by Ivy Asher
I lift my hand and put it to the side of my mouth like I’m about to tell the judge a secret. “Downside, though? He wasn’t a great kisser. I kept thinking if I kiss him the way I wanted to be kissed, he’d catch on, hence the long make out session, but he didn’t get the hint. He kept doing this fish out of water thing with his tongue, and that just doesn’t work for kissing. Well, not unless he’s kissing someone’s cli—”
“Enough!” Judge O’Vine shouts, cutting me off. He shoots me a disapproving look and then shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it of something.
I try not to roll my eyes. What a prude. He’s probably a flaily tongue kisser too.
I look down at myself while the judge takes a second to collect his thoughts. I like my purple jail scrubs. I picked the color just for today. It compliments my shamrock green eyes and the pink undertones in my otherwise peachy-bisque pallor. My citrus hair is luscious, layered, and on-point, while my long lashes and nails are black, because in my opinion, that’s always the best color combo for lashes and nails. It adds just the right amount of drama and badass to really get you through anything. Color is very important. Get the wrong combo, and it can totally ruin your day.
A throat clears somewhere in the room, and I pull my thoughts away from my outfit and colors.
“What do you have to say for yourself in regards to your crimes?” Judge O’Vine asks me, like some disappointed father who expected more from me.
If he only knew who my mother was and what she and my father were all about, he’d know I’m too far gone to be affected by that attempt.
The lawyer looks at me from the corner of his eye as I open my mouth to answer. “In my defense, Your Honor, the ice cream truck was left unsupervised, and it was hot. I was just helping out by driving it to the park. I would’ve been happy to pay for the ice cream I gave away, but no one gave me a chance,” I explain. “Next thing I knew, the police were tearing into the parking lot, and it’s only natural to want to get away from that. If anything, it’s their fault that I evaded. They spurred my fight or flight response.”
“Is that so?” the judge drawls.
“Yes. And I object to the Reckless Driving charge. The ice cream truck couldn’t even go over forty. The cops are the ones who ran me into the side of the bridge. So if anyone should be charged with damaging things, it should be them.”
My lawyer sighs and rubs his fingers over his brow as his hairline begins to get a bit dewy with sweat.
“It’s true,” I insist. “After that, jumping off the side of the bridge was the only way to get out of the wrecked truck. I didn’t know there was a sign posted saying not to jump off the bridge. And if I hadn’t stripped out of my wet clothes, I probably would have caught pneumonia.”
Honestly, all of this should be self-explanatory.
“Sidenote, telling a woman that her naked body is indecent is rude,” I add, holding up a finger at the prosecutor. “And I kissed the cop, I didn’t assault him. He’s the one who slipped me the tongue. If he hadn’t distracted me with that move, I would’ve remembered the glitter bomb and warned him,” I explain, sure to insert a shit ton of irritation in my tone and exasperation in my features. From everything I researched, a sure fire way to piss off a judge is to defend bad behavior and blame other people for your actions.
Of course, I had bigger plans put in motion for how to get imprisoned, but when my matriarch announced that my mating had been moved up by several months, desperate times called for desperate measures. The ice cream truck really was just sitting there like a fucking gift from the ether. It was just asking to be put to good use, and I’m an opportunist.
The bullish judge stares at me like he’s waiting for me to say more. Hmm, how to end this...
“Oh yeah, and you’re a shit-for-balls, ass hat wearing prude, who probably can’t kiss for shit!” I say.
My lawyer winces.
“Fuck all the fucks, and cover them in cunt gravy. Cash me outside, cuz I ain’t even sorry. Go blow your horn, you overgrown useless minotaur. How do you like them apples?” I spout off evenly, like I’m reading from the dictionary instead of trying to piss off the judge and extend my sentence as much as I can by being as foul and offensive as possible.
Judge O’Vine just shakes his head instead of becoming the level of irate I was hoping for.
Well, that’s disappointing.
“Sinclair Denali, it’s clear to me that you have some serious emotional and mental issues that need attention. I hereby sentence you to one year in Nightmare Penitentiary, followed by two years of probation where you will get the mental health support you are in desperate need of.”
I stare at the minotaur motherfucker, completely shocked. One year? How the fuck am I only getting one year? Did he not hear the list of shit I did? I literally set off a glitter bomb in a human police officer’s face before tackling his mouth with my tongue. And that was after I stole a damn ice cream truck and threw all the merchandise out of the window at unsuspecting children while blaring “Chain Hang Low” by Jibbs over the speakers.
I need more time than that, dammit! I fucking earned it fair and square!
Fear flashes through me, and I feel my lungs caving in, like they want me to hyperventilate. I can’t be imprisoned for only a year; I need at least a solid five. I need long enough to get away, to be forgotten, and to become useless to the fucked up plans everyone has for me.
One year only manages to put a tiny little kink in other people’s bullshit, and the probation afterward will make it hard as fuck to run. They tag shifters on parole, and the chip is a major pain in the ass to get removed. I’m not even sure if I have the contacts to get something like that done before my matriarch and Alpha Bowen would swoop in and forever ruin my life.
