Page 94 of The Girl in the Forest

First, I needed some sense of my surroundings. Details came into focus. Shapes, then colors, edges. A gray stone floor, stone walls.

We were in a cell with iron bars between us and the wide corridor—jailer’s bars, stretching from floor to ceiling and caked with a crust of rust.

Levi was a shape in a similar cell, curled on the floor, not moving. Between his cell and ours, a flagstone corridor stretched. I could see similar cells, cloaked in shadows cast by overhead electric lights that flickered with the power surges.

I pushed my hand through the straw, testing the stones for energy traces. A low thrum scraped across my palm. Folded near the iron bars, I found a clean shirt. Well, it was reasonably clean, but intact and better than the torn rags the vampires left of my shirt when they attacked the runes on my skin.

Fingers flexing, I braced and dragged what was left of the old shirt over my head. I needed a moment while waves of pain subsided. Then I gathered the folded shirt, pulling it one-handed over my head.

“That looks awkward.” A girl’s voice, dry and amused. Slightly bitter. “Don’t ask where that shirt’s been.”

My gaze skimmed the other cells, all empty until I settled on the girl. She sat in the small cubicle next to us, braced in a back corner where the shadows were dark, drawing circles in the straw with her finger.

“I’m not asking,” I gritted, pulling the shirt into place.

“Your choice. But that shirt belonged to a dead girl. Vamps are sick bastards. And you’ll only attract attention, taking what they offer.”

Deep down, I recognized the provocation was deliberate—but was it because she disliked me, or because she was frightened? I couldn’t decide.

What I had to remember was that I’d gone to a house to rescue a girl and woke up in a dungeon with a girl conveniently sitting in the next cell. She could be anyone. The girl sold by wolves to vampires. Or the girl already doing the vampires’ bidding.

I held her gaze, what I could see of it in the low light, testing her with my faille senses. Looking for a similarity. I could see her watching me in return, evaluating her next move. I wouldn’t let the next words come from her mouth.

“Where are we?”

She wrinkled her nose, drew her lips down. “Could be a sewer—smells like it, doesn’t it?”

Word games, I thought. All right. Spin it out between us. We had nothing but time. But then she kept talking.

“They told me we’re beneath High Citadel. Catacombs or something.” She glanced around, her dark hair like a shadow with only a silver thread of light. “It’s where they torture people. Humans, mainly. The last girl screamed a lot. They finally dropped her into that grated hole in the center of the corridor. They call it a way out. More like a black pit. She hasn’t made noise for a few days, so I guess she found her way out. Stupid, screaming banshee.”

I remembered the determined girl Adriel described, who wanted to escape from her father. I’d wanted to help that girl. She’d disappeared months ago, but months in this hellhole would change anyone and could explain the apathy in this girl’s voice. The lack of sympathy for banshee girl’s weakness.

I tried to get a better look at her face. “How long have you been here?”

“Weeks—months.” She tipped her head back, stared at the stony ceiling. “Between that asshat who called himself my father, and the asshat suckers he sold me to, I gave up thinking about time.”

She lowered her eyes enough to watch my reaction. “I’m Brin. It’s a name, means nothing. I keep who I am to myself. Your friend said you were trying to rescue me.” A small spark spun away from her fingers, not enough to do more than singe the straw. “You get credit for trying.”

I stared at her circling finger instead. “What else can you do besides sparks?”

White teeth flashed in her smudged face. “No one flaunts around here. They cut you over stupid runes. What will they think of with fire?”

“They don’t like fire?”

“Those suckers burn like dried tinder. I accidentally got one the first day, turned him to ash.”

“Can you syphon?” I persisted. Something about her kept my faille senses on edge. If she was genuine, or a very good fake.

She rolled her shoulders, tipped her head to the side. “Show me yours before I show you mine. Vamps want a faille. I won’t help them out, so maybe they bring in a new girl like you. New girl asks what I can do, and—bam. I stupidly show off. They get what they want. Can’t be too careful in this funhouse.”

I could understand her point. She was so like me; I could be looking in a mirror and seeing the truth reflected. “Don’t you want to fight back, Brin—or whatever your name is?”

A flame leapt from her fingers; she shook it out with a jerking motion as if she’d burned herself with the unexpected fire.

“Your friend said you could show me things.”

“My friend must have talked a lot.” I didn’t want the sympathy for her that rushed, but when Brin pressed her lips together, I thought she looked… young. Then she wrapped herself in the hardened cynicism, tipped her head back against the stone wall.

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