Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(28)
I hear Lily slam the front door behind me. A string of inventive curses rings through the night air as she realizes I’ve taken off without her. Again I try to stop, or to at least turn, but it’s no use. My body’s been hijacked and I won’t get it back until I’ve done what I need to do.
Seconds later, Lily’s car engine starts up. Seconds after that, she’s in the street, driving along beside me. “Damn it, Xandra, get in,” she tells me, her voice hoarse with the same fear that’s ricocheting inside me.
I don’t argue with her, just jog around the car and hop into the passenger seat. “Thank you.”
She just shakes her head. “I swear to the goddess, you’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Turn right at the corner.”
She follows my directions all the way through downtown Austin. I don’t know where we’re going, only where the compulsion tells me to turn—at least until we make the last turn. Then, suddenly, I know.
How could I be here again?
How could this be happening again?
Last time I’d had to charm the hell out of a cop to get on the grounds, and frankly, after how that turned out, I don’t think I have a chance in hell of ever doing it again—even if I wasn’t sporting enough bruises to qualify as an MMA fighter.
“Pull over,” I tell Lily, who parallel parks in the first available spot.
“So, where are we going?” she asks.
I just point before climbing out of the car and heading toward the end of the street. The compulsion has me now and it’s not letting go. The electricity has gotten wilder, hotter, until every breath I take is pure agony. I waited too long, took too long to get here. I pick up the pace, start to jog down the deserted street. I want, need, the pain to stop.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Lily demands as she runs to keep up. She’s about five inches shorter than I am, so the pace I’m setting is brutal for her shorter legs. I know it, even feel bad about it, but there’s no way I can stop. The compulsion is pulling so hard that I’m afraid that any second it will yank me right off my feet.
“How many damn people die at the Capitol grounds anyway?”
“Too many, obviously.” But seconds before we get to the driveway in front of the huge Austin Capitol, I veer to the left. Head down the sidewalk to the small parking lot for employees on the side of the grounds.
“Someone’s dead back here?” Lily whispers loudly.
“I don’t know. I guess.” Please, I repeat for what has to be the millionth time, don’t let it be Declan. Don’t let it be Declan.
We reach a small patch of grass and flowers that stand outside the gate. There’s a historical sign marking it as something—I don’t bother to look at it—and a bunch of other signs that give directions to various places on the Capitol grounds. At first I think I’m meant to follow the signs to somewhere, but every time I take more than a step away from the center of the garden, the pain intensifies.
“This is it,” I tell Lily. “It has to be.”
“Right here?” she demands.
“I think so.” I glance around, reach into my pocket for my cell phone and turn on the flashlight app. “Do you see anything?”
“Not unless you count that group of very drunk, and very much alive college students who must have wandered off Sixth Street.” She points to the group of guys in question.
“I definitely don’t mean them,” I tell her, lowering my voice so we don’t attract their attention. It’s not that I think they’ll try to hurt us—they look harmless enough. Besides, I’m pretty sure Lily and I can handle a few drunk twenty-year-olds. But if they come over to investigate, it’s that much longer before I can figure out what the hell is going on. That much longer before I know if Declan is okay.
“Then I got nothing.”
“Neither do I.”
Just then, my phone pings. I glance at it, and nearly melt into a puddle of relief when I realize that Declan is the one texting me.
Sorry. Had something to take care of. On your front porch. Come let me in.
Something to take care of? Could he get a little more vague? Suddenly, I’m beyond annoyed. I’ve been to hell and back tonight worrying that something has happened to him and all he’s got to say for himself is “Had something to take care of?”
Before I can type out an answer, my phone pings again.
Where are you?
My eyes narrow. The man is in serious need of a lesson, but now is not the time or place for me to give it to him. Especially since the compulsion’s getting worse, the electricity zigging and zagging through me in an effort to hurry me up. Too bad it can’t clue me in, because I have no idea where to go from here.