Page 20 of Wrongfully Magicked
If they were smart, they would lock me up now and throw away the key.
When they see I’m awake, they stop talking. Awkward silence ensues for a bit. I glance around the room for Cor—Darby, but I don’t see him. I push myself upright and sit at the edge of the couch with a sigh, fingering the blanket someone tossed over me. Draped over the arm of the couch is a button-down shirt, and I gratefully grab it and slip it over my head.
I stand, not looking up as I focus on the simple task of buttoning the shirt. The scent of sulfur and flowers rises from the fabric, but it’s the size alone that reveals the shirt belongs to Soren. I’m drowning in it, the hem flirting with my knees,but something about the scent is like being wrapped up in his arms. I’m busy rolling up my sleeves when I finally work up the courage to look at them.
Cassius doesn’t show any emotion, his expression neutral, like he didn’t just hold me in his arms while I cried. Soren is bruised and battered, but he’s already healing. Silver swirls in his black eyes, and my stomach knots at his concerned expression. I expected Porter to be furious at me for causing trouble within his team, but he seems almost too calm.
Like the calm before a storm.
With my family, it often meant pain. The more I resisted, the harsher the beatings. Depending on who was dishing out my punishment, it could be fists, a belt, or even magical lashes. Bracing myself, I lift my chin and wait, knowing better than to speak.
For some reason, speaking always made things worse.
It doesn’t matter if I was being a smart-ass or just trying to defend myself. I pissed off my family just by breathing. From the guys’ expressions, my natural talent affects them as well.
Soren’s the first to break. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
Though his tone should be reassuring, I tense, and my muscles go rigid. I won’t be fooled by his innocent act.
From my experience, people who say they won’t hurt you are often the ones who hurt you the most.
It only took me one time to learn that lesson.
I glance at the door from the corner of my eye, debating my chances of escaping. Fire burns through my veins, but it’s more of a low simmer rather than the normal inferno.
I’m so relieved I didn’t burn out my powers that a lump forms in my throat. Unfortunately, I’m not healing fast enough for my powers to be useful now. I’m as weak as a kitten, and I curse that I’m in no condition to put up a fight.
The thought of being helpless while my family stalks me from the shadows has a shudder running down my spine.
I might as well be a jackalope surrounded by a pack of wolves.
Like an old habit, I mentally exercise my magic, forcing it into every corner of my body and filling my bones until the marrow resembles lava. My skin shines, almost like it’s glowing, then I pull back and condense it until it’s nearly hidden.
I do it over and over again, working my magic like a muscle.
I can’t afford to be vulnerable.
I might as well slit my own throat—it would be kinder.
The simple exercise leaves me trembling under the strain, but I don’t stop. I glance around for Darby, anxiety knotting in my chest when I don’t see him…not that I blame him for keeping his distance. As much as I want to wallow in my grief, Charlotte deserves justice. I couldn’t get it for her, but maybe he can. Either way, he deserves the truth. It’s the least I can do for her after what she sacrificed. “Where’s Darby?”
My voice is jagged and raspy, even to my own ears, and I wince in pain, resisting the urge to touch my throat. Attempting to talk makes it feel like I swallowed pixy dust. That shit is as sharp as diamond dust!
The guys hesitate, their expressions shuttered, then Porter shrugs, his burnt orange eyes harsh as he turns toward me. “Sure, what can it hurt? She did the damage, so she should be the one to fix it.”
He doesn’t wait for me, just turns and stalks down the hallway. My heart clenches at his ominous words, and I scurry to catch up with his much longer strides. It’s the first time I get a good look at their place. The rooms have an empty, unlived feel to them. The furniture is basic, the bare minimum to make it livable. The walls are blank, not even a picture to decorate the surface.
No windows.
No curtains.
No rugs on the floor.
The exposed fluorescent lights are naked and bright and very unforgiving. Even the air tastes stale and recycled, giving the place a claustrophobic atmosphere.
The sterile environment isn’t a home, more of a resting place between jobs.
Porter leads me to the last room down the hall. The metal door is a little intimidating, giving off vibes that warn a person to run away before the monsters on the other side can escape. Porter doesn’t even knock, just grabs the knob and pushes it open.
