Life’s a Witch

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Life’s a Witch Page 3

by Skyler Andra


  Muttering under my breath, I stripped the necklace and handed it over. With the same lack of enthusiasm, I removed my belt and earrings— a collectible pair of Harley Quinn and the Joker—placing them in a plastic tub. The machine made no noise as I passed through it. On the other side, I reached for my belongings, when the other sentry snatched the basket away.

  “Those are limited edition earrings,” I protested. “Only two thousand made. Give them back.”

  “No weapons in the prison.” The guard stuffed them in a plastic bag with my name labeled on the outside, and I clenched both fists.

  The warden stepped forward. “We had a little stabbing incident a while back involving earrings and a lock picking attempt. They’re banned.”

  Silver Blazes.

  The sentry lifted my suitcase and tossed it onto the counter with a thud. The bastard.

  “Careful,” I snapped. “That contains more collectibles.”

  Obsidian chewed his cage as if equally as outraged.

  The sentry ignored me and unzipped the suitcase to flip it open. He pulled out a lacy thong, stretching it, tickling it with a finger as he glared at me with a cocked eyebrow. Testing me, he removed a matching lacy bra he brushed against his cheek.

  My whole body burned. “Do you mind?” I tried to snatch it back, but he put it aside, at the front of the table, where anyone walking by could see. The bastard.

  Obsidian screeched, raspy and urgent, the call of threatened eagle.

  The warden stood and watched. Looked at me with a shrug. “It’s protocol to check your belongings.”

  Fucking protocol to peep through my panties? Damn pervs! I crossed my arms.

  The moment the warden turned his back, the guard produced another thong, this one skimpier—nothing more than two strings and a prayer—and multicolored. He brought the fabric to his nose, then smiled, wobbling his head as he slipped them into his pockets.

  I squared my shoulders and glared. “You’re disgusting.”

  “Juan, give them back.” Vartros’ impatience gave his voice a hard edge I felt deep in my psyche.

  With a smirk on his lips and a laugh in his eyes, the sentry tossed my belongings on the counter.

  The warden impatiently flicked his fingers. “Free her gargoyle.”

  The other sentry produced a key and freed Obsidian who exited and found my shoulder.

  Vartros grabbed me by the arm and gave me a gentle nudge. “This way, Miss Nomical.”

  Oh, god. Shit was getting real.

  Chapter 4

  Astra

  I kept checking over my shoulder to make sure the pervert didn’t try to steal anymore of my belongings.

  The warden gave me a quick tour of the facility, and my shoulders slumped lower and deeper with every step. First, he stopped at a large room full of sentry guards seated at computer desks, studying screens with images of what I assumed were various locations of the prison. All different rooms, cells, cell blocks and recreational areas. Cameras damn well everywhere, watching everything. Bye, bye privacy. They owned my ass for god only knew how long until found a way out. I curled my shoulders and quickened my pace to catch up to Vartros.

  “This is the comms center.” The warden gestured to the next room, a square space with a series of booths along the walls, four with phones and six with computers. “You get weekly communication privileges to contact your loved ones. One phone call and email per week, no longer than ten minutes each. Dependent on your compliance with the rules and keeping out of trouble.”

  Silver Blazes, that was hardly any time at all compared to the weekends I usually spent with my mother. How was I going to explain this to her? I’d have to make up a lie—a bunch of them. And oh, god. I was the world’s most terrible liar.

  We moved into the next wing.

  “The dining hall.” He gestured to a rectangular room, with row after row of eight-seat tables with attached chairs.

  My eyes caught what I thought were blood stains on the floor, and my stomach soured.

  Vartros gestured to the guards at the next door then came a beep, and the bars clacked as it rolled open.

  “This is the prisoners’ sleeping quarters.” He pointed to each level, ground, first, and second floor.

  A few of the prisoners sat in a common area at an octagonal table, other were playing cards in their cells, others reading, some walking and chatting. Varying types of music thumped from different cells; rap, heavy metal, R&B and pop. I cringed. Not my style. I’d have to pump up the punk on my music device.

