Chapter 4

There is one thing the prison guards failed to take into consideration when administering the sedative: I had been drugged before. Numerous times, actually. I lost track of how many times after one hundred and thirty-five.

Needless to say, I have developed a sort of immunity to it.

When awareness first grips me in an iron hold, I keep my eyelids closed. If there’s one thing I’m used to, it’s darkness. Pure, unending darkness. I know my appearance juxtaposes what my eyes actually see: my skin is as pale as moonlight, only a shade or two darker than my glaringly bright gown. My hair is long and luscious, dark tendrils that cascade to mid-back. At first glance, I appear to be a beam of light—at least, that’s how Kai always described me. It’s ironic that all I have ever known is darkness.

Focusing on the guard to my right, I submerge myself in his subconscious, allowing his eyes to work as my own.

We appear to be in a tunnel. Bright fluorescent lights overhead illuminate the dark stone walls and wet floors. It smells vaguely of mildew and bodily fluids, the combined scents making me want to gag.

My body, held between the two guards, is weak, the drugs still in effect at least that much. I could no sooner move my head than I could fight them off.

“Here?” guard one asks.

“Here,” the second one agrees. A moment later, I’m dropped unceremoniously onto the floor, my back aching at the impact. I clamp my mouth closed against the impending whimper that wants to escape. Heaven only knows what these men will do to me if they discover I’m awake.

“It was nice knowing you, Nina Doe,” one of the men says, not unkindly.

The second one snorts, and a moment later, his boot collides with my rib cage. “Fucking murderer.” A blob of spit lands on my face. “Bitch.”

He hurls more insults at me, but his words bounce off my rock-hard skin. I have dealt with worse during my days as a prisoner.

The other guard finally gets control of his comrade and practically drags him back the way they came from. The entire exchange lasts less than a few minutes, but it feels like a century.

And then, I’m alone.

For the first time in my entire existence, there is no mind near enough for me to delve into. Darkness obscures my vision like bloated storm clouds clotting the sky. It’s all I can see, this darkness, all I’m aware of.

I can’t stay here. The thought comes to me with an almost blistering speed, my heart thumping in tandem with my racing thoughts. Icy fear trails its finger down my spine. I know how dangerous it can be for a woman like me—alone and vulnerable—in a prison that breeds predators. If the rumors whispered by the prison guards are true, monsters lurk these halls at night.

And I’ll be damned if I’m the helpless prey.

It takes considerable effort to stagger to my feet. Everything hurts—my legs, my arms, my head. Each step forward is how I imagined wading through tar would feel like.

Keep walking.

I repeat those two words in my head like a mantra. A prayer. A reminder that, if I fight, I won’t go down as a helpless victim. It’s a lesson Kai drilled into my head back at the Compound: always fight, for there’s a chance you might emerge victorious.

A small, demented part of me wants to give up and give in. That same part craves the comfort only my darkness can offer me—an escape. An escape from this world, my fear, and the monsters that lurk under my bed at night.

I reach out and touch the nearest wall, palming it desperately. It’s wet to the touch, almost as if the stone is weeping. It leaves my hand disgustingly sticky.

After a few more painfully slow steps forward, I branch out my awareness once more, searching for anyone in the general vicinity. My search proves to be futile; there are no eyes for me to see through.

How many people are in this prison?

How large is it?

My panic continues to grow and grow until it resembles a bowling ball in my stomach. Not that I know what a bowling ball looks like. I only have vague descriptions from a story Kai told me.

Speaking of stories…

I recollect the story of the maze and the minotaur. How did it go again? Did the hero survive?

I venture forward another step, my body practically plastered against the wall. My head is foggy, and I struggle to formulate coherent sentences. Still, I forge on. Vomit churns in my stomach, and I instinctively wrap my arms around my midsection.

My searching hand comes across something abnormally sharp, almost like a piece of rock protruding from the wall. I caress the object for an extended period of time, memorizing the shape, before continuing on.

Where am I going?

