Into the Dim (Into the Dim, #1)(61)

Most of them chuckled and headed down the steps. Only one, balding and with a wrestler’s build, stayed in place. He wasn’t dressed like the others. Instead he wore a tunic like Bran’s, though it stretched tight across his brawny shoulders.

He grumbled to Bran. “Celia gave specific instructions that we—both of us, mind—were to bring the girls to her at once. There’s no time for this.”

His accent wasn’t right. It came slow to his lips, as though he was translating in his head as he went. A flick of black poked out above the ratty bandage around his neck. It curved in toward his jaw line. The fangs and forked tongue of a serpent, inked into his skin.

“Who’s in charge here, Flint?”

When the guard’s face hardened, Bran laughed and clapped the man’s shoulder. “Come now, man.” Bran spoke so low, I could barely hear. “Surely after all the pains I went to, softening her up enough to reveal their plans, I deserve to have a little bit of fun before we have to turn her over?”

Horror pressed down on me. I clenched my teeth as tears of rage burned my eyes.

No. No! This cannot be happening.

I tried to struggle to my feet, but without my hands I only toppled sideways. I lay there, panting with the futility of it.

When Flint hesitated, Bran pressed. “Come on, I know you want to get back to the Hound and Barrel. To that blond chippy I saw on your lap earlier. Give me half an hour, eh? Bet there are plenty of empty chambers around here, with everyone celebrating below.”

Flint licked his lips as his gaze roved down my body. “Well”—he dropped all pretense, and when he spoke again it was with a strong Australian accent—“bet a pretty little thing like her ain’t even been plucked yet, eh, mate?”

Bran laughed. I wanted to scream.

“I’ll even keep her hands bound,” Bran waggled his eyebrows. “Where’s she going to go?”

The man glanced over at me again and chuckled. “Right-o, Bran. See you in a bit, then.”

Bran stood listening as the man’s heavy tread faded.

I tried to formulate a plan. The second he approached, I’d kick him as hard as I could in the kneecap, then . . .

Before I could even think it through, Bran hurried over, leaned down, and, with a quick jerk of a small knife, sliced through my bonds.

I scuttled back. “Get away from me.”

Sighing, Bran picked up the stuttering torch and shoved it into a nearby iron bracket. “I’m not going to hurt you, Hope. But I had to tell Flint something to get him to leave.”

I rose, rubbing my wrists.

“Why should I believe a word you say?” I filled my words with every ounce of scorn I could muster.

He ignored the question. “I’ll do what I can to get your friend away from the guards, though it may not be possible. My mother doesn’t know your entry point, so I’d suggest you go back to wherever you came through and wait until it’s time for you to go back.”

When he finally turned, shadows emphasized his cheekbones and hooded his deep-set eyes. I stepped back, still wary. The torch flared, and I saw his face clearly for the first time. Odd eyes. Still beautiful, emerald and sapphire. But all light and humor they’d once held were gone.

“Bran,” I began, but he shook his head.

“I’ll tell my mother you ran,” he continued. “That you banged me on the head or something. But you can’t go back to that house. She knows where you’re staying now. Get yourself tucked away somewhere. I’ll try to retrieve your friend and meet you. Tomorrow, perhaps.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I snarled, “not without my mother and both my friends.”

“Your friends,” he snorted, and ripped off supple leather gloves, stuffing them into his belt. “If you mean MacPherson, he’s done. Finished. After the stunt he pulled, he’ll swing for sure. Forget him.”

The memory of Collum being dragged away limp and helpless stabbed at me. “I won’t leave him.”

I realized instantly I’d said something wrong as all emotion faded and the mask dropped back into place. “So Mother was right. When I told her what happened at the river, she said you were cunning, just like your mother. That you knew all along who I was, and that you’d play me for a fool.”

“I played you?” Incredulous, without thought I shoved him. I had none of Phoebe’s tactical training. Knew zero about aikido or karate or whatever the hell it was she studied. But he wasn’t expecting it, and he tumbled backwards onto his butt. Looming over him, I yelled with all the pent-up frustration I’d stored over the last eight months. “Are you kidding me? Up until a week ago, I had no idea time travel even existed! I was nothing but a homeschooled loser without a mom.”

He threw up his palms as if to stop me, but I was so not done.

“Then,” I continued, my words dripping venom, “I get dragged to Scotland and told, Oh, by the way, your mom’s not dead. She’s just trapped in freaking time!”

“Hope—”

“And, to add icing to my crap cake, just when the world was falling out from under me—again—I meet a guy. A regular guy, who I thought might like me. I started to wonder if maybe I wasn’t such a loser after all.”

Bran got to his feet with an easy grace. Something about the way he moved was oddly familiar. Then it struck me. “It was you in that alley yesterday,” I gasped. “You stopped Eustace and that other guy from chasing me and Rachel.”