Bedlam Boyz(17)

"How do you know that she's for real?" one of the other young men asked.

"I'll prove it to you, Ramie," the handsome man said, standing very close to Kayla. The knife glittered in his hand; she watched that hand, afraid to breathe. There was a strange small smile on his face. Then he lowered his hand, and Kayla breathed a sigh of relief.

The pain hit her an instant later, a shock that took her breath away. She thought she heard someone shout, but she wasn't certain—everything was happening too fast. She saw the man pull the switchblade free, wiping the blood off on his jeans, and then she was falling, the world going white around her, everything blurry and very bright.

"Madre de Dios, Carlos, you didn't have to do that!" someone said from above her.

"She'll heal herself," the handsome man said, and she could hear the laughter behind his voice. "Or she won't, in which case she doesn't matter to us."

Bastard, she thought, the wooden floor rough against her cheek. The pain was falling on her in waves, each wave higher than the last. Kayla closed her eyes, feeling the warm blood against her skin, and wondered what dying would be like.

Through her closed eyes, she saw the light brightening. Her hands, and then her entire body, now felt like they were on fire, burning from within. She opened her eyes to see all of the men staring at her, at the patterns of blue light that coursed over her body.

She caught at the light in her hands, holding it against her middle, aiming it at the pain. The light poured into the emptiness of the knife wound, drawing out the pain and closing it back up again. A moment later the light was gone, except for a few bright sparks that flickered over her hands before finally fading away to nothingness.

Everyone was still staring at her.

The man they'd called Carlos knelt beside her. She tried to pull away, but was too weak and exhausted to move. He lifted her shirt, looking for the knife wound. A moment later he stood up, a satisfied look on his face.

"Ramon, carry her to the car," he directed. The youngest man nodded, easily lifting her up and moving toward the door. Kayla tried to pull free, struggling weakly. No, this can't be happening to me!

Kayla's last glimpse was of the shards of the broken glass dolphin on the floor, as the door closed behind them.





Chapter Four


Elizabet turned on the Volkswagen's radio, listening to the light jazz that was playing on KWAV. The traffic wasn't bad at all, as she headed down Laurel Canyon into Hollywood. At 9 A.M. on a weekday morning, it would've been another story, with cars backed up all the way to Van Nuys. But now, it was quiet enough that Elizabet could let her mind drift as she drove down the narrow, winding road.

Kayla. She was still uncertain about the girl, very uncertain whether she'd still be at the house when Elizabet returned after work. It wouldn't surprise her to find that the child had left and taken all the valuables she could carry. She hoped the girl had better sense than that; Kayla was a danger to herself and everyone around her right now, with that bright pool of magic simmering inside her. Serious magic, more than Elizabet had ever seen in one person before, and of course the child had no idea how to use or control it. . . .

Thinking about Kayla's magic, it was several seconds before she noticed the sensation of power in the hills behind her, a magical flare that was suddenly too bright to ignore.

"KAYLA!"

The girl was doing something with her magic, Elizabet couldn't quite tell what. In half a second, she made a snap decision and yanked the steering wheel hard, the Volkswagen skidding in a sharp 180-degree spin. Car horns blared, and she thought she could hear someone shouting at her, as she floored the accelerator and drove at top speed back toward her house.

She could feel the rising levels of power and a sense of desperation. Something's wrong . . . something's very wrong. . . . Elizabet hit the brakes as she came up behind a large truck, moving slowly up the road. She wanted to scream in frustration, but instead watched carefully for a break in the traffic on the other side of the road and made a quick illegal crossover of the double yellow line to get ahead of the truck. But that had wasted valuable seconds, and already she could feel the magical power fading, dying away. . . .



They shoved her into the back seat of one of their cars. She lay on the seat, trying to catch her breath and pull free from the dizziness that made it impossible for her to think straight, let alone run or fight. To make things worse, her head was pounding again, the same awful headache.

When she could sit up, they were already driving over the top of the crest of Laurel Canyon. In the last moments of fading sunlight, the lights of the San Fernando Valley were flickering into life, like a million bright jewels scattered over the valley and surrounding hills. She leaned her head against the window, wincing every time the car bounced over one of the many potholes in the road.