by Z. J. Cannon
The man behind me took hold of my arm and started to march me toward the door. I planted my feet. “Wait.” Part of me didn’t want to say anything, wanted to let them maneuver me like a doll into an iron-barred cell where I could sit and wait and let my mind go blank. I didn’t want to fight. I had spent too many years fighting against this fate, and lost every time. Let them do whatever they wanted to me; I would wake up when my body rebooted itself after my next death, and not a moment sooner.
But the mention of the FBI had woken up a memory, and that memory was just enough to crack my numbness open and tether me to my body. It was the memory of a request I had made, standing outside the Hawthorne police station in the bitter cold, back when the Hawthorne police station had still existed. It was the memory of a voice, a teenage girl far too enthusiastic about the danger I was putting her in, promising to do the impossible for me and hack the FBI’s records to get my name listed as an active agent. She had helped me then. She could help me now.
No. She couldn’t. It was too late for that. All I would do was send up a red flag, alerting the police to Skye’s existence. Better to leave her out of this. Better to let them do whatever they were going to do.
Fire flared to life under my skin. I gritted my teeth at the pain, and at the fact that my magic had just taken the choice out of my hands.
Several months ago, Skye had forced a binding promise out of me, to ask her for her help if I had no other choice. I had tried repeatedly to get her to release me from the oath, to no avail. And it looked like my magic had decided I wasn’t getting out of this any other way.
“Well? What’s the holdup?” From the sound of it, this wasn’t the first time the cop had asked the question. His fingers tightened on my arm as he did his best to loom over me. He was tall enough that I was guessing he could intimidate most suspects with his height alone. But while I was short compared to my father’s side of the family, I still towered over the average human. The cop had less than two inches on me.
I waited another second to speak, and was rewarded for my hesitation with another searing burst of pain from underneath my skin. “I’m supposed to get a phone call.”
“Tell it to the FBI.” He tried to yank me forward. I planted my weight where I was, and didn’t move.
“Let him have his call,” the first cop advised, still keeping a healthy distance from me. “You want your name on the front page next week as the person who bungled this arrest and let Kieran Thorne walk? Because I don’t. Sit him down, give him a phone, and pay close attention to who he’s calling.” With that, he stumbled out the door.
The man holding onto my arm glared resentfully after him. When the door slammed shut, he propelled me backward into a chair. He unlocked my handcuffs, and I tensed, but all he did was cuff my hands around front instead of behind me. Then he shoved a monster of a landline phone across the desk toward me. “Be quick about it. You’ve got a hot date with the Feds. Don’t want to be late.”
Chapter 12
I eyed the phone in front of me suspiciously, wondering if there was any likelihood the cops weren’t planning to record this conversation. “I’d rather use my own phone.”
“And I’d rather be at home eating dinner with my wife. But here we both are. Do you want that phone call or not?”
Experimentally, I thought about saying no. The pain returned immediately. With an inner sigh, I reached for the phone and dialed Skye’s number. As soon as I made it out of here, I was going to have to make arrangements to have her moved again. I had no doubt that once the police figured out it wasn’t my lawyer on the other end of the line, they would be very curious to find out who this inordinately-cheerful teenager was, and what business she had taking calls from an international fugitive.
The phone rang, and rang again. Normally Skye answered on the first ring, eager for another chance to risk her life. Maybe she didn’t trust the strange number. Maybe something had already happened. Maybe—
“Hello?” Skye’s voice was thick with sleep.
I didn’t know whether I felt relieved or the opposite. “It’s me. Sorry I woke you.” I shook my head at myself. Hard to get out of the habit of banal social niceties. Across from me, the cop circled his finger in a hurry-it-up motion.
“‘Sokay. Time difference. What’s going on? Got any news about Ark—”
“I’ve been arrested.” I cut her off before she could finish saying the company’s name. “I’m not alone.”
