Page 152 of Echoes of the Banshee

I glance at him, his silhouette slumped in the corner, the cuff glowing faintly against his skin.

“Anywhere’s better than here,” I say firmly. “I’m not going to sit around and wait for them to decide what to do with us. You shouldn’t either.”

He doesn’t respond, his head tilting down as he cradles his wrist. I return to searching, ignoring the gnawing ache radiating from my own cuff. As my hands skim over the edge of a shelf, I feel something small and metallic. My fingers close around it, and I pull it out into the faint light. It’s a thin, rusted nail. Not much, but it’s something.

A spark of determination ignites in my chest as I slip the nail into my waistband and keep searching. Every corner of the storeroom feels colder, more indifferent to the tightening knot in my stomach. I move with purpose, touching and examining every inch, knowing the seconds are slipping away. When I’ve checked every possible hiding spot, I finally sit down next to Benson.

“So, Benson,” I say, keeping my voice light despite the tension in the air. “Last time I had a cuff on, I found storytelling helped with the pain. Gave me something else to focus on.” I glance at him, trying to gauge his reaction. “Want to hear how I turned my coven’s basement into a pool?”

“You turned a basement into a pool?” he asks, his voice rough but intrigued.

“Yup,” I reply, a wry grin tugging at my lips. “It was supposed to be an illusion spell. I thought I could make the room look like it was underwater. It was a prank; there was this male witch I liked, and I knew he’d need to go down there. But apparently, my elemental magic decided to come out instead.”

Benson raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching. “And? Did you impress him?”

“Well, let’s just say he wasn’t a fan of witches who get so wet they flood basements,” I joke. “His loss.”

Benson snorts, the sound turning into a low chuckle despite himself.

“God, you’re terrible.”

“But you laughed.” I glance at him, triumphant. “Your turn. What’s something ridiculous you’ve done?”

“I made my mom a mirror.” He pauses, his gaze distant as if recalling the memory. “I enchanted it to boost her confidence with compliments, Great ones, or so I thought.”

I raise an eyebrow that he probably can’t see. “What happened?”

“The mirror is about as bad as you are,” he says, shooting me a faint smirk. “It roasts everyone who walks by it, except for her. It affectionately calls me the ‘swamp creature,’ and my one dad is the ‘hairless wonder.’ He has super white hair. My mom, though? Every time she walks by, it calls her ‘The Timeless Wonder.’”

I snort, trying to hold back a laugh. “She actually keeps it?”

“By the front door,” he says, shaking his head with mock despair. “She likes to hear it call her that as she’s heading out for the day.”

“What about your other dad?” I ask.

“He’s the ‘wonderless creature.’ I think I failed and it only knows a handful of words.”

The air between us shifts, and for a moment, the cuffs, the storeroom, and the danger outside all fade away. We’re just two people — two survivors sharing stories in the dark. His voice grows animated as he tells me about his attempt to make a soccer ball that would shoot at him that ended up breaking his arm when the sound of heavy boots echoes outside the door. A sense of dread creeps up my spine, but I shove it down.

A short goblin with plain brown hair and cruel eyes scans the room after the door swings open. His hand rests on the gun tucked into his pants.

“Untied, huh? Someone’s been busy,” he mutters. I hadn’t noticed how pale Benson looked in the dark, but now, as I glance at him, the color has drained from his face. My stomach twists in concern.

Two larger goblins storm in behind him. They move with rough efficiency, grabbing us. Benson stumbles as the goblin yanks him to his feet, his legs barely holding him upright. I pretend to be equally fragile, my knees buckling as I let them drag me from the room.

The dim corridor leads to a warehouse with metal walls and concrete floors. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows. Standing at the far end of the room, is the tall goblin with startling yellow hair and matching eyes, his posture rigid, his gaze calculating.

I’m shoved forward, my knees hitting the hard floor with a jarring thud. The sting of the impact shoots through my legs, but I bite down on the pain, refusing to let it show. I glance up at the goblin leader, meeting his cold stare. Benson falls beside me with a weak groan, but I force myself to look straight ahead. Showing concern will only make him a bigger target.

“Looks like you’re as weak as they say,” the goblin leader sneers, his deep voice dripping with mockery. He takes a slow step forward, his boots echoing in the silence. “The cuff barely seems to be affecting you.”

I force a smile.

“Then there’s no need for it, is there?” I say, my voice sweet as honey. My gaze flicks briefly to the cuff on my wrist. “And honestly, it doesn’t even match my outfit.”

His lips curl into a thin, cruel smile. His eyes narrow as he studies me. He takes a slow step closer, a grunt escaping him as he shifts his posture.

“You’re bold,” he growls. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”