by Jasmine Walt
“Oh, don’t bother with that.” Talcon’s sausage fingers reached for his fly. “I’ve got something much better for you to choke on.”
“Fuck you.” I instinctively reached for the chakram pouch strapped to my thigh, but there was nothing there but my leather-clad leg. Dammit. Was I ever going to get my weapons back?
“I’m not sucking you off for my freedom, Talcon. You probably couldn’t give it to me anyway.”
“You never know,” he purred, wiggling the zipper on his pants.
I rolled my eyes. “Please don’t make me bite that thing off.”
His expression turned downright ugly. “Fine,” he said, baring his teeth. “I was just giving you the opportunity to enjoy a last moment of pleasure before your death.”
“Couldn’t you drag your mind out of the garbage for once and do some actual work?” I threw up my hands, tired of this bullshit. Why the fuck did the Enforcer’s Guild give the deputy position to such a total ass? Just because he came from an old human family with money didn’t mean he deserved the job. “Instead of standing around here holding your dick, you could be out there solving those silver murders and getting some real recognition for a job well done.”
Something flickered in his eyes, and for a moment I thought I’d actually dented his pride. But the look disappeared as quickly as I’d seen it, and he shrugged, a patronizing smile on his thuggish face.
“I never figured you for one to believe in conspiracy theories, Sunaya. Guess it’s a good thing you’re finally getting put down, or I’d have to fire you myself. I look forward to seeing you at your hearing tomorrow, hybrid.”
Fury raced through me like wildfire, but I snapped my mouth shut as Talcon turned and walked back down the hall, wanting him gone more than I wanted to fight. The relief that coursed through me as I listened to his receding footsteps was quickly eclipsed by despair as I slumped back down onto my cot. What the fuck was I supposed to do now? Sit here and wait to die? I’d always imagined being taken out while I was on the job, protecting an innocent or bringing down a criminal. Death by execution, for something I was born with and couldn’t control, had never been part of the plan.
Before I allowed the bitterness coating my tongue to spread throughout the rest of me and sap my strength, I pulled off my clothes and used the bit of energy I’d gotten from Talcon’s sandwich to shift. A hot white light engulfed my body as it stretched and changed shape, and when it faded away I’d transformed from a tall, lean woman into a black panther. Only my bottle-green eyes remained constant, regardless of what shape I was in. I always figured the mages who created us did that on purpose, so shifters would be easily identifiable.
My claws scraped against the ground as I stretched, my sleek form rippling, and I let out a satisfied sigh as the last of my injuries knit themselves back together. Now that I was in beast form and the pain of my injuries had gone, some of the despair and anxiety began to lift from my heart. Curling up on the cold concrete, I rested my chin on top of my paws and allowed sleep to finally take hold of me. Once I got some rest I would focus my mind on getting out of this mess alive. After all, I was twenty-four and had my whole life ahead of me. Not to mention a series of murders to solve.
“Sunaya Baine?”
The sound of an unfamiliar male voice woke me from a fitful sleep. I cracked an eye open to see a man standing above me, his slim form draped in a long, khaki coat. Though it was dark in the jail at this time of night, my sharp eyes were able to pick out the porkpie hat clutched in his left hand, his slicked-back dirty blond hair, and his horn-rimmed glasses, the last of which sparked a memory.
You’re a reporter, I wanted to say, but then I remembered that I was in my panther form. Yawning, I stretched, my claws producing a scraping sound as they gouged into the concrete floor. The human took a nervous step back, clearly not a fan of my sharp implements. To amuse myself, I rose up on my hind legs, hooking my paws through the bars of my cell as I met his gaze. His eyes widened as his back clanged into the cell bars behind him.
“Y-you are Sunaya Baine, aren’t you?”
Satisfied at the tremor in the man’s voice – I never was much of a fan of reporters – I nosed my clothes into the shadowy portion of my cell and changed back into human form. His sigh of relief and the scent of fresh sweat rolling from his pores were telling – this man was afraid of shifters in general, not just me.
