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ONE
MAGDALENA
The ache in my skull pounds like someone dropped a microwave on my head from a three-story window.
What the actual fuck?
A thick sickening darkness sits on me, covering up everything from when Harry and I—
We stole the Heart of Dark Desires.
We—
Nausea rocks me as a bolt of adrenaline hits. Memories come in thick. Jumbled.
The damn double crossing of Hendrick and Jac. The knock on my door. The gun in my face. Harry’s store.
I don’t understand—
It all tumbles in, threatening to smother me down.
There’s more.
Dream like sequences of being in a room with nothing but a mattress and a toilet. Of vague images so stretched out they’re hard to distinguish. A man, or is it more than one that peers at me? No…voices and faces.
I don’t know how many. Their features melt down into wavering nothing.
In my head they’re faceless, voices blurred to noise. Mine, too.
I could have been in that room hours or days.
I’m not in that room now. Wherever I am, I’m sitting up—propped up. Everything leaden but my mind…that’s clearing.
I don’t know where I am.
It smells dank, earthy. Beyond that? I can’t hear anything. It could mean the building’s insulated or we’re no longer in fucking Delacroix City. I don’t dare move. Because though I don’t hear anything but my breathing, I don’t think I’m alone.
Every second counts.
I don’t open my eyes. Instead, I let the images of jewels dance with each beat of my brain. It soothes me, stops the panic rising, taking over. Stops me from jerking up and fighting.
Panicking.
I don’t like panic.
I don’t like this.
Where the fuck am I?
Things clear a little a little more as I push past the question.
The man with the gun. The jab of it in my back.
Shit. Why is everything wavery?
My arm… He did something. A pinch on my arm. A needle.
No, not that…Harry. I latch on to her. No, Harry’s store. Her basement. It’s important. But…I can’t reach it. I—Oh. Fuck.