I don’t have an answer to that. I’m unsure of which option is safer: finding others or remaining free of them. Still, a tinny voice in my head tells me I need to move. Where? I’ll cross that path when I find it.

Quite literally.

My hand abruptly touches air, and I pause, canting my head to the side. Focusing on my senses, I note open air in both directions. A fork in the road, I suppose.

Nibbling on my bottom lip, I decide to travel down the right one. Once more, I place my hand back on the wall and walk slowly.

One step. Two steps. Three steps.

I pause when my hand stumbles across something sharp. Something familiar. Frowning, I trace the object with careful reverence.

It’s…the same rock I had stumbled upon only a few minutes earlier.

Did I just walk in a circle?

Heart thundering, I choose the left pathway this time. Each movement is slow, unhurried, painstakingly patient. My hand memorizes each and every crook and crevice of the hallway as my feet propel me forward.

A left, then a right, then straight, then right again.

For the third time, a sharp piece of rock pokes at my palm.

No. No. No. No.

This can’t be happening.

Tears spring to life in my eyes as I stumble down hall after hall, turn after turn, fork after fork, all of which lead me back to the same rock protruding from the wall. My fear turns into frustration, which turns into an almost elemental fury.

After a few more futile efforts, I collapse against the wet wall, the stench of dried blood and urine wafting to me. I bang my head against the hard stone once, twice, three times.

My body is still reeling from the effects of the drugs, and I feel unbelievably tired. My eyelids droop threateningly as my head falls to the side, my ear touching my shoulder.

Stay awake, Nina! Stay awake!

The monsters come out to play when I’m asleep.

Still, the pull is enticing, and I’m just so darn frustrated. Maybe my prison is a new form of psychological torture—loneliness.

Who would’ve thought I’d miss my cell at the Compound?

A quiet, barely audible mewl reverberates from farther down the tunnel. My head snaps up as I glance in one direction and then the other. Breath sawing in and out, I push my attention out, towards the creature rapidly approaching.

It’s lower to the ground, but through its eyes, I can see a clear view of myself leaning against the dirty wall. My hair is snarled, a disheveled mess of black silk, and my dress is stained with blood and dirt. Dark circles mar the skin underneath both of my eyes, painfully noticeable on my too-pale skin.

The creature steps forward, and I brace myself…

Until it pounces onto my lap and curls into a ball. A contented purr echoes through its chest.

I pull myself out of the cat’s eyes, my hand smoothing down the mangled fur.

“Hello, little guy. What are you doing here?” The cat continues to purr in earnest as I stroke its back. “Are you a girl cat or a guy cat?”

This time, I’m almost positive the little creature releases an oomph. I wonder if my time down here is already making me crazy.

“Guy cat?” I ask, and a sharp tongue licks my hand. Giggling, I resume my careful strokes. “I always wanted a cat. Kai said…” I trial off, the mere mention of Kai bringing tears to my eyes. The cat makes a pathetic whining noise, curling itself farther against me. “Kai said he’ll get me a cat. When we escaped. But you know? That’s a story for a different day, isn’t that right, Mr. Scruffles?”

The cat’s blissful purrs cut off abruptly, and I can practically see his head cocking to the side.

“Do you not like the name?” I tease, stroking him behind the ears. “I always told myself that I’ll name my future cat Mr. Scruffles. Of course, that was when I was, like, three…” I giggle as Mr. Scruffles begins to knead my leg. “So, what are you doing here, sweet boy?”

Of course, the cat can’t actually respond, but it makes me feel better imagining he can. The loneliness and fear doesn’t completely dissipate, but Mr. Scruffles’s presence definitely helps.

“Let me guess,” I continue, tapping my chin. My tears dried up the second this little fur ball climbed into my lap and offered me sweet kitty kisses. “You’re a familiar to a warlock. Yup. I just learned this month that the supernatural exists. Before that? It was nothing but a story Kai used to tell me.” I freeze suddenly, my hand pausing in Mr. Scruffle’s fur. “I don’t belong here. And I don’t want to be here. I think…” My eyelids droop as I once more rest my head against the wall. “I think I’m going to die here.”