The cops ears perked up at this indication of something secret being discussed. He leaned in closer, not bothering to be subtle about trying to hear what was happening on the other end of the line.
“You’ve been what?” Suddenly, she sounded wide awake. “Hang on. Let me just—” The sound of frantic typing followed. “Oh. Wow. You weren’t kidding. You’re front-page news already.” A pause. “Nice pants, by the way.”
I scowled. “I need your help. But only if you can do it without putting yourself at risk, do you understand?”
The cop leaned in a little closer. He must have figured out I wasn’t on the phone with my lawyer.
“Yeah, sure, let me just… oh. Hmm. Looks like the FBI is already on their way to you. They sure do move fast over there, don’t they? And three other countries are already fighting Uncle Sam for you. There will probably be more in the morning. You’re a hot commodity. Whatever you did, it wasn’t exactly low-profile, was it?” Skye whistled. “I was going to cause a little distraction at the station, shut down their security while I gave you an escape route, but… yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen. Nothing short of a zombie apocalypse is going to distract them from you, and I’m not even sure that would do it.”
That part about her having the ability to shut down their security was sure going to sound good on the recording. But that wasn’t the part that made my stomach sink. A few months back, Skye had gone up against Arkanica with no fear, and even less doubt that she could do what she needed to do without being caught. Not long after that, she had hacked the FBI for me. If Skye thought there was nothing she could do, that meant my situation was worse than I had imagined. And I hadn’t exactly thought things were coming up sunshine and roses for me. I started drifting toward the ceiling again, coming untethered, my thoughts flattening into a quiet stream of static.
Waiting to die.
“It’s all right,” I forced myself to say, although forming speech was already starting to feel like too much work. Better to go still and silent. Better not to fight. It would hurt less that way. “You need to run. Tell your security I told you to leave your current location within the hour. And you’ll need to replace your phone. All your computer equipment too, to be safe. Once you’re in your new location, don’t try to contact me.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow the martyr train down, will you? I said I couldn’t get you out the way I planned. I didn’t say I couldn’t get you out.” More typing. “Let me just—okay, good. He’s still awake. That means I don’t have to wait for him to drink his weight in coffee before he can help me.”
“Who’s awake?” I had sent Skye into total isolation. It was the only way to keep her safe from Arkanica. The only people she had any contact with were the security guards I had hired to keep her under watch twenty-four hours a day. “If you’re thinking of sending your security to help me, don’t. You’re going to need them.”
“Not talking about my security,” she said distractedly. “These articles say you were arrested in Boston, after you broke into… whoa. Okay, definitely going to need that story one of these days. But not now. All I need to know is, are you still in Boston? They haven’t moved you yet, right?”
The cop was making that wrap-it-up gesture again. “Right. But what are you—” I stopped myself. “No. Don’t tell me. Say as little as possible.”
“They’re recording this, huh? Gotcha. Hi there, Boston PD. How’s it going?”
“Enough,” I warned tightly.
“Sorry, sorry. No taunting the cop
s.” One last burst of typing. “There. All set. Help is on the way.”
I had too many questions, and couldn’t ask any of them. “I’m going to hang up now,” I said. “Go find whichever of your guards is on duty, and tell him what I said. I want you out of there before the hour is up. I mean it.”
“Don’t worry, I’m on it. I’d rather stick to saying hi to the police on their illegal recording, instead of doing it in person.” She paused again. “Hey, should I send along a change of clothes for you? Not that I’m judging. You’re rocking the pants. It’s a good look for you.”
“Stay safe.” I hung up the phone before she could say anything else.
“There. Now no one can say we haven’t done right by you.” The cop looked hungrily at the phone, no doubt anticipating sending that recording along to someone who could make use of it. I hoped Skye was already packing her things. “Now you can go cool your heels in a cell for a while until your ride gets here,” the cop continued, standing up and stretching to his full height. With me sitting down, he could loom to his heart’s content.