“I am Sunaya Baine,” I said once I’d pulled my clothes back on and stepped back into the dim light. I leaned against the bars and looped my hands through them lazily, affecting a pose of nonchalance. He eyed my hands warily, as if he expected me to claw him at any second, and I found myself annoyed at his skittishness. “Can I help you with something?”
“Yes,” he said, drawing his air of professionalism back around him. He pulled out a notepad and a pen from one of the pockets of his greatcoat and looked up at me with a polite smile over his glasses, his pen poised. “My name is Hanley Fintz, and I’m a journalist for the Herald. I heard about your unfortunate predicament, and would like to interview you.”
I arched a brow. “Bit late for interviews, don’t you think?” Not that I knew what time it was, since Brin and Nila had stripped my body of anything actually useful, such as my watch. The fuckers had even taken my Enforcer bracelet, the symbol of authority I’d worked so hard to earn. But judging by the fact that the lights down here were still dimmed, it must be night above ground.
The reporter shrugged. “From what my sources tell me, your hearing is set for early this morning. Since they’re likely to rule against you, I have to take what opportunities I can get to talk with you before it’s too late.”
In other words, this schmuck had bribed one of the guards upstairs to let him into the jail cell so he could interview me. Did absolutely no one understand the meaning of ‘work ethic’ anymore? Pressing my lips together, I eyed the reporter distastefully, not sure that he didn’t deserve a beating just as much as the guard upstairs, though unlike the guard he was just doing his job.
A long silence stretched. Eventually Fintz cleared his throat. “Come now, surely you can tell me something,” he coaxed. “I would like to paint you in the most positive light possible, which is not very hard. If you have to die, at least you can die a martyr in the fight against the oppressive mages who rule us.”
His voice was low and urgent, infused with passion. But the hungry way he eyed me seemed less sincere. Releasing the bars, I took a step back, holding my hands up defensively.
“Look,” I told him. “If you want to paint me as a martyr or a hero or whatever after I’m six feet under, that’s your business. But I’m not dead yet, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop looking at me like some vulture waiting for me to gasp my last breath, so you can swoop down and start feasting on me.”
The man recoiled a little, his pointy nose twitching. “Well that’s vulgar.”
“Yeah, well you know what else is vulgar?” I leaned against the bars again to pin him with an accusing stare. “The fact that nobody in this town seems to give a damn about all the shifters who are dying of silver poisoning. If you really wanted a juicy story, you’d be investigating that, starting with my mentor’s murder, not trying to prod me for bullshit quotes about standing up to the system.”
“I would love nothing more than to investigate these poisonings you speak of,” Hanley said sulkily. “But unfortunately, Mr. Yantz decides who and what I investigate and what stories are printed, and he is simply not interested in publishing that story.”
“Of course not.” I bared my fangs in disgust. Petros Yantz, the CEO and Chief Editor of the Herald, had turned the once-prestigious paper into little more than a glorified gossip rag. He was one of the primary reasons I detested reporters. “Why don’t you go and tell your boss to fuck off for me, before I find a reason to break out of this cell and come harass him in the middle of the night.”
“I see.” His eyes glittered as he returned his pad and pen to his pocket. “I
’m sorry you feel that way. I suppose I’ll just have to contact your family for quotes instead. Do have a good night.” He placed his hat on his head, then turned and walked away.
I snorted at his parting shot, lying back down on my cot. It was doubtful he would get anything more interesting than a ‘Good Riddance!’ from my aunt Mafiela if he asked her how she felt about my death, and though some of my cousins might have nicer things to say about me, I doubted she would let them speak to the press.
Closing my eyes, I tried to take advantage of whatever time I had left before my hearing to get some sleep. But now that I’d been awakened, my mind kept buzzing with all the thoughts jockeying for position inside my head. The predominant fear, of course, was how the hell to ensure Roanas got avenged and the silver murders got solved. Even if I did manage to avoid execution, which was very unlikely, I would face a long sentence, most likely of hard labor in the mines. Plus I would be stripped of my magic, and at my age that would reduce my mind into a puddle of mush. No matter how the judge decided to punish me, I would have zero opportunity to conduct an investigation myself.
