Episode 8 Cold Forged Iron

by Nicolette Jinks

Does magic have colors? Different flourishes and shapes and luminosity? If so, this explains a great deal.”

  I wouldn't say anything else on the subject. I wouldn't, no matter how hard I had to fight the urge. “I do not see how this relates to me. My name is Brandy. I don't see how I could possibly be your parolee, or whatever the term is.”

  Simon closed his book, putting it away back in his pocket in deep contemplation, then he decided. “Very well. From the beginning. There was a man who had a promising career, published several articles and theories which revolutionized the applications of magic to fit and blend into a world which had been remade by steam, machines, and diesel. The White Wizard Council was so impressed, they decided they must secure this wizard to work for themselves, and thus they did—only his demand was that his wife accompany him. This was denied, but soon the deception was uncovered. It was the wife who was the scientist, using his name to gain recognition. They were both engaged to avoid scandal and set up with their respective specified laboratories.

  “Eventually, it was discovered that their methodology included rather heinous crimes against humanity. They were to be arrested, but it was only the wife who could be captured. She was prosecuted, and when her years were totaled, it exceeded those that could possibly be served. Over four hundred years. She served about ninety before dying. Upon her death, a stillborn child was brought into her room. We transferred her soul into the child's body. The child began to live, with a little help, in order to finish out her sentence.” Simon gave a theatrical pause. “You are that child.”

  My chest swelled and fell as I tried to gain control over my breathing. “What of her husband, then? Has he lost his pursuers?”

  “He is still sought as an equal accomplice in the crimes.” Simon Dane whistled again, letting the information sink in. “I believe that if you were to aid in his capture, the sentence would be shared equally between the two of you.”

  I crossed my arms. “Great, so my sentence would only be two hundred years. Whoop dee doo. I'm still never going to see freedom in this lifetime.”

  Simon Dane held up a finger. “Not so fast. Ninety years have already been served, and the judge may accept your twenty-odd years of this life into that figure. He may even give you fifty years credit for aiding in the capture of a fugitive at large. You could see freedom within this lifetime.”

  “Too many 'maybe's and 'could's for my taste, sorry.”

  “Allow me to put this another way. This is your one opportunity. Refuse it, and you'll be left to the asphyxic desires of Molly Rigby. She loves to make people pass out over and over again.”

  I scowled up at the ceiling. “This shouldn't be legal.”

  “You aren't in a position to argue. With no one knowing where you are.” He shrugged. “No one in the outside world even cares.”

  I squinted at the man, scrutinizing him. “You said you were my lawyer.”

  “I said I was your intermediary. I didn't say it was to the Courts.”

  A cold flush ran through my body as I began to understand what he was saying. Thrown into a cell and forgotten. That's what he was saying. “But Wraithbane saw your goons drag me away.”

  “Agent Nicholas Wraithbane was ill and delusional.”

  That would be an easy case to win. Wraithbane had been ill and it was expected that he could have been delusional, given all the stuff they'd done to try to cure him before he went revenant. For all I knew, he really had been delusional and he didn't even remember what had happened now that time had passed.

  Damn.

  Why did all the answers have to come at once and with no time to consider what to do? To buy time, I asked, “Why wasn't I raised by Valery Goode?”

  “A week into your stay with her, the maid snatched you from the cradle. We later discovered she was connected to Dreamweaver's victims and it was assumed that the child Dawn had been killed. The case was brought to an unsatisfactory close. Until, that is, the seal was broken on Dreamweaver's book.”

  The seal I'd broken to get at old knowledge which would answer my questions about how to prevent revenants. I felt a little physical flutter of pain to think that I could have gone the rest of my life unaware of this, if only Wraithbane hadn't been infected or I hadn't been so determined to save him. I cleared my throat. “The maid who took the child. Will she be released now that you know she isn't a murderer?”

  “I fear not. Two months into her sentence, she strangled herself using the pillow case in this very room, if I recall. According to the official reports.” Simon's gleaming grin indicated a far more sinister end had actually met the maid. “Now, your answer. Will you be bait for your husband?”

  “I'm not married.”