“I’ll take him,” said his buddy who had come in with him. I hadn’t even realized he was still in the room. But when I turned my head, there he was, straightening from where he had been leaning against the door. He tucked his phone away.
He was shorter than the one who had been supervising my call, but he made up for it in muscle. He looked like somewhere in puberty, his genetic instructions had gotten scrambled, and instead of growing taller he had grown outward instead.
He walked over and stood by my chair. “Go home to your wife,” he said with an easy smile. “I’ve got him from here.”
My watcher didn’t have to be told twice. He got up with a grateful nod, and headed for the door.
When the door swung closed again, the other man turned to me. “Are you going to try anything?” He glanced down at his weapon, making sure I could follow his gaze.
I didn’t answer. Words already seemed like too much effort. I stood silently and let him lead me out of the room.
He walked me down a short hallway, past a couple of goggling onlookers who didn’t bother trying to hide their curiosity. I was surprised nobody took out a camera and snapped a picture. We entered a small room that held three cells, each with a cot in the corner. All three were empty. My inner senses screamed at the feel of the metal in the bars.
Memories flashed into my mind—the cell where Arkanica had kept me, when they had tried to make me into one of their test subjects. The time I had been arrested in the 1920s for arson, after using my magic to burn down the house of a serial child murderer. A cramped, reeking cell somewhere on the European continent in the 1500s, when I had been accused of witchcraft. And on and on, back and back.
I tried to remind myself that Skye was sending help. But my thoughts felt like they were moving through syrup. It took too much effort to think, too much effort to breathe. Far too much energy to hope.
I dug my fingers into my palms and tried to bring myself back into my body. I wasn’t dead yet.
I waited for the cop to tug me toward one of the cells. Instead, he paused to lock the door. It hit me then that the two of us were alone in this room.
“I wasn’t born in Boston, you know,” he said conversationally, still with that same easy smile on his face. “I was born a little ways west of here. My dad owned a candy shop. I used to think I’d follow in his footsteps. I had a real passion for candy, if you can believe that.” He laughed. His laughter was warm, but his eyes were cold.
He paused, like he was waiting for something. Maybe for me to ask him what had happened. But even if I had cared enough to humor him, I didn’t have the energy to speak. With seven hundred years’ worth of deaths crashing down on me at once, I was unutterably tired. All I wanted was for them to dispense with all this pretense and put a bullet in my brain. Then I could get the pain over with, and get on with the process of coming back.
No. I dug my fingernails harder into my skin. It won’t be over that easily. They’ll lock you up in a cell for years to rot. You can’t afford that. Not with Arkanica still out there. I dug harder, harder, until I was surprised I hadn’t drawn blood. I would not allow myself to give in. Not yet. Not when I still had work to do.
A flash of disappointment crossed the man’s face when I didn’t respond. “The year I turned thirteen, it all went to hell at once,” he said. “Every last piece of equipment broke, one right after another. Three of his suppliers went bankrupt, all in the same month. Bad luck was all it was. That kind of thing happened a lot back home.”
A chill crept up the back of my neck.
“Anyway, that was it for me and the candy business,” he continued. “I decided I was going to find a nice stable career, and live someplace where there would always be plenty of opportunities if my first choice didn’t work out. My sister, though, she loved home too much. She’s still living there, with her husband and their two kids. Or she was.” His smile turned knife-thin. He took a step toward me. “Little town called Hawthorne. Ever heard of it?”
I could put the rest of the pieces together well enough. Another image flashed into my mind—the street outside the Hawthorne police station, transformed into a field of rubble, every nearby building crushed to powder that blew through the air like snow.
An apology would have been laughably inadequate, so I stayed silent.
“Nothing to say, huh? Just as well. It’s not like anything you could say would bring my sister back. Besides, I didn’t bring you in here to have a conversation.”
