.” He passes me two pain pills and holds a bottle of water up to my lips. I gulp greedily, then wipe my chin as I heave for air. He watches me carefully.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re amazing. I can’t believe you did this twice on your own. I could barely look at my arm and this is your third time.”

It’s like the guy could read my mind. I’m not sure if he’s just being kind, or if he really is impressed with me, but I probably should take the compliment.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say. And I mean it.

We’re on the flat roof of a tall building. Storefronts in various states of disrepair spread out below us like rotten teeth. I spin around and scan the horizon for a hint of where we’ve landed. We need to get to the Chief’s headquarters ASAP. It could be too late already.

I hear something in the distance. Far away, across the storefronts, I can just make out the glisten of moonlight on water. Something big and round sticks up against the dark sky like the spokes of a giant bike wheel.

A Ferris wheel
, I realize with a start.

“We’re in Santa Monica,” I say.

“How do you know?”

Bishop follows my finger as I point. “That’s the pier. Or what’s left of it. We’re in rebel territory. They got it in a deal a few weeks ago.”

Bishop blows out a breath. I can’t help the feeling of pride that swells inside me at knowing something helpful.

“We should fly low to the ground until we get out of their territory,” I say. “Once we get far enough we should try to steal a car so we can save some of our energy for later. Hopefully, with the spell going on tonight, the Chief won’t have as many guards out this way.”

“All right, let’s do it,” Bishop says.

I reach into the backpack and pull out the dagger we packed, slipping it into the sheath on my belt. And then I pull out a knife and slip it into my boot. I feel better already.

When I’m done arming myself, I kick the bag aside. I won’t be needing it anymore.

“Ready?” he says.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Bishop gives me a quick last-minute kiss on the lips. And then we jump off the edge of the roof.

My stomach does a somersault as the cracked pavement nears, faster by the second. But I call the heat of my magic and push it down hard, until I’m floating on the wind.

We fly fast and low to the ground, slipping between buildings like ghosts in the night. We make a turn between two buildings, and the sounds of laughter and club music get
so loud it’s like we’re right in the middle of a party. A man stumbles through the street, singing an off-key tune. Panic seizes my chest, but Bishop tows me quickly through a narrow alley before the man can spot us.

The cool wind dries the sweat on my temple, my pulse pounding in time with the music that follows us through the dark streets.

We keep flying long after the noises fade away, the bitter wind nipping at our skin. After a while the landscape beneath us begins to change from city to residential. If we’re going to steal a car, we need to do it now, before it’s nothing but barren highway.

I tug Bishop’s T-shirt, and we touch down in front of a small neighborhood strip mall, strangely intact despite it being in Los Demonios. It should be reassuring, but instead it makes a cold shiver creep down my spine.

One of the shops is called Nails! Nails! Nails!, and a sign plastered across the big front window claims they do the best acrylics in Los Angeles County. Next to it is a restaurant that announces they serve the cheapest Thai food in the area, which I’m not sure is such a great thing, and next to that is a Buck-O-Rama. A half-dozen cars are parked in the small lot out front.

Bishop strides up to a Toyota hatchback—sadly, the most reliable-looking vehicle in the lot. He waves his hand at the lock. It pops open with a click, and he lets himself inside, falling into the driver’s seat. “No keys,” he mutters. “Not a
problem.” He climbs back out and pops the hood, his head disappearing into the engine block.

I hug myself against the biting-cold wind, casting nervous glances over my shoulder. “Can’t you just use magic on it?” I whisper.

“Relax,” he answers. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

A second later, the engine rumbles to life. Relief floods through me. Bishop lowers the hood, a triumphant smile on his lips.

“Hate to say I told you so,” he says.

I gasp.

Goth Woman—Zeke—stands behind Bishop, her Mohawk sticking straight into the air in messy spikes.

“Nice work,” she says.

“Couldn’t have done better myself.”

I whirl around at the man’s voice. Eminem grins at me from the parking lot, a dozen other rebels scattered behind him.

Bishop leaps over to stand in front of me. He holds his hands out in a defensive pose as I reach into my belt and unsheathe the dagger. Its heavy metal shakes in my hand as Bishop and I spin back to back, trying to keep our eyes on our enemies. But if they’re scared of us, they don’t show it. I spot Sporty Spice at the back, rubbing her palms together like she’s been waiting for this moment for ages. Bob Marley puffs his chest out, while Hawaiian Shirt picks his teeth with a toothpick, a scary gleam in his eye.

“Care to explain what you’re doing in our territory?” Zeke asks. She takes a casual step closer, her boot heels clacking against the pavement. Up close, her dark eye makeup looks like it was smeared on with a spatula. I’d love to take a baby wipe to her face, but it’s probably not the best time.

“You don’t want to get any closer,” Bishop says in a cool, confident tone.

