Charmed by Michelle Krys

Author:Michelle Krys
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780385743396
Publisher: Delacorte Press
Published: 2015-05-26T04:00:00+00:00

17

Our footsteps echo through the tunnel. The girl’s bright blond ponytail swings in front of me as she struts down the hall, not even bothering to turn to make sure I’m following. I could probably make a run for it right now. And I should probably try—it’s what any human would do. But she’s taking me to the Chief, the leader of the sorcerers. And if anyone knows where Paige is, it will be him.

My legs feel weak, and every time I think of Ace’s mouth on mine I have to choke back vomit. I don’t have to wonder if that moment will haunt me forever.

After a while, voices begin to echo from around a bend in the tunnel.

“Who’s there?” a man’s voice calls. We wheel around the corner and come to a stop in front of two beefy guards in tight shirts and skullcaps.

“New recruit,” the girl says, like a soldier speaking to a drill sergeant.

The men eye me for what feels like a century before finally stepping aside. One of them pulls open a heavy metal door behind them.

“Sir, I have a new recruit for you,” he says to whoever is inside. I never would have thought such a cloying tone possible from such a douche. The guy salutes, then turns to me, waving me forward impatiently. I swallow and take a hesitant step. The blond girl starts to come with me, but the other guard steps in front of her, blocking her path.

“Not you.”

“But—”

“Recruits only,” he says. The girl stomps off down the hall. I watch her swinging blond ponytail and suddenly feel very sad to see her go. I’m alone with these men.

I walk slowly up to the door. The guard huffs and yanks me over, shoving me inside and slamming the door with a clank so loud it makes me gasp.

The room I’ve entered is made of the same rock as the tunnel. There’s a little round table set with fancy saucers for tea against one of the walls, and a red divan straight out of the 1800s against the other. A fancy lamp atop a heavy mahogany desk at the back of the room shines a circle of dim light on a braided rug.

And standing in front of the desk is the Chief.

He doesn’t look anything like I’d expected him to. The name had inspired images of a long-haired, bare-chested Tarzan type, but the man standing before me wears a burgundy smoking jacket over a button-down shirt. His light blond hair is dusted with gray, and he wears it short, save for a cowlick that sweeps above his forehead. He watches me with interest, his eyes intelligent and calculating. When his mouth stretches into a wide smile, his teeth are so big they look like they belong in another man’s face.

I shudder—I think I’d prefer the Tarzan type.

“Don’t be scared,” he says, still smiling that Cheshire cat smile. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I feel around inside for my magic. Nope, still not there.

“Would you like some tea?” he asks.

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