Eighteen
Asher
In the weak yellow light of a single dim bulb swinging on a chain, the witches on C-block looked like ghosts in a haunted asylum.
They were all crammed into the cell together—a cold, damp chamber with no bedding or chairs. All of their heads had been shaved, the hair growing back in tufts and patches. Dressed in dirty white hospital gowns, the women were deathly pale, their bones sharp.
A few of them had bandages on their wrists and ankles. Others had…fucking hell.
I bit back my rage, shoving it down deep, saving it for the men who’d done this.
They werecarved. Runes, letters, symbols, slashes—angry red lines crisscrossed arms and legs, chests, faces.
He carved their fucking faces.Faces!
“Asher?”
The call was soft and watery, but I recognized her voice, and my throat tightened at the sound of it.
The last time I’d seen Haley was on the back of my motorcycle in front of her house, just before we’d gotten pinched by hunters.
“Haley,” I breathed, damn near gasping at the sight of the runes carved into her forehead.
I am going to kill every last hunter in this place.
“You’ve got some pretty sweet accommodations here,” I said sarcastically, forcing a smile as she approached the bars. I didn’t want her to know how truly freaked out I was by her condition—by what Jonathan had done to her. “You must know people in high places. How you holding up?”
“Fucking great, why do you ask?” She laughed, a genuine smile breaking across her gaunt face. “Shit, Ash. I’ve never been so happy to see a demon in all my life.”
She’d lost a lot of her curves and all of her hair, but at least she still had her sense of humor.
“Don’t go throwing me a parade just yet,” I said. “I have no idea how I’m going to get you guys out of here.”
“Just don’t touch the bars,” she said. “They’re—”
“Fae-spelled. I got the memo.” Damn things practically hummed with it. “How many of you are there?”
“Twenty-seven witches. That’s all of us.”
“You sure?”
“Pretty sure. Jonathan had us in separate cells at first, but he put us all together to make room for the other prisoners.”
“You’ve seen them?”
“Reva has.” Haley glanced over her shoulder at a young witch sitting against the back wall of the cell. I recognized the name—she was the teenager who’d contacted Gray through the fireplace back at the safe house.
“Reva’s a shadowmancer—she can project her consciousness from one shadow to another,” Haley explained. “So she can see things, spy, sometimes reach out to people if they’re really receptive. The guards haven’t figured it out yet. They barely notice her.”
“I’ve only been doing it for a little while.” The girl got up and walked toward the bars. Like the others, she was malnourished and pale, but she seemed steady on her feet, and her eyes were bright and alert. As far as I could tell, she’d been spared from Jonathan’s carving knife. “I’ve been traveling all over the caves. Outside, too. I tried to talk to Gray a couple of times.”
“Oh, she got your message, Reva,” I said. Then, with a wink that made her smile, “Nearly burned down the house in the process.”
“Sorry about that. Fire’s easy because it always casts shadows.”
“Don’t apologize. Because of you, my friends know to look for us in Raven’s Cape.”
“Are the guys all okay?” Haley asked. “Where’s Gray? Reva thought she was here for a little while, but she wasn’t sure.”
