A knock at the interrogation room door startled Gretta. Victor stood, never taking his eyes from Gretta, as he stepped out and shut the door behind himself.
At most, she had moments before he returned. Now was her chance to mount an attack. She reached for her magic. The oily feeling was still there, making the magic slip through her mental grasp. She fought it, but it wasn’t containing her mind so much as coating it. It didn’t resist, but she still couldn’t grasp the magic, no matter how hard she tried. She feared she might give herself an aneurysm from the effort. Her mind raced as she imagined being permanently incapable of magic.
The handle on the door wiggled, and she knew Victor was about to step back in.
There were many types of magic, and while she generally pulled magic from the Wild Mother’s domain, there were other domains, like that of the Beacon’s domain. The Beacon was the goddess of order, whereas the Trickster was the god of chaos. Maybe chaos magic would work where other forms of magic would not? Her connection to the other domains was tenuous at best. She could work minor spells from the chaos domain, but even untying shoelaces was typically exhausting.
The door cracked open, and she knew her time was up. She closed her eyes and reached for chaos magic. At first, it slipped past, but then the slightest hint of magic returned to her mind, and she felt hope.
“Stop pulling magic, or you die now,” Victor said.
Gretta opened her eyes. Victor stood in the doorway with his gun trained on her face. Agent Mackinaw stood slightly behind Victor with his weapon out but not trained on her. She released the thread of magic. She couldn’t do anything powerful enough and quick enough with chaos magic to risk being shot in the head.
“Return her to her cell,” Victor ordered. “I’ll walk with you.”
Mackinaw stepped into the room, towering over Victor. His face was an unreadable mask, but she thought she saw hate in his eyes. Victor shouldn’t sleep with his doors unlocked.
“On your feet,” Mackinaw said in his deep voice. “Don’t make this difficult. We’re still cleaning up Delmark’s body, and the cleaning crew will be even unhappier if we make another mess.”
Gretta stood and let Mackinaw guide her from the room and down the short hall toward her cell. With every step closer, she was carrying herself toward an inevitable autopsy. Victor had felt her pull chaos magic. He wasn’t going to let her out of that room again. She wanted to fight back, but she sensed Victor watching her every move. He’d shoot her the moment she pulled on magic, and she didn’t know a chaos spell powerful enough to save her from a clip of bullets.
Men in overalls were mopping the floor where Delmark’s body had been. She noticed that Mackinaw had been gentle, and while his hand completely encircled her bicep, he wasn’t squeezing. She’d been on the jiujitsu mat with too many asshats, and when they grabbed a limb with their oversized hands, they could squeeze hard enough to turn her arms into swollen, bruised sausages. Mackinaw was being gentle.
“The floor is slick. Watch your step,” Mackinaw said.
Gretta bit back a retort. There was no sense in alienating the only person showing her a hint of compassion. He wasn’t an ally, but he wasn’t doing this willingly, either.
When they crossed the threshold, Gretta felt the void where her magic should be, and the blue runes flared to life. Did they block all magic? She reached for chaos.
Gretta slipped on the wet floor, and Mackinaw caught her.
“Into the cell,” Mackinaw said.
Gretta stepped into the cell, and Mackinaw closed the door.
He pulled out a small key. “Hold out your hands.”
She complied, and in a moment, he had the cuffs off.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“I’m going to my office,” Victor said from the hall. “I’ll be unavailable for a few hours.”
“Big plans, Vic?” Gretta asked.
Victor eyed her. “You live while the goddess wills it.” He spun and walked away.
Gretta wobbled her head and held out a hand in a mocking imitation of Victor. “You’ll get the stick pulled out of your ass when the goddess wills it.”
Mackinaw looked nervously from Gretta to the hallway, but if Victor had heard, he didn’t respond. “Be careful,” he whispered. “If he sees that on the recording, he might make you wish you were dead.”
Gretta rolled her eyes. “And now the big, bad Mac is going to threaten me?”
