The Infernal Games

by Reed Logan Westgate

  “Wonderful,” Xlina replied.

  “This one, despite the fae despising humans, seems to have a following of witches,” he continued, brushing off her sarcasm. “The poor saps probably think it is a boon to have parlayed with the fairy folk. Never a good idea in my experience.”

  “So we rustle up Amber and go about taking care of this thing,” Xlina stated firmly.

  “No,” Oxivius cautioned. “At least not yet. You have proven yourself formidable. I doubt it will strike at you again here for fear of raising attention. I will try to gather some more intel on this fae before we rush in headlong. You have other matters to attend to.”

  “Yeah, the cops,” she replied with another sigh.

  “I was referring to Amber,” Oxivius ventured cautiously. “She is a nice girl, Xlina, but she isn’t touched by the Otherworld like us.”

  “I know,” Xlina nodded. “That’s what makes her so... grounding for me.”

  “You put her in great peril just for some grounding in a normal world, which you seemingly do your best to pull against,” he said.

  “Can’t I have both?” Xlina asked in return.

  “Remember how it felt,” Oxivius suggested solemnly, “in the back of the hearse with her lifeblood leaking out. There is no part of your story that doesn’t lead to more moments like that, love.”

  “You’re saying it will eventually kill her,” Xlina shook her head in defiance. “That being my friend will cost her in the long run.”

  “I’m not trying to hurt you, love,” Oxivius corrected gently. “I only wish to spare you the inevitable pain.”

  “No,” Xlina retorted. “After this deal is over, I am done. Father was right; I am seeking danger. It’s how I got the mark. We are going to solve this mark issue and the fae issue, and then I am going to finish college. Live a normal life.”

  A pained look washed over his face as Xlina made her proclamation. She was determined to live among humans, in the human world, living a perfectly normal human life. He remembered having such dreams long ago, when he too was young and foolish. He also remembered the pain and loss that came with such dreams. The realization that it was beyond his grasp was one of his most painful memories, yet it was an experience that must be learned individually. He knew there was nothing he could say that would change her mind, and so he smiled and agreed, grabbing the broom and dustpan to help in the only way he could.

  Chapter Eleven

  Power Of Choice

  “Bullshit, ma’am,” the gruff detective answered as Xlina finished recounting her tale of the disturbance at her apartment. “There is just too much here that just doesn’t add up, young lady.”

  Xlina fidgeted in the fading wooden chair of the interview room and absently rubbed the beauty mark on her right wrist, feeling the slight bump under her fingertips as the detective waited for a response. Her feet crossed, and she could feel the soles of her sneakers rubbing against one another as she squirmed under his scrutiny. She could not bear to bring herself to look the grizzled veteran in the eye. Instead, she found her eyes wandering around the sparsely furnished interview room of the local police station. The walls were a faded pastel blue that was in dire need of a good wash and adorned solely with a lighthouse-themed wall calendar that had expired years ago. The accumulated grime seemed fitting, however, in the sparsely furnished interview room. She had thought places like this only existed in hokey police dramas on television, but sure enough, the Portland Police station had used the same motif.

  “Come on,” the detective urged, his voice dropping from a grizzled bark to a softer, more compassionate plea. “I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself. Now who are you protecting?”

  “I’m not protecting anyone,” Xlina replied defiantly, with perhaps too much of an edge to her voice. The detective couldn’t have known about her failure to protect Amber from the Cu Sith, but the words made her heart heavy as she recalled Oxivius’ warning about exposing the girl to the dangers of the Otherworld.

  “Drugs then?” he asked, his voice remaining soft and comforting, as if he were her friend. “Drugs can be a terrible burden, one we see a lot with kids your age. All too easy to get hooked. Before you know it, you’re in too deep with the wrong sorts of people.”

  “I don’t do drugs,” Xlina retorted again, folding her arms across her chest in defiance.