Of course, I could always ask Comenius and Noria to look into it for me... except I didn’t want to risk their lives on this. Comenius had a daughter abroad who he helped support with the money he earned from his shop, and Noria was simply too young to be involved in all this. Even if neither of them were susceptible to silver poisoning, that didn’t mean the killer wouldn’t try to take them out if he – or she – discovered they were hot on his trail.
I guess there’s always Rylan, I thought bitterly, twirling an inky curl of hair around my index finger as I stared up at the ceiling. My cousin would be more than happy to look into the murders, if only so he could point the blame back at the Mage’s Guild and gain one more nail to hammer into the coffin he was trying to create for them. But there was no way for me to get a message to him – mindspeech could only take you so far, and frankly it had been a miracle that Roanas had reached me at all. It was intended to be used in close proximity between shifters while we were in animal form, not as a mental telephone system.
You could probably send him a message if you used your magic.
The thought was almost as intriguing as it was frustrating. If the flashy display of power that landed me in this cell was any indication, I could probably do a whole lot with my magic if I could just figure out how to access it on demand, instead of in a panic. Closing my eyes, I tried to feel for the telltale spark that always lit inside me before an outburst, but there was only a void where it should have been.
My hands clenched into fists as helpless rage overtook me. I wanted to break something, or smash my fists into something satisfying, but I would only break my hands against the concrete walls and then I would have to expend even more energy healing myself. It was so unfair that the mages in this town got to use their magic to elevate themselves above us, while mine only served to drag me down and get me in trouble. The only time it was ever useful was when I was in mortal danger.
Maybe it’ll flare up again when the executioner tries to cut off your head.
A kind of dark hope lit in my chest at the thought. If my magic did come to life, I might be able to direct it long enough to make some kind of escape. And if not, maybe I could at least take a few of the slimy bastards with me before I died. Then I would truly be a martyr, just like the reporter guy said.
With that grim, yet oddly comforting thought clutched to my chest, I closed my eyes and waited for the sun to rise so they could come and take me away.
5
An hour after the sun rose, I was clapped in irons and dragged upstairs to the Hall of Justice, which was located on the third floor of the Enforcer’s Guild. I’d been in this room, with its stark walls, soaring ceiling and cold, unforgiving benches a handful of times – it was where Enforcers were tried and convicted for their crimes, and it wasn’t used often.
Behind the judge’s bench stood Maronas Galling, the Captain of the Enforcer’s Guild, and on the floor, seated at the prosecutor’s bench, were Deputy Talcon and Director Chartis, the Chief Mage’s representative and head of the local chapter of the Mage’s Guild. The guards escorted me none-too-gently toward the defendant’s bench, but not before I saw Comenius and Noria seated in the gallery amongst the handful of people – mostly reporters – who’d chosen to attend. Comenius’s face was grave, whereas Noria’s heart was in her eyes, her hands twisting nervously in her lap as she watched me. I tried to give her an encouraging smile, but she only bit her lip, her eyes shimmering with fear.
Sighing, I turned away from my friends, knowing that looking at them would only make me more anxious. Instead, I glanced down at my shackles, and my heart plummeted at the sight of the shimmering runes carved into the iron. I’d seen such runes used once before on a mage, in order to restrain his magic.
So much for trying to take the executioner down with you.
Finally, the Captain stopped shuffling his papers around and looked down at me. He was a commanding figure, with close-cropped steel hair and a matching beard covering his square jaw. His broad shoulders looked as if they bore the weight of command well enough – which they had before he’d let the Main Crew turn everything to shit. Nevertheless, my heart sank at the look of disappointment that flickered briefly in his dark eyes before hardening.
As the moment passed he called the room to order, then turned toward the prosecutor’s bench. “Deputy Talcon, do you have the list of charges?”
