Witchlock

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  I gritted my teeth to hold back a groan of pain. A warrior never lets a threat see you flinch.

  Had that been a random thought? Or did I know this as a truth?

  "Stay right where you are, kid. No funny stuff and you won't get hurt."

  Too late. Everything ached right down to the roots of my hair. And why had he called me kid? Was that anything like a dude? I dug around in my mind and came up with kid as a baby goat. Maybe I'm not the only one with scrambled brains.

  The boot nudged me again. "Get up. Slow and easy."

  I eyed that boot, considering what would happen if I spun his foot to face the wrong way. But he had a black metal object on his hip that could be a weapon, and I still didn't know where I was or what was going on.

  Breaking his ankle didn't seem too smart.

  Rolling to my side, I shuddered to my knees. That settled it. I was in no shape to fight anyone right now. I'd made the right decision not to antagonize this person. Bracing myself, I lurched up to stand and anchored my feet shoulder width apart. Wiping at my arms was a mistake. Sand and grit clung to my skin so all I did was grind it into the raw places.

  The man I faced stood barely taller than me. An elder I estimated to be three times my age if that old ghost had been right about me being seventeen. Age seamed this man's face and voice. Eyes like coarse stone. "What kind of damn outfit you wearing, girl?"

  He said girl as if I reminded him of a maggot. As for my clothes, what about his?

  Couldn't place what he wore, but I sensed the meaning behind his words and attitude-authority.

  All the elders milling around wore the same covering-blue pants, light blue shirts, everything regulated and unyielding except for the sweat stains at their armpits and lower backs.

  I cast another glance at myself. No one was dressed like me. Not even the others my age. They wore a different type of uniform-unusual words and designs across their chest coverings-PMS, Mad Cow Disease, Rangers. Loose pants that sagged at their hips, colorful footwear too short to be boots. The more I looked, the less I understood. I searched my memory for what was normal or how I'd ended up here.

  And found only a cold emptiness filled with dark shadows.

  Nothing. How could that be?

  Fear turned into a rabid animal in my chest, fighting to get out.

  With no idea who I was or where I belonged, what would these people...

  "You going native?" the man asked me, guffawing. He shouted over his shoulder, "Hey Burt, we got one thinks she's Pocahontas. Looks Navajo, like that other kid you got cuffed."

  Pocahontas? Could that be my name, too? Judging by the way he'd treated me so far he didn't know me and didn't care. The crazy old ghost had shown more concern.

  The other elder this guy called Burt had clasped metal rings on the wrists of a scrawny boy younger than me-a kid?-who looked more malnourished than dangerous. What had he meant by saying we looked Navajo? What was a Navajo? I fingered my hair again. Straight and black like the skinny kid. Was my face as sharp as his? Were my eyes brown, too?

  Nausea boiled up my throat.

  I didn't even know what I looked like.

  Panic darted across the other young faces, but not like mine. They didn't appear confused over who they were or why they were being captured.

  And no one here recognized me.

  Blue lights flashed on top of a dirty white box with wheels. Was that how the elders had arrived? That form of travel seemed wrong, but I couldn't pinpoint why.

  Who were these people? What did they want?

  I scanned the cliff face again. The beast appeared gone. Or merged so deep into the shadow of the rocks as to be invisible. Unless?

  Turning around, I eyed the male and female elders rounding up the struggling captives. Could the beast thing morph into a human? And if so, what were my chances of escaping?

  "You got a name?" the man at my side barked.

  I whispered through cracked, dry lips. "Rayen."

  "That a first name or a last?"

  I shook my head. Big mistake. Pain shot through my battered skull. The elder waited for me to answer, but the ghost hadn't given me more. "Don't know."

  "Can't hear you."

  "I don't know." Talk about the scary truth. An icy ball of terror jackknifed around inside me, but I kept my face passive, trying to figure out what to tell him. My eyes watered, but I blinked against tears. I was not one who cried. Strange, but I knew this.

  Never expose a vulnerability rolled through my thoughts.

  I might not know who I was, but some deep-seated instinct told me to trust myself to know how to survive.

  "Where you from, kid?"

  Just keep asking me questions I can't answer, chewing up my insides. I shook my head.

  "Don't have a last name? Don't have a home? Wrong answers, kid." The elder reached for something in his belt. "Turn around. Hands behind your back."

  What choice did I have? There were too many of the blue uniforms with the black metal devices on their hips. I knew something discharged from a unit shaped like that. And even if I did try to run, that beast was out there, somewhere. I could feel its presence bone deep.

  So I turned, willing to wait for my chance to escape. A narrow strip of rigid material looped against my bruised wrists. Tightened with a sharp tug.

  "That'll keep you." The man sounded pleased. "Where's transport, Davis?" he shouted to someone.

  "On the way," came a female answer.

  "Captain's going to be glad to know we got this gang corralled before they disappeared into the Sandias," the man next to me bragged. "You were right about these kids holing up this side of the Del Agua Trail."

  Del Agua. I knew the name of that trail.

  Another positive sign, right?

  "Folks out at Piedra Lisa Park will be happier," another laughed.

  Piedra Lisa Park? I didn't know that name or what they were talking about.

  A sudden jerk on my arm sent me stumbling. I couldn't swallow the groan that slid out this time.

  "Keep up, kid. No lagging. We got room for one more in this van." The man spoke out of the side of his mouth as he half dragged, half-shoved me toward one of the dusty boxes with wheels and iron mesh windows. This one already jammed full of snarling, angry prisoners. All who looked my age or younger.

  Wary glares taut with anger and fear sized me up, judging me.

  I stiffened at the thought of being caged and helpless. And no telling when that beast would attack again. Could it get inside these boxes? My instincts warned me this wasn't a good idea, but those same instincts didn't offer help on how to get out of this situation.

  Stalling, I asked, "Where're we going?"

  "Why we're taking you to the Hilton Albuquerque." The man snickered.

  A Hilton Albuquerque? Could the beast get to me there? I shoved a quick look up and over my shoulder again, searching. A shadow moved down the rocks, closer. "Where?"

  "Don't be a fool, girl." The man thrust a meaty hand on the top of my head and shoved me inside toward the only remaining single seat. The taint of fear and sweat filled my nose. Heads hung down, shoulders hunched. I had the sense that the others knew where we were going and that knowledge had them trembling.

  I tried once more. "Where are you taking me?"

  "Where do ya think we take juvenile delinquents who steal twelve-thousand dollars worth of valuables and destroy a business just for fun?"

  Stealing? Destruction? I wrenched at the tight bond around my wrists.

  I wasn't a criminal.

  Was I?

  To buy books and read more excerpts, go to https://www.MicahCaida.com

 

 

 
ale(100%); -moz-filter: grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share