by Mary Buckham
Nor did I want my dad or brothers to get hurt, doing what they’d held off doing for now.
And on top of that there was the niggling, very small voice of hope. Could I get out of here? Kiss Big Mad Martha and her cohorts goodbye? Do something with my abilities that might help people instead of hiding who and what I was as much as possible?
On the other hand, what Ling Mai and Stone were talking about was a death sentence of sorts. Being a witch didn’t mean I couldn’t die going up against non-humans, especially the strong ones such as Weres, shifters, trolls and warlocks. Witches bled red, just as quickly and easily as a human. The dozen bandages the infirmary doctor had plastered on me today, after a stern but very unnecessary lecture about survival, was proof of that.
Take a risk and go only to die? Or stay and die? Hard choices, but at least there was a choice. That’s the part that kept sprinting through my thoughts. If I did nothing I kissed life goodbye. If I risked, sure I’d most likely perish, but I’d die on the outside in the world of sun, not inside concrete and steel walls.
Since the overhead lights never gave a hint of the passage of time I listened for the tell-tale sounds of morning arriving: increasing movement, the thud of law enforcement issued boots signaling shift change, the rattle of prisoners facing another useless day of nothingness.
Then the other sound blasted through the cells. The ear-piercing whistle of trouble.
My muscles tightened, the fight or flight response. Something unexpected was happening and I didn’t need the double-time cadence of boots thundering down the hall to tell me it involved one of the prisoners.
Like the rest of the population trapped here, any change created interest and a break from the monotony. Plus if the siren meant danger, lying on my back was not the best way to meet it. I swung my feet over the hard bed and padded to the cell door, grasping the cool bars as a wake up tonic. It worked. It and the increasing cat calls coming from the other cells.
“Hogs gone wild.”
“Open the house, you snouts.”
“Lock-down.”
That last wasn’t good. Prisoners are managed in large part by the unremitting routine imposed on us. Change that routine and we got antsy.
I caught Mingo Martin scurrying toward me, a deep frown marring her face.
“What’s up?” I shouted, knowing I had as much chance as a snowball in an Arizona summer of getting an answer. Favoritism was frowned on in the Grey Hotel.
Damn though if she didn’t skid to a stop. “Keep your nose clean,” she snarled, as if I’d just screwed the pooch.
My response was automatic, holding my hands before me, palms out, stepping away from the cell bars.
Martin must have realized she’d come down really hard as she shook her head and stepped near my cell.
“It’s Been-There,” she said, as my stomach took a free-fall.
I grabbed the cell bars again, this time twisting the cold metal, knowing I didn’t want the answer to my next question. “What happened?”
“Hung herself during the night.”
Then and there I made my decision.
CHAPTER 5
Maryland in late winter was a far cry from my hometown of Mudlake, Idaho, and that didn’t count the fancy turn of the century house that was the headquarters of the IR Agency.
The town car that picked up me, and the security guard that had been attached to me like a skin rash since I exited PWCC, glided through a series of wrought iron gates. At first glance the look was decorative, but it took only a few seconds to know these gates meant serious business. No call box, only a key code that I bet changed daily, they stretched as far as the eye could see and trust me, I was looking.
The minute they whispered closed behind me I knew I was in a prison every bit as intense as the one I’d left a day and half a continent ago.
My first question as I exited that car was to my silent guard. “What’s IR mean?”
“Invisible Recruit,” came the brief response.
Fine. I was used to having more questions than answers from PWCC so I could wait for more information. Not that I was counting on learning anything more than Ling Mai and Stone wanted me to know.
It was Stone who greeted me with one sardonic brow raised as if daring me to cut and run. Damn if I didn’t like a dare. But we both knew the security monitoring device on my ankle wasn’t coming off any time soon.
I hefted my prison issue duffle bag and stepped forward, only having to notch my chin up a little to look him in the eye, even if he was almost six foot. “You lead.”
“This way.” He dismissed my guard with a chin nod and turned his back on me as he crossed behind the main house. Brave man or he was waiting for me to take advantage. Well, he’d just have to wait. I was here and I was going to make damned sure I stayed here. I’d made my choice now I was going to make sure I wasn’t sent back to PWCC unless I asked to be sent back.
I glanced around, noticing a series of outbuildings that looked like some kind of prep school. Not that I’d ever been exposed to one, but even in Mud Lake we had TV and a lot of time on our hands after farm chores. A discreet but still effective razor-wire fence enclosed all the buildings except for the fancy Big House. Better to keep all us volunteers in line.
What surprised me was the number of other people I noticed milling around, some walking with purpose, some waiting with that watching look I associated with caged animals. All women. All with ankle bracelets, though I did notice a few attached with a fibrous material, not metal. Some non-humans reacted poorly to iron or other metal compounds: another tool used since the Industrial Age to keep the numbers of non-humans down.
So the IR Agency was an equal opportunity employer and was recruiting more than just witches. Either that or something else was up. What had I gotten myself into?
Fear cat-pawed down my spine as I hustled to keep up with Stone’s long-legged gait. He finally stopped in front of a rectangular brick building.
“Dorm,” he said, swinging open the metal door.
