This Wicked Game (19 page)

T
here were flashes of consciousness through the darkness.

Pain in her head as she was shoved into a car.

The smell of leather.

A voice talking to someone a few feet away.

Then nothing. Again.

And finally, all at once, she was aware.

She tried to open her eyes. At first, her brain wouldn’t listen. She struggled against the sensation that her eyelids were actually glued shut, the panic that she would never be able to open them again.

Finally, she opened them a crack, then a little more.

The room around her was familiar. Not home. Not Xander’s or Sasha’s. But a place she’d been before. She figured it out as soon as her eyes came to a stop on the pictures tacked to the wall.

Allegra was there. And Laura and Daniel and the Valcour twins and Xander and Sasha.

All of them with
X
s through their image.

She was in the house on Dauphine.

Her mind shrieked escape, but when she tried to sit up, an ice pick seemed to pierce her brain and she laid her head back, whimpering.

When the pain subsided, she realized that her hands were tied to the bedposts.

Panic bubbled up in her throat. She had no idea if anyone had seen her being taken or if they even knew she was missing. Did the man who knocked her out with the powder take her bike? Or did he leave it on the sidewalk where Xander would see it and know something was wrong?

If they had taken her bike, how long would it take Xander and Sasha to know she’d been kidnapped—that she hadn’t just misunderstood their plan and started for home?

The questions came to an abrupt stop when she became aware of voices somewhere in the house. They were a vibration more than a sound, though she was dimly aware that one of them was higher in pitch than the others.

Breathe,
Claire commanded her body, forcing her mind to stop running in circles.

And then:
Think.
There has to be a way out of this.

There has to be.

She took a few more deep breaths and looked around the room again, this time trying to locate any means of escape. She started with the bedside tables. If there was something sharp enough, maybe she could use her legs to get it to the bed, find a way to free herself from the rope that bound her wrists.

But they were bare. Not even a lamp stood on their surface.

She scanned the space beyond the bed. If she couldn’t free herself, maybe she could find a way to escape once they tried to move her. They probably wouldn’t keep her on the bed forever, and if they’d wanted to kill her outright, they would have done it already.

There was Eugenia’s luggage, still against the wall. The bureau, an assortment of cosmetics and perfume bottles barely visible from Claire’s position on the bed. A big mirror in the corner almost identical to one her mother had.

Could she break it? Use the pieces to fight her way out?

Maybe, but it would be messy and noisy. A last resort.

She came to the writing table and had to force her gaze away from the pictures on the wall. They brought forth a fresh batch of panic that served no purpose except to shut down her brain, make her unable to think straight.

She turned her attention back to the writing table, this time to its surface. A computer cord wound its way up from the floor, but the laptop it belonged to wasn’t there. There was a stack of paper, and on top of it, an assortment of oddly shaped objects she couldn’t quite decipher.

She lifted her head as much as she could with her hands tied to the bedpost, commanding her eyes to focus.

When everything finally came into view, she knew exactly what she was seeing. It was what they had expected. What the Cold Blood spell called for.

The forms were crude, but then appearance wasn’t the point. Claire could make out the base of the shape, a
T
formed by two sticks with Spanish moss wound around them for shape. Claire was willing to bet each one had hair from the Guild’s firstborns wound together with the moss.

Each doll was covered in different scraps of cloth—probably articles of clothing taken with the hair during the break-ins. The faces were nondescript, with black buttons for eyes and thread sewn in tiny
x
’s where the mouths should be. The effect was twisted, a warped version of a child’s toy.

The sight of them, on the desk and under the wall of photos, paralyzed her. For a minute, she couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t think about fighting or escape or anything at all.

All she could see was the dolls, their faces terrifying in their childish simplicity.

The murmuring in the hall was louder now and coming toward her. A second later, the door flung open and Eugenia marched into the room without so much as a glance at Claire.

As with the other times Claire had seen her, Eugenia was impeccably dressed, this time in a black cotton dress and simple sandals. Her hair was pulled back from her face, accentuating the harsh angles of her bone structure, the slight upturn of her eyes.

The man who’d doused Claire with the sedative powder entered the room on Eugenia’s heels, glancing at Claire.

She tugged on the restraints.

“There’s no point trying to get away,” Eugenia said, her words harsh and clipped. She bent to check the ropes around Claire’s wrists. “You won’t be here long anyway.”

What did she mean? Were they going to kill her?

“They’re going to stop you,” Claire said, desperate to delay whatever was coming, if only to give Xander and the others more time to find her. “They have everything they need now.”

Eugenia advanced on the bed. Her eyes were cold and empty, devoid of emotion. She leaned closer, her perfume turning Claire’s stomach.

“You understand very little. I almost feel sorry for you.” She straightened, turning her eyes to the man. “Put her to sleep, Jean-Philip. Then gather everything together and bring it to the front hall.”

Claire’s mind grasped at Eugenia’s words. They were going to move her. And once they left the house, Xander wouldn’t have any idea where to start looking for her.

