Page 40 of Son of a Witch

After training, she’d stayed back to talk to Knoxe, and on my way out, I detected the cross, chaotic frequencies that spelled an argument. Watchtower research following training had been dead silent as we scanned for news on the missing prisoners. Hostile chords flicked Knoxe’s way and he kept glancing at her with longing, regretful tones. At dinner, he’d kept his distance, choosing to sit with Loco, of all people. Something was up, she just wasn’t telling me.

I glanced at the unopened pudding I’d purchased with my stipend. Astra couldn’t get enough of this stuff and bought containers of it. Wanting to cheer her up like she’d done for me the other day, I shifted the container across to her. Plastic scraped along the table, the sound grating on my nerves, and I flinched.

“Have my desert, songbird.”

“No, thanks. I’m not really hungry.”

“You sure?” I cracked open the container, spooned out some of the contents, ready to tempt her. “You were born with ten sweet tooths and never turn down an extra helping of dessert.”

She shook her head and I lapped up the spoon’s contents. I leaned in to kiss her. No ordinary kiss, a chocolate-flavored kiss. Sweet, soft, showing her how special she was to me. She kissed me back, a low heat, holding some in reserve.

I gritted my teeth as I took her hands in mine, ignoring the slight burn, remnants of my touch tolerance. Every day with her got easier to handle.

Terrified she’d change her mind about leaving the Guardians to go back to her old life, I got off my chair and snagged her in a hug, pulling her closer to my side, closing my eyes at the spark of heat and comfort of holding her. “You’re mine, always. Ours, always. We’re never going to let you go.”

She sniffed at that, digging her nails into my arm and neck, and I groaned at the soft sting and pleasure. “Yours, always.”

Footsteps approached and two persons stopped beside our table.

Sentry Ben. “Pascal, Warden wants to see you.”

Worst timing. Couldn’t they see I was spending time with my girlfriend? “Give me a few moments.”

“The warden waits for no one,” Ben replied. “This guy’s tough, and he’ll punish those that don’t follow orders.”

Dammit. Fine. Knoxe had been demoted for disobedience and I was not taking the chance of being thrown back into maximum security.

I kissed Astra’s cheek and got up from my table. “Let’s go, then.”

An arduous walk navigating broken stone walls and supports took us to the warden’s office, where the two sentries waited outside, and I entered.

Flames crackled in the fireplace on the western wall, some feet from the warden’s gigantic, cheery-oak desk with gold inlay detail. Books crammed the shelves on the opposite wall, full of tomes of Guild law, history, gantii culture, and more. Power sizzled in the walls, restored by the Sorcerers, probably to ensure the warden’s protection from prisoners.

The smell of something sweet and malty brought my attention to the tray of food the warden nibbled at. Nuts, dried fruit, and sticks of carrots with dip. Healthy. The warden looked after himself. Not like Vartros, who fell victim to noodles, bags of chips, soda cans, and other junk food as stress relief.

Vancor downed his swallow with a sip of his expensive scotch.Chivas Regal. I didn’t recognize the brand since I never touched the stuff. My dad liked port at night with my mum after dinner.

“Sit down, Mr. Fielding.” The warden gestured for me to take a seat in the Edwardian armchair with leather material and pin studs. Not like I had a say in it.

Uncomfortable, I sat on the edge of my seat. “What did you want to see me about, Warden?”

Vancor collected a folder from his in-tray and set it in front of him, flicking through it. “It’s come to my attention from your file that you’ve been taking prohibited substances supplied by the late laboratory manager, Burt.”

Dark notes rang in my head, sharp, peeling like bells of warning. No. He was going to stop me taking my medicine. But I needed it.

The chair creaked as I shifted. “It’s an herbal mixture to control my headaches. Tylenol wasn’t helping, so I sought a remedy from a book in the library.” Deceit slipped from my lips so effortlessly I surprised myself since I wasn’t normally a good liar.

“Regardless.” The warden spindled his fingers. “I want you to have blood tests and other scans to determine what’s causing the problem. I can’t have you out in the field. Mistakes cost us.” His eyes narrowed, piercing me to the core. “Am I to assume you had something to do with Tor Helm’s accident?”

My heart slammed against my sternum, screaming its guilt and pleading for forgiveness. Even my voice readied itself to admit my culpability. I swallowed it down, fighting the menacing chords rising within.

“It was an accident,” I said slowly, cautiously. “Styx took us by surprise, grabbed Tor and threw him.” The truth. I just left out my part in that account. So had Knoxe in his mission report to the warden. I’d not let Vancor pull me from missions when Astra and Knoxe needed me.

Vancor’s shrewd eyes narrowed. I couldn’t fool him. No one could. The man was a human lie detector. He saw through our charade and made assumptions of his own. Uncertain of my future, I kept silent, though.

The warden didn’t care and threw back his whiskey. “The tests have to be done. I am responsible for the welfare of every prisoner in this facility, and I cannot let an inmate go out on missions without ensuring he is healthy and fit. I will not lose another prisoner, do you hear?”

Loud and clear. Like the brassy, cold notes scratching my spine. Needles? No way. “I don’t like needles, sir. Or anyone touching me.”

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