Page 42 of Her Magic Light

The corner of my mouth tugged down at the memory of whatever they’d served for breakfast, but my stomach didn’t care, and it grumbled again.

Locke chuckled softly. “I’ll get them to send something.”

“Why are you here?” I sounded sharper than I needed to be, but I hadn’t even moved from the corner toward him.

I didn’t trust anyone here.

An unwanted picture of Coop flashed in my mind, but I pushed it away.

“I told you. I’m making a delivery.”

Yet Coop had said I wasn’t allowed to have anything—noluxuries—until they’d done tests on me. Afterall, I might paint someone to death, so what was Locke bringing? And had Coop lied?

But no.

My gut protested that thought. He was frosty, but he didn’t seem like a liar. And on the face of it, Locke seemed the more approachable of the two, but also the more likely of the two of them to throw me under the bus.

Weird how I’d arrived at that conclusion.

The cell was quiet except for Locke’s breathing—he always sounded like he was slightly out of breath.

“Well,” he said. “Do you want to see?”

I laughed without mirth, the sound harsh in the quiet of my cell. “I’dloveto see, Locke. Are you putting the lights on?” My tone was dry and sarcasm rang heavy in it.

He drew in a breath, and I waited. “I brought some stuff,” was all he said, and I nodded to myself. Of course he had.

“Yeah, you said.” Still, I made no move to get any closer to him.

There was a degree of safety here in the dark, where he probably couldn’t see a lot more than I could—and I was definitely more used to the layout of the cell after my frenzied explorations earlier.

“Come a bit nearer.” He spoke in a low voice. “I don’t want this to be seen through the window.”

That piqued my interest. “What did you bring?”

There was a scraping noise, and he must have pushed whatever was in his delivery over the smooth floor.

“Come and see. It’s behind the partition now, and this is the only place you can use it.”

I crawled cautiously forward. Locke really wasn’t any good at cloak and dagger stuff. I nearly grinned—Coop would probably excel.

When I reached Locke’s side, he switched on the smallest flashlight I’d ever seen, and it was behaving like its battery was about to fail. The glow was no brighter than a candle flame.

“What?” I whispered.

“You need to be able to see,” he replied. Then he directed the soft glow over the packages he’d put on the floor.

There was a book of paper, and I reached out and ran my palm over it. He’d also brought a couple of packages of pastel chalks.

“What?” I said again.

He shrugged, and I heard rather than saw him do it. “I’m only the delivery man,” he said, and something in his tone told me he’d probably argued against even that role.

I shook my head again and watched as the small round patch of light flickered over the small stash of art supplies. Hope welled in my chest, and my fingers itched to rip open the boxes of pastels. I had so much I wanted to draw, to capture on the page.

“But how?” I didn’t mean to ask. I didn’t want him to pack it all away and take it with him again. It seemed too close to a miracle. It was exactly what I needed, and the small light might just save me.

He tutted softly. “How indeed.”

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