Page 115 of Spark of Sorcery
“The girl that got hurt last night? She’s in room three back there,” he says, pointing over his shoulder. “But you can’t–”
The three of us stroll right past the desk and towards the door of room three.
Dray pauses, hand on the door-handle.
“There were other scents out there,” he says, “including Tudor’s.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Briony
Something is beeping incessantly. Right by my ear.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I try to open my eyelids. But they won’t. They are heavy and sore. Instead, I lift my arm to bat the noise away. But it is sore too. It doesn’t move when I ask it to.
I panic. The memories come flooding back. Where am I?
But then the darkness returns.
The next time I wake, the noise is still there. Persistent like a small baby bird.
Blaze!
I roll up to sitting and pry open my eyes. This time my body obeys, but it’s painful and sore.
Light hits my eyeballs – bright and stark and I groan and shield myeyes.
This isn’t the forest. For a moment, I think I must have died and ended up some place else. Then the room comes slowly into focus and I understand where I am.
A clinic of some sort.
I’m lying in a raised bed under starched sheets and bright electric lights; lines run in and out of my arms and that beeping noise is a machine above my head.
Cautiously, I examine my surroundings. This isn’t the clinic at the academy. I’ve been there. It’s worn and old. Most of the machinery was broken and the whole place dirty.
This room gleams and the machinery positively sparkles. It’s modern and sleek.
“Miss Storm, glad to see you are finally with us.”
I jolt. I had no idea anyone else was in the room with me, but when I peer towards the end of the bed, I find Fox standing there, bathed in the only shadow in this room. Seriously, does he hunt them out?
But even in the shadow, I can see how disheveled he looks. He’s missing his usual jacket and tie, his shirt is creased and splattered with blood. His usually neat hair flops into his eyes and his beard is tangled. Dark shadows ring his eyes that seem to glow with less intensity than usual.
“What happened to you?” I gasp.
He stares at me dumbfounded. Snorts. Shakes his head. Run his hands over his face. Then lets out a bark of laughter.
“Stars above, what happened tome?”
“No offense, Professor. But you look like shit.”
“You’re not looking so good yourself, Miss Storm. What happened toyou?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Someone decided to beat the crap out of me.”
“Someone?” he asks, tension in his jaw.
