Michelle Krys - Hexed

The water has slicked higher up my body in the time we’ve spent catching our breath, and though my lungs ache with exhaustion and my overworked heart pounds, I run after her.

Bishop stays at my side even though I know he could have lapped Jezebel twice over. “Take it off.” He gestures to my dress. “It’d be much easier.”

I give him a hard look. “Nice try, but I’m not reenacting your porno fantasies.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

But it’s only a few slow, heavy steps later that I realize he’s right. In a few minutes’ time, the water will be above my waist, and we’ll have to swim. “Unlace me.”

“Oh God,” Jezebel calls from up ahead.

“Hurry up! The water.” I spin around to give Bishop access to the corset-back of my gown. He whirls around, looking for someplace to put the candle before sticking it on a small ledge poking out of the brick.

He splashes up behind me, and even above the whoosh of water in the intakes and Jezebel’s splashing footsteps, I hear him swallow hard, hesitating, fingers fumbling with my laces.

“I didn’t come back just because I was ordered!” he yells over the noise.

Familiar tears sting my eyes. Which is stupid, because really—so not the most important thing right now. Water moves up to my hip bones, the skirt of the dress puffing up around me.

“It’s true the Family sent me to train you as punishment for losing the Bible,” he says. “But they had no idea that I really wanted to do it, that I’d been dying to see you again. It wasn’t a punishment at all.” He takes hold of my shoulders, and I draw in a little breath. “The real punishment was being away from you.”

My heart swells so much I’m worried it will burst, relief and happiness causing tears to spill down my cheeks.

“And I only stopped that day at the sand dunes because I didn’t want you to regret anything. I didn’t want you to think back on what you’d done and hate me for it.”

Heat floods my face at the mention of that day, and I’m glad my back is to him so he can’t see it. But as much as I don’t want to forgive him for humiliating me, I know he’s right. I would have felt like he’d preyed on my vulnerability if he’d let things go any further.

“Indie.” He pleads my name, his fingers brushing tentatively along the cold skin of my arm. His touch sends a current down my body.

“Okay, you’re right,” I say tersely.

Silence. And then, “What did you just say?”

I huff and spin around to face him, not bothering to wipe my tear-stained face. “I said you’re right. You’re right and I was wrong. Go ahead and enjoy the moment because it’s probably never happening again—”

He takes my face in his hands and kills my words with a kiss. A kiss so intense it would scare me if it didn’t thrill me so much. Long and deep and lingering.

“What’s taking you guys so … long.” Jezebel slows to a halt.

I pull back from Bishop, my breathing as erratic as my pulse.

“Oh, well, pardon me,” Jezebel says. “I guess I mistakenly thought we were running for our lives.” She turns on her heel and keeps running.

I bring my eyes up to Bishop’s. “She hates us.”

“And I don’t care.”

I laugh. “Okay, get me out of this thing.”

“With pleasure.”

I roll my eyes and hold my arms out as Bishop stretches the corset’s laces until the bodice hangs loose around my bust. Then I wriggle out of the dress with Bishop’s eager help until I’m wearing nothing but my boy-cut underwear and an interestingly shaped bra made specially for open-backed dresses. But Bishop doesn’t seem to notice the ugly bra, his dark eyes exploring me.

“Aren’t you going to strip down?” I ask.

“Indigo, I have a feeling your boyfriend wouldn’t approve of this.” He tosses my dress aside—it lands with a slopping sound before sinking from sight—and then shrugs out of his jacket. Much as I’d like to, I don’t wait for him to get undressed.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say, leading the way into the darkness where Jezebel disappeared.

“Interesting.” Bishop follows on my heels, bringing along the taper. “He looked like your boyfriend when you were snogging earlier. Congrats on the homecoming queen thing, by the way.”

“He kissed me. Against my will. And thanks. Now can we concentrate on escaping this sewer before we drown?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

It doesn’t take long for me to regret our little bonding moment. Not the kiss but the time we wasted; the water now reaches my ribs, and we might as well be trying to run in quicksand for all the progress we’re making, near naked or no. We’re forced to ditch the candle in favor of a headlamp Bishop conjures, and revert to messy front strokes, craning our heads back every few lengths to look for a sewer cover we can escape through. Panic punches the air out of my chest.

“What if we don’t find one?” I struggle to catch my breath between strokes. “What if we can’t get out?”

“No worries.” Bishop’s voice is calm and unconcerned.

“What’s the plan? Snorkeling mask? Break through the roof?” I inadvertently swallow a mouthful of slimy water and have to stop, bobbing in the water as I cough and sputter uncontrollably.

“Finally stopped sucking face, huh?”

Bishop pulls up short, shining the light from his headlamp onto Jezebel, who stands just a few feet in front of us. Her hair is sucked flat against her head, the ends fanning out around her like jellyfish tentacles in the water, and her arms are crossed like a petulant child’s.

“It’s a ‘to be continued’ sort of thing,” Bishop retorts.

Jezebel’s nostrils flare, but she changes topics. “Found one.” She gestures up at the barely noticeable outline of a circle in the curved roof.

“Oh, thank God,” I say.

“Or thank me. But whatever. Bish, help me with this. Not enough room to fly in here.”

Bishop hoists Jezebel up—and I have to remind myself that his arms are around her for a good cause, and that it’s petty and stupid to be jealous just because they used to date and she’s super hot. Jezebel pushes the sewer cover off with ease. Streetlight falls into the hole as she pokes her head aboveground. “We’re good.”

Bishop pushes her up the rest of the way, then turns to me. “You’re next.”

Bishop’s more handsy than necessary as he pushes me up, but I don’t complain. Jezebel doesn’t come over to help, just lets me grapple clumsily at the pavement until I finally make it out. She gives me an up-and-down appraisal as I get to my feet, and I become aware that I’m standing, soaking wet and near naked, on a Pasadena street.

“I so don’t get it, but whatever. I guess he’s a butt guy.”

I cross my arms over my small chest.

“Am not,” Bishop says. “I like boobs as much as butts. Little help here?” He extends his arm out of the sewer.

The water is so high now that I can easily reach Bishop. Jezebel and I each take a hand and hoist him out. He lands on the pavement with a loud slop.

As soon as he’s on his feet, Bishop gives me the same appraisal Jezebel did. “Hmm, we should get trapped in a sewer more often.” He whirls a finger in my direction, and a tank top and shorts—albeit skanky ones—appear on my body, along with a pair of boat shoes.

“You know, this is getting a bit boring.”

I gasp. All three of us whirl around at the same time. The dozens of sorcerers from inside the Athenaeum pack the otherwise quiet street, Leo standing at their head.

“I think I might have to kill you and forget about breaking the spell after all,” he says, stepping forward.

“He wouldn’t kill you,” Bishop says. “He’d drain his powers.”