Changeling; Chapter 6

I start awake, whole body priming to move as the feeling of falling falls away. I can feel something wrapped around my neck, but that's the least of my concerns right now.

My arms are tied above my head, wrists crossed. There's no give either. I look up to try to get a better idea of how they're tied, and whatever it is around my neck lightly pinches my skin. Maybe I can loosen the knot.

"Finally awake?" A voice asks.

I look toward it. It's her: the girl from Turners, the one who had shown up in the middle of the storm at Ava's house. With her black leather get-up, she looks completely out of place in this old barn. She sits on a table, probably the only wooden thing in here that didn't look ready to fall apart, calmly polishing what looks like a sword of some kind.

"I was beginning to think I used a little too much on you," she carries on calmly as if we were chatting about the weather.

I glare at her. I can think of a few different choice phrases to use as a response. Yet when I go to speak, I can't. My mouth moves, but my words are soundless.

What?

I try again with the same result. I try screaming. There's not even a whisper.

The girl smirks. "Scream all you want, but that silencer won't let you make a sound." Silencer? What was she talking about? "Can't risk you charming me before I can get something for all the trouble you caused me."

I want to tell her she's crazy. I want to scream. I want to demand answers. And I can't do anything except glare and scream silent curses at her. Which only seems to amuse her more.

She turns her attention back to the blade on her lap. "Careful now. Don't want to hurt your vocal cords."

I lurch against the rope, trying to get even a fraction of an inch of give. The girl looks up, giving me a piteous look.

"Just sit tight," she chides me. "We'll be off soon enough. I would have taken you back to my ship, but I didn't want to miss my meeting."

A strange hum fills the air. Almost like the whirling of chopper blades, but much quieter, more akin to the pitch of a computer's fans. As suddenly as it had filled the air, it was gone.

The girl's head turns toward the open doors of the barn. Not that I suspected they could close considering how heavily the one seemed to hang on its rail and I'm fairly certain the other had half fallen off its rail.

"What perfect timing." She looks back at me, smiling pleasantly. "Do try to keep the background noise to a minimum. I'd hate to have to talk over you."

Oh, she was so going to get it once I was free. I pull sharply on the rope again. If I could get free.

She slips from the table, setting the blade aside as shadows fall across the open doorway. There are three. Three people were coming. And if they were here to meet this psychotic chick, then they defiantly wouldn't be interested in helping me. Odds were, I probably didn't want to meet them either.

I eye the girl as she calmly picks up a small black box from the table. She then waits for the three visitors to enter the barn.

The first to enter is a man. His dark hair is just long enough to be brushed back. There's no mistaking the muscled tone of his golden olive skin. His gait is even and slow, as graceful as a predator. I can't help but notice what seems to be the hilt of two swords peeking out over his shoulders. His eyes land on me for a moment and there's not even a flicker of curiosity.

He's followed by another man and a woman. The woman has the same dark hair and skin as the man, but the man is fairer than both of them, skin looking just naturally tanned, his hair a sandy blonde. They all wear the same black outfit though. Black long-sleeve shirt, black pants, black boots, and black fingerless gloves. These two don't even glance my way though, their attention remains fixed on the girl.

The girl calmly inclines her head toward them. "Yulvir, Halmyr Calix."

The man inclines his head to the woman. "Yulvir."

Whatever comes next comes too fast for me to follow, but one thing is clear though; I have no idea what they're saying. I can't even recognize the language they're speaking in. It's lilting like the romance languages, but at times sounds harsh like German. Yet I can't help the feeling that I've heard it somewhere before.

The girl steps forward, offering him the box. The man steps forward reaching for it. Before the girl can release it, the man's moved again and his left hand is firmly wrapped around her wrist. The girl is frozen in place as the man speaks. Despite the purr in his voice and the light smile on his lips, considering how wide her eyes are, what he's saying is most likely far from pleasant.

Slowly she shakes her head. When she speaks, her voice has a slight shake to it. I can't understand the beginning of what she says, but the last phrase, I do catch. Halmyr Calix. She had said that before. It had to be important.

Whatever she said must have been satisfactory for the man as he releases her wrist. She steps back as he opens the box. He studies its contents for a moment before shutting the box again. He speaks and the man behind him moves, tossing something to the girl. She easily catches it.

She keeps her eyes on the man though as she speaks again. I catch the word 'halmyr' again, but it's not followed by Calix again. The man responds, sounding almost indifferent. He turns, tossing the box to the man behind him who easily catches it.

He doesn't complete the turn though. He's stopped halfway through his turn, eyes locked on me. His head cocks to the side as he studies me. His expression is perfectly neutral, yet every instinct in me is screaming danger.

His eyes remain on me as he speaks again. The girl's eyes flick to me for a second. Had he been speaking to me?

The girl answers hesitantly. Silence hangs for another second before he speaks again. The girl starts at whatever he says, speaking quickly. He cuts her off, snapping at her. She's silent for a moment before softly answering, bowing her head ever so slightly.

The man turns his head, looking over at the woman he had come with gently tossing his head toward the girl. The woman immediately moves, stepping toward the woman. Whatever they're doing quickly loses my attention though. My focus is entirely on the man who is now approaching me.

If it weren't for the fact I'm tied to this beam, I'd be running. As it were, I can't even back away from him. All I can do is press myself as tightly to the beam as I can, as if I might become one with it, as he approaches, pulling a small knife from some hidden sheath.

I'm frozen, tensed against whatever may be about to happen before he stops beside me. I can feel his fingers on the back of my hands, first the whisper of a touch, then a firm pressure, pushing my hands forward, away from the pole.

I can feel the rope as it gives way, releasing my bound wrists. The rope doesn't fall on me though. Not that it's a concern at the moment. All that matters at the moment is that my hands are unbound from the beam and there's nothing else holding me in place.

I shove myself forward and away from the man. My hands are still bound, but I could worry about that later; at the moment, I could still use them to push off the floor.

I don't get much further though. There's an arm around my waist, yanking me back. Their mistake. I lift my arms, twisting as I bring them back down as hard as I can, using my momentum as an extra driving force.

I can feel his breath on my neck as he grunts in pain. Someone shouts something, but I'm more focused on getting free. His arm is still wrapped around my waist.

I continue twisting, aiming my heel for his instep. He's slightly off balance now. I bring my hands up, slamming them into his chest, aiming for his sternum, shoving hard. He backpedals, arm slipping from my waist.

I spin around only to find my path blocked by the other man. He spins the staff in his hands as he falls into a fighter's stance. The staff is covered in glowing white lines. I'm not sure where it had come from, but my bigger concern was warding him off. Now I couldn't help but wish I had taken my dad up on his offer for staff training. Surely though the basic principle of getting inside their striking range would still hold true. Any weapon is useless if they can't hit you.

I sprint toward him. He holds his ground. The less space we have between us the more unsure of this plan I am. Still, I barrel forward.

Finally, he moves, with feet to spare, but not to attack. He's sidestepping. I can't react fast enough. One step he's before me, the next beside me, another behind me. The path is clear before me. Turn and fight or keep running? It couldn't be that easy right?

My whole body jerks, muscles convulsing. I can't do anything as I go down, head over heels.