Blood of the Wicked by Karina Cooper Read Free Book Online Page B

to imagine what kind of people she’d be meeting with come daylight, and whether she’d survive the encounter. It was going to require every last bit of nerve she had, but she was going to have to lie to a room full of witch hunters and live to laugh about it.
    Even if her laughter bordered on hysteria.
    God. What had she done to deserve this? What had Caleb done? Was it really just about their gifts?
    Was something else going on?
    Exhaustion rolled over her in a violent, vision-blurring wave. She shifted, tried to get comfortable, and simply gave in when she couldn’t keep her head up anymore.
    It would be morning soon. With the help of these unwilling missionaries, Jessie was going to save her baby brother.
    Period.

Chapter Four
    S unlight seeped through the open window. It sliced through her eyelids in a muted shade of blue, an insistent slant that split gentle dreams of maternal laughter and candlelight into waking blindness.
    Jessie bolted upright, banged her head against the protruding heater knob, and swore as pain shredded the last vestiges of sleepy comfort. She tried to grab her head and grunted as her shoulders twisted, wrists catching on the belt and her skull ringing.
    Shaking her head hard, she leaned back on her still-bound hands and blinked until the stars cleared from her eyes.
    A faded blue blanket pooled at her waist, warm from her body heat. “What?” she muttered thickly, staring uncomprehendingly at the faded edge. “With the where?” When had the blanket showed up? Who had put it there?
    Silas? It seemed the likeliest explanation—he probably hadn’t wanted his star informant to catch pneumonia and die, after all—but why hadn’t she woken up when he’d entered her space?
    Christ, just thinking about him in the same room while she’d slept like the dead was enough to raise the fine hairs on her arms to prickling unease. She shifted, struggling to get her legs under her without her hands to help for balance, and froze as she shifted farther than she expected.
    What the hell?
    Twisting, she frowned fiercely at the bubbled edges of Silas’s belt trailing on the floor behind her. Bits of seared nylon clung to the inside of the metal bars, evidence of the heat trapped behind the slatted bars.
    Some freaking luck. Quickly, Jessie worked her bound hands around her legs. Once in front of her, it was the work of moments to pick the nylon apart with her teeth.
    What time was it? This apartment was mid-level, higher than her usual haunts, which meant enough sun to paint the air in muted shades of blue. Judging by the brightness, it was morning. Where were the other missionaries?
    What about the damned meeting ?
    She clambered to her feet, alarmed, and barely kept from pitching back to the thin carpet when her body snapped back on agonizingly stiff muscles. “Jesus,” she groaned. She didn’t bother trying to figure out what part of her night she could blame for this one.
    Assaulted by a tattooed meathead, jumping two stories, playing tag with cars, sleeping on the floor; she would have laughed, if it didn’t hurt just to suck in a breath. She wanted a bath. Desperately.
    None of this, she thought as she gritted her teeth and forced herself upright, could ever be classified as a brilliant plan. God, she hurt.
    It took effort, but every step toward the bedroom door allowed her muscles to give a little more. With the grating rasp of synthetic wood on wood, the door opened under her careful, questing tug.
    He hadn’t locked it. Was he stupid?
    Clouded daylight filtered into the stark living room, left no room for a mote of dust to move undetected, much less a missionary hovering somewhere over six feet.
    Jessie frowned deeply. If he’d left her, she was going to—
    What? Climb out the window again? Shit. “Agent Smith?” she called, moving stiffly through the empty apartment. She tapped on the bathroom door. “Silas? Are you here?”
    The answer clicked into her brain, sudden enough to make her