Page 8 of Outcast Fae
She put her hands up and wiggled her fingers. “No one is going to touch you as long as you do what you’re told.” She smiled again, brightly, as if it were Festival, and she was about to get a bunch of presents. I cursed her under my breath, then took a step forward.
There was a loud beep, and the door clicked open.
Inside, a greenish light illuminated an empty room. I swallowed and took a step inside.
As soon as I was in, the door shut behind me. Fresh panic rose up when I realized I was truly locked in. I whirled, pawing for a doorknob, but there wasn’t one on this side either.
I blinked at the light, my eyes adjusting. Turning slowly, I glanced around the room. It was rectangular. About ten-by-twelve feet. The back wall was empty, and there was a second metal door on the wall on the right, a twin of the one through which I’d entered. On the wall to my left, there was a window, the length of the room, and someone standing behind it.
She wore a dark robe that glimmered green in the light. Her face was placid, with an easy smile stamped on her lips. Gray hair fell in waves over her shoulders, and dark eyes peered from a wrinkled face.
“Hello, Tally.” A well-worn voice permeated the room, likely from some sort of overhead speaker.
The woman hadn’t opened her mouth. How was she speaking to me? Somehow, I could tell she was the one who had spoken, though I wasn’t sure why. Something about the bright expression in her eyes and the tilt of her mouth gave it away. So not an electronic speaker. A spell had spoken to me. She was a witch then—the kind of human Supernatural who was regarded with the most deference and respect within their ranks. I wondered which category she belonged to. The one who hated Lessers or the one who thought we were treated unfairly.
“I will conduct a search to make sure you don’t have any drugs, weapons, potions, or anything that isn’t allowed in the camp.” She spoke again without moving her lips.
“I don’t have any of those things,” I said. “They took me from my bed at night. I couldn’t even grab my knife.”
She pursed her lips at the mention of the word knife. “It’s still part of our procedure to perform a search. It’s for everyone’s safety and well-being. All your other mates have come through, and now it’s your turn. It might be a little bit uncomfortable, but it won’t hurt.”
I braced myself, glancing around and crouching slightly. I didn’t believe her. Adults always said things wouldn’t hurt before you were inflicted with terrible pain.
The woman closed her eyes. Her lips moved this time, but no words came out. After a long moment, she began swaying from side to side, her hands moving around her head in strange patterns.
Smoke rose from the floor.
Cacani!Poison?
I held my breath as the fog rose and rose, reaching my knees, my waist, my chest, then filling the space up to the ceiling. I pressed a hand to my mouth and nose, fighting not to inhale whatever they were pouring into the room.
Gods, would it kill me? Was that why the others hadn’t come out?
I fell to my knees, lungs burning with the need for oxygen. Was this how I would die? My wings fluttered at my back, but taking to the air wouldn’t save me now.
When I couldn’t stand the pain anymore, I gasped, inhaling a huge mouthful of fog. I expected a foul stench, but there was no scent at all. All I felt was its coolness sliding down my throat like iced water, filling my chest, invading every corner of my body.
Panicked, I ran to the door and raised my fist to pound on it, but instead, I froze and became weightless. My feet lifted off the floor, and I floated to the middle of the room, head thrown back, arms and legs spread apart.
The fog snaked its way across my body, inside and outside. Its tendrils slithered under my clothes probing, leaving no corner untouched. They went between my fingers and toes, down my spine, and across my wings. Over and under my breasts, touching, searching for things I didn’t have.
I wanted to scream out my impotence and frustration, but I couldn’t even do that.
Like a cold finger, the fog slid along my gums, searching even there. Did humans really hide things in their mouths? This was humiliating. It wasn't enough they had destroyed my home, they also wanted to destroy my dignity, strip me down to the bone until there was nothing left.
When the search was done, the tendrils got to work on the clasps of my shirt and pants and started removing my garments. I tried to fight against the force that held me up in the air, but it was useless. I was little more than a marionette at the mercy of its puppet master.
When I was left bare, in nothing but my bottom undergarment, the fog, at last receded, disappearing down into the floor. I came down slowly, my bare toes landing on the cold floor. I hugged my arms over my naked chest, shivering not from cold but from rage. My clothes were nowhere to be found. I stared at the woman through the glass. Her eyes were still closed, and she had turned sideways as if to avert her gaze from my nakedness.
"I found nothing of interest," the woman said. "No weapons, drugs, piercings, tattoos, or potions. She is clean." She was talking in a monotonous tone as if she were creating a recording. Humans liked to do that, it seemed. They took photographs, videos, voice imprints. It seemed their memories were as flimsy as their lifespans.
Without turning, the witch made a gesture with her hand and the other door clicked open.
"You may leave," she said, still without looking in my direction.
I moved hesitantly toward the open door. When I got there, I stopped. "I can't go out like this. Give me my clothes back."
"There are new clothes waiting for you outside," the witch said, then disappeared with a pop.