One glance told me there was going to be less privacy here than in prison. No warding or protection spells to cast around me in a communal room. Two dozen cots lined up on either side of the long room, a door at the far end, probably the bathroom and shower facilities. Each cot was made up with regulation precision, nothing out of place.
It wasn’t that I was a slob, but if I’d wanted to join the military I would have, before my murder sentence that was. Looked like I wasn’t being given a choice now.
“Grab any bed on the right with an open foot locker. Then report to the canteen in ten minutes.”
No wasting time in this operation. I glanced at Stone. “And the canteen would be where?”
“The way we came in. Red trim along the doors.”
Like that was going to help since every brick building I’d noticed so far was red brick. It wasn’t like trim the same color was really going to stand out. “And if I don’t show up?” I asked, getting the lay of the place.
“Don’t even think it.” His eyes dared, his lips remained a no-nonsense straight line before he turned on his heel and marched out, his last words flung over his shoulder, “Nine minutes and counting.”
Yeah, this was going to be a lot of fun.
I snagged a bed close to the bathrooms, but not too close, making sure there was at least one cot empty on either side of me. Then I headed to the canteen.
Once outside the dorm door I did waste precious seconds breathing in free air. There might be wire surrounding me, unknown non-humans everywhere, and I had no doubt Stone was waiting for me to split, but for the space of two deep breaths I enjoyed freedom. A freedom Been-There would never know.
That had me straightening my shoulders. No mourning. It wasn’t a Noziak style. Besides it wasn’t going to do a bloody thing to bring Been-There back. Neither was the last gift I’d left for Big Mad Martha.
Entering prison I’d vowed to limit any spell casting to survival needs. But I’d broke
n that promise as I’d passed BMM’s cell that last day.
With a few words, a sprig of sumac I’d found in the Big Yard the day before, and a scratching motion across my arm, I’d cast a rash spell in BMM’s direction. She’d never know what had caused the infernal itching, but she’d know who had caused it, even if she never admitted it.
“For Been-There,” I’d whispered, as I’d walked away.
Now I took one more look around the IR set-up and I headed toward a brick building next to a Quonset hut. I might not have the degree of scenting ability of my shifter brothers, but my stomach was empty enough that whatever the canteen was serving up snagged my attention without a problem.
Two seconds later I stepped into a room that looked utilitarian but smelled divine. No prison grub here. Pot roast was my guess and not the kind with gristly meat and measly vegetables.
For the first time since I’d signed on the dotted line I thought I might enjoy this place. Then some snarly-faced Latino woman about my age smacked into my back.
“Hey casino-owner, move it or lose it.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see who was ragging on me, casino-owner wasn’t the worst Indian slur I’d heard, but not one I appreciated. Ballsy I could like. But not this Chiquita who looked a lot like that Michelle Rodriguez actress from the S.W.A.T. and Girlfight movies: bi-racial, all mouth, attitude, and a chip a mile wide on her shoulder.
She stood with feet braced wide, daring me to take a swing. Behind her was an Amazon black woman who easily stood six feet tall and looked like she could be a model, or a bouncer, or both. The smile playing on that woman’s lips told me she was wingman for Chiquita and expecting fireworks.
I couldn’t sense what these two were, or what they could do of the paranormal/preternatural variety, but that didn’t mean they weren’t waiting to take my head off and had the ability to back the taunt.
I stepped aside and waved my hand. “Be my guest,” I said, then couldn’t help adding, “Border-Bunny.”
That had Chiquita narrowing her eyes and rocking forward on the balls of her feet. Things might have gotten interesting except for the arrival of another woman who looked like she was about fifteen and typecast as a bubbly blonde.
“Hi, there.” She stepped right between the three of us, ignoring the tension and thrusting her hand out as if we were at cheerleading camp. “I love meeting new people. Don’t you? Name’s Kelly McAllister. What’s yours?”
I could no more ignore her outstretched hand than I could kick a fuzzy kitten, but that didn’t mean I didn’t snarl a little as I answered. “Alex Noziak.”
“Oh, what a fun name,” she gushed, smiling at the three of us like BFFs. That’s when I noticed she even had freckles and no ankle bracelet. So was she non-human? A test to see if any of the rest of us ate her up and spit her out or was she viewed as not needing to be controlled like the rest of us?
As if totally unaware of the train of my thoughts and frown, she asked, “Where you all from?”
“The Rez,” Cruising-for-a-bruising-Chiquita answered under her breath.
Since drawing blood my first day here was probably not a good thing I turned my back on trouble and her twin and grabbed a tray for dinner. New girl Kelly remained a buffer between me and the excuse I wanted for releasing a little steam. She jabbered on until I headed toward an empty seat as far away from anyone else as I could possibly sit and still be in the state of Maryland.
I also noticed in the process that all the rest of the women were wearing ankle bracelets. Interesting group here, prisoners in a false paradise.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Kelly beamed as she joined me.
I wondered if I had a neon sign on my forehead, one blinking “sucker for fools and lost causes.”
But since Cheerleader wasn’t doing any harm, and maybe her chattering would keep less friendly folks at bay, I simply nodded toward a chair across from me.