  Sentries patrolled each floor, their boots thumping on the steel flooring of the first and second floors.

  One guy wandered past a woman, grabbing her ass on the way past. “Hey, sweet cheeks.”

  She spun and thumped him on the back, shooting a look that would have diminished a smaller man.

  The warden removed a baton from his belt and it crackled with electricity. He marched up behind the inmate and thrust him in the back, tasering the inmate, and he straightened, trembled, and collapsed. “That kind of behavior is not tolerated on my watch.”

  Two sentries rushed to collect the prisoner.

  “One month in The Hole,” Vartros ordered.

  “Yes, sir.” The sentries dragged the inmate away, and he groaned.

  I stood, mouth gaping, squeezing my hands to my chest.

  The warden came to stand in front of me, his expression stern. “We will do everything we can to keep you safe.”

  Somehow, I wasn’t filled with much confidence. There were too many variables, dark corners, big guys. So many what ifs.

  Vartros must have noticed and said, “I know this is a change for you, Miss Nomical. But I’ll try to be as accommodating as I can so long as you follow the rules.”

  “My sentence is a joke, Sir,” I said. “I don’t deserve to be here.”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t decide that.” Vartros’ tone softened. Dammit. I had to find out who to appeal to. “I only deal with what I’m given, and right now, I need good warriors to hunt down and apprehend rogue supernaturals to protect the Earth and the gantii dimensions.”

  Gantii referred to any supernatural creature living in worlds beyond the veil. Worlds in other dimensions, accessible only through magical space portals and ruptures in the veil. When God created Earth, he layered it with an energetic force, known as the veil, to protect the world from invasion from supernaturals.

  I pushed my glasses up my nose. Throughout my whole time at the Shadows, I’d wanted to be a Gildron, a mage who used their talents to protected humans from the supernatural world. Now that dream withered like the best years of my life would while I was locked away here.

  “This station is one of the toughest and best,” the warden advised. “Elite, if you will. Here, you’ll learn skills that the Shadows would never teach you to return gantii offenders to their home worlds for judgment and punishment.”

  Silver Blazes! The Guardians were a supernatural police force. My earlier misgivings zapped to the back of my mind, snapping me into action. Most Guild students didn’t get assigned to active duty until they’d completed four years of training. I was one-and-a-half-years in, appointed to an elite team. Elite. Like a fricking superhero. I loved superheroes. Read comics like they were out of fashion. I had every signature of all the cast in Marvel’s Avengers. To a fan girl like me, this job was my wet dream.

  “Our most wanted offender is Styx, leader of a rogue vampire faction.” Vartros’ hooded eyes studied me. “He’s wanted in both his world and this one for breaking the Karvosh covenant. He arrived on Earth, intending to parasite off humans.”

  Vampires. Energy suckers. One of the worst gantii to encounter because of their speed and strength. They absorbed the fuel of a human’s body from ten feet away. Whoever had started the vampire ugly blood “drinking” rumor was a douche for misinterpreting the words in the ancient texts which said vamps bled people of their lifeblood. Translation: a person’s life force. The very thing pum
ping oxygen and power around their body. Life blood. Not real blood.

  Vartros opened his coat and pulled a wooden stake carved with runes from inside. A Guild weapon to sever the energetic connection established by a vamp when they drained someone. When stabbed with one, it also released the energy they’d stolen, made them weak enough to be apprehended and escorted back to their own world.

  Move over, Buffy! Welcome, Astra.

  Wait. I wasn’t getting excited about this. But staking some vamps Buffy style was more than a little exhilarating.

  “I’ve assigned you to the team charged with finding Styx.” The headmaster twisted the weapon. “Bring him to justice and you can earn five years off your sentence. That is the largest reward any teams have been given.”

  Holy shit. Five years! I was going to find Styx, and crooks like him, and reduce my sentence and get the hell out of the Guardians.

  Vartros handed me the stake. That was a little too trusting. Wasn’t he worried I might try to stake him?

