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“And what am I supposed to do?”
“Play a rousing game of fetch with the puppies? Maybe teach them some tricks? Shake perhaps?” Felix snapped and pointed his fingers. “Oh! I always love when they play dead!”
“Practice for later?” I grinned despite the emotions rolling through me like a tidal wave.
Felix just snapped and pointed again before disappearing into tendrils of black smoke.
Chapter Twenty-Four – Sleeping Beauty and the Beast
Ness
It didn’t feel like her bed. These were clearly not the sheik 1000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and pillowcases, nor could she feel her memory foam mattress topper, both of which she had so eloquently “procured” on her last trip to Calgary. No, these sheets felt more like lying on some industrial single-ply toilet paper and cardboard.
And to make matters worse she was sleeping on her back. Vanessa Hawthorneneverslept on her back. Sleeping on her back meant nasal congestion and lower back pain, and nobody had time for that.
What the hell had she been doing? And more importantly, where was she?
Cracking open a single eye, she took in the world around her with extremely cautious movements. Years of specialized combat training and practice pilfering shiny wasted objects from careless owners had taught her that minimal movement was the key to scoping out a situation undetected. Too bad Ryn hadn’t gotten that memo.
Hell bears anyone?
Seriously, that chick should have died a hundred times over at this point. Angel’s balls but that girl owed her some more clothes for the years she had shaved off Ness’ life with that stupid stunt.
But she was digressing. It was time to focus.
She tilted her head to the side and opened her other eye, taking in the large fluorescent lights that bathed the room in an offensive sheen of yellow. And while the walls had clearly been drywalled and painted a coat of sterile white to match the cheap panels in the ceiling, the lack of windows, odd curvature to the far wall and overall dimensions told her exactly where she was: the subterranean infirmary.
No wonder the sheets felt cheap - the sisters couldn’t be bothered to spend a nickel of the money they earned with the selection bids on half decent textbooks, let alone fabric softener.
Ness sat up, swinging her legs off the side of the bed before taking stock of herself. She was wrapped in a simple blue and white hospital gown (it was a wonder they’d sprung for prints instead of just plain old white and a bucket of bleach) tied behind her waist with snaps that dug into her shoulders when she moved. While an IV pole sat innocently beside her with a clear bag of saline hanging from it, no lines connected her to the machine, a somewhat comforting notion. It couldn’t be that bad if she wasn’t in dire need of hydration, sustenance and pain-relieving miracle drugs that were so kindly offered through such a contraption.
Hazy memories slowly seeped back to her as she furrowed her brow. She could remember the arena, Ryan screaming, Acton…scales.
Oh god. Scales. And spikes. And pain.
Without conscious thought she lifted her hand to her chest, squeezing the spot where the spike had pierced directly into her chest.
Anxiety filled her mind as her lungs struggled to take in enough air. Her breathing quickened, and she began to feel lightheaded.
Calm the fuck down. She told herself, reciting the mantra repeatedly. It was just a panic attack. She was alright. The spike was gone, the naga was gone. She was alright. She was okay.
And fuck, if Ryn could survive panic attacks like regularly scheduled programming, then she could too damnit.
But Gods it felt so tight.
Just as she thought she had it under control, the door to her room burst open. A man in a long black robe trimmed with red detailing over red camo print fatigues entered, a harsh expression drawing at his face. He looked anything but welcoming, a threat looming on his features. Ness had little more than a moment to think before the man grabbed at her, hauling her up roughly by bicep.
“You’re coming with me,” the man said. While normally Ness loved a good Australian accent, this man’s ugly sneer stole any excitement she would have felt.
“Let me go,” she struggled, pulling at her arm. She must have been out for a while because she felt weak. Her body felt lethargic and muscles toneless from disuse. The man ignored her, all but dragging her across the tiled floor to the exit.
“Seriously let me the fuck go!” she screamed, pulling harder at him. When that did nothing, she chose to take another approach, relaxing in his hold just a bit.
“You want to release me,” she said, pulling at what reservoirs of greed she had tucked inside. It was often difficult after a long rest to work her magic as her natural connection to greed needed to refill itself. But she had to try.
The scout turned back to her, gripping her by the other arm and lifting her up off her feet.
“Listen bitch, mind tricks don’t work on me,” he said, his bright turquoise eyes belying his connection to the diligence line. Great - he must have had some kind of psychic shield - a rare talent that made the wielder all but immune to psychic attacks.
