face him. “Let me go,” she growled.
The wicked gorgio only shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “You are my guest.”
“Your prisoner ,” she snapped.
He stood between her and the door, and she knew that he could easily catch and overpower her if she tried to bolt past him. So she turned and sprinted across the room, heading for the windows. The wood groaned under her hands as she pushed a window open—the room must never have been aired out, the atmosphere was so close and clinging—and as it opened, a cool dawn breeze flowed in to bite at her flushed cheeks. From what Zora could tell, the room was on the first story, which meant she could easily jump to the ground below. It wouldn’t be the first occasion she’d fled a gorgio ’s home through a window. This time, she did not have a sack full of purloined silver over her shoulder.
She did not care about stealth now. Gritting her teeth, she shoved the window open just enough for her to wriggle through. As soon as she had sufficient room, she put her hands upon the windowsill and vaulted over it.
Or she tried. She slammed into a barrier, then stumbled back to land on her backside. From the floor, Zora glared at the window.
She launched herself at it again. And found herself back on the floor once more, dazed.
With more caution, she stood and approached the window. Brisk morning air wafted into the room, and a leaf torn from an elm tree drifted in, borne upon the breeze. Slowly, Zora reached out, trying to stick her arm through the open window. She could not. An invisible barrier marked the boundary between the inside of the room and the outside. She pressed her fingertips against it and found the barrier to be cold and unyielding like a wall of ice.
Heart pounding, she snatched up one of the chess pieces and tossed it toward the window. The little carved bishop sailed out as if nothing stopped it. Zora stared, hardly believing.
She heard Whit walking steadily toward her. With quick hands and no warning, she grabbed the chessboard and flung it at him. He whipped up his arm to block the game board, playing pieces flying in every direction. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, Zora shot past him, heading for the door.
He made a feint for her, but she evaded his outstretched hands, swift as a vixen. They called her that sometimes, her family: a fleet, cunning she-fox. She drew on that part of herself as she ran toward the door. Then she was at the door, flinging it open to reveal an elegant hallway. A brief surprise to find the door unlocked. In a moment, she understood why.
Shoulder first she ran toward the doorway. And smashed against that same cold, immobile barrier. Her shoulder actually ached from the contact. There were no objects close at hand, so she tore off one of her rings and pitched it through the doorway. Just like the chess piece, the ring had no trouble leaving the room. In fact, it bounced off the hallway’s wall and then rolled down the length of the passage with a mocking, metallic sound. It had freedom. She did not.
Whit’s footsteps sounded behind her, the heels of his boots hitting the wood with the finality of a drumroll before execution.
“The Devil’s wickedness,” she snarled. She turned to face Whit, her body humming with fear and anger and the aftershocks of trying to throw herself against a magical barricade.
She could hardly believe she lived now in a world where existed such things as invisible barriers and Wafodu guero ’s magic. Yet it was true, they were real, and she had no means of combating them.
“You are my guest,” Whit repeated, as if she had not just attempted to flee and everything that had just happened was merely a lull in conversation.
“Until when?”
“Until I am ready to let you go.” He advanced, and she would not allow him the satisfaction of intimidating her, no matter how much more height he had, no matter the coiled strength of his body or the burning intensity of his
The wicked gorgio only shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “You are my guest.”
“Your prisoner ,” she snapped.
He stood between her and the door, and she knew that he could easily catch and overpower her if she tried to bolt past him. So she turned and sprinted across the room, heading for the windows. The wood groaned under her hands as she pushed a window open—the room must never have been aired out, the atmosphere was so close and clinging—and as it opened, a cool dawn breeze flowed in to bite at her flushed cheeks. From what Zora could tell, the room was on the first story, which meant she could easily jump to the ground below. It wouldn’t be the first occasion she’d fled a gorgio ’s home through a window. This time, she did not have a sack full of purloined silver over her shoulder.
She did not care about stealth now. Gritting her teeth, she shoved the window open just enough for her to wriggle through. As soon as she had sufficient room, she put her hands upon the windowsill and vaulted over it.
Or she tried. She slammed into a barrier, then stumbled back to land on her backside. From the floor, Zora glared at the window.
She launched herself at it again. And found herself back on the floor once more, dazed.
With more caution, she stood and approached the window. Brisk morning air wafted into the room, and a leaf torn from an elm tree drifted in, borne upon the breeze. Slowly, Zora reached out, trying to stick her arm through the open window. She could not. An invisible barrier marked the boundary between the inside of the room and the outside. She pressed her fingertips against it and found the barrier to be cold and unyielding like a wall of ice.
Heart pounding, she snatched up one of the chess pieces and tossed it toward the window. The little carved bishop sailed out as if nothing stopped it. Zora stared, hardly believing.
She heard Whit walking steadily toward her. With quick hands and no warning, she grabbed the chessboard and flung it at him. He whipped up his arm to block the game board, playing pieces flying in every direction. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, Zora shot past him, heading for the door.
He made a feint for her, but she evaded his outstretched hands, swift as a vixen. They called her that sometimes, her family: a fleet, cunning she-fox. She drew on that part of herself as she ran toward the door. Then she was at the door, flinging it open to reveal an elegant hallway. A brief surprise to find the door unlocked. In a moment, she understood why.
Shoulder first she ran toward the doorway. And smashed against that same cold, immobile barrier. Her shoulder actually ached from the contact. There were no objects close at hand, so she tore off one of her rings and pitched it through the doorway. Just like the chess piece, the ring had no trouble leaving the room. In fact, it bounced off the hallway’s wall and then rolled down the length of the passage with a mocking, metallic sound. It had freedom. She did not.
Whit’s footsteps sounded behind her, the heels of his boots hitting the wood with the finality of a drumroll before execution.
“The Devil’s wickedness,” she snarled. She turned to face Whit, her body humming with fear and anger and the aftershocks of trying to throw herself against a magical barricade.
She could hardly believe she lived now in a world where existed such things as invisible barriers and Wafodu guero ’s magic. Yet it was true, they were real, and she had no means of combating them.
“You are my guest,” Whit repeated, as if she had not just attempted to flee and everything that had just happened was merely a lull in conversation.
“Until when?”
“Until I am ready to let you go.” He advanced, and she would not allow him the satisfaction of intimidating her, no matter how much more height he had, no matter the coiled strength of his body or the burning intensity of his
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