  But then I smiled. My powers. Chemical equations bursting in my mind like fireworks, creating an exothermic reaction in the body of the gantii, reducing it to its basic genetic makeup. It didn’t kill them. None of our powers had that potential… except for my former instructor Blaze, who possessed the death gift of the djinn. In most cases, our powers restored the gantii to their original form, giving us time to return them across the veil.

  I twisted my hands again. Once, twice, three times. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  Vartros pat me on the shoulder. “Come, get settled in, and tomorrow you’ll meet your new team.”

  My new team. I smoothed my shirt three times, then ran my hands through my hair. One. Two. Three. Lucky three. Always three.

  The warden led me down a series of drab grey corridors with flickering lights. My nose wrinkled at the foul smell in the hallway. Sweat, blood and depression. I glanced up at the watchers, ugly stone demons in every corner, and perched at regular intervals. Their eyes glowed neon green, and their stone necks grazed as they twisted to look at me. Guild servants appointed to watch and report to the sentries.

  Inmates locked in their cells hooted and hollered as I entered the long rows of cubicles.

  “Fresh meat, fresh meat!” they shouted over and over.

  To intimidate me. And it worked, because I’d never been in this situation before. I moved faster, determined to get to my room and scream into a pillow. Obsidian rasped nervously in my ear, tucking in tighter. School bullies I could handle, but convicted criminals were a whole other kettle of fish.

  The warden stopped at a cell five spots down from the door. “Home sweet home.” He gestured for me to enter.

  The sentries had delivered my suitcase and bags. I trudged into my cell and the warden rolled the sliding door closed behind me. It wasn’t much. As much as I’d expect from a prison. Single bed, sheets, grey blanket, toilet and sink, and shelves.

  “I’ll have your meal delivered tonight.” He locked the door with a shiny silver key. “Welcome again, Miss Nomical. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The cheering grew louder as he departed. I hugged myself and sat on the bed. The cacophony of sound got so loud I pressed my hands over my head and rocked back and forth, anxiety high. Calm. Distraction. And I knew what would do the trick, too. Romance audiobooks.

  I moved to sift through my clothes for my pink earbuds and phone. My things had been roughly tossed in my suitcase. Broken Gargoyle’s pen. Bent hand on my Dragon Ball Z clock. Sword damaged on my three-hundred-dollar Assassin’s Creed statuette. “Fuck.”

  The sentries who had sorted through my belongings for weapons had even ruined my signed Avengers poster that I’d hoped to use to retire someday. Bastards.

  My fists curled around the bent photograph—paper only—of my mom, sister, grandma. Those bastards! I shook so hard and grabbed my hair, rocking back and forth, nearly entering into a meltdown. This was the only photo I had of my gran before she passed away.

  “Breathe. Just breathe.” I turned up the volume of my audiobook, trying to concentrate on Travers Randall’s—man crush and favorite narrator—voice.

  I put the photo on the shelf on the opposite wall. My little piece of home. Well, as much as a cell and captivity could feel like home.

  Depressed, I sat on the bed, wanting to cry. I flopped back on my mattress, splaying my arms wide. Everything that had happened in the last few weeks tumbled inside my head. Luna being expelled for trying to save the Guild from the Serpents. Me stealing for Luna and getting caught. Being thrown in this hellhole. My crappy new team and cold, strict, and harsh environment.

  I punched my pillow a few times, trying to get comfortable. God. When would all this shit end?

  I sent out a prayer for Luna, hoping she was safe, that she got the information she needed to fight against the Guild’s enemies and defeat them once and for all. A small piece of sunshine to lighten the darkness.

  I did the same for myself, praying I’d get a change in fortune. Something to hope for in this glum and hopeless place.

  Silver Blazes. I don’t know how I was going to survive the night here. Twenty-five years. First thing tomorrow, I’d file an appeal with the Gildron Council. One way or another, I was getting out of here. So, help me God.

  Chapter 5

  Knoxe

  “Look who it is? Da dream team.” Devon’s tone was sharp, dripping with sarcasm.

