This Coven Won't Break - Isabel Sterling Page 0,75
lie in bed, staring at the ceiling while my mind spins all the ways our mission could go wrong. All the ways we could fail. When the clock hits four in the morning, I give up on sleep and drag myself out of bed. Within an hour, I’m showered and dressed and moving through the house on silent feet. I don’t want to wake Mom. I’m afraid to say goodbye. Afraid to fight one more time before I leave.
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to bring with me, so I only slip my phone in my back pocket and grab my keys. At the front door, my fingers curl around the deadbolt, my keys jingling in my other hand, when someone clears their throat behind me.
“No goodbye?”
Everything inside me freezes. I turn slowly. “Hey, Mom.”
She stands in the hallway, still dressed in the clothes she wore last night. The dark circles under her eyes confirm that she never went to bed.
I fidget with the keys in my hands. “Go ahead. Tell me not to go.”
The corner of Mom’s lips quirks up, but there’s only defeat in her eyes. “Would you listen if I did?” She sighs when I shake my head. “That’s what I thought.”
“I’m sorry, Mom, but I have to—”
“You have to go. I know.” Mom wraps her arms tightly around herself. “I’d tell you to be careful, but I don’t think you know how to do that.”
“I’ll be back soon.” I hate making promises I can’t keep, but I slip out of the house before either of us can say anything else.
Despite the obscene hour, I’m the last to arrive at Archer’s house. Cal passes me one of the needle-repellant jackets. The fabric is stiff against my skin when I slide it on over my plain black T-shirt. They’ve already loaded Alice’s trunks into one van and fitted another with Cal’s tech gear, so we don’t waste any time heading out. The hour-long journey passes too quickly, and then we’re pulling over to get ready.
Cal slips into the back of the second van, where his computer equipment is already set up. “Good luck,” he says, passing Archer a thumb drive. “Don’t lose this.”
Archer stores the drive in the small pocket at the front of his jacket. “We’ll see you on the other side.”
We leave our phones with Cal and pile into the main van. Archer and I hide inside Alice’s two supply trunks. The spaces are barely big enough, and panic rises in my chest when the door clicks shut behind me. Locked in a world of darkness, claustrophobia clawing at my throat, I force myself to breathe. To press down the swell of nausea as the van lurches forward to drive us the rest of the way to our destination.
When we finally arrive, my muscles cramp and spasm. The pain spreads as Alice, or maybe Ellen, rolls the trunk down a sidewalk. The thud-thud-thud against the lines in the cement makes my teeth ache.
Get in. Destroy the drug. Get out. I repeat the steps like a mantra, let it consume my thoughts so I don’t scream and give us away.
We come to a stop, and muffled voices filter through the thick casing of the trunk.
“I told you, they’re supplies for my act.” Alice’s voice comes into focus when someone opens the top of my trunk. Her haughty, sarcastic tone doesn’t betray any of the fear I saw on the ride here. “Be careful with that. It’s expensive,” she snaps.
Above me, separated by a thin piece of particleboard and fabric, someone rifles through Alice’s things. I hold my breath, wishing I could still my heart until they leave, afraid the erratic pounding against my ribs will give us away.
Something heavy bangs on the space above my head, and I stifle a gasp. I close my eyes and pray to the Mother Goddess. Her daughters may be banned from watching over earth, but maybe she’s there. Maybe she’s listening. Please protect us. I send the plea skyward, tears prickling my eyes. If you have any love at all for the sisters’ creations, please help us get in.
The noise continues, and I worry it might be rude to bargain with a deity. Ruder still to wonder if the family of goddesses is even real.
“Are you satisfied?” Alice’s tone is so quintessentially her—well, the stage version of her—that I can practically see her scowl and her hand propped on her hip.
The lid closes, muffling the security guard’s reply. I release the