Reality kicks me in the gut like a minotaur’s hoof, and I panic.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I demand, as I hoist myself up on top of the table and spread my arms wide.
I almost lose my balance because my poor, beautiful tail is prohibited from moving, but I tighten every muscle I have and straighten up. All the guards in the room grow tense.
“One year? That’s the best you can do? How the fuck did you get this job? I’m a motherfucking menace!” I bellow as I jump down from the table and hobble-run for the judge.
Judge O’Vine just leans back in his overstuffed high back chair and looks at me like I’m proving his point about needing mental help as I run at him. Stupid male doesn’t realize I don’t need that kind of help. What I need is to be locked away where no one can get to me. This asshole is ruining everything! I shift my hair to be blood-red and glare at him as I close the distance between us.
“Toro toro, you little bitch!” I scream at him, taunting him with the call that a bullfighter uses.
Judge O’Vine’s eyes fill with indignant fire, and satisfaction floods me.
Yes, get mad, get even, extend my sentence...please!
I lift my hands to mock his curved horns, but I’m side-tackled by a guard before I can take another step. The impact knocks the wind out of me, which also makes it impossible to scream more offensive shit at the judge. I had a good Your mother was bred in a barn, and your father was ridden by cowboys ready at the tip of my tongue, but I’m forced to choke it down and gasp for air instead as I’m carried out of the room.
No! This can’t be how it goes down!
I scramble to get out of the guard’s hold, but it’s solid, and the magical cuffs around my wrists, ankles, and tail make it impossible to shift into my cockatrice. The door closes behind me, and my chance at pissing off Judge O’Vine so he’ll throw the book at me slips out of my fingers. I pull in deep breaths and fume at my luck.
Okay. Time to change tactics.
I immediately begin to look for ways to solve the problem. So they won’t lock me up and throw away the key...yet. I’ll just have to figure out a way in prison to change their minds. That shouldn’t be too hard.
I hope.
2
It takes about an hour for me to get booked into Nightmare Penitentiary’s system. Someone keeps hacking into the jail’s systems and deleting my file, so they have to put everything in manually so that I can be transferred. Alpha Bowen and his annoying attempts to thwart what’s about to happen will soon be in my past.
The booking officers versus my arresting officers aren’t so different, except the arresting officers at least offered me coffee. These jerkoffs just ignore me when I tell them I could do with a caffeine kick.
Rude.
I sit at a desk with an overweight ghoul who has a very distinct lisp, waiting while he enters everything into the computer. He grumbles with every offense he has to add to my rap sheet. I guess all cops hate doing paperwork.
When he’s finished filing all my charges, he leads me to a room where I change into my new Nightmare Penitentiary uniform which consists of a very drab gray ensemble. The guard points me to the lined wall that clearly displays height measurements. I get a little spring in my step.
“Oh, another mugshot!” I start running my fingers through my colorful hair. “How do I look?” I ask, my lips a little duckish as I pose for him.
He levels me with a look. “Like a convict,” he says dryly.
“But like a cool, hip convict? A pretty convict? Or like an understated, she’s probably a really good person beneath that pile of convictions convict?”
“Are you for fucking real?”
I would admit that yes, I am, but instead, I decide to close my mouth because I don’t think Officer Ghoul is in a very friendly mood.
“Heels against the line. Stand up straight. Hold this,” he says, pushing the placard at me.
I grab it and turn it around so I can read it. “Look at that, it has my name on it and everything.”
I get in position and straighten my new uniform shirt, but I frown down at the gray color. With a thought, I use my shifter ability to change its color. It’s a rare gift for my kind, and it does have its limits. Certain things have to have contact with me longer in order to change. Like shoes or really bad kissers.
For some reason, I can only shift my hair and tail feathers into shades of orange, yellow, or red. I suspect those tones are my natural color spectrum, so it restricts what I can do, but I love those colors, so I don’t feel restricted. Oddly enough, I can’t change my eye color at all. They’re a bright emerald green, and they always have been.
When I look down once again, the uniform is now a lovely lemon yellow. “There. That’s better.”
“No.”
My brows pull together. “But—”
“No.”
“It’s just that the gray—”
“No,” he says for a third time.
I sigh, making the fabric ripple with my skin until the color leeches out and my shirt is gray again. “There. Satisfied? You just made my shirt go from happy to depressed.”
“Yep.”
He picks up a camera from a shelf behind him, and I quickly take position. I want a nice mugshot, after all. I decide to go for a demure half-smile because I know that once my matriarch sees this, it’ll really piss her off. I’m basically smirking at her with a big fuck you in my eyes.
He takes the first shot, and then has me stand in profile, and I hear the click of the camera again. “Done.”
“Can I see it?” I ask.
“No.”
I sigh. “Can I at least keep my placard?”
“No.”
“You should really broaden your vocabulary,” I mutter.
“My shift is ending, and all I want to do is sit on my couch and drink a beer. So get your ass in the portal so you can be somebody else’s problem.”
