to secure his freedom. She’s in Paris, by the way. Nice place, really cute, and just minutes from the Louvre—”
“Enough!” Samira roared, her eyes widening to reveal a shade of malice I’d never seen her wear before. The soft wrinkles at the corners of her eyes tightened and her brow furrowed, nestling the rage that was clawing its way from her body. Her brow transformed from a violent crease to distraught evidence of agony within seconds, her gaze slowly dropping to the floor in realization. She turned her back to us and jerked her head away, then her body went eerily serene.
I stopped breathing. My legs gave out. A soft ripple penetrated my numbness and entered my consciousness, thoughts from Josh desperately trying to reach me:
Can’t find Camille. Looking everywhere. The others are on their way to you.
Hearing Camille’s name, I shook my head to concentrate, firing back: Find her, damn it! Find her now! Don’t send the others here. I said go to the haven! All of you! You’re getting weaker, you need to save your strength.
You’ll need protection, he insisted. We’ll manage. We’re strong enough to get you out of there. Stand by.
“Guards!” Samira’s svelte frame shook as she shouted, her back still facing us. The watchmen sprinted through the rear doors near her throne. “Bring me the girl at once, and leave not one scratch on her body. Do what you have to do to get her alone and vulnerable. This instant!” Pivoting the top half of her body around to peer at me, she swiveled her waist as if on a hinge. “Mr. Devereaux, when this is over, death will surely seem a kindness to you.”
* * *
“I know I left it here,” I muttered, foraging inside the windmill. I rummaged around behind the stacks of hay, near the door, and through the wooden storage boxes. I refastened a lid onto one of the crates and shook my head, still talking to myself. “It was by the door …” Placing a hand on my hip, I let out an exasperated sigh and sat down to give myself a few more minutes of peace and quiet to think.
Whatever Samira had summoned Gavin for, it couldn’t be good. Could it? Maybe she found out about the blood supply being low. Maybe she knows something we don’t. Maybe she’s been on to us this entire time.
Groaning at this last thought, I dropped my head into my hands and closed my eyes, picturing the serene sugarcane fields back home, my tiny yellow house, the Bayou Teche, and my favorite little bookstore, the one with the cozy cherry shelves and that god-awful green carpet. I inhaled, and tried to imagine what the air would smell like this time of year, envisioning the lazy Louisiana breeze and how it would sway through the Spanish moss, causing it to flitter and dance from its branches in the late afternoon sun. It was hard to imagine anymore. Since I’d adapted to my Amaranthian life, the memories were becoming even fainter than before, and lately, that had begun to make me uneasy.
My thoughts spun around, doing lap after lap, contemplating useless what-if scenarios. A faint jostling sound made me lift my head from my arms, then a loud ruckus and what sounded like hundreds of voices finally stirred me to stand up. The voices grew louder, and I recognized the faint cries of Amaranthians resounding from the village’s valley.
I stepped toward the door, placed my ear to it. A low rumbling began, reverberating below my feet like an earthquake, and I staggered back, looking at the floor. I felt the hairs on my neck stand up and I stepped back. Another low, heavy hum thundered from somewhere east, and everything in me told me to bolt.
Grabbing the door’s wooden latch, I twisted it and swung the door open, and was blasted with a gust of wind so powerful I nearly fell back. Nothing could prepare me for the mayhem stretched out before me, dressing the Amaranthian horizon like an orchestrated, apocalyptic dance. The typically dreary skyline was aglow with the warm red flames of fires in the villages below, and the streets were swarming with bloodshed. Samira’s guards bulldozed their way over the cobblestone streets, tearing villagers literally limb from limb. I could make out five or six figures positioned on our home’s rooftop, appearing to be calling out to one another. I squinted, shielding my vision from the wind, and was able to make