Once again, I'd taken a trip halfway around the world and it wasn't even to Paris.

And yeah, I was salty about it.

But between the episodes of blinding pain, I was able to admire the beauty of Bucharest. It was a city full of history, from its traditional Romanian architecture, to its cathedral-style buildings and its cobble-stoned paths.

Julian and I stood on the sidewalk now overlooking a roundabout. Cars whizzed around it. It was supposed to be a means to direct traffic but it looked out of place, a random patch of green grass and shrubbery among all that brick and mortar.

Romanians went about their day under a late-afternoon sun.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the oversized windows of a bus as it passed by.

I looked like shit.

Even at a glimpse, I could tell I was pale and looked perpetually nauseous.

It was hard not to.

For the past twenty-four hours, through a plane ride, a car ride, and a subway train, the torture had gone on and off, roughly once every hour, peaking at its worst about three hours ago.

It'd been fun, explaining that to the other metro-goers.

"She's unwell," Julian would say in Romanian. "In the head." He'd point at his temple, miming a circular motion--the universal sign for looney.

The Romanians had accepted this explanation without too much fuss.

Only one old lady had stopped to ask, in her beautiful, curt language, if Julian was holding me hostage.

I'd shaken my head no and Granny had gone on her way with a scowl.

Now we stood near a bustle of traffic, with the cellphone tower that had pinged Christian's last known location directly across from us, nestled between two buildings.

One was a catholic church, its cement steps leading up to a fortress of a building, its stained glass with its figurines of random saints reflecting the tempered winter sun.

Bucharest was cold, but not nearly as frigid as the Carpathian Mountains. In that faraway place, where reader nation sat nestled and disguised by magic from careful human eyes, the cold was brutal.

"This is useless," I grumbled. "It's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

We'd already combed the hotel he'd been registered at plus a strip of shops, flashing a picture of him at impatient employees who'd shaken their heads when asked if they'd seen him.

There was no trace of him and the sun was starting to go down and with it any hope of finding Chris.

Anxiety gnawed at my insides. All had been quiet on the torture front for the last three hours and I worried that instead of a reprieve, this was just the calm before the storm.

I glanced at Julian who shaded his eyes against the sun while he scanned the dozens of buildings we hadn't yet searched.

If only he had x-ray vision.

"He could be anywhere."

It was our turn to cross onto the other side of the street, following a group of people that mainly dispersed up the steps of the cathedral. Street vendors littered the foot of the church, advertising their wares. Some began to pack their carts, preparing for the soon-to-come darkness of a winter evening.

The sun disappeared behind the cathedral, casting those nearest to it in shadow while the blue of the sky bled pink and orange.

I glanced up at a billboard, willing a magic arrow to appear, to point me in the direction I should go.

I turned away just as the bells of the cathedral drummed to life, ringing four times.

Aimee.

It was a whisper in the wind, but it sounded like his voice. I jerked back around, toward the sound.

"What are bonds good for if not for finding your lost lover?" Julian huffed.

"Shh," I hissed. Because, the more I focused, the more I could hear his whispered pleas.

Aimee, Aimee, Aimee.

Of their own accord, my feet carried me past the cathedral, toward an alley, nestled between the church and the service entrance of a Holiday Inn hotel.

The church, with its old-world architecture, almost seemed archaic compared to the shiny, industrial finishes of the hotel.

But here, in this remote and forgotten slice of the city, all was quiet.

Julian's steps beside me crunched over newspaper and trash.

A cat scuttled across the debris.

At its furthest end, the alley led onto another street but the activity of the city seemed far and distant.

It was the perfect place to get mugged and if Julian hadn't been with me, I'd have felt more uneasy.

"Do you hear something?" He asked.

"I think...I think I hear him."

Aimee.

Brushing my fingertips against the cool stone of the cathedral, I closed my eyes and tried to listen for more.

"He's going to talk."

"No, he isn't. We did all that to him and he still didn't tell us shit. Let's just kill him."

I gasped, pulling away from the stone. I had no idea how I'd heard that but I knew it to be real.

Where are you, Chris?

Talk to me.

Aimee...

It was almost, but not quite, like the whispered musings of my ghosts.

But Chris wasn't dead, not yet and it'd stay that way if I had any say in it.

I broke into a jog, fingers skimming the rough stone exterior of the cathedral, skittering to a halt in front of a wooden door.

Julián neared me, with a theatrical sigh.

"Well, don't just stand there," I said, gesturing to the door. "Kick it open."

"There's still light out," He protested. "The last thing we need is to get arrested."

"I heard someone saying they're going to kill him."

"Well, why didn't you lead with that?"

With a swift kick, the wooden door burst inward and it took several moments for the dust to clear.

A dimly lit corridor to our left, a brick wall, which looked to have been placed there recently, dividing this dilapidated section from the rest of the church and a littering of trash at our feet.

A single, yellow bulb illuminated the way down a hallway.

It was quiet, save for the sound of our breathing.

Aimee...

"He's here," I said softly. "I can feel it."

Discarded boxes littered the floor, along with broken bottles that crunched beneath my sneakers. Newspapers were spread out into the shape of a blanket and I imagined how desperate someone had to be to find refuge in this dilapidated dungeon.

At the end of the hall, we reached a set of stairs. All was pitch black below.

"Allow me," Julian said, stepping in front of me in what in his mind I was sure was meant to be an act of chivalry.

"Don't you know I can burn a man with a flick of my wrist?" I told him.

He barked out an amused laugh. "If you learned some discipline, I do believe you'd be something deadly. For now, you are a frail child."

I rolled my eyes.