“Is that right?” she asks, smirking. “Says who?”

“Bishop. Nice to meet you,” he answers breezily. Zeke’s people instinctively move in around us at his cocky tone.

I grip the knife tighter, sweat slicking my palms, but Zeke holds up a hand, and the rebels stop their advance. My pulse races as her eyes narrow on my face.

“You’re the human we sold to the Chief a few weeks ago,” she says.

“Except I’m not a human,” I spit. “I’m a witch.”

Surprise flashes across her face, a low buzz of whispers rising up from the crowd around us. She looks at Bishop.

“Warlock,” he says. He gives her a little wave, a smug smile on his face.

“Might want to check your facts next time,” I add.

“She’s a spy!” someone yells. The rebels charge forward, but with another raise of her hand, Zeke stops them.

The moon sits fat and heavy in the sky. The spell could be happening this minute. I fight a wave of panic. Every wasted second means Paige could be dead.

“I’m going to ask you this again,” Zeke says. “I want an honest answer. If you lie to me you’ll get no mercy from my people.
What
are you doing in my territory?”

Bishop looks back at me, a question in his eyes:
What do we do?

“Be very careful,” Zeke warns.

I close my eyes. We’ve come this far to save Paige, gone through so much, and it could all end now. I press my lips together so I don’t cry out in frustration.

Unless…

An idea rapidly forms in my mind. From what I’ve learned from my forays into Los Demonios, the rebels hate the Chief almost as much I do. If I can somehow convince them to ally with us, we’d massively increase our chances of stopping the ceremony. Plus they wouldn’t kill us—I hope. (Note to self: don’t let it slip that the Chief’s my dad.)

The more I think about it, the more it makes sense.

“Time’s running out,” Zeke singsongs.

I take a measured breath and lock eyes with her. “We came from Los Angeles to stop the Chief from killing my best friend.”

I don’t know what I expected—that she’d be surprised the Chief entertained ideas of murder? But she doesn’t even blink.

I swallow. “Except now we know it’s not just my friend in danger. The Chief’s sister, Rowan, has been kidnapping teens to use as sacrifices in a spell he’s doing tonight. He’s
going to try to open up a portal so he can escape this place and overthrow the Family.”

The rebels break into chatter. Bishop tugs hard on my arm, but I won’t look at him.

“Hmm,” Zeke says, as if I were reporting the weather.

“You have to help us,” I plead.

She chuckles darkly. “Really. And why do I
have
to do that?”

Somehow I don’t think “Because it’s wrong to sacrifice teenagers” is going to be a convincing argument.

“Because we’ll help you get out of here,” Bishop says.

I spin to face him.

“Help us and I’ll talk to the Family about getting you out of here,” he continues.

Zeke barks a laugh. “And why would the Family care what some teenager has to say about me? I’ve murdered humans. You’re going to say something to change their mind about me?”

I pale at her words, but Bishop doesn’t falter.

“My uncle is in the Family—high up too. If I tell him you helped us stop the Chief from escaping and overthrowing them, he’d have to recognize that. He’d convince the rest of the council to let you out, or at the very least, to cut your sentences down to nothing.”

She doesn’t look convinced. She’s quiet for so long I expect her to launch her goons at us with every passing second, but she surprises me by nodding.

“Fine. We’ll help you stop the Chief, but the deal is you get us out of here—every single one of us—and if you don’t? We won’t stop hunting you down until you and every single one of your family members dies in the most brutal way we can think up. Have I made myself clear?”

An involuntary shudder passes through me. I want to ask how she’s going to do that from in here, but I get the feeling she’d find a way. It’s a risk, but it’s not like I have a choice.

I reach my hand out. She clasps it.

“Deal,” I say in a voice more confident than I feel. “And my name is Indigo.”

W
e drive in a caravan toward the Hollywood Hills. The rebels yip and holler over their music, a scary excitement radiating through the air. Zeke drives the car at reckless speeds, taking turns so hard it’s like she’s
trying
to get us into an accident. But no one else seems to care. I can’t believe we’ve put our trust in these people—the same people who recently beat the crap out of me and sold me to the highest bidder. Not for the first time, I wonder just what we’ve gotten ourselves into.

Bishop and I huddle in the backseat as the car bumps along. I lean my head against his chest, and he wraps his
arms around me, resting his chin on my head. Strangely, it’s the most romantic moment we’ve shared in too long.

“Remember the time you attacked me in the sand dunes?” he asks.

Heat flashes across my cheeks.

Bishop chuckles softly, rubbing small circles into my arm. “Don’t be embarrassed. It was cute.”

If someone had told me a few weeks ago that I’d one day look back on the memory of Bishop rejecting me and laugh, I would have smacked them. And yet here I am, chuckling along with him as he holds me close. I wish we had more time—we don’t have enough good memories together.

