by T. F. Walsh
She’d make it work and be out of this crap-hole prison in no time. Then, she’d triple the strength of the protection spell around her apartment, stay indoors for a week straight. And never enter the woods again in either the Tapestry or human worlds.
Waves of black smoke swallowed up the ceiling.
Working her wings, she drove a gust into the vortex. It catapulted into the door, again and again, the sound thunderous. If it attracted her captors… even better. She’d burn them into retreat. Besides, this had to work because dragon fire burned through rock. Sweat dripping down the sides of her face caught in her lashes and hair.
Shimmering energy and flames twisted along the walls feverishly, revealing the enchanted cage.
Still no fracture.
Rage became her friend. The wings weighed heavy on her shoulders as her feet again touched the floor. Her knees buckled, and her resistance crumpled along with her body.
The cyclone fizzled out with a screech.
Fallen gasped, and her ears rang, each thick inhale constricting her chest. She lay in the room with no visibility, her lungs aching from the lack of fresh air. She pushed up onto hands and knees, scrambling until she found the door.
Please, open, please.
She reached up and tugged on the handle, this time expecting the sharp charge of electricity that whipped into her and jerked her backward.
Her stomach sank. No effect. All of that for nothing. The beat of her heart pounded faster until she wasn’t sure if it was a continuous hum or it had stopped altogether.
The quiet skulk of panic clawed through her. If she couldn’t use her abilities to get out, what could she do next? Wait to be tortured? There had been a reason her mom taught her to keep away from the kingdom. She was a dazmeu. The last dragon shifter. Fallen was sought after for too many reasons… all involving death.
Someone coughed outside her room. “I take my roasts medium rare. Not a fan of charcoal.”
Her captors!
She climbed to her feet. Through the viewing hole, she found the corridor still empty. Fumes drifted along the passage in a mist-like formation.
“Who’s there?”
“Prisoner next door. Where’s the smoke coming from?” The voice was deep and rough. She imagined it belonged to a huge guy. A troll?
“Why are we locked up? Who’s responsible?” Speaking caused a coughing fit. Drawing on the last morsels of strength, she beat her wings and drove the smoke out the barred window behind her. With the ease of crossing her arms, she withdrew the wings. Her bones shifted and flesh knitted, leaving her skin as smooth as the day she was born.
“What magic are you using?” His toned swelled with a strangled inflection of his voice when he said the m word.
Fallen’s arms covered in pinpricks. This was why she kept her distance from everyone. No one could discover her dragon form existed. “How long you been locked up?”
“Three months, but most of that was in a different prison. I just arrived here overnight.”
Damn. Maybe Fallen’s capture had zero to do with the kingdom. She touched the edges of her mouth, which still smarted.
The prisoner’s voice sliced her thoughts. “With your magic, we could escape.”
A nagging sensation coiled in the pit of her belly about this guy. Something was off. “How?”
“Give me your word you’ll break me out as well.”
“No deal.” Her answer was immediate. She didn’t do teamwork or trust a stranger who’d ask too many questions.
“Fine. After a few weeks, you’ll get used to the rats chewing on your ears as you sleep. The slop they call a meal. Oh, and the guards giving you a daily body check.”
A shiver ran down her spine. She paced in a circle over burn marks scorched into the cement floor. Were there other prisoners? She stepped closer to the door. “Hello, anyone else out there?”
“Just you and me. Interesting, ‘cause no one’s been able to master fire in forever. You’d make a popular commodity.”
“It was a spell.” Her muscles stiffened. No way would she help someone who referred to her that way.
“Look, Fire Girl, your attempt flopped.” His voice dipped into a raspy tone. Damn, if he didn’t sound sexy. Of course, he wouldn’t be. She’d find a hideous half-goblin in the next room. Great. Those guys were such freakin’ kleptomaniacs. A memory flashed in her head. One minute she’d been having a nice chat and a wonderful time. The next moment, the guy was running away with her leather jacket. The thing had cost her $500. So rude.
“Let’s work together,” her neighbor continued.
“Tell me how to get out, and I’ll…” The rest of her response stuck to the forefront of her mind. If she helped the prisoner, he’d ask questions, probably tell his friends how she’d cast a spell and harnessed fire. Before long, she’d have a gang of trolls hunting her to sell to the biggest buyer at the Wart Markets.
“Knew you’d agree.” He broke her concentration.
She couldn’t sit around and wait for her captors. What if they discovered her dragon side? Then she might as well sign her own death warrant. Escaping was the priority. “Fine.”
“Target the gap beneath the door. It’s a weak point.”
Fallen retreated and her gaze dipped. Yep, he was right about the gap. She clenched her hands and focused on the center of her chest where the lava burned. The inferno darted to the back of her throat and spewed out. It engulfed the bottom of the door. Crackling and flickering, plumes of smoke spiraled upward. In seconds, the golden blaze gorged on the door. A shower of sparks connecting with the enchanted prison floated to the ground like fallen stars.
“Did it work?”
“Hang on.” Another attack and a great sizzle erupted. An electric charge snapped across the room, striking Fallen with sharpened spikes. Spasms wracked her muscles, and blackness crept around the edges of her vision. Next thing, she found herself curled up on her side, shaking. “F-fff.”
Electrocuted! Really? Because her day hadn’t already sucked enough.
A piercing shriek of an alarm blasted outside the cell.
“Now it sucks worse.” She staggered to her feet, gaining feeling on wobbly legs.
“Hurry,” her neighbor shouted. “Get out.”
She dragged open the burning hot door and stepped into the darkened hallway lit only by dozens of holes piercing the ceiling.
A barren passage stretched out on either side, swallowed by shadows. Which way, which way? The alarm blared in her ears.
“Fire Girl, remember your promise.”
She twisted toward the prison door a few feet away. Beyond the viewing window were dark eyes with thick lashes that didn’t belong to a troll or goblin. A drae with pale scales at the corner of his eyelids. Her pulse kicked into the crazy zone because it was rare to meet another full drae outside the realm. Maybe her reaction was from the zap giving her a stroke. Or the knock on her head. One of those rats better not have bitten her and given her a disease.
Footfalls echoed closer, louder.
“Tick, tock. Let me out.”
Her gaze swept back and forth along the passages. Which direction were the guards coming from? Just go.
“I’ll tell you which way to escape.”
How would he know? He’d been locked up just like her. She sprinted past his prison cell and mouthed the word sorry. About twenty feet away, she bumped into something spongy and invisible. Bouncing backward, she stumbled and crashed onto her butt, debris sticking to her palms. Why did the Creators hate her?
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About T.F. Walsh
T.F. Walsh emigrated from Romania to Australia at the age of eight and now lives in a regional city south of Sydney with her husband. Growing up hearing dark fairytales, she's always had a passion for reading and writing horror, paranormal romance, urban fantasy and young adult stories. She balances all the dark with light fluffy stuff like baking and travel
ing.
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