“Where are we going?” Claire asked, instinctively tugging on the ropes that bound her wrists. “Where are you taking me?”

“Quiet,” Eugenia snapped. She turned to Jean-Philip. “Do it.”

She left the room without a backward glance.

Claire turned her eyes on Jean-Philip as he moved across the room, lifting something from the top of the bureau.

“You don’t have to do this. Please don’t do this,” she begged.

He came toward her, his hands cupped around something Claire couldn’t see.

“Yes, I do,” he said.

Then he opened his palm and blew, the gray powder dusting her face like snow.

She tried not to breathe it in, but it was a futile struggle. A second later she inhaled deeply, and the powder’s fine particles made their way into her body.

She welcomed the darkness again.

C
laire woke up as they were dragging her through the courtyard.

Jean-Philip had ahold of one of her arms. The other one was held too tightly by a smaller man with an iron grip.

She guessed this was Herve.

Claire’s hands were tied behind her back, wrenching her shoulders into an awkward position that threw her off balance and made it hard to walk, even with the men on either side of her.

They hurried her toward the black Range Rover parked at the curb, both of them looking around as they left the courtyard to make sure they weren’t seen.

She wondered how long it had been since she’d been standing in front of Sasha’s with her bike. The sky was a deep blue, dark but illuminated by light in the distance. The temperature was no help. It was as hot and humid as it had been when she’d ridden her bike to Sasha’s, the darkness offering no relief from the punishing heat.

She could hear the hum of the car’s engine as they approached the Range Rover. Herve opened the back door, shoving her inside while Jean-Philip got in front.

Eugenia looked back at them from the driver’s seat before she turned around, putting the car into gear and easing out into the street. The locks engaged on the doors with an ominous
thunk.

Claire tried to pay attention to where they were going, but after a while she realized that it probably didn’t matter. Wherever they were taking her, they didn’t seem concerned that she could see the route, which meant they probably weren’t expecting her to be around to tell anyone when all was said and done.

Eugenia didn’t speak as she turned onto the highway, and Claire watched in silence as they headed out of town, north on Interstate 10. At first, she tried to keep her mind busy by analyzing possible escape routes, but it didn’t take long to realize that her options were limited.

Unless they stopped the car en route to their destination, her only choice would be to make a break for the door on the off chance that she could unlock it and jump free while they sped through the darkness at seventy-five miles an hour.

Not exactly appealing.

She tried to calm herself by turning her head to the window, watching the broken-down houses and grim strip malls as they made their way farther out of town.

They passed a sign for Head of Island. Claire had a flash of Xander, sitting next to her in the Mercedes after they’d broken into the house on Dauphine, telling her he’d seen a map on the kitchen table. Now it all made sense.

Claire felt as far away from home as she’d ever been, even though they were probably only sixty miles or so outside of the city where she’d lived her whole life.

They drove without seeing another car in either direction, long stretches of forest broken only by an occasional trailer house or swampy lake.

After a few more miles, Eugenia pulled over to the side of the road. Claire sat up straighter, looking around and wondering if this was their intended destination. If it was, there wasn’t much in the way of landmarks. Just miles of trees on either side of the road and a small house up ahead that looked so run-down Claire wondered if it was even habitable.

She got her answer when Eugenia turned to Jean-Philip, next to her in the front seat.

“I’m going to call Max. Let him know we’re close.”

She got out and stepped around the car to the shoulder of the road. Pulling a cell phone from the pocket of her tailored jacket, she turned away from them as she put the phone to her ear. A minute later, she walked over to the car and tapped on the window near Claire.

Herve leaned over, looking at Eugenia through the glass. She gestured for him to come, and he got out of the car, joining her by the side of the road as she talked on the phone.

Claire looked around. This was her chance. Possibly the one and only chance she would have to escape.

Herve was gone, his mouth moving as he said something to Eugenia, still on the phone. Claire hadn’t heard the locks re-engage since he left, which meant the door was probably still unlocked. Jean-Philip was in the front seat, gazing out at Eugenia and Herve like that would help him hear what was being said between them and whoever was on the other end of Eugenia’s phone.

Claire didn’t know where she’d go once she was free. From the looks of things, she didn’t have a lot of options. But she could make a run for it, maybe hide in the woods until they gave up on her.

Moving around without being obvious was hard to do, especially with her hands tied behind her back. In such close quarters, every sound she made seemed magnified—her bare legs sticking to the leather seats as she tried to move, the faint squeak of springs hidden in the seat of the car, the rustle of her hair against her shoulders. It all seemed so obviously loud that she was half surprised to find Jean-Philip still facing forward when she finally had her hands lined up with the door handle.

She took one last look at Eugenia, still standing at the side of the road with her phone to her ear. She gestured with one hand, her dress billowing against her legs in the summer breeze. Herve studied her with concentration, trying to follow the conversation while only hearing one side of it.

It was now or never.

Claire moved as close to the door as she could, feeling around for the handle. Her fingers brushed against hard plastic, then cool leather, and finally, smooth chrome.