  “Listen,” the detective pleaded, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table, allowing his face to rest comfortably in his hands. “Your statement says there was an intruder, but nobody saw anything. The perp in question batters down the door, and then what? Is chased off by a college co-ed and the sound of some barking dogs? In a building that doesn’t allow pets? You have to see how farfetched this all sounds.”

  “Look, I didn’t see him or his face,” Xlina lied shifting her gaze back down to the table. She recalled the interview in Boston the night she had tangled with the werewolf and how the truth had left her in a straightjacket. Valeria had saved her, or at least that is what she had thought, until Valeria had revealed her demonic nature.

  “Says right in your file,” the detective continued, tapping a manila folder on the table firmly with his index and middle fingers before sliding it around for her to see. “Boston, just last year, you were brought in nearly dead, claiming to have been attacked by a werewolf. You were blue papered and sent up to the ward. If that don’t sound like the hallmarks of some recreational pharmaceuticals, then I’ll eat my badge right here.”

  Xlina matched the detective’s gaze. His brown eyes were uncompromising and sunken, with crow’s feet on either side of his ruddy, leathery skin. He was a veteran of the force, easily in his late fifties, with salt and pepper hair cropped close to his skull. His teeth were crooked and stained a yellowish brown, no doubt the result of years of cigarette consumption. He reeked of stale coffee and nicotine, which seemed to hang in the air of the small interview room. He furrowed his brow and leaned back in his chair, taking in a deep breath before reaching for his Styrofoam cup of joe, draining it, and tossing it in the small wastebasket in the corner.

  “I need another,” he said, rising from his chair. His brown khakis and white button-up collared shirt bore the brunt of his frustration as he smoothed out the front of his shirt and tucked the back into his waistline roughly. “Why don’t you think long and hard on your statement, and when I return, we’ll try again.”

  The detective exited the room through the door behind him, pausing as it shut to give her a cold hard look through the glass before drawing a shade down and leaving her alone with her thoughts. She fidgeted again, not quite sure of what else to say. She had assumed she could simply brush it all off as a simple burglary gone wrong, but instead of some rookie, she was stuck with the guy who had seen far too much in his career to overlook the glaring holes in her story. Oxivius had warned her as much, and once again, she could picture his sly grin and icy blue eyes staring at her with eyebrow raised, as if to say “I was right yet again.”

  She fumbled in her pocket, feeling around for the charm he had given her, just in case she couldn’t convince the police of her fabricated version of the events. The cool metal disc felt smooth in her fingertips as she fished it from her pocket and placed it gingerly on the table before her. It looked like an ordinary scrap of metal, with the oval shape of sea glass. She could barely make out the faint magic sigil traced on its surface.

  Xlina had protested when Oxivius had handed her the charm, insisting that she didn’t want to rely on any mind-altering magic to fix her problems. But this conversation was going nowhere fast, and she needed an out. She stared at the charm as if it were taunting her. She pondered the long-term cost of relying on such magic. Mind alteration spells were forbidden by the druids; then again, just about everything in Oxivius’ repertoire was forbidden. Yet, he had saved her, had saved Amber without a second thought for his own safety. How could she dismiss his advice so recklessly? On the other hand, the more dependent she grew on magical
solutions to her problems, the more Valeria could tempt her. It was a dark road, a constant balance between what magic could be used for and what it should be used for.

  It’s not mind control, she could hear him say. Rather think of it as bending. As if thought were malleable. You can’t change the nature of gold, but you can bend its form into a splendid ring if it so suits you.

  It still sounded like mind control to her, but she was running out of time and out of options. She couldn’t have some schmuck detective snooping around or making a case out of her. She certainly couldn’t tell him that witches with mystical hounds had attacked her apartment and nearly killed them. A part of her wished Valeria was here; she could have whisked all of it away with her demonic allure and her status as a state mandated social worker. She immediately scolded herself for such thoughts, remembering that dealing with demons had a very tangible cost and wondering whose soul would be forfeit just to clean up her mess. No; the best plan lay before her on the wooden tabletop as she lifted the charm back in her hand. Despite her warm, sweaty grasp, the metal of the charm stayed cool to the touch. She looked up as the doorknob turned, foreshadowing the return of the grizzly detective.

