36
STACY BENNETT
“Eastern magic? What does that do?” His voice dripped derision. She opened her mouth to explain, and then snapped it shut. How had he prodded her into talking about Father’s magic? Ignoring her silence, Khoury shifted to his back on the cot, crossed his ankles and pillowed his head in his hands. “I suppose you want me to believe you’re a sorceress now.” “I didn’t say that.” “Then what is it that you do here?” The question struck a nerve. “I…feed him.” That turned the man’s head. “Feed him?” She nodded. “Ah, you’re his cook.” “No, not like that.” She put her hands on the bars, leaning her forehead against the cold metal. She felt drained. “Then how?” His voice was soft in the dark cell. She suddenly wanted to tell him everything. She wanted to tell her story to someone, what little there was of it. But how could she? If she did, he’d hate her. She was even beginning to hate herself. “How do you feed him?” he asked, even softer. She was embarrassed how the words came out of their own accord. “He has a special scroll, very rare. With it, he uses me to recharge his magic.” “How?” Though the man hadn’t moved, the girl could sense his attention sharpening. She kept her eyes closed so she didn’t have to see his face. “He takes my energy. My soul maybe. I don’t know exactly.” “And that’s what we’re all here for?” She nodded, not wanting to elaborate. Just when the silence had settled back around her like a comforting blanket, he asked, “What’s it like?” His voice was barely a whisper. “Don’t worry, Mason Khoury. You’ll only see it once.” The futility of second-guessing fate walled her off from hope as even he paused in silence. Then, his anger washed through her like a hot wind