  Simon shrugged and knocked on the door, yelled, “Keykeeper! I'm done!”

  “Wait.” I bit my lip. “He was the wraith I told you about, I've met him in this life, and he'll come for me if you give him the chance. Only call for Nicholas Wraithbane, he can help.”

  The door creaked open, too bright light blinding me before massive shoulders filled the frame and blackened the room. I blinked watering eyes, surprised to find Simon standing off to the side to allow the guards to enter. Simon said simply, “We will do this our way.”

  Through the haze of tears, I caught the glint of shackles. The memory of cold iron searing my wrists made sweat coat my skin again. I backed up, away from the guards and the onslaught of stinging shackles. My shoulders scraped cell wall, my escape blocked by the twin gleams of grins and iron.

  I realized that this may be my only option, but it was still a very, very bad idea.

  The cold iron cut off what traces of magic I had been able to feel. It was like being stuffed into a glove which had been left out to freeze in a snowdrift. A hood blackened out my vision and they dragged me from the cell.

  Bare feet padded along beside the guards as best I could, the sudden light getting brighter and brighter as we made our way out of the dungeon corridor and into a larger hallway. A receptionist of some kind yelled to the guards, “Going out?”

  “To catch a bigger fish!” said the guard to my right, the one who was a few inches shorter than the other and who hauled upwards on my elbow viciously. His hand dug into my upper arm, muscles taut as a vise even as I felt how baby-soft his skin was. With a shiver, I knew that these guards were the sort of people who thought that because they could bench press heavy weights, they thought it made them powerful out on the streets. Had they even been out in the real world for active duty? I wasn't sure if I wanted them to know what they were doing or not.

  The receptionist called his congratulations as a buzzer rang out over my head. I flinched. The shorter guy yanked me flush against his side. “Don't think you can run off.”

  What, after spending a night sick with fever in a jail cell? Was he mad? The only thing I wanted was decent rest and hot soup, but I said nothing.

  With a disappointed grunt, he tossed me forward. First I was knocked off-balance because the other guard didn't let go, then because he did. My ankle scraped a step and I crashed against a set of stairs. A dull ringing across my temple let me know that I'd hit my head, and I stayed in place until a soft-skinned grip snatched me back on my feet.

  “Some wicked witch,” he muttered, clearly disappointed.

  “Over here.”

  We'd crossed onto a different concrete surface, this one hadn't been polished on top so the rough edges wore at my nails and jabbed the places between my toes. It smelled damp from rainwater and I heard sea birds in the distance. Then a door clattered open. I was hauled through and we kept going.

  It was some time later that they pulled me out into the open as if I were going to the gallows instead of to hunt a wraith. We had to have used portals to relocate because I was never put into a car or bus or train. They at times stopped me and spun me around in circles, verbally claiming it was to confuse me, but I doubted it was anything except for their own amusement as I stumbled and felt nauseous. I knew when we reached our
final destination, not because it stood out noticeably from the other locations, but because the guards didn't immediately harass me. Something else had their attention.

  My bare feet touched pavement still warm from a sunny day. The air itself cut through my clothes and made my skin prickle. “What now?” I asked, beyond caring if I was provoking them with the question. “We stand here waiting until 'my husband' decides to snoop on me? Because if so, you'll want to get comfortable.”

  “Be quiet.”

  I was anticipating a cuff on the head. It didn't happen. Did that mean the guards were nervous? That may or may not bode well for me. Not knowing what was going to happen worried me even more than the possibility of antagonizing them. Should they make a mistake, I would be out of here as fast as I could.

  I continued, “No, but really. Do you think I just wriggle my nose three times and tap my toes together, and bam, there he is?”

  A hand, not the soft-skinned one, caught me by the neck and picked me up until I felt fissures of pain exploding along my throat. “You said he'd come for you!”

  Gargling came from my lips.

  They dropped me to the ground. I gasped, still feeling as though a hand were squeezing my throat, and sputtered out, “He will!”

  I coughed and regained my breath. They talked quietly amongst one another. Fantastic. Just fantastic. They hadn't set a plan as to what they'd do if Thaimon wasn't