I glanced up toward the camera in the upper corner of the room. His gaze followed mine. “Off,” he said. “I’ve got a lot of friends around here. Everyone was very understanding after my sister died. They told me to take a week off, but I didn’t take them up on it. I needed the distraction. But I still appreciated the thought. It’s nice to know your friends have your back. And you better believe they had mine when they found out you were coming in.”
Skye. She’s out there. She’s sending help. This man wasn’t the only one with friends. But the thought did little to reassure me. I knew the look in his eyes, the look of the powerless turned suddenly powerful. I knew where it led. And I had no one to count on but a teenage girl for help. Even Delaney didn’t know where I was.
Well, she probably knew by now, I amended as I thought about the cameras outside. But now that she was a ghost, there was nothing she could do for me.
The cop took another step forward. The smile stayed on his face.
Chapter 13
I wish I could say I fought. That I gave as good as I got, even handcuffed in a room full of steel. I would like to at least be able to say that I tried. The truth is, I did nothing. Not when the first blows landed. Not when I hit the wall, and then the ground. Not when the blows turned into kicks, making my body curl reflexively into a tight ball, my purple-sheened blood lying in an intricate pattern of glistening droplets on the floor in front of me.
I didn’t fight. I didn’t scream. I wasn’t there. Seven hundred years, you learn how not to be.
I don’t know how long it lasted. I only came back to myself when a soft rap on the door made the cop jerk to a stop, his foot raised in mid-kick. He set it back down on the ground and scowled. “What is it?”
“There’s a pair of FBI suits in the lobby, looking for Kieran Thorne.”
“I thought they weren’t going to be here until morning.”
“Apparently they’re eager to get their hands on him before the extradition requests start rolling in. See if you can find him for them, all right?” His tone let me know the man outside knew exactly where I could be found. “I’ll tell them we’re finishing up our paperwork.” Footsteps receded down the hallway.
The cop gave me one last irritable jab to the rib with his toes. Then he yanked me to my feet. It took some effort on his part; I didn’t feel much need to help him. “Looks like it’s your lucky day,” he said, shoving me forward toward the door. “Then
again, maybe not. I’m sure there are plenty of people over there who want a piece of you. I guess you’ll find out, won’t you?”
We made a quick stop by the bathroom before we went out to the lobby, so I could wash the blood from my face. It did little to help with my appearance. One eye was swollen purple, I had a fat lip, and one of my cheekbones looked wrong in a way that made me suspect my new friend had fractured it. He hadn’t been too worried about hiding his damage. Lucky for him, everything he had done to me was already healing. By the time I got to wherever the FBI was taking me, I would be good as new.
The part that concerned me more than the injuries was that once the FBI left with me, Skye would no longer know where to find me. Whatever she had planned, I hoped she did it soon.
I spotted the FBI agents as soon as I entered the lobby. They were the only ones who made an attempt not to stare when I walked into the room. The man and woman wore black pants and starched white shirts, and identical we’re-here-on-serious-business expressions that they turned on me when my cop friend walked me in. The man raised his eyebrows at the sight of my face and the blood on my clothes, but said nothing. The woman remained stone-faced.
“It looks as though you’ve gotten your… paperwork in order,” said the male FBI agent, with a barely-perceptible pause.
“Some prisoners take a little extra work,” said the cop in that easy tone. His smile was back. “You know how it is.”
“I’m sure we’ll have plenty of work to do ourselves.” He gave a slight nod; then he retreated behind his cold expression. “But he’s not your business anymore. We’ll take it from here.” He reached for me.
“Not so fast,” came a new voice from the door.
We all turned. A woman stood in the doorway. She was only a few inches shorter than I was, with blond hair down to her waist and a crisp blue suit. Her eyes shone coldly behind narrow glasses. Fae was my first thought, but her hair was pulled back from the sides of her face, revealing her smoothly sloped ears. Her height, on second glance, came from the heels she was wearing. And she wore a slim watch that I instantly recognized as steel.