Page 39 of Pulling Strings

He nodded then walked away, apparently eager to leave me in his dust.

With the ankle chain gone, I could move more freely as I entered the cell. I had the space to myself for the first time since my arrival and took advantage by walking the length of it. But, with that length being only about ten steps, I was forced to make turns so frequently it felt more like I was wandering in circles.

“Tellhim he’s welcome back.”

Did it mean what I’d assumed?

I stopped and shook the necklace out from where it had been clenched in my palm.

Grimm was replacing me, and with another convict, no less. Had this new guy already served his time, or was the gang going to spring him and leave me behind?

My stomach lurched again, and I staggered over to the wall-mounted toilet. Bile and half-digested chunks of food forced their way up my throat and into the piss-splattered bowl. Acid soured my mouth and watered my eyes, leaving me weak by the time the purge was complete.

I coughed and spat into the toilet, then wiped my arm across my mouth. The bitter taste lingered. I felt no better; too consumed with memories of the radio DJ’s gloating and the look I last saw on my brother’s face.

It might have been a good thing I couldn’t think magic because I would have trashed the tiny cell. My room at the motel had fallen victim to more than one telekinetic temper fit, leaving me with substantial repair bills. Prison, I imagined, would come up with steeper consequences than fines for damages.

Turning, I sat on the cement floor. I needed a stiff drink. And a smoke. I could quit whenever I wanted to, but I didn’t want to quit now.

A mountainous form crowded the cell doorway. Clyde lumbered in with his notebook tucked under his arm.

He made his way to the desk chair and sat without a word or glance at me.

Quiet ensued for only a moment before I cleared my throat. “How was your afternoon?” I asked.

“Uploaded pictures,” he said. “Fifty new followers since last week.”

Code for: fifty people searched the dark web forpuppeteer porn and found a dumping ground of crude sketches of me spooning or being spooned by every member of the Bloody Hex. Avery, I could understand. He managed to make his way into my bed whenever it suited him and whether I liked it or not. But the ones with Vinton and Grimm were the stuff of nightmares.

“Well, hell.” I coughed again, stirring the burn in the back of my throat. “That’s really something.”

Clyde shifted, trying to balance his mass on the small square of his seat. He was a gentle giant, I’d decided, though the potential for Hulk-like rage remained. I didn’t know what he was in for, but I was pretty sure it was poor prison etiquette to ask.

I reached up and flushed the toilet but stayed on the floor. Kicking one leg over the other, I let my head rock back against the wall. Part of me wanted to tell Clyde about the conversation with Donovan, more to air my thoughts than to get his opinion. My certainty of rescue was draining away as fast as the water in the bowl beside me.

“Marionette is trending,” Clyde said.

I nibbled on a hangnail. “I’m trending? Oh, because of the arrest.”

The big man turned to his desk, selecting a pen from a mesh metal cup and putting it to paper.

“Hey, you want me to sign some of those?” I gestured toward Clyde’s wall gallery. “If I die, they might be worth money.”

A morbid thought, but one I couldn’t ignore.

Clyde responded with a succinct, “No.”

I laid flat on the rough floor. A long breath escaped me, and I rubbed my face, ending with my arm thrown across my eyes. I didn’t want to see here. Didn’t want to be here.

At least there was one upside to a looming death sentence: it would get me out of this place.

14

Peace Talks

The rest of the night came and went without event. Anytime I strayed from my cell, everyone stared, but no one approached. Maybe it was because I was the unofficial sidepiece of an actual giant, or maybe because that giant was wrong, and I didn’t have friends here after all.

I sat in the cafeteria at breakfast the next morning, pushing my food around until Clyde asked if he could finish what I hadn’t. I should have been starving, having lost yesterday’s lunch down the drain then passed on dinner, but I couldn’t muster enthusiasm for stale Danish pastries and milk.

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