She pulled, almost falling to the ground as the door opened behind her.

Everything happened all at once. The brief stumble as Claire tried to right herself, already moving around the back of the car to the road. The look of shock on Eugenia’s face when she turned toward the noise and saw Claire moving away from them.

Then Claire didn’t have time to continue looking. She ran as fast as she could, her restrained hands making it difficult to stay upright as she moved toward the street.

She heard Eugenia’s voice behind her, barking, then yelling. But she didn’t have time to decipher the words.

She looked right and left as she crossed the street, hoping to see someone—anyone—coming from either direction.

There was no one, and she was forced to continue across the pavement, throwing herself into the forest on the opposite side of the street. She half slid down the muddy embankment, trying to keep her balance as vines and branches tore at her bare legs. There was a fleeting thought of snakes. Of alligators and spiders and other things that could be lurking in the wild ferns and shrubs growing low to the ground.

But it didn’t matter. She was more afraid of Eugenia—of Maximilian and what they planned to do to her—than she was of any creature in the swampland. She kept going, throwing herself into the forested gloom.

The darkness was her enemy and her friend. It made it difficult to see, difficult to avoid the low-hanging branches that smacked at her face, the vines that reached out like greedy hands to grab her legs.

She could only hope it made seeing her as difficult for Eugenia and the men.

She tripped and was compelled to look back even though she knew it would slow her down. It did her no good. She couldn’t see a thing. She could only hear the rush of footsteps somewhere behind her, the patter of shoes against fallen leaves, an occasional shout as one of her pursuers called out to the others.

Finally, her lungs burning, she looked for a place to hide. She didn’t know how much stamina Eugenia, Jean-Philip, and Herve had, but it was probably more than she had, with her arms tied and her brain still muddled. The rope on her wrists felt looser than it had before. Maybe if she stopped running she could free her hands.

She spotted a possibility in a large oak, its branches stretching toward the night sky. The tree itself offered minimal coverage, but there were a few large, moss-covered rocks near its base.

Her legs were tired, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she stepped over the wildflower bush growing around it. The biggest rock stood about two feet from the base of the tree. Claire dropped to the ground, resting her back against the tree’s massive trunk and lowering her head below the top of the rock. From her vantage point, all she could see was the flowering bush that surrounded her. She would have to hope the same was true from the other side.

She couldn’t hear Eugenia and the others. She used the time to test the confines of the rope around her wrists, wondering if it had been her imagination that it wasn’t as tight.

But no. The rope
was
looser. She wriggled her hands back and forth, feeling the rope give a little more with each movement. A couple minutes later it dropped off her hands. She almost shouted with relief as she rubbed her wrists where the rope had cut into her skin.

Finally free, she attempted to quiet her raspy breathing as she listened for the sound of her pursuers in the distance. She was shaking, her teeth almost rattling, from fear. If her breathing didn’t give her away, her chattering teeth just might.

Stop it,
she ordered herself.
If you want to get out of this alive, you have to pull yourself together.

A few seconds later, she heard them coming, their footsteps rustling through the undergrowth. Their approach seemed to grow more careful as they neared, and Claire froze, wondering if she’d left some kind of evidence that she was in the vicinity, if they could somehow see her behind the rock.

Someone crashed through the trees to her right, stopping a few feet in front of the oak tree, close enough that Claire could hear the person breathing. She peered through the bushes, catching sight of a pair of athletic shoes. Had to be Jean-Philip or Herve. Eugenia was wearing sandals.

She let her eyes roam the ground without turning her head, afraid to make even the slightest sound. With one of her pursuers standing in front of her, she needed to get a lock on the other two. If she was spotted, she would have to make a run for it, and she didn’t want to crash into them on her way out.

Finally, she caught sight of Eugenia, standing in a patch of moonlight to the left of the person she now realized was Jean-Philip. Both were very still, their heads tipped, eyes alert as if they sensed her nearby.

Two down, one to go.

Claire swept her gaze across the area in front of her. Where was Herve? Had he stayed at the car? Or was he lurking somewhere nearby?

She wondered if he was behind her, if maybe he was watching her at that very minute. She tried to resist the urge to look, but the longer she sat, Eugenia and Jean-Philip still only feet away, the more convinced she became that there was someone watching her.

When she couldn’t stand it a second more, she turned her head, shifting slightly to see behind her. A twig snapped under her body. She froze, hoping it hadn’t been as loud as it had seemed. But when she swiveled her head back around, Eugenia was already moving forward, her eyes locked on Claire’s, even through the darkness.

Claire rose to a standing position, stumbling over the rock as she moved away from the tree. She looked back. Eugenia and Jean-Philip were only steps away.

Pushing herself up off the ground, she moved around the tree and made a run for it. She could still get away. Still find another hiding place.

She only got a few steps when she came up against something hard and unmoving.

A vise-like grip came down around her left arm. She only had a minute to look into Herve’s eyes, devoid of any emotion, before something came down over head.