He throws his hands up. “I’m going home. When you have time for me again—or when you decide to be honest—you can text me. Maybe I’ll answer.”
He stomps off and I just stand there, staring at that stupid white burrito bag.
Chapter Twenty
Vassago is laughing at me. Its voice is twisted, writhing with something evil, more evil that I’ve ever heard. In a black, scaly form, the demon doesn’t really look like the Vassago I’ve met.
I’m in the alley; this time Carter isn’t there. I’m alone and I’m surrounded. Vassago has friends, friends that have trapped me.
“You didn’t find the truth,” Vassago taunts.
“Tell me now,” I demand.
It shakes its head. “Too weak to seek it out, to fight. The clues were there. Open your eyes.”
“My eyes are open!” I yell. It laughs again. The other demons pull on me, their talons digging into my skin, gripping me so I can’t move. One trails a slimy hand through my hair before yanking on it. I want to scream, but I don’t want them to know they’re hurting me. I want to fight, to mash in their heads and run, but they’re stronger.
I feel it all, and it’s just like before. I want the pain to stop. It pierces, burns through my skin. I know they’re about to kill me, to drain me. Tears fall from my eyes as I yell Carter’s name.
He doesn’t come.
“Just tell me, please,” I beg. I beg, I beg, I beg. Bright eyes stare back at me. Black hands, red hands, green hands push me down, holding me in place. Vassago’s beard brushes against my face.
“Open your eyes!” Vassago yells.
“Open your eyes, Penelope!” Connie yells at me. “Penelope!”
I shoot up in the bed, gasping for air. Everything is spinning. Sweat pours off my skin and Connie stares at me, concern etched on her tired face. “You were dreaming again. This is the second night in a row.”
I’ve been dreaming about Vassago since Ric and I started fighting. Ric hasn’t talked to me in two days. He barely looks at me when we’re in the same room, and between that and the test in a week and the demons, I’m a little stressed.
“I know,” I say, breathless. My head is spinning. “Sorry I woke you.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. I want Connie to go away. I need to refocus, but she’s here, staring at me. She shouldn’t be so worried. I can handle this. The test is in five days. Only five more days.
“Maybe you need a break from training.”
“I said I’m fine!” I snap. Connie shakes her head at me and I grab her hand. “I’m fine,” I say for the third time. Jeez, I needed a new line. “It was a nightmare, okay? It’s been a long couple of days.”
I look at the clock and it’s four in the morning. I have to meet Carter at six, so I might as well get up now.
“I’m okay, Connie. I promise,” I say. Connie doesn’t move from my bed. I shouldn’t have expected it. I grab some clothes out of my dresser and move toward the bathroom.
“You sure you’re okay?”
I smile at my sister. “I promise.” But I don’t know. Not really. I’m just going on hope.
I’m almost to the Nucleus House when Carter sends me a different address. We’ll practice here, is all it says. The house he sends me to is a mess. Shutters missing or half hanging off the windows. Paint yellowed and peeling off the siding. Bricks from the chimney crumble off the roof. The wood on the porch looks rotted and not very safe. Leave it to Carter to bring me to some abandoned house. If this is the start of some horror flick I’m going to be pissed.
As I cross the threshold, I notice there’s a stale scent to the house, much like the one that fills the house I grew up. Like no one’s opened the windows in decades. It’s a bit overpowering. It lingers in my head, pushing thoughts of my parents up to the surface and of the demon and how much I need my magic back.
“Carter?” I call out. No response.
I turn left into an old living room. Two dusty couches are pushed against the walls. The floor is covered in red mats.
“Carter?” I yell, tossing my bag on one of the couches. Where is that boy? I turn to go back toward the exit when something knocks me off my feet and flat onto the mat. No one is there. No Carter. Not even a demon.
“This isn’t funny.”
There’s still no answer. I can’t get up. I can’t move my legs or my arms from the ground. I’m stuck lying on the ground, from neck to butt to ankles. Just like with that demon a couple days ago. He’s totally going to pay for this.
“Carter, let me go!”
“You have to want it, Pen. Get up. Use your magic.” His voice is closer than I expected, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
“I will and then I’ll kick your ass!” I yell. He doesn’t speak again, but his laugh echoes around me. The place feels creepy with the echoes, the peeling flowered wallpaper, and the smell.
Jerk. I really hate him. I attempt to push myself up from the ground, but it’s not working. No matter how many times I struggle against his magic, I can’t move. I can’t break free from the weight pressing down on my body, and my arms are starting to hurt from trying to force myself up. I need a different approach.
I take a breath and focus. I want to make my feet move. My hands. I want to be free. My feet and legs will move off these mats. My hands will flex and reach toward the sky. I push away the invisible bonds in my head. I hope he’s having fun, because this sucks.
I feel the magic, try to see it and hold on. I’m fighting against Carter’s magic, using his magic and mine. It’s weird. I’m using all my efforts to get free, and it takes more strength than I thought possible. I groan and the back of my head pounds to the ground.
One more try. That’s all I have left.
Hands in the air. Feet on the ground. Legs standing up. Arms outstretched. Hands in the air. Feet on the ground. It replays in my head like a mantra. Three, four, five times before my knees lift from the mat. I gasp-laugh and envision it some more, until I’m standing on slightly wobbly legs. But I’m standing, which is what matters.
Something hits me, a ping of electricity from across the room. I rub a spot on my arm where it pierced my skin. Another one pinches my leg. Another my neck. That’s when I see Carter sitting on the stairwell, pointing his hand at me like a gun.
“Protect yourself.”
“What?”
He jumps off the stairs, slinging a pile of dust with him into the air. “This is an attack.”
I shake my head, but he points his finger again and hits me with another ping. He runs around the room, moving from cover to cover. He hits me again on my ankle. I yell his name, but he shrugs.
“Defend yourself,” he insists. Then he hits me with a jolt of magic that makes me shift forward completely.
Fine! I only toss one shot toward him—which barely nicks his foot—before he’s behind me, his arm snaked around my neck. How does he move so fast?
“Sneak attack,” he whispers in my ear.
His moves are lightning. I’m on the ground again, him on top of me, grinning. My adrenaline is pumping, and I’m angry and frustrated and he’s so close to me that I think my head will explode. Maybe that’s what he’s playing at. I can go along with this and play; I’m not giving up now.
I gain the advantage by flipping him off me. It’s a second-long victory because then he flips up again, fists out toward me. But I’m up, too.