All at once, in this singular moment in the back of a car full of sweaty rebels, I know: I want Bishop. I don’t know what happened with Cruz, why I let him get so close to kissing me, or why I would have risked everything in one stupid moment. All I know is that I want a future with Bishop, and only Bishop.

We peer out the dirty windows, on the lookout for an attack that could take place at any moment. But nothing happens except the sky grows darker by degrees. It should make me happy. Like Mom used to say, I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, whatever that’s supposed to mean. But something about the lack of action feels off, and my nerves are on edge more than if we’d had to pick off thousands of armed sorcerers on the way to the Chief’s headquarters.

After too much driving, the landscape finally morphs into the Hollywood Hills. I sit up straighter.

“All right, where is this place?” Zeke calls back. “All I see is forest.”

“It’s inside the mountains,” I answer. “The door is set into the trees.”

Zeke shakes her head. “No wonder we couldn’t find it.”

I scan the woods in the light of the full moon, looking for a sign of the headquarters, but everything looks the same. Trees, trees, and more trees. I worry we won’t be able to find the door in time, and panic tightens my chest.

“So am I just going to drive around forever, or are you going to tell me where to go?” Zeke asks.

“I’m looking,” I snap. “Just give me a minute.” I bite my lip and stare out the window as if looking intently enough will make the secret door pop up out of nowhere. If I just had a bit more light. A bit more time.

Finally, I see it.

“Stop!”

Zeke slams on the brakes so hard I crash into the back of her seat. Grumbling, I open the door and jump out. I expected the door to the compound to be invisible in the grassy hillside but instead it hangs wide open.

Two more cars screech to a halt behind us, and the rest of the rebels pile out, the crisscrossing headlights of our vehicles beaming across the mountain.

“They’re gone,” I announce, staring at the open door.

“How do you know?” Zeke asks.

“The Chief wouldn’t leave the door to his stronghold wide
open and unguarded. The fact that he has means he doesn’t care who finds it or gets inside. Wherever they are, they expect the ritual to succeed and they don’t plan on coming back.”

“Great, so what now?” Bob Marley asks.

“Yeah, what now?” another echoes. A stir goes through their ranks. I need to take control before they start getting angry and taking it out on me for leading them here.

“We search the place,” I say. “Try to find clues about where they went. Anything could help, so keep your eyes peeled. We’ll meet back here in ten minutes. Make that five.”

“Who put you in charge?” Sporty asks.

I so don’t have time for this crap.

“Listen,” I say. “You don’t have to like me, but I’m the only one here with a
clue
what the Chief is up to. So if you have a problem taking orders from me, then I suggest sitting this one out. No one is going to mind.”

Her mouth falls open.

“She’s right.”

The two of us look over at Zeke.

“You’re going to let her talk to us this way?” Sporty sputters.

Zeke raises a pointed eyebrow at her before crossing to the door. She disappears inside, and the rest of the rebels soon follow suit. Sporty looks after them, paused by indecision, before sending me a nasty glare and trotting off after the others.

“Good job,” Bishop says, grinning at me. “I didn’t know you’d become such a badass.”

He takes my hand, and together we enter the Chief’s headquarters.

The rebels have split up, taking off in all different directions through the snaking tunnels. I’d hoped to have some bearings in the place since I’d been here before, but it all looks the same. I pick a direction at random and set off at a jog, Bishop at my side.

The place feels different. It’s not just that all of the heavy metal doors set into the rock walls are open—the air itself seems zapped of the charge that it used to hold.

Up ahead, a group of rebels file through a set of double doors. I slow behind them. It’s the dormitory. The sheets are rumpled at the ends of the military beds as if everyone got up and left in the middle of the night. Where are the teens? What’s happened to Paige?

“Clear!” someone yells.

Bishop tugs my arm, and I follow him out of the room.

Shouts ring out from deep inside the tunnels. We break into a sprint toward the noise. After a few twists and turns, we find the source.

The rebels have found the Chief’s office. A half dozen of them pore through the files and maps spilled out across his desk, cackling with glee at each new discovery.

“He’s got maps of our locations,” one says. “He knew about our Redondo camp.”

“No wonder those jack-offs knew about the March raid.”

“How do I look?” Eminem says. He’s got one of the
Chief’s velvet jackets on and is modeling it like a lady. I dig my fingers into my scalp.

“Hello!” I yell. “You’re supposed to be looking for clues!”

One of them pitches over the tea cart, and china goes crashing to the ground. They holler like a bunch of wild dogs.

I don’t have time to babysit these idiots.

I dash over to the desk and start frantically going through the papers. Bishop takes the hint and joins me.

A rebel smashes the red velvet divan against a wall. A resounding
crack
splits the air, and splintered wood flies everywhere as a chorus of maniacal laughter rises up around me. My heart races as I riffle through the papers.

