Thorn Queen (Dark Swan, #2)(85)

Art tsked me. "Would you really do it? Would you really kill one of your own kind? Or are we even your own kind?"

Magic suddenly filled the air-familiar magic. Shamanic magic. It encircled me like fog, thick and heavy. Forgetting Art, I turned abruptly around, toward the sound of words being chanted-words I knew by heart. Abigail was standing there, wand in hand.

And so help me, she was banishing me.

I felt her will shove up against mine, just as I'd grappled with the demons. The world around me began to tear open as a vortex started to pull my essence apart. I fought it, fought it with every ounce of strength I had-but there was just none left to give.

When it came to traveling the worlds, crossroads and gateways were the way to go. They made for a smooth transition. Or, one could travel like I often did, journeying to some item imbued with your essence, an item that couldn't help but draw your soul to it.

And rarely, if you had the strength, you could tear open a gateway by force and shove your way into another world. That wasn't recommended. It hurt like hell. And essentially, that's what a banishing was-only it wasn't your choice. It was someone ripping you out of the world and shoving you into another.

I felt the fabric of this world open up, felt the unstoppable pull of another. I couldn't fight it. I tried. I kicked, I screamed, but I was too weak. I felt like I was shattering into a million pieces, sucked into a whirlwind and then, I was gone.



I woke up with a headache even worse than the one I'd gotten shooting tequila on the night of Luisa's birth. Pain thudded to a steady drumbeat in my head, though at the same time, my senses felt foggy as a boring plaster ceiling slowly came into focus above me. Nausea welled up in my stomach, and I worried I was going to get sick. It had happened the last time I'd come crashing through the worlds.

And speaking of the worlds...where was I? Easy enough to figure out, my groggy brain quickly realized. I'd been pulled out from the Otherworld, which meant I could either have been sent to the Underworld or the human world. The fact that I was still alive indicated I'd gone onto the latter. Why on earth would Abigail summon me to-f*ck. There it was: the nausea again. I bit my lip and tried to sit up, not wanting to choke on my own vomit.

Only, when I tried to rise, I didn't get very far. My hands were stretched above my head, tied to the headboard of the bed I lay on. No, not tied-cuffed. Cuffed with heavy steel, industrial-strength handcuffs. Bound or no, I did manage some semblance of sitting, just as my stomach betrayed me. A bowl got shoved under my face right at that moment, and I was grateful to spare the bedding and my clothes. I threw up twice before my benefactor gently asked, "Any more?"

"I don't think so."

I squinted up and found myself looking into the face of a young girl, heavily freckled and brown-haired, with a nose a bit too small for the rest of her facial features. She was still cute enough, though, and-she was a gentry. For a moment, I wondered if I'd gotten confused about the banishment. Was I still in the Otherworld? No. This was definitely the human world. I could sense it. There was a way that magic hung in the air-or, rather, didn't hang in the air around here.

The girl took the bowl away and returned with a damp cloth. She wiped my face with it and then my mouth. A moment later, she returned with a glass of water, which I drank gratefully. All of her movements were gentle and graceful.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Cariena."

"That's really pretty. Where am I, Cariena?" I asked, tugging at the handcuffs. Those things weren't going to budge.

The girl sat down on a chair in the corner. "In the world of the humans."

"I know that." I tried hard not to let my tone get harsh. My leather from the fight was gone; I wore a T-shirt and underwear. "But where? What is this place?"

She glanced around, as though the room might offer some secret insight. The walls were painted pale gray and matched the bedspread, a pattern of purple and grayish blue flowers. There was a small dresser in the corner, along with her chair, as well as the narrow twin bed I lay in. There wasn't a lot of space here-and no windows at all.

"The Red Snake Man's house."

"The Red Snake-son of a bitch. Art."

My mind was still fuzzy, and I had a hard time grasping all the details of what had happened. I remembered bits and pieces of the fight. I remembered chasing the soldier and then Abigail banishing me...

But it was all still disjointed, and I had no recollection of how I'd gotten here. It was possible that was simply from the trauma of tearing through the worlds. Someone could have smacked me upside the head too, but the pain throbbing in my skull wasn't that type. As I'd noted earlier, it was more like the hangover type. Only worse.

"Where is he now?" I asked.

Cariena shook her head. "I don't know. He doesn't explain his activities to us."

"Us? Are there..." Again, my addled brain tried to remember what I already knew. Why couldn't I line up my thoughts? It was like I had both the buzz and the hangover from drinking, all wrapped up into one. Us. Art. Red Snake Man. "Are there...others like you here? Other girls?"

She nodded.

"How many?"

"Five-no, four. They took Fara yesterday. Isanna's next."

"They who?"

"One of the men. They come sometimes. They look at us. Sometimes they just..." She looked away, unwilling to meet my eyes. "Sometimes they just...visit. But sometimes they make a deal with the Red Snake Man to take one of us."