Page 25 of Her Magic Light

But Locke wasn’t explaining himself to the stranger, either. “I know.”

The guy—Jude—laughed suddenly. “Oh, I get it. Procedure.”

Locke chuckled too. “Well, whaddya know. You finally do got it. It’s always about procedure.”

Jude stood up, and he turned toward the attendant at the front desk. “Welp, it’s been nice chatting to you as always, Mona, but I have other people to inflict myself on tonight. Lots of time to kill before dawn.” He grinned, but nothing about the expression made him seem friendly.

I drew away from him, and he chuckled. Had he meant lots of time to kill, as in killing time? Or had he meant lots of time to kill… a lot of people? My brain went twisty. Based on the guy, it could be either.

Shit. I’d thought the only people I’d need to look out for were the guards. This guy didn’t seem like a guard, and he wasn’t a suit. He was atransferjust like me.

After Jude left, I looked around the room again. There was a delicate looking woman sitting diagonally behind me. She was harder to observe, but her skin seemed to almost glow, too, only not like Jude’s. His had been cold and hard looking. The woman had an ethereal feel about her, like moonlight or even sunlight itself lived within her.

Metal bands encircled both of her wrists, reminding me of my cuffs.

“Can we take these off?” I leaned toward Locke and spoke as I lifted my hands toward him.

He sighed and rooted in his pocket before producing a key. “Don’t make me regret this.” But his warning was pointless. I had no plans to do anything rash. Especially not when I could barely see and Jude was roaming around the facility somewhere “inflicting himself” on people. Not to mention Paulson outside.

The woman at the desk glanced up. “Lexi, they’re ready for you.”

“Thank you, Mona.” The ethereal female behind me stood and approached a door I hadn’t noticed previously—probably because my ability to see wasn’t dependable.

I watched her walk away from me and blinked hard, leaving my eyes closed for a couple of seconds before I looked again. From this angle, the woman almost had wings. They were delicate and gossamer, like spiders had created them, but they seemed real. Not there in physical form, but there, nonetheless. I rubbed my fingers over the lenses of the glasses.

“Whoa. What are you doing? You’ll make them smeary.” Locke clutched my forearm, stopping my movement.

“I think they already are,” I muttered. “They’re making me see things.” I switched tactics and began to lift the glasses from my face, but Locke gently pressed them back down.

“Don’t worry about it.” He spoke softly. “It’s very late. You’re tired. Our eyes play tricks on us when we’re tired.

At his mention of my being tired, I yawned.

Locke smothered his own yawn. “Don’t do that,” he grumbled. “My shift isn’t over yet.”

I glanced at him. He’d been one of the first suits I’d seen this morning. “How long is your workday?”

He shrugged. “Until you’re processed, I guess.”

“Makes me sound like mechanically reclaimed ham, Locke.” I almost couldn’t believe I was comfortable enough to joke with this guy, but it had been a very strange day. And maybe I was a little loopy from all the stress of it.

Someone coughed at the back of the room, and I turned. I hadn’t even known someone was sitting there. I wrinkled my nose as I faced the guy. His hair was freshly washed, but all I got from him was the odor of wet dog. His lumberjack beard probably didn’t help, though. Those things always smelled musty in my experience—and I considered myself very experienced in facial hair when most Minnesota men pretty much cultivated beards to keep their faces warm back home. Though, the level of musty wet dog seemed excessive, and I frowned at him.

He snarled at me when he saw me turned in his direction, and something that sounded suspiciously like a growl ripped through his chest and thudded through mine.

I faced the front again. Something was wrong with most of these people. I didn’t belong here at all. What the hell was the pattern, and why couldn’t Locke see they had the wrong person?

“Easy, Gus.” Locke’s tone held laughter as he spoke. “Down, boy.”

The growl rumbled from the man again, and I tensed.

Locke nudged me. “Calm down, Meira. If I can smell your fear, Gus definitely can. He’s just a big softy, really, but sitting in a room with Jude has probably put him in a bad mood.”

“Smell my fear?” I scowled. “You smell me?”

The corner of Locke’s mouth twitched. “Something like that.”

“And Gus can, too?”

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