the first time since she learned she was about to meet a Council Elder.
Archer pulls a key from a ring on the far wall. “I had it installed when we knew there were Hunters in Salem. I figured it was only a matter of time before we caught one.” He unlocks the door and swings it open.
Morgan and Alice drag the trunks inside and unlock them, hurrying out with dizzying speed so Archer can secure the door before the Hunters pull themselves free of their boxes.
The girl makes it to her feet first. She kicks Riley’s trunk as he’s trying to pull himself out, and I notice all three managed to slip out of their rope bindings during the drive. Which is slightly terrifying. “I told you not to waste time tormenting the blood- sucker. You should have shot her first.”
Beside me, Morgan goes rigid.
“Well, maybe if you were a better shot, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” Riley snaps back, and the exchange is so normal, so much like how Veronica and her brother, Gabe, fight, that it makes my skin crawl.
“Stop arguing,” the shorter guy says. “I already have a migraine.”
“Shut up, Wes,” Riley and the girl say in unison.
The short guy, Wes, sighs. “Please tell me there’s a bathroom in this stupid thing?” He looks through the bars, his gaze bouncing between the three adults like he’s trying to decide who’s actually in charge.
Archer points to the door in the corner of the cell, and Wes slips out of his trunk and disappears.
“This is all your fault,” the girl says, shoving Riley. He trips and falls back into the trunk. “We’re going to be in so much trouble when the Order realizes we’re missing.”
“Knock it off, Paige.”
“Don’t use my name in front of them.” She flops onto one of the beds. “Idiots. The both of you.”
“Hey,” Wes says, emerging from the bathroom. “Don’t blame me for this. And you used my name, so don’t get precious about yours.”
Beside me, Elder Keating groans. “May the Mother Goddess give me strength,” she mutters and pulls a vial from an inside jacket pocket. She tosses it into the cell, and blue mist rises from the concrete floor. The Hunters cover their mouths, but it’s too late. In a matter of moments, they all collapse into unconsciousness.
Sarah shakes her head. “I can’t believe teenagers did this to me. It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so fucking awful.” She approaches the cell and kneels beside the door, glancing over her shoulder at Archer and Keating. “How do you expect to get anything useful out of them?”
“Not without some magical help.” Archer opens the door and drags Riley out of the cell, tossing Sarah the keys so she can relock the others inside. He props Riley up in a chair and binds him there with a length of rope. After the teenage Hunter is secure, the detective scans his shelves, selecting a gray potion and pulling the stopper out of the thin bottle.
The smoky mixture curls into the air beneath Riley’s nose, and then Morgan’s ex jolts awake. His eyes are wild as he searches the room and pulls against his bindings. Morgan reaches for me, her fingers digging into my arm hard enough to bruise, but I don’t pull away. If she needs an anchor to weather this storm, I can do that for her.
Archer stoppers his potion and leans against the work table. “Let’s start with an easy question, shall we? What’s your full name?”
Riley spits in Archer’s general direction.
Elder Keating scans the shelves. “We don’t have time for this nonsense.” She selects a shimmering white potion and grabs one of those large droppers parents use on their kids to give them medicine.
“What are you doing?” Riley asks, a mixture of fear and disgust in his tone.
“Cutting to the truth,” Keating says, opening the vial and filling the dropper. She passes the rest of the vial to Archer and grabs hold of Riley’s face. He struggles against her grip, but she tilts his face up and shoves the liquid into his mouth.
Riley coughs and sputters, but it’s too late. The potion is already down his throat.
“Let’s try this again,” the Elder says. “What is your name?”
The young Hunter thrashes harder against the ropes that bind him, but he spits out the words. “Riley Martin.” Sweat beads along his forehead, and he glances nervously at the assembly of witches. “What did you do to me?”
“I’ll be asking the questions, Mr.