Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy #1)(35)

I took a deep breath. “Yea.”

Makarov got up and took a marker out of his pocket. “Good. Did you eat?”

“No.”

“Even better.”

Thirty minutes later, every inch of my arms was covered with arcane marks. Szenia took my vitals, then brought in a large chair, and he and Makarov strapped me to it.

“Is it going to hurt?”

“You bet.”

Sergeant Major had a lousy bedside manner.

He pulled out a cardboard box of kosher salt from Szenia’s bag and drew a simple circle around the chair. “Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case murenas get snippy.” He set the metal box in the circle of salt, put a large, old-fashioned key into the lock, and opened it with a click. A faint scent of cinnamon floated into the air.

The box’s top slid aside. Makarov barked something in a language I didn’t understand. His left hand turned blue, as if coated in glowing, translucent light. His fingers lengthened, the knuckles becoming large and knobbed. Claws slid over his nails. He reached into the box with his new demonic hand and withdrew a thin ribbon of pale green light. It had no legs, no head, no tail. Just a strip of light about seven inches long and an inch wide. It wriggled in his fist.

Makarov chanted, bringing it closer.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Makarov slapped the light onto my exposed left forearm, right between the glyphs on my skin. It felt like boiling oil. I screamed. The light sprouted tentacle-like roots and bit into my skin. Pain lanced me like a scalpel dipped in acid. I fought against it, but it burrowed its way into my skin, into my flesh, sinking deeper and deeper. I jerked in the chair, trying to get it off me. If only I could get my hand free, I would claw it out of me.

My mother turned away, her face contorted.

The pain seared the inside of my arm, ripping another scream out of me. Magic clamped my body. It felt like an elephant had landed on my chest. I kept screaming until it finally slid into my bone and settled there. I slumped against my restraints, exhausted.

The ache subsided. Sweat drenched my forehead.

Makarov raised my chin with his right, human hand and peered in my eyes.

“Alive?”

“Alive,” I ground out.

“Good. Now the right arm.”

It felt like forever before they finally undid the restraints. The marks on my skin had faded, as if absorbed by the magic. My arms still ached, as if I had done too many push-ups or carried something really heavy the day before, but the soreness was nothing compared to the way it had first felt. I’d take the soreness any day.

“We’re going to do a little demonstration now.” Makarov motioned to Szenia. The blond man came to stand next to me.

“Picture power flowing down from your shoulder into your right hand.”

I pictured a wave of green light sliding down inside my arm into my fist.

“Wait for it. The first time always takes a little longer.”

I stood there, picturing a viscous glow and feeling stupid.

Something shifted inside my arm. Nothing happened on the surface, but I felt a faint prickling at my fingertips.

“Ready?” Makarov asked.

“Yes.”

“Give Szenia a little love tap.”

I reached over and grasped Szenia’s shoulder. Blinding pain shot through my arm straight into my chest. Thin streaks of lightning danced over my arms, piercing through my skin. Szenia’s eyes rolled back in his head. The pain crushed me, and I doubled over. The ache reverberated through my skull, rattling my teeth. Ow.

Makarov shoved me back. I let go, and Szenia crumpled to the floor. Thick white foam slid out of his mouth. His legs drummed the ground. Oh no.

Makarov dropped to his knees and slid his demon hand straight into Szenia’s chest. The convulsions slowed. Slowly Makarov withdrew his clawed fingers. Szenia opened his eyes.

“Szivoi to, geroy?” Makarov asked.

The blond man nodded.

Makarov turned to me, looked at my face, then turned to Frida. “I’ve got to talk to you.”

They marched to the other end of the warehouse. I got Szenia a bottle of water from Grandma’s fridge and propped him up so he could drink. “I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay.” He took the bottle and drank in long, greedy gulps. “That stung a bit. I’ll just lay here for a while.” He lie back down.

Across from us Makarov and Grandma Frida were arguing. Makarov was pointing at me. I strained, trying to hear. Something about “should’ve told me.”

Makarov did an about-face and marched toward me. Grandma trailed him. The Russian closed the distance between us, his jaw set. “You listen to me and listen good. Don’t use this on anyone below Significant level, you hear me? You could kill somebody, and I don’t want their souls on my conscience.”

He picked up his box and walked out. Szenia rolled to his feet and followed him.

Grandma Frida watched him go, her arms crossed on her chest.

“What’s going on?” my mother asked.

Grandma Frida shook her head. “Crazy Russian. Never mind. Just be careful with the shockers, Neva.”

My teeth still hurt. “I wasn’t planning on randomly buzzing people on the street with them.”

My cell phone rang on the table. I never went far without it, even in the house. I picked it up. An unlisted number. Oh goodie.