by invitation. I would rather not resort to less comfy accommodations."
"You've been pretty nice for a kidnapper," Kendra said. "Too nice. It's really weird. Are you going to fatten me up and eat me?"
Torina pursed her lips and gently scratched at the corner of her eye. "The witch references are getting tiresome, dear."
"What will you do with me? You mentioned the Sphinx."
"You answered your own question. I'll do what the Sphinx tells me."
Kendra's mouth felt dry. "Will he be coming here?"
A sly smile crept onto Torina's lips. "I am not his keeper, but I expect he will, sooner or later. Look, darling, I have no desire to make your situation harsher than necessary. Believe me, you can't escape, and nobody will find you. Don't rock the boat, and I'll keep things bearable."
Kendra doubted she could get more useful information out of Torina. "Okay. I'll try to be good."
"Sleep well, Kendra."
Torina closed the door.
Kendra sat on the edge of the bed. What would the Sphinx want? Information? Cooperation? Would he torture her? Could she resist torture? Ancient as he was, he probably knew a million ways to get people to talk. There were plenty of secrets that she needed to protect. Would he want to use her fairykind ability to recharge spent magical objects? Would he find ways to use her abilities to harm the people she loved?
She pictured the false Kendra currently sleeping in her bed. What was the impostor doing? Would she harm Seth or her parents? Supposedly the impostor had access to her memories. Was she already divulging secrets? Kendra lowered her face to her hands. By the time the Sphinx arrived, whatever secrets she possessed might be irrelevant.
There came a soft knock at the door. Kendra scooted off the bed and opened it. A pair of elderly men waited outside, one in a wheelchair, the other pushing.
"Welcome," said the man in the wheelchair. His white hair was disheveled. He wore thick horn-rimmed glasses, plaid pajamas, and felt slippers. A folded newspaper rested on his lap.
"Can we come in?" asked the man pushing the chair. Liver spots dotted his bald scalp.
"What do you want?" Kendra asked, not moving out of the way.
"To introduce ourselves," said the man in the chair. "We're your new neighbors."
The man behind the chair lowered his voice. "We know some things that might be of service." He winked.
Kendra stepped aside. "Isn't it late?"
"What do we care about late?" griped the man in the wheelchair. "Too many days are the same here. You get sick of it. A new face is front-page news." The bald man guided the wheelchair into the room.
"I'm Kendra."
"Haden," said the guy in the wheelchair. "The other geezer is Cody."
"We're not really geezers," Cody said. "I'm thirty-two. Haden is twenty-eight."
"Oh, no," Kendra said. "She drained you! What was it like? Can I ask?"
"The first bite is quick," Cody said. "It leaves you paralyzed. Then she really latches on, and you can feel your life ebbing away. Your body withers. Deflates. It doesn't hurt. It's dreamlike. Hard to describe."
"Torina can put on quite an act," Haden warned. "Don't trust her. Not for a second."
"Why do you guys live here with her?" Kendra wondered.
"We're prisoners," Haden said. "Torina chooses her victims wisely. I don't have any close relations. Even if I somehow busted out of here, old duffer like me, I'd have no place to go."
"Ditto," Cody echoed.
"So we cooperate," Haden said, resignation in his tone. "It beats the alternative."
"You don't want to end up in the basement," Cody cautioned. "Some of the other guys in our situation ended up down there. Not pleasant. They don't always return."
"How many of you are there?" Kendra asked.
Haden inflated his cheeks and exhaled slowly. "Seven, right now. Two in the basement. One on his deathbed. One mostly keeps to his room. Quiet type. And Kevin is her lap-dog. Hangs on her every word. Steer clear of Kevin."
"Two others have died since I've been here," Cody added.
"That doesn't add up," Kendra complained. "You're talking about hundreds of years of vitality. Are there lots of lectoblixes here?"
"Just her," Haden said. "She's an old one, and she's slipping. Like a reusable battery that doesn't hold a charge anymore. Every year she ages, what, at least twenty-five?"
"Closer to thirty," Cody asserted.
"She steals forty or fifty years from us and consumes them in less than two."
"How terrible," Kendra said.
"She tries not to overindulge," Cody said. "She hates to show any wrinkles, but too many disappearances and she'll have to move the