Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Vasilios rubbed his jaw. “I’m not sure, but if he’s coming for us then we’re going to have to escalate our escape plan.”
“How can you possibly do that?” I asked, conflicted. On the one hand, I didn’t think Vasilios and Sven should be enslaved again, but at the same time, they were serving a sentence for crimes they’d committed in this dimension, and I couldn’t just sit back and let them plan their escape.
“Sven has forbidden me from revealing the details to you, but rest assured, I’ll take you with us when we go.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I replied soberly.
“What? You want to stay here and serve time for a crime you didn’t even commit? That’s ridiculous, Darya.”
“I’m not sure a life on the run would be any better.”
“Of course, it would be better. On the outside, I’ll get my powers back. If I have my magic, then it’ll be easy to evade capture.”
I swallowed down the lump in my throat. He’d presented me with a moral dilemma because now I had to decide whether or not to inform the warden of his escape plan. However, there wasn’t a very high likelihood that he would be successful. Most likely, the plan would be thwarted by the guards or the magical wards surrounding the prison.
“Speaking of your powers, your magic remains strong. I can sense it. I thought you said it flickered in and out,” I questioned suspiciously.
Vasilios frowned. “Normally, it does, but ever since it returned to me this morning, it’s remained steady. Still not strong enough to teleport, but unusually constant.” He lifted his eyes to me, and I had no clue what he was thinking. “Maybe it’s you.”
I was certain my expression showed my confusion. “How could it be me?”
“You possess my mark, and when a demon is near their marked, they become more powerful.”
I bristled, not enjoying being reminded of the whole marked business. Vasilios claimed that it had happened automatically because he felt like we were meant to be, but surely, there was some choice in the matter.
“What exactly does it mean, though? I don’t entirely understand what being marked entails.”
He turned away. “Perhaps that’s a discussion for another time.”
“Why? What are you so reticent to tell me?”
His eyes lifted, holding far too much intensity. “When it happened, I felt a certain way, but I no longer feel that way, so the fact that we have this connection is inconvenient.”
I shifted awkwardly. He meant that when he’d marked me, he’d thought we would be soulmates, but now that certain events have transpired—for example, my assisting in his capture—his feelings about me had shifted. A part of me was relieved he didn’t view me with such rose-tinted glasses anymore, but another part was … oddly disappointed. I tried not to analyse that part too closely.
Looking like he wished to change the subject, Vasilios turned his attention to my sink. “Is the water still not running?” he asked.
“Not a drip,” I said. “Why? Are you hiding some plumbing skills I’m not aware of?”
“No, but I can use my magic to fix it,” he said. “If you’d like.”
It was yet another favour I didn’t want to take, but I’d already taken so many that one more could hardly hurt. “Sure, give it a try,” I replied.
Vasilios rubbed his hands together, and his magic sparked to life. I heard the pipes groan and pop. He twisted the tap, and then water came gushing out. It was brown and dirty at first, but it soon turned clear.
“Impressive,” I said.
He turned the tap off and dusted his hands on the legs of his jumpsuit. “I’ll take my leave now,” he said and left without another word. My thoughts were jumbled as I stood from the bed and enjoyed the simple pleasure of using the running water to wash my hands. I stared at the clear stream, my mind lost in a predicament. It seemed I’d achieved what I’d come to do. I knew Vasilios’s magic came to him intermittently, and that was how he’d managed to unlock doors and such. He hadn’t framed me, nor had he orchestrated Belinda’s murder.
Something niggled at me, though; that tiny percentage questioned whether I saw the full picture. I felt like a piece of the puzzle was still missing, and that was why I wasn’t ready to leave just yet.
13.
The following day passed uneventfully until Belinda appeared in my cell. She’d changed her outfit again, wearing a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a flowy top with her hair pulled into a neat bun.
“So I did what you asked,” she said as she stood by the tiny window, going up on her tiptoes to peer out. “You know, technically, this room has a sea view. That is if you really strain your eyes to see past all the dirt and rusty metal bars.”