Mackinaw cleared his throat. “My name is Agent Mackinaw, and that wasn’t a threat. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
Gretta laughed and probably sounded like somebody who had lost her mind. “Like killing one of his coworkers in cold blood?”
“Shh!” Mackinaw held out both hands in a keep-it-down gesture. “And yes. He doesn’t see you as human. You’re less than an insect to him.”
Gretta raised one eyebrow. “I recall that you called me Subject 16?”
Mackinaw winced. “Ms. Sullivan.” He took in a breath. “Gretta. Please understand that this is an impossible situation. There’s only been one survivor of this containment unit, and she was nothing like you.”
Gretta leaned forward and whispered, “Who was it?”
“Lucia Martinez.” Mackinaw glanced back at the camera and started to back away.
“When?”
“A few days ago,” he said. “Before then, I wouldn’t have thought it was possible. Your kind can’t do magic here—the containment room is state of the art.”
Mackinaw plucked a soda off the counter near the door. He passed it to her.
“It’s not much, but it’s a few calories and some hydration. I doubt Victor will be pissed enough to kill me, but I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell him I gave it to you. He might be trying to wear you down with hunger and thirst.”
Gretta looked at the camera. “And you’re not worried about him seeing me?”
Mackinaw shrugged. “In for a penny. I’ll be up there and watching in a few minutes. If he heard anything up to this point, I’m already dead, but if he hasn’t, I’ll have a chance to clean it up.”
Gretta held the cold soda can for a few seconds while she watched him walk away. The door shut, leaving her in the dark. Mackinaw was risking his life over 150 calories and 12 fluid ounces of carbonated water. Was he stupid? Was he that kind? Or, this was part of some elaborate good cop act. Hell, maybe it would drug her and make her pass out. Or maybe he just wanted to watch her pee in the bucket again. Eff that.
She tossed the soda can directly at the camera. She nailed it, the camera’s lens shattered, and the blinking red light went black. Soda sprayed as the can spun wildly on the floor for a few moments before rolling into a corner where it hissed and bubbled.
“You’re not going to see me coming.”
Certainly, Mackinaw would know something was wrong when he reached the surveillance room and saw that the camera was out, but by then, it’d be too late.
With a mad grin, she reached out for the chaos magic again. This time, she found it with ease. Whatever oily magic Victor had used on her was gone. Only the runes blocking her nature magic remained. But those runes didn’t react to the chaos magic at all.
“Draleq,” she whispered and touched the cage’s lock.
Magic rushed through her mind and out of her hand. She had never felt this much strength empower one of her chaos spells. It was nearly on par with one of her nature spells.
Arcs of blue lightning danced along the metal. The lock clicked, and the door swung open.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the god of chaos. “And thank you for Rowan.”
A faint male voice whispered in her mind, making a strangled 'glrrrrk' sound.
She shrugged. Maybe the god of chaos forgot how to talk.
The door to the containment center was still locked, but this would be with a digital lock. She could try the same spell again, but she had a plan. She went over to the counter that had held various autopsy tools earlier and found it empty. She flipped through the drawers until she found a set of clean scalpels on a tray. She grabbed one and then proceeded to slash through rune after rune on the wall.
Within moments, she had rendered the magic containment useless. When the third rune was damaged beyond repair, she felt her nature magic rush back. She pulled at it, and the shift came instantly—she was a tiger.
What had been a nearly dark room to her human eyes was now a panorama of color. She made a low rumble of pleasure. The chemical cleaner tickled her nose. She listened intently and heard no coming footsteps. Mackinaw hadn’t alerted anybody yet.
With the runes down, even if they caught her again, they couldn’t hold her. They’d have to kill her, and that’s how she preferred it.
She backed up and studied the door. It was meant to keep humans in. Gathering herself to pounce, she mused that a prehistoric-sized Amur tiger exceeded its design specs by roughly 700 pounds of pissed-off cat.