Chapter 447: Bullies
My imminent death should have given me more concern than it did. If only I could die. These schmucks were obviously totally unaware. Turned out Belaisle's files weren't quite as accurate as he thought they were.
Creep.
The pair guided me toward the back of the house, near where we'd entered in the first place. I needed to figure out a way to break free of their magic, only able to use wishful thinking they might slip up and take me outside.
Even they weren't that stupid. Or arrogant. Or any combination of the two.
Was still worth hoping though.
Instead, they led me into the large, stainless-steel kitchen and toward what had to be the basement door.
"How you want to run this?" Bruno, had to be. The big lug-like sorcerer goon's voice made me shiver, my head still so heavy my eyes were forced to observe the floor under me as they half-carried me along between them.
Emil, his long and lanky partner, shrugged, the feeling of his action running up my arm he clutched too tightly. "Drowning?"
Bruno must have been pondering, because he didn't say anything until his hand reached for the door handle. "I hate the drowning ones. All that gurgling." A goon with a delicate stomach? "How about fire?"
Flinch. Memories of being burned at the stake ran through my body in an electric current of denial, limbs jerking in response.
Emil chuckled, a nasty sound full of bile. "Fitting, yeah? She's a witch, right?"
Bruno didn't answer, just laughed along with his brother idiot, the door almost hitting me in the face as he pulled it open. Blackness stared back, a row of wooden stairs under my sagging head, my feet making thudding sounds on the risers as they dragged me down into the cool damp of the basement.
Now, Ahbi told me I was immortal. Dad, too. Sassafras. And I had no reason to doubt them. But as Bruno and Emil placed me in a wooden chair at the back of the basement, a small, filthy window letting in the only light, the scent of gasoline strong in my nose as a can was brought forward, the cap twisted off, I had my doubts.
I might have been immortal, but would I heal? Or survive the burning with scars for the rest of my very, very long life? Images of Uncle Frank's half-melted face, the result of being left in the sun, churned terror in my guts, irrational fear taking over as panic tried to drive my limbs to move.
Something scuffed near me, a polished shoe, a pant-leg clad in a designer suit. A stream of liquid poured out around me, forming a puddle on the concrete as the sorcerer circled me, creating a ring of combustible fluid before lifting the canister to waist height.
"Time to fry," Emil said.
Panic set in. Mind-warping, heart-attack-inducing, agony-filled panic that drove every single coherent thought from my brain as the metallic clink of a lighter being flipped open took up my entire Universe with one soft snick.
This could not be happening again.
Grunt. Thud. Scuffle. Another grunt, this one ending in a sigh. Emil half-turned, the can of gas falling to the floor to gurgle out its contents as he lunged out of my line of sight. The pressure on me decreased enough I could raise my head, peer into the darkness.
Bruno lay crumpled against one wall, blood oozing from his nose and the side of his mouth. Two figures fought in the black, just out of sight, enough I knew someone was on my side. I fought the remainder of the sorcery holding me down, felt the edges tear as Emil crumpled and fell, toppling backward into the puddle of gas.
I found my feet, able to move again, grasping the wooden chair for support, ready to use it as a weapon. Two pinpoints of amber fire stared at me from the shadows as Demetrius oozed out of the darkness and smiled at me, white teeth flashing in the dimness.
"Saved you," he said. "Fix me?"
***