  “For you,” he gestured with a raised can of cola, still frosted with condensation from the refrigerator. She found her mouth suddenly parched as he stood like a savior in the desert offering water. He placed the can on the table but held it close instead of pushing it toward her. “What do you say? Wanna try that story again?”

  “My story hasn’t changed, detective,” she answered, holding out hope that she might be able to salvage her pride and not have to rely on the magical charm.

  “That’s unfortunate,” he replied, covering the top of the cola can with his hand and pulling it closer to himself.

  “Look, my story is my story,” Xlina huffed in frustration. “I don’t know what else you’re looking for, detective.”

  “How about a splash of the truth, perhaps just a sprinkling of respect, young lady?” he answered, leaning forward as his compassionate voice returned to the grizzly bark. “I know us boomers aren’t ‘with it,’ as you young folks would say, but I assure you, we are far from gullible, and I know a lark when I hear one.”

  “Okay, detective,” she relented, feeling the cool metal disk in her hand. “You win. I’ll tell you what happened.”

  “Finally,” he huffed, leaning back in his chair and pulling a small notepad and pen from his pocket. “Now start from the beginning.”

  She instinctively smacked her dry lips, looking at the cold beverage and then back to the detective. With her hand wrapped firmly about the charm, she said the triggering phrase Oxivius had taught her; falsus in uno falsus in omnibus. As the latent magic in the charm was released, the room suddenly felt heavy, as if they were underwater. The detective relaxed his shoulders, slumping as his eyes drifted and became vacant.

  “I’m sorry, detective,” Xlina said, testing the charm’s effectiveness tentatively, “What was your name again?”

  “Derek Hawke,” he said, the words coming lazily to his mouth. He seemed nearly as out of it as Amber had been in the alley outside Pandora’s when that creep had slipped her the mickey. She felt a pang of guilt deep in her stomach that could very well have been her heart dropping into her bowels. She had just slipped the poor sod a magical mickey herself, and while her intent was wasn’t as lecherous as that of the hormone-fueled frat boy who had drugged Amber, could she say she was altogether different? Was she not using magic to get what she wanted from Detective Hawke? It may have been a different means, but in the end, it still felt like abuse as she told her story one more time. The detective nodded along as she recapped the finer points and nodded in agreement. With a satisfied grin, he slid the cola over to her with a relaxed smile and thanked her for her cooperation. Without delay, she was ushered out of the station, and she grimaced uncomfortably when her held the door for her and apologized for any inconvenience.

  She forced a smile with a curt nod and descended the stairs at the front of the police building in a trance-like state, mulling over her choice to use the magical charm to manipulate the detective. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the familiar voice of Oxivius called out from a city bench at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Well, love, are you square by your own accord?” Oxivius asked. He sat with his hands crossed and poised on the head of his cane. His shoulders and back were at attention, as if he dared not let his jacket rub on the city bench.

  “No. I used the charm,” Xlina confessed, spinning to plop down next to him on the bench. She leaned heavily on the black wrought-iron back of the bench as she adjusted to the narrow wooden slats that formed the seat. She sincerely hoped he had not been waiting the entire time on the rather uncomfortable city bench on the sidewalk. She glanced down the street, noting the green and white-striped public transit bus creeping down the road and slowing to a stop mere yards away before the blue signpost that designated the public transit system. She waited to continue until all the passengers had disembarked and dispersed.

  “Unfortunate but entirely necessary, I am afraid,” Oxivius answered as the hiss of the brakes releasing on the bus signaled its return to motion as it pulled away from the city stop. He smiled at the banner on the side advertising for a local radio station with a skeletal disc jockey spinning a flaming record.

