Page 87 of Twisted Ties
“You wouldn’t. We met when you were small.”
“Was it you? You who left the roses?”
“Yes,” he says, pinching the flower from his buttonhole. He hooks it out of his jacket and hands it to me. “I remember she had roses growing in her garden. She said they were her favorite. I remember you liked to water them.”
I frown. “We had no roses growing in the garden.”
“Not here. A different place. You were only little then.”
I take the rose from him, lifting it automatically to my nose and inhaling the floral scent.
“I was hoping to speak with you, hoping we might meet.” I frown. “You’re registered now, Rhianna.”
“Y-y-yes.”
His eyes flick to the car, that nervous energy coursing through his body, ratcheting up. “You need to be careful.”
I lower the rose from my nose. “Why? Why do I need to be careful? Do you know why she was keeping me hidden?”
“They can’t be trusted.”
“The authorities?”
“Yes, your aunt will have told you that, considering what happened to your mother.”
“My mom? What happened to my mom?”
But before he answers, something catches my attention, on the periphery of my senses. I peer over my shoulder. It’s not close, not yet.
The man registers the change in my countenance.
“There’s someone coming,” he says, his body stiff with alarm.
“You feel it too?”
“More than one,” he says.
“More than one?” I swing my head around, my mind suddenly buzzing with noise.
“You need to go, Rhianna. If they know who you are–”
He pushes at my shoulder.
“Wait!” I say, “I don’t understand.”
“Go!” the man says as magical bolts begin to zoom over our heads. He pushes me again, before he ducks down low, covering his head with his arms as more magic cascades our way.
I spin around. It’s not Barone. The magic isn’t powerful enough, and it’s too organized, too orderly. Not like his chaotic, frantic magic. But there are many of them. I can feel them. I just can’t damn well see them.
The old man runs for cover, melting into the trees beyond as I sprint towards the car. Magic zooms above my head as Winnie presses down hard on the horn. I fire magic of my own in that direction. Then throw myself on the ground as a ball of fire narrowly misses my head. When Ipeer up I’m surrounded by a ring of men. They are dressed in army combats, their faces covered by balaclavas and scarves.
I think of the men that surrounded the man in black back in the forest all that time ago. Those were the Wolves of Night. These men are different. More disciplined, better trained. I can feel it in their magic. See it in the way they stand.
I count four. I’m outnumbered. I can’t fight them off.
“Stand up!” the tallest one barks.
Slowly, I roll up to my feet, desperately scrabbling for a plan as I do. I don’t understand. Who are these men? And what the hell do they want?
