Persie Merlin and the Witch Hunters - Bella Forrest Page 0,81

forget the vacant expression in her dead eyes.

“I need some air,” I mumbled, heading straight past the Danish jeweler and out of the bubble’s nearest exit.

Gasping for breath, I walked a few yards across the field, staring out at the clear azure sky. A cool breeze caressed my flushed cheeks and I closed my eyes, letting my surroundings envelop me.

I was just getting my breath back and feeling calmer when the hairs rose on the back of my neck. A subtle burning sensation, as though someone was watching me. My eyes snapped open and I whipped my head around as a familiar figure darted through the wall of the market’s interdimensional bubble and out of sight.

Oh, you bastard…

Twenty-Three

Persie

Furious, I took off after him, plunging back into the melee of the marketplace at the same spot where he’d disappeared. I paused for a split second, scouring the mass of people for the kidnapper. Then, up ahead, I saw familiar dark curls bouncing as a man raced through the throngs, weaving and twisting through the now-disgruntled shoppers. Only the guilty run…

Or those pursuing justice. I broke into a sprint, chasing him through the crowded aisles, shouting back apologies to the people I bumped into. There was no way I was going to let him escape again. Digging deep for the running stamina I knew I had in me somewhere, I kept my eyes on my quarry. My feet had never felt so light as I raced along, feinting around browsers and ducking beneath awnings, following every sharp turn my kidnapper took through the labyrinth of the market. I had no idea what I would do with him once I caught up, but I could cross that bridge when I came to it. One thing was for sure: it would start with a swift kick to the crown jewels.

Darting down a narrow path to the right, I lost sight of him. I slowed my pace to a jog, listening for any unusual sound that might reveal his location. He had to be here somewhere. I’d just seen him come this way, and people didn’t just disappear. The front of the stalls had given way to a storage area, with crates and carts and boxes piled high. The perfect place for a coward to hide.

Halfway down the row, I heard a thud as something fell to my left. Whirling around, I squinted into the gloom behind one of the stalls, where fresh produce lay in wait for a restock. Slowly, I crept toward the shadows, certain he had to be lurking somewhere within. If only I had glanced back—just once—I would’ve seen that the shadow I was looking for was behind me.

Before I had the chance to scream, a strong arm circled my waist and yanked me backward while a hand slithered over my mouth. I tried to bite down, only to get a mouthful of fabric soaked in something sweet. I smelled the sweetness, too, like almonds or marzipan. I tried to fight back, struggling to get a proper breath through the doused material.

The world went hazy, dark spots dancing in my field of vision. I attempted to blink them away, but that only invited more to the party. A few seconds later, my eyelids grew heavy, my breaths slowed, and my limbs felt carved out of lead.

I tried to call for help, but the words didn’t come. I was losing consciousness, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I awoke, disoriented and foggy, to unfamiliar surroundings. Chintzy wallpaper and throwback upholstery, in garish, clashing patterns made me want to squeeze my eyes shut again. My hands were tied in front of me. A musty scent filled the air, a smell a million miles away from the delicious aromas of the marketplace. Glancing over at the nearest window, I saw the backend of a trailer and realized I must be inside one. I’d seen a few of them parked on the outskirts of the market—home to the sellers who made their living by traveling from food fair to food fair, through huge chalk-doors that could accommodate these bulky structures.

That means I’m still inside the market bubble. The thought comforted me, but only slightly. I knew who’d brought me here and, judging by our last two encounters, I sensed it wouldn’t be a friendly affair.

A spark of inspiration fired in my skull as I pulled myself up to a sitting position. I took in the eyesore of a sofa that I was seated