Page 14 of Wrongfully Magicked
Either option is disturbing.
I tilt my head to the side as I study her reaction. Though she might exude innocence, I’ve made a habit of digging deeper and studying every minutia of people’s expressions—it saved my ass more than once—and her face tells me something very interesting.
“You’re not surprised.”
She rips her gaze off Porter to look at me, and I instinctually still under her attention. I’m not sure if my basilisk is warning ofa dangerous predator or, more concerning, the reptile is actually interested in her.
To my shock, instead of recoiling, she relaxes under my gaze, which only confuses me more. Not my basilisk—the reptile is practically salivating with the need to wrap the delectable morsel up in his coils. I take a step back to keep myself from reaching for her, my normal impenetrable calm ripped to shreds by her whiskey-colored eyes. I hate surprises and feeling off-balance.
It’s never smart to surprise a basilisk—it never leads to anything good.
“My best guess is that the weaselly mage who interrogated me couldn’t keep his mouth shut and blabbed.” She gives a casual shrug, looking down to check her nails as if bored. “MID has a leak. I’m assuming that at the first opportunity, he ran to my family and sold me out, telling them I was being held by MID.”
Porter snorts, a bitter expression crossing his face. “You mean the spoiled princess is being rescued by her parents? Why am I not surprised? People like you never have to pay the consequences for your crimes. You think money solves everything.”
The sneer on his face has cut down the strongest men—no one likes to be targeted by the boogeyman—but she barely bats an eyelash. If anything, her expression hardens, her eyes going dead in a way that has my stomach lurching.
“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it.” The smile she flashes him is unpleasant. “The instant I walk out the door, I’ll cease to exist.”
“Please. You’re just looking for sympathy, trying to worm your way out of trouble.” Porter rolls his eyes, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re exaggerating and will get off with nothing more than a slap on your wrist. You took a fake name to slum it, throwing around your wealth and power to get attention.”
“Working as a bike messenger with maybe two thousand dollars to my name?” Anita tips her head back and just laughs, tears of mirth swimming in her eyes, but I don’t miss the tinge of despair that sparks in her gaze. Her laughter trails off, and she shakes her head like he’s the idiot, her tone turning condescending. “You see, I’m the black sheep of the family, and they’ll do anything to remove the stain on their precious name. Mommy dearest had an affair, which normally isn’t a big deal, but I had the audacity to be born as a level three mage. That can’t be allowed to stand. The last attempt on my life was when I was fifteen.”
She reaches back and unconsciously rubs her shoulder. I see the twisted scars where it looks like she was mauled, not to mention the dozens of other, older scars that linger on her body almost like braille—little nicks here, longer cuts there, creating a roadmap of her life that reveals probably more than she’d like. I watch the edges of the thin strap of her camisole, silently wishing it would slip a little.
Something about the creamy, tan skin tempts me to reach out and run my fingers over it to see if it’s as smooth as it looks. When she speaks again, I blink and struggle to pull my head out of my weird fantasies.
“It was the last straw.” She drops her arm, then stares us dead in the face. “I can’t fight back if I’m dead. So I left. The best way to piss off my family is to survive. I turn twenty-five in a few days. If I survive that long, I will get my inheritance. I’ll legally be an adult, and any attack will officially be considered assault.”
“But only if you survive,” Soren supplies, his voice gravelly as his hellhound pushes for control.
Anita snaps her fingers and points to him with a crooked smile that holds no humor. “Bingo.”
“What’s your surname?” Darby asks, his voice tight with tension.
“You’re not actually falling for her bullshit sob story, are you?” Porter is incredulous, throwing his arms out in exasperation. The corners of the room darken as his shadows slowly creep across every surface, giving the space an oppressive feel of being crushed. Even the air becomes thick, the bitter cold searing my lungs with each breath.
“Are you throwing a temper tantrum?” Anita asks, staring at him like he’s a child, even rolling her eyes. “Are you going to stomp your foot next?”
The temperature plummets, our breaths emerging like fog, but Anita doesn’t back down. She only lifts a single eyebrow, as if he proved her point.
A heartbeat of silence passes as they stare each other down. A vein throbs along Porter’s jaw, then he releases a growl and stomps out of the room, shouldering past me hard enough that he nearly knocks me on my ass. He doesn’t try the same with Soren, knowing that the beast is immovable and it would likely be him on the ground instead.
As soon as he leaves the room, the shadows trail after him, dragging along the floor and giving the impression of a hulking monster that takes pleasure in devouring children. While Porter has some control over his shadows, they have a mind of their own and often give away his emotions.
The girl doesn’t even flinch at the display of power. She cocks her head, more curious than anything, but I notice something interesting…and disturbing.
A tiny shadow detaches from the mass and zips toward the girl, disappearing under her foot, hiding in her own natural shadows.
Even more interesting, her toes curl as if she senses the touch. Most people recoil at the cold sensation, if they even notice it, but she shifts her feet as if she’s protective of it.
“Are you sure you want to know?” She lifts a challenging brow at Darby, her earlier animosity mostly gone—not the distrust though. “You know better than most that information can be dangerous. If you get caught looking into them, they’ll make you disappear too. They’ll plug you into their server farms until you forget that you were ever human. They’ve done it before.”
From her shattered expression, I don’t doubt she’s telling the truth.
She lost someone close to her that way.
My basilisk moves under my skin, the sensation like scales slithering over rock, and I’m not sure if he’s jealous she’s looking at Darby or upset that she’s sad. My basilisk usually only has two moods—hunger and anger—so I’m not sure how to decipher the deluge of extra emotions from him or what they mean.