Though I couldn't see anything, as soon as my feet hit the last step, I felt the room open up into a large space.

The emptiness of the room caressed my skin.

A second later, a white lightbulb flickered on and several things happened at once.

From a separate door, a dozen men, dressed in black, piled into the room, forming a half-circle.

Someone moaned. It was a man, tied to a chair, with his face covered by a black sack.

Not a man, but Christian. Though I couldn't see his face, I knew in my bones that it was him.

Julian bristled up beside me, barring his fangs.

We were vastly outnumbered and these men were clearly not friendly.

I swallowed, magic pricking at my fingertips.

"We're here for him," I said. Did they even speak English? "Just let him go and nobody gets hurt."

One man chuckled. It was hard to make out his features from this far. Was he a reader or were his eyes soulsucker red?

Maybe a Defender, though that conclusion was the most troubling of all.

"From where I'm standing, you are in no position to negotiate."

"Alright," I said. "We'll do it the hard way then."

Magic flared at my fingertips.

A chorus of gasps traveled across the room.

"She's one of them." A man growled. "Gunner, now!"

Several sprinklers in the ceiling went off, and water sprayed the room, constricting my vision.

A second later, the pain registered. It raced along every inch of exposed skin, burning me.

Julian growled beside me, fighting the pain until it became too much and brought him to his knees. He crawled backward, toward the safety of the staircase, shouting several profanities at the men.

My knees buckled from the pain but I didn't fall. The mere sight of Christian, writhing in his chair, hand and legs bound and unable to get away kept me rooted to my spot on the floor.

I saw red just as the men converged toward me.

I flung a bolt of magic which struck three of them, sending them crashing into the opposite wall.

It was difficult to see anything through the water, much less move past the pain.

My skin felt as if it were peeling from my bones, being bleached away by acid.

I let out a cry as a man barreled into my side, shoving me into the wall.

My cheek slammed into it, making my teeth rattle in my skull. I elbowed him, climbing under his arm when he released me only for another man to jerk me back by the wrist.

It was a hurricane of water and pale, grabbing hands. One fist connected with my face. Another shoved between my shoulder blades.

I lost my footing and fell, cheek-first into a puddle of holy water.

Julian growled as he barreled toward me through a sea of torture. He made it five feet before two men converged on him, grabbing each of his arms and pushing him onto the water-ridden ground where he wailed in pain.

Chris, though, Chris didn't make a sound. Through all this, he'd gone eerily quiet.

He'd stop writhing.

Something about his stillness forced fear and adrenaline through my body.

I sent magic onto every inch of my skin and it exploded outward, singing my captors.

They hissed, each pair of hands moving away.

I stood, slightly unsteady, and looked up at their blurring forms through my water-drenched locks, partly obscuring my face.

The man nearest to me, Gunner, swallowed as he met my eyes, and I was sure he saw murder in them.

"Remember," I breathed. "I tried to give you an out. You brought this on yourself."

I reached for him, one fiery hand wrapping around his t-shirt, incinerating it before the power of my magic touched his chest.

His friends dove toward me, seven or eight of them, each sent flying outward by a powerful wave of magic that exploded from my body like a bolt of lightning.

A few of them made sickening crack as their bones connected with the cement walls.

As for gunner, he wailed like a little girl, the skin on his chest blistering where my palm was splayed over it.

"How's that for frail," I muttered. Then to Gunner, "Turn it off!"

Removing my hand for a second, to give him a moment to weigh his options, I glanced uneasily at Chris.

Still no movement.

"Now!" I screamed.

"Y-yes," Gunner whimpered, hands up, shoulders hunching down like a puppy that'd been kicked.

He scrambled for the fire alarm on the opposite side of the room.

He pulled the lever and the water stopped. He turned to face me, his eyes two exclamation points of fear.

"That," I spat. "Was only half of my power."

Breathing heavy, I felt them, my ghosts, prickling at my skin, begging to be used. For a moment, everything ceased to exist except the men who had hurt Christian.

I reached Gunner in two steps.

"And this," I whispered, "Is only a fraction of what you made me feel. What you mad him feel."

Both palms connected with either side of his face and he let out a shrill wail. His body shook between my palms. After a few seconds, white foam dripped from his open mouth.

Someone touched my back. "Aimee, stop. They're just human. Look."

Julian thrust his blood-soaked hand in my line of vision. "I know you can't smell it but this is human blood. You'll kill him."

I released Gunner with a gasp.

He sobbed as he landed on the floor. With one hand, he splashed holy water onto his blistered cheeks.

"A human," I whispered.

Once the fog of darkness cleared my mind, I remembered the true reason we were here.

"Chris!" I spun and rushed to him.

I ripped the sack from his face and held his face between my palms. His head lolled to the side, eyes closed, breathing too shallow.

"Gunner?" A voice called, somewhere distant but growing closer.

"In...in here," Gunner whimpered.

"His friends are coming. We need to get out of here."

"I need to heel him. Let them come."

"Unless you're prepared to kill a dozen more humans, I suggest we move. Now."

I glanced around the room, for the first time taking in the carnage.

I couldn't tell if they were all dead, but it was evident that several of the black-clad men were bleeding.

I'd flung them into the walls like rag dolls...I'd done that.

It was before I'd known they were human...and what they'd been doing to Chris. A part of me couldn't bring myself to feel remorse.

I gripped Christian's hand in one of mine and Julian's in the other.

I sent a brief bolt of healing magic through both of them.

It wasn't nearly enough but it helped Julian muster the strength to hoist Chris onto his back and then we high-tailed the hell out of there.