One
Rose
You know that scene in horror movies where the final girl opens the door, and the killer is just standing there, waiting? Yeah.
Helena Wickersly stands there, her red hair slicked back, lips parted in a smile that does nothing to make her look less evil. Directly behind her are six disloyal members of the Blood Moon Coven.
So much for my quickly running to warn Ash.
Ash, my tormentor, my jailer, my something I can’t and don’t want to examine too closely. I can tell myself that I was only going to warn him because the thought of Helena holding my leash instead of Ash was the worse of two evils, as mind-boggling as that is. Sure, I can tell myself anything.
But I wouldn’t believe me either.
It takes everything in me not to just slam the door in her face and pray for a tornado to solve my problems, or a house to drop onher head. Instead, I put on a fake smile. “Wow. Hello to you, too. Is this like a surprise intervention?”
Helena laughs meanly, and the expression in her eyes is the same as a cat before it takes off your face with all ten claws. “It’s time you learned who is in charge, Rose.”
I consider my options.
run
punch
sarcasm
Too bad none of those work if you’re outnumbered seven to one, and the leader is an uber-powerful old witch.
I take a step back into my room, heartbeat in my ears.
Helena’s smile doesn’t change. It’s creepy, the mismatch between what her mouth is doing and the menace in her eyes. She gestures, and her backup fans out, blocking the hallway in both directions. I catch a flash of movement behind them and see Ollie, hunched and shuffling, eyes glued to the carpet. He looks as if he’d rather be anywhere else.
I know the feeling.
Except as the witches close in, Ollie edges sideways, not toward me, but toward the stairwell. He moves fast for a shuffler kind of guy. No one notices him, and I look away for half a second, and when I look back he’s gone.
Maybe someone up there likes me after all. If Ollie can get to Ash, he can warn him about Helena and put this bitch down once and for all.
Helena steps forward. “We’re going for a walk.”
I glance at the window. Not much of a drop, even if I could get to it and get past the warding, but I’m not exactly dressed for parkour in the dead of winter. Also, if I break an ankle, Lucien’s going to say, “I told you so,” until the end of time.
I stall. “Can I at least put on real pants? Or is this a pajama party kind of thing?”
The nearest coven witch growls like a rabid raccoon. “You’re not funny.”
“Disagree.” I edge back another step, trying to keep all of them in my sightline. “But you’re entitled to your wrong opinion.”