  “It doesn’t feel right, Ox,” Xlina continued, slumping back against the bench and looking to the sky. It was a nice day after all, and the billowy clouds seemed to drift lazily about on the autumn breeze.

  “A minor charm, love,” he answered, placing a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. “It’ll cause no harm to befall its target. Besides, it’ll keep you and Amber safe from any further intervention by the local constables.”

  “Police,” Xlina corrected with a smirk. “I don’t think constables have been used in like decades.”

  “Of course,” Oxivius replied warmly “I suppose they no longer use the term ‘posse’ either?”

  “No,” Xlina answered with a curt chuckle.

  “That’s unfortunate,” Oxivius mused, stroking his goatee. “I rather liked that term. I always wanted to gather my posse and round up some brigands.”

  “At the rate I am going, you’ll have your chance,” Xlina lamented with a sigh. “Come gather round for the pressing of the marked Baku girl.”

  “That is hardly a notion to be taken in jest, love,” Oxivius replied once again, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His touch was warm, even through her cotton t-shirt, and it stirred a tickle of butterflies in her stomach.

  “I just feel like I am slipping deeper into the demon’s web with each move,” Xlina said with an exasperated sigh. “Like I am drowning in the mark and magic.”

  “Do you know why male witches favor shape shifting?” Oxivius replied, seemingly out of the blue.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “You see, witches draw their magic from the earth,” Oxivius continued. “They all, in one form or another, tap the spirit of the earth for their abilities. What they call this varies by religious sect and dogma, naturally, but the end result is the same. They feel the pull of the earth.”

  “So then why do males prefer transformations?” Xlina asked, genuinely curious and feeling like there was a point buried in his impromptu lesson.

  “Well, that comes down to the cost of magic.” Oxivius grinned back like the Cheshire Cat. “Nothing in this world or the Otherworld is free, love. You will do well to remember that. Shape shifting takes a toll on the user as organs, bones, and muscle structures bend and contort in unnatural ways.”

  “You make it sound painful,” Xlina commented.

  “Indeed, but it’s not the physical pain that deters females from using shape shifting,” Oxivius corrected, “When you start stretching and altering your anatomy regularly, there are unpleasant effects. Not everything always goes back the way it is supposed to. Magical body dysmorphia, if you wi
ll. That is why some witches take on permanent alterations to their form. It is as if the shape shifting magic likes to take hold and leave bits behind.”

  “So men are more accepting of the physical changes?”

  “Men have less to lose,” Oxivius countered. “You lady folk are complex machines capable of producing and sustaining new life. Shape shifting has been known to interfere with the reproductive abilities. There were enough cases of complete infertility or deformations in the early days to act as a deterrent. Long ago, when a woman’s value was intertwined with her ability to produce heirs, the inability to breed—or even worse, the risk of producing deformed children—was a literal death sentence. What started as a defense mechanism for young female witches became a common practice that eventually evolved into a tradition.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Xlina asked.

  “Choice,” Oxivius exclaimed. “Don’t you see it, love? The choice is yours. You get to choose which magic you use and which you abstain from. There is no guide, no hard and fast rule about how and when you should use magic. Using a charm to beguile a detective does not mean you have cast your soul into the darkness. You get to choose each and every time how and why your magic is applied. That choice is yours and yours alone. Magic is personal, and it lives within you. Everything magical is wrapped up in your intent. The type of magic you use is far less important than the person you are down deep, where it counts.”

  “It didn’t feel like I had a choice in that interview room, Ox,” Xlina retorted.

  “Did you not?” Oxivius queried, “You could have introduced many thoughts into your policeman’s mind, but did you? Or did you simply bend his thoughts far enough for him to believe your poorly contrived fib?”

  “That was the goal.”

  “Precisely,” Oxivius exclaimed, as if she should be having an epiphany. But she just shook her head in dismay. “That is the same charm I offered to use to wipe Amber’s memory. You could have left him a blank slate, the events completely removed from his mind. You did not...”