  My body tightened, and the tension hitched up a level as he and his team of dicks approached us in the hall. I’d just returned with my team from a mission, empty handed because the vampire we were tracking had vanished. Tired from a two-week stint, we just wanted showers, a few hot meals, and a soft bed Last thing I needed was to have to deal with an asshole like Devon. .

  “Dream team, my ass,” his second in command huffed. “Knoxe put Eduardo in the hole.”

  Fuck. Not again. Eduardo had deserved it. Cheated on his mission to track and apprehend a werewolf. So, I reported it. Why not? His team was ahead of us in the tally, and I’d do anything to get time wiped of my teammate’s sentences and mine.

  The short ass smirked, turning on his gangster swagger, swaying his arms. “Dream Team, na’ more. Ya’ got some competition on da Styx contract now, boys.” He said the word boys with lots of z’s for emphasis. Dickhead thought speaking gangster gave him street-cred but it just made him sound like an even bigger wanker.

  “You don’t know, shit.” I marched up to the little worm and towered over him. “This one’s personal. Back the fuck off and leave it to me and my team.”

  Devon scratched the tattoo on his neck, a giant skull with crosses stabbed in its eyes, evidence he belonged to a gang in Sydney. Prick thought he could intimidate me and my team. I wasn’t scared of him.

  My family had grown up in a rough neighborhood, and I’d had my fair share of scraps growing up. And this dude had never met my mother. She didn’t hesitate to slap me behind the ear for breathing wrong. And my dad got on my case about everything. I dreaded him finding out about how low I’d sunk.

  You always were a failure. His words never ceased to remind me of what a loser I was.

  “No can do, hombre.” Devon lifted his chin, always a tough punk, circling me, puffing out his chest, even though he barely reached my shoulder.

  “Dat contract has da juiciest value in dis place. We can’t pass dis opportunity up.”

  He slammed his shoulder into mine as he passed.

  I didn’t let that kind of shit slide, and I wasn’t gonna put up with this asshole harassing my team and me. Time to put this issue to bed once and for all. We had better things to do, like kill the vampire that murdered my best friend. Screw bringing Styx to the gantii courts to see his justice delivered. Dead or alive he’d earn my team and I enough bonus points to pay off our sentences. Then get the fuck out of the Guardians and back to the Shadows.

  I stepped up to Devon, looming over him. “You got a problem?”

  Devon stopped in fr
ont of me, a mess of knotted eyebrows and dark brown eyes burning with spite. “Hey man. Family gotta stick together. You got my brother tossed in the hole for a month.”

  No backing down. If I showed weakness, Devon and every other toad like him would pounce. I didn’t walk away from confrontation. “Your brother didn’t play fair. Rules are rules.”

  “Dis is da Guardians, bruh. No one plays fair.”

  Life wasn’t fair. This place wasn’t fair.

  Devon and his pack of heavily tatted buddies circled my team, waiting for any little sign, any cross-eyed look or too loud a breath as an excuse to start some shit. Tor watched, ready to attack at the slightest provocation from the bald dude glaring at him. Raze started straight ahead unfazed as usual by the Skeleton-face sizing him up. Pascal fiddled with his tuning forks, not comfortable with the close proximity of uninvited bodies. The arsonist—as we called him—clicked his fingers over and over out of habit and got in my face. These pricks would pounce on Pascal, the weakest link, or goad Tor and then shit would start.

  Devon thumped Tor on the chest. “What’s it feel like to be da fuck up of da group? Da reason ya’ and all ya’ little novia’s are in ‘ere?”

  A growl rumbled in Tor’s throat. He sucked in air, filling his broad chest, showing off his size. Superhero complex at work. Ready to crush Devon if the little punk sparked the fuse. “Might want to watch your smartass mouth, dickhead.”

  Fuck. Shit had officially started. The guy was a loose cannon.

  The gargoyle watchers rasped, and the walls hummed as the message passed through the stone. Word of a fight was about to break out. Alarms would toll. Security would be here any second. This incident brought to the warden’s attention and another strike recorded against our name.

  “Or what, hombre?” Devon jerked his head and held out his palms. “Ya’ fuck me up, too, like ya fuck up everything else. Ya belong here, ya…”

 

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