“Arrrrrah!” Trent exclaimed, arms straining as he pulled a wine rack taller than himself from the wall. The old wood frame structure groaned and leaned, finally falling until it hit one of the freestanding racks and stopped. The bottles on it, though, did not, and I looked up when several thousand dollars of trademarked Golden Wedding champagne hit the cobbled floor and burst in a wash of sound and rising scent of alcohol.
“You’ve never been trapped in a hole before, have you,” I said, and, expression cross, Trent reached to angle the bulb to the newly exposed wall to inspect it for a way out.
“Not until I met you,” he muttered, and I snorted, remembering.
“Well, I have. Lots of times,” I said. “Once by you as a mink,” I said idly. “Once in your woods. HAPA. That was a bad one. The demons, Alcatraz . . . The door will open. I promise.”
But will it open in time? I wondered, worried. Trent had already searched the floor and ceiling to no avail. There were no windows. There were no doors other than the one we’d been shoved through. The only light was from the bulb in Trent’s hand, and we probably wouldn’t even have that except that the switch was in here.
Trent let the light go. Light flashed and swung until he caught it again, holding it in his long fingers until he eased his grip from it. He turned to me, his mood bad, and I looked away. The strap of charmed silver was too tight, and I worked a finger between it and me, wondering if breaking my hand was a good alternative. I wasn’t sure how they thought I was going to kill Trent. I had no magic with this thing on. But maybe Landon was right that Trent would do nothing to stop me, and a broken bottle was as good as a knife. Son of a bastard.
“There are all kinds of cages,” Trent said as he picked his way through the slosh to a still-standing rack. The cold sound of dust on glass scraped through the silence as he pulled a bottle, and then a crack when he snapped the top off by tapping it on the rack. Glass tinkled down, followed by the soft hiss of bubbles. “Mine always seem to have champagne in them.”
I said nothing as he carefully lowered himself to sit beside me. But I did take the bottle when he offered it, spinning it to find the least jagged lip before I took a gulp.
Tart and strong, the alcohol burned my throat, and I downed the rare Cincinnati vintage as if it were water. The bubbles burned, and I closed my eyes before they teared. At least it was champagne. No sulfites meant no headache. “Ah, Rachel?” Trent cautioned, and I came up for air and handed it back.
More restrained, Trent took a slug as well. “Mmmm,” he said in appreciation, angling the bottle to look for the date before sighing and setting it aside. “Needs a few more years.”
The silence grew heavy with only our breathing to mar it. I could feel Trent’s warmth even though he wasn’t touching me, but my anger and fear wouldn’t let go. Jenks was leaking dust and not flying well. If they caught him, they’d put him in the garden to die because Landon had told them to. Never mind that he was a person. My friend.
“He’s more resilient than you think,” Trent said, focus distant on the slowly seeping champagne.
I exhaled, breath shaking. “I never should have agreed to this,” I said. “I knew it was too cold for him if things got out of hand.” I looked up when Trent put an arm around me and tugged me sideways into him. “And when have my runs never gotten out of hand?”
“He’ll be okay,” he said, the scent of green things rising as he pulled me even closer. “He’s probably tormenting Landon as we speak. And with him free, we have a good chance of escaping.”
“True,” I said ruefully. When you got right down to it, Jenks was doing better than us. He wasn’t stuck in a hole, bound by charmed silver. And then I realized that Landon was probably going to end up a zombie. I wasn’t sure if I cared to lift a finger to stop it.
We both jumped at the knock on the door. Trent’s arms fell away, and I sat up. They knocked? I thought.