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Red light filled the space, pouring up from the sigils and glyphs of the most elaborate greater circle I had ever seen – and I’d seen one made of silver, gold, and precious stones. This one incorporated all of those things plus art – grotesque pieces, mostly – sound, ringing forth in gentle, steady waves from upright tuning forks and tubular bells; and light, focused through prisms and crystals, refracted into dozens of colors that split and bent into perfectly geometric shapes in the air around the circle.
Ivy was trapped inside.
I’d seen some fairly extreme abuse in my time, but it never get easier to see more of it. Nick’s people had gone with most of the classics for breaking someone down, and then added in a few twists that wouldn’t be available to regular folks. They’d taken Ivy’s clothes, for starters, which in this weather was sadistic on multiple levels. They’d shaved her hair away, leaving her bald, except for a couple of sad, ragged little tufts of gold. She was curled up into a fetal position, and she floated in the air, spinning slowly and apparently at random. Her eyes were tightly closed, her face pale with disorientation, terrified. As she spun and twirled, the motion revealed dozens of tiny scratches and bruises, evidence of a small legion of petty cruelties.