Page 52 of Pulling Strings

“And not a minute sooner,” the guard before me said. “You get the extended stay for this kind of behavior.” He paused long enough to glance at Jax crying bloody tears from his ruined eye. The guard shuddered. “Fucking animals.”

I stared, too, riding an endorphin high that left me snickering. It was almost enough to quell my fears about impending isolation. Almost.

“I keep telling you guys, he started it.” I nodded toward Jax.

A kick to the back of my knee buckled it forward. “Get moving, inmate,” the guard barked.

Humans didn’t fare well in isolation. Witches, either. It made people crazy. Drove some to suicide. I wasn’t sure how someone could off themselves in the bare box I imagined solitary confinement to be. Maybethey smuggled in utensils from the cafeteria.

The thought made me smirk, and I called over to Jax. “Hey, asshole! Can I get my spork back?”

18

Negotiations

I must have looked worse than I felt—maybe it was all the blood—because my one-way ticket to solitary confinement included a pit stop in the infirmary. The gurneys were occupied by Jax, Jette, and York, which left me handcuffed to a chair in the corner of the room, waiting for the doctor to arrive.

Besides a busted knuckle from punching Jette, I’d come out of the cafeteria fight unharmed. I owed a large part of that to Clyde, and I made a mental note to tell him so the next time I saw him. With less than a week left in Thorngate, and the guards crowing about my “extended stay” in Seg, I was beginning to worry I had already seen my cellmate for the last time.

Six days in isolation didn’t sound like too long, while also sounding like forever. The seventy-two hours I’d spent in prison so far had passed at a snail’s pace. Without the ability to leave my cage to stretch my legs, or see the gloomy sky above the yard, the boredom alone might kill me.

I pushed up my sleeve to pick at the nicotine patch practically glued to my skin. Its effectiveness was wearing off. Bad timing. Unless the crabby healer waswilling to pack me a to-go supply of the things, I was about to be quitting cold turkey.

From the gurneys, the peanut gallery chattered.

“He blinded me,” Jax moaned. “That fucker blinded me.”

“We’ll get him, boss.” Jette aimed a menacing glare in my direction. “He won’t get away with that shit.”

My wink and blown kiss prompted a cry of outrage as she jerked against the shackles securing her to the bed.

York mumbled something unintelligible while lying back, holding his face. His jaw hung unhinged below the cover of his hand.

At last, Ripley Vaughn bustled in with a brown paper fast food bag and a surprised expression.

“Looks like you lot had a tussle,” he said to the trio on the gurneys. When he spotted me, his eyes narrowed. “And you’re back.”

He set his food on top of a low cabinet. The smell of a griddled hamburger wafted to my nose, and my stomach twinged in response. The few bites of mac and cheese had barely curbed my appetite, and I was nearly willing to spork out my own eye if it would get me a bite of whatever was in that bag.

“I didn’t know traitors got takeout,” I told the doctor. “Was that part of your deal? Tell the Capitol everything they want to know about the Hex, and you don’t have to eat the shit they serve in the cafeteria?”

He wore the black paper mask again, but I didn’t need to see his expression to hear his scorn as he replied, “Wait your turn to speak, or I’ll feed you to this one.” He moved alongside the gurney where Jax writhed. “He eats people, you know.”

Which explained the bad breath and pointy teeth.

The lamps hummed overhead as I looked aroundthe cramped room. An antiquated autoclave rested on a rolling cart, a small effort at sanitization in the otherwise grimy space. Locks on the cabinets hoped to keep junkies out, which meant there were better things to be had in this place than nicotine patches. Making nice with the ex-Hex member may have had fringe benefits I hadn’t considered.

Ripley turned toward his patient for inspection. All I could see of Jax’s face was a thick mask of blood. His wounded eye sunk in the middle of it like a lava pit: red and bubbling. The spork handle barely protruded. Too bad it hadn’t punctured his pea-sized brain.

“Bloody hell,” Ripley groaned. “What’s happened to you?”

“That piece of shit blinded me, Rip.” Jax aimed a trembling hand toward where I sat.

Ripley followed the indication to me. “The same piece of shit you jumped in the showers yesterday?”

Jax nodded, and the doctor joined in agreement.

“Then you’ve learned a valuable lesson. Always finish what you start.”

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