“What’s this?” Bishop stamps his finger down on a page. In the center of a large piece of graph paper is a drawing of a circle with horizontal lines stretching around half of it.

“I don’t know—do you think it could be important?”

He pulls the paper close to his face, quickly scanning it. “I don’t know.” He hands it to me.

Footsteps and shouts ring out through the hallway. Sporty stops in the doorway, huffing for air.

“Found anything?” I ask hopefully.

She shakes her head. “Nothing. Just some sorcerer tied up in the basement. Practically dead by the looks of it.”

I drop the paper. “Where is he?”

She scrunches her nose at me. “What’s it to you?”

Idiot. She. Is. An idiot.

“Did you try to revive him?” I ask.

“And why the hell would I do that?” she retorts.

Isn’t it obvious? “Because we could make him tell us where they’re doing the spell!”

She opens her mouth to retort, but Zeke steps inside the room.

“It’s a good idea. You should have thought of it yourself.”

Sporty’s jaw tenses as rebels come running in, bent over and heaving for breath.

“Well, are you going to take us to him, or pout all night?” Zeke asks.

I have to restrain myself from smiling triumphantly at Sporty—I’m afraid she’ll try to kill me if I do. She turns on her heel. Zeke jogs off behind her, and Bishop and I hurry to follow.

We’re led through a series of tunnels twisting down into the bowels of the building. The farther we get, the narrower the paths become; jagged rock presses into us from all sides. It smells like damp and mildew and there’s the sound of steady dripping coming from somewhere deep in the shadows. The only light comes from a lantern swinging from Sporty’s arm that I’m guessing she magicked into existence.

Finally, the rebels stop in a small alcove that definitely doesn’t qualify as a basement. It looks more like a place used to torture prisoners in medieval times. Which, from the looks of it, isn’t too far off the mark.

The space is so small that with the rebels crowded around, I can see only the sorcerer’s hands chained over his head and the
splatters of blood on the stone wall behind him. I start to move closer to try to get a better look, but Bishop pulls me back.

“It could be dangerous,” he whispers. “We don’t know what this guy is capable of. Let them take the risks.”

I want to argue that tied up and unconscious, surrounded by a dozen angry rebels, he doesn’t look capable of much, but what Bishop is saying makes sense, so I press myself back into the shadows with him.

Zeke pushes through the crowd and stops in front of the man.

“Wake up,” she demands.

Silence.

There’s the sound of an impact, then a quiet grunt from the prisoner.

“Wake up,” Zeke repeats. “You don’t want me to have to ask you again.”

More silence, broken only by that same dripping sounding from the dark.

Coming down here seemed like such a good idea only minutes ago, but it’s beginning to feel like a waste of time. And we didn’t have a lot of time to begin with.

“Ah, there he is,” Zeke says.

Thank God. I rise up on my toes, trying to get a better look.

“Who are you?” Zeke asks. “And why are you down here?”

The guy lets out a painful groan. It’s quiet for a moment. And then:

“Cruz. My name is Cruz.”

I gasp, all the blood draining out of my head.

Bishop tries to grab my arm as I launch forward, but I slip free of his grip and push through the rebels.

Cruz’s head is slumped against his chest, whatever energy he summoned to speak zapped out of him. There’s a dark circle in the center of his T-shirt, and I don’t need more light to guess that it’s blood. I fall to my knees in front of him and grab his face in my hands, lifting his head up. His skin is too cold, his head dead weight in my hands. His eyes are circled with two violent black bruises, and there’s dried blood in the cuts on his swollen, cracked lips.

“Cruz, wake up,” I say, my voice faltering. “It’s me, Indie.”

A long moment passes before his eyes flutter open. “Indie,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. A sad smile quirks his lips. “Hey,
chica
.”

“You know this guy?” Zeke asks.

“What happened to you?” I say, ignoring her.

Cruz lets out a soft chuckle, then wets his lips. “Turns out the Chief doesn’t like humans disappearing on my watch.”

His words slam the air out of my lungs. He was punished because I disappeared on his watch. It’s my fault that this has happened to him. That he’s been tortured, beaten.

“I’m so sorry,” I breathe. The words sound so inadequate to my ears. Tears spill down my cheeks faster than I can check them. “I never would have—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts. “It’s not your fault.”

There’s something behind his eyes I haven’t seen before—resignation. It makes a fresh wave of fear take hold of me. He can’t die down here. Not because of me.

“We don’t have time for this,” Zeke says. “Where is the Chief? Where is the ceremony being held?”

I turn to face the rebels. “Get him out of these chains,” I demand. I don’t wait for them to answer before I start frantically pulling at Cruz’s chains, as if I have enough strength to break two inches of solid metal. I wheel around, searching for support, but no one’s looking at me.