“I do indeed,” Talcon said, rising from his seat. He was dressed in a neatly pressed dark suit, which made me feel inadequate since my hair was a rat’s nest and I was still dressed in yesterday’s clothes.
“Sunaya Baine has been called before this court today on the charges of possessing magic without a license, and of using magic without a license to kill a shifter. These charges are substantiated by witness statements.” I gritted my teeth at his smug tone.
“May I see the statements, please?”
“Of course.” Talcon handed a sheaf of papers to Captain Galling.
Captain Galling read the statements out loud. They were from Brin and Nila. My embarrassment was eclipsed by simmering rage that grew with every word. The bastards hadn’t bothered to show up on time to save those bunnies, but they didn’t have any problem burying me for doing so. Magorah help me, but did they have no sense of decency at all?
“Well?” Galling asked when he’d finished reading the statements. “Do you have anything to say in your defense, Miss Baine?”
I bit back the scathing remark I wanted to say and cleared my throat. “Yes, Captain.” My voice was surprisingly steady despite the adrenaline pumping through my veins. “I’d like to point out that I was wearing a protective amulet on my wrist during the attack. Its magic must have activated in response to the rhino shifter’s attempt to kill me. That is far more logical than the idea that I killed the rhino myself.”
“That’s a very good story,” Director Chartis drawled, drawing my attention toward him. His dark green eyes, which matched the robes he was wearing, assessed me lazily, almost as if he couldn’t be bothered with prosecuting me. Nevertheless, he somehow found the energy to press on. “But unfortunately it does not match the evidence. I tested the amulet myself yesterday, and it held no traces of recent magical residue.” He drew the amulet out of his sleeve, and I gritted my teeth as he dangled it tauntingly at me. “I’m afraid that means, in plain language, that it hasn’t been used recently.”
A murmur spread through the crowd and fear crackled through me like a live current. So much for my shitty cover story.
“Besides,” the Director continued, “the amount of magic required to disintegrate a rhino shifter would have reduced an amulet of this size and strength to ash. As you can all see, it’s quite intact.”
“Alright, settle down, settle down,” the Captain ordered the room. He looked down at me wearily. “I’m afraid that unless you have anything more to say in your defense, I’
m going to have to convict you of using illegal magic.”
“The penalty of which,” the Director reminded the room, as if he needed to, “is death.”
The Captain hesitated. “I think under the circumstances we should be able to reduce it to hard labor in the mines, don’t you think? It was self-defense, after all.”
The Director shook his head. “Whether or not it was self-defense is completely irrelevant,” he said dispassionately. “The death penalty is mandatory in such cases, especially since the accused is too old to be trained. She cannot be allowed to run amuck with her magic unchecked.”
Rage boiled up inside me so fast I swore steam came out of my ears. How dare this man stand there and dismiss my life so casually, as if I were a rabid dog that needed to be put down! I opened my mouth to rip him a new one, but I was cut off by a voice in the back.
“Captain Galling, I would like permission to speak.”
The sound of rustling fabric filled the air as everyone, including me, turned around to see Comenius standing in the gallery, his jaw set, determination gleaming in his cornflower blue eyes. The Director and Talcon began to protest at the same time, but Captain Galling held up his hand for silence.
“Speak,” he commanded.
Comenius took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “It is my belief that Miss Baine has committed an act of magic worthy of a mage, due to the fact that she is half-mage herself. Because of this, I believe that she should be allowed to appeal to the Chief Mage himself, rather than simply tried and executed in a courtroom that is strictly meant for Enforcers.”
It was a testament to the strength of my willpower that my jaw didn’t crash straight to the floor. Appeal to the Chief Mage? Was Comenius mad? The Chief Mage wasn’t just the ruler of Solantha – he governed the entire state of Canalo and was one of the most powerful mages in the Federation of Northia. Even if he could help me, I doubted he would have time – he barely ever emerged from his palace, busy with whatever matters of state and magic he was usually concerned with.