Page 60 of Wrongfully Magicked
I have my cousin Stuart to thank for knowing the dangers and limitations of what my body can withstand. My loving parents gave my cousin permission to do whatever he wanted to me, just short of killing me.
Now I know why.
I’m the sacrificial lamb.
Kill me, and they’ll lose all the lovely power they’ve accumulated over the years. Demons are not known for their forgiveness and generosity if their contracts are broken.
While my family might be sadists, they have taught me important lessons over the years—how to fight back, when to besilent and observe, how to endure pain, never to trust anyone else, and most importantly, how to survive.
I suspect getting out of this situation will take all my skills.
It’s time to pull a Houdini before my captors return or before the guys leave without me.
I’ve read up on the borderlands. I don’t have the skills to survive in this place without help. While beastlings and mages aren’t at war, tension between the groups is high at the best of times.
A lone mage in beastling territory?
I might as well roll in catnip and ring the dinner bell.
Scanning my body, I notice the many cuts and bruises, then I push my mind deeper until I sink into my flames. While they are not at full power yet, they eagerly answer my call. My little nap, while unintentional, was enough for my abilities to come back online.
As long as I don’t push myself too hard, my magic is functional.
I roll my shoulders, then twist my head from side to side until my neck cracks. Next, I blow out a heavy breath, making sure I don’t have any air in my lungs. You can’t scream if you don’t have any air—another nifty trick I learned from my family.
I reach through the bars, careful not to touch the metal. The static is stronger, feeling like bugs crawling all over me. Without giving myself time to second-guess my decision, I slam my hand over the lock.
Fire erupts through my nerve endings, and not the good kind. Pushing the pain aside, I grit my teeth and call for my own flames. Metal heats, then sputters as my hand gradually gets hotter and hotter. My skin looks translucent, my inner flames making them glow red like when you put a flashlight underneath your fingers.
When the metal softens, becoming malleable, I sink my fingers into it and rip out the locking mechanism. Holding liquid metal hurts a little, like placing your hand over a candle for a minute too long.
Pulling back, I swiftly drop the lock, then shake my hand. Heated metal flies in every direction. Allowing the metal to cool, then peeling it off later hurts like a bitch. With that in mind, I run my hand against the stone walls, removing as much as I can. It doesn’t cling to me, and I allow my flames to dim as I scrape the last of it off.
I’m shaking and slightly breathless by the time I’m done.
Yeah, I’m still not fully recovered yet, but playing with the flames settles the unease in the pit of my stomach that my abilities might have been damaged after so much abuse. With shaky legs, I reach for the door but stop when I get a good look at the occupant in the cell across from me for the first time.
My first impression is one of pure, deadly beauty.
He’s a massive snow leopard in human form.
Intense blue eyes pin me in place, unblinking and unmoving, giving me time to observe him. Though he’s massive, I can tell he’s been here a while. His fur is dirty and matted, his frame a little gaunt for his size. I wait for my instincts to warn me that a predator is near, but my stupid human self sees a fluffy kitty it wants to cuddle.
I shake my head at my own foolishness, then I walk toward the cell door, lift a foot, and kick it open. What remains of the metal crunches, then snaps, and the door pops open with a screech and a muted bang. I walk out of my cell when a muted rumble comes from the snow leopard.
He waits until I look at him before speaking. “You have no reason to trust me, but the chances of you escaping the tunnels without assistance are slim. Help me escape, and I’ll take you with me when we get free. You have my word.”
It’s stupid, but I actually believe him.
I’m not sure if it’s the timbre of his voice, the quiet desperation in his eyes, or the slight bow to his head, but the thought of leaving him behind to suffer his fate alone is repugnant.
Heaving a heavy sigh, I wave my hand in a silent order for him to stand back. Just before my hand can touch the lock, I pause and narrow my eyes. “Don’t make me regret my kindness.”
Without waiting for him to respond, I release my breath and slam my hand down on the lock. I have to do it fast, because if I think about the pain, I’ll hesitate, and it will only draw it out longer.
My power immediately flares, my flames licking around my hand and up my wrist. As the heat increases, the air ripples around me. Electricity burrows under my skin, the pain biting deeper this time because my nerves are already raw from previous exposure.
It doesn’t take long for the metal to heat, and I don’t hesitate to sink my hand into the lock and yank it out. As I step aside and work to get the metal off my skin, the cat-man kicks the door open, the force nearly ripping the damn thing off its hinges.