She sighed as she sat down and leaned forward. “Thanks. I hate not knowing anyone here.”
Great, now I felt like a curmudgeon. Or maybe this was my penance for leaving Big Mad Martha with a rash. Using magic always came with a price. Looked like mine was a sentence of being talked to death.
For the most part I tuned out Bright and Bubbly, concentrating on shoveling in food as fast as I could—a lesson from the Grey Hotel. There were no seconds, no choice in meal selection, and no time; if you didn’t eat, and eat fast, it was a long stretch before the next bland meal.
I was so focused on enjoying every bite of pot roast that it took me a minute to realize Kelly was waiting for an answer.
“I’m sorry, what’d you ask?” I said around a bite.
She touched fingers lightly to her cheek. “Looks like you were in some kind of accident,” she said, an implied question.
Funny, I’d forgotten it’d only been a few days since the BMM beating. My bruises hadn’t even faded to greens and yellows yet.
“What happened?” Kelly asked. Obviously Cheerleaders did not give up easily.
“Wreck,” I mumbled around a bite. “With a dump truck.”
“Oh, my.”
So maybe a sentence here and there was the solution to finding a way to eat in peace.
“I’m curious what you did before you came here?” Kelly’s chin length blond hair danced around her face, as bubbly as she was. “I was a kindergarten teacher.”
Should have figured that. Right after Pep leader or Buckle Bunny, one of those helpless, hopeless bimbos who chased rodeo stars for a little one-on-one attention.
I wondered if I should share that most recently I’d been a guest of the Idaho Prison System, then decided that was just mean. So I mumbled, “Hairdresser.”
“Oh, I bet that took a lot of hard work,” she said, eating like a bird on steroids, lots of small bites interspersed with head nods and smiles.
I’d never thought of what I did as hard. It was a job, something that allowed me to be independent, get off the farm, and have something that was all mine, not my brothers’ or because of my father’s unspoken position in the community.
I just shrugged and was very glad when I noticed Ling Mai walk into the room.
Nothing had to be said, but like twilight cutting short the chattering of birds, the hall hushed.
I pushed my plate away, my appetite killed by the twisting in my gut. Nearly two dozen women stilled, casting anxious glances before they turned their attention to the director and her shadow M.T. Stone guarding her back.
She started in easy enough. “Welcome all. I am very pleased you are here.”
So why did the muscles along my neck tighten?
“We’ll have a few more recruits joining us in the next day or two, but for the most part we’re all here,” she continued.
Recruits? More like gladiators faced with a die-or-die option if my case was anything like the others. Though I doubted smiling Kelly across from me could have done anything bad enough to warrant a demerit in Girl Scouts.
“I wanted to take a moment to thank you all for being here before I turn the floor over to your head instructor, M.T. Stone. He’ll be working with you closely day-by-day and is the one you’ll report to directly.”
She stepped back as Stone moved to the fore. I noticed the tension increased as I glanced around the room, gauging the reactions of the women scattered around tables. Most expressions remained guarded, watchful, with a few looking frightened. A couple of brave ones did that woman to a hot guy look over.
Then I caught the Chiquita’s gaze snagging on mine. Both of us gauging the bigger picture, less concerned about our own responses to the set-up as getting a stronger lay of the land. Interesting.
She glanced away fast enough to let me know I’d been right. She was hiding something, something she feared more than this place.
Before I could wonder what, Stone cleared his throat.
“Each of you was brought here with unique gifts,” he started, zeroing in on a number of women who quickly loo
ked away. “And you’re going to need those gifts to get through the program. If you do.”
Not that I expected a pep talk from this guy, but his words dropped the temp by a good ten degrees. I noticed that across from me Kelly had stilled, her eyes growing wider, her skin paler.
“We start training at O-six hundred tomorrow morning,” he continued, his eyes narrowing. “By the end of tomorrow a fourth of you will be gone.”
Asshole or realist? Maybe both, but Noziaks didn’t scare easily.
Rude as it was among my father’s Shoshone people to look another straight in the eye, a sure sign of disrespect, I made sure that when Stone’s gaze zeroed in on me, I not only didn’t look away, I held it.
Bring it on, Big Guy. I dare you.
CHAPTER 6
Me and my big mouth. I sprawled across the dojo floor, sure going a couple more rounds with Big Mad Martha would be a piece of cake compared to sparring with M.T. Stone.
“You think MT means Mighty Tough?” a shifter from Rhode Island gasped beside me.
I snorted. This guy passed Mighty Tough before six fifteen this morning.
“How many of us you think are left?” A whip-thin black woman from Queens asked on my other side. I figured she might be an Agathodemon. They were rare, or had been for centuries, but there was something about the lilt to her voice and a slight red cast to her eyes that might make her one of the good-hearted creatures from ancient Egypt.
“Eighteen dropped,” Kelly huffed, surprising me. Not that she was huffing, we all were, but that she was still here and had kept tabs on the falling flies. Might be more to Cheerleader than I thought.
“Back in position,” came the barked order as we sprawled across the dojo floor. I had to figure out what Stone was because it was sure as heck not human. No human could keep up his brutal pace and smile while doing it.