“That’s the spirit. Way to go above and beyond the line of duty.”
Ignoring me, he leads me through the back and stops at an unassuming white door. “Go.”
My heartbeat kicks up in anticipation. This is it. After all my planning, I’m finally going to the terrifying supernatural prison. This is so exciting.
I turn the doorknob and push open the door, coming face-to-face with the swirling smoke of the portal. I head forward without hesitation, confidently going straight down the middle. There’s no way anyone can try to bust me out now.
With a smug step, I move out of the grasp of Alpha Bowen and my matriarch, and right into the clutches of Nightmare Penitentiary.
I step out of the portal door, and as soon as it swings shut, it disappears. I turn full-circle to look around. Immediately, I feel the damp cool air, which is so different from the stagnancy of the jail office. “Man, I am not in Kansas anymore,” I mumble as I take in my surroundings.
If this wasn’t a convenient solution to my serious life problems, I might take this opportunity to run. I don’t have an escort, and surprisingly, the portal didn’t deposit me inside the prison like I expected. But as I run my eyes over the damp flat landscape and the thick tree line in the distance, I gather that there’s probably nothing surrounding this place for miles.
Good.
That should put a stop to the shenanigans that were taking place at the jail. It’s a good holding cell for supernatural criminals, but it’s not meant for anything long-term, and it’s definitely not up to the task of keeping crazy ass alphas from trying to break out prisoners. But this place is.
I turn forward and take in the ominous spread before me. There’s a large gothic gate about ten feet away with the initials NP wrapped in barbed wire.
Nightmare Penitentiary.
I made it.
The gate itself is iron and tall, and past it, there are massive buildings that look like a cross between a decrepit castle and a creepy mausoleum.
Thorny vines are overgrown and trailing up the stone walls, and there are some menacing gargoyles carved as sentries on the top spires. There’s enough magic coming from the gate that it’s giving me goosebumps. There’s some serious power ingrained in that to keep the prisoners inside and everyone else out, which is exactly what I need.
Nightmare Penitentiary is an ominous fortress meant to keep supernatural people with all sorts of abilities and power on lockdown. It’s the most intimidating and protected place in our paranormal world. Everything about it screams scary. There are even bats flying around as a dense fog creeps in all around me just to add to the terrible ambiance.
It’s awesome.
I smile as the gate creaks open and a really terrifying dude walks out. He’s wearing a long brown leather trench coat that has a distinct steampunk vibe to it and bulging pockets, probably filled with all sorts of weapons. He has a wicked glare and a cigarette hanging from his mouth that’s making an odd amount of smoke trail behind him as he walks.
He stops in front of me, and I’m forced to crane my neck up to look at him. I’ve never wanted to wear platform shoes so badly until right at this moment. “Man, you could give a girl a real crick in the neck.”
He ignores that completely. “I’m the Warden here. You’ll be in Section One for the minor offenses. You even think about escaping, you will find yourself brought to the deeper levels, and trust me, you won’t survive down there for a single day.”
I pat him on the shoulder. “You don’t have to worry your scary little head about me, Warden. I’m a big fan of your work here. I’ll be the model prisoner, just as soon as I get my measly sentence increased.”
He narrows his eyes and looks me over like he’s not sure what to make of that. He takes a deep pull of his smoke stick. “Follow me.”
“Aye, aye, Captain Warden, sir.”
He turns and starts stalking through the gate, which creaks just as loudly as it shuts behind us. I know the magic is sealing me in, and I breathe a little sigh of relief. Our footsteps crunch on the cracked stone walkways as the Warden brings me toward one of the large buildings. I tap the doorway for good luck as we head inside.
Section One really completes the whole dreary vibe. Crumbling plaster, thick iron bars, and the sound of distant snarls. Th
e Warden leads me down the corridor with questionable lighting, where I pass several inmates. I start waving at everyone as I pass them by.
“Hey!” I call to a gnome dude who’s doing some crunches on his cell floor. He ignores me, and I turn and wave to a chick in the next cell across the way who has an iron blindfold clasped over her eyes and snakes for hair. “Oh, a gorgon!” I say excitedly as I step up to her cell. “I’ve always loved gorgons. Your snake hair is kickass.”
She cocks her head, nose flaring as she faces me, unable to see because of her confined eyesight. “Fuck off.”
“Well, that’s not very friendly,” I say with a frown. “We’re gonna be neighbors, and we should form an alliance or something. You know, support girl power and all that.”
Her blue snakes start hissing at me, and I hold my hands up. “Alright, geez. I’ll go find someone else.”
“Inmate 11764, get your ass up here,” the Warden calls from ahead.
I hurry to catch up to him. When I spot a goblin picking at his gold-capped teeth as he sits on his bed, I stop again. “Hey there, can you please tell me what the coolest prison gangs are in this place?”
The goblin looks at me with disdain and then spits a piece of dislodged food at my feet. Ew.
“11764!” the Warden shouts in warning. He really has a problem with patience.
“Alright, you think about it and get back to me,” I tell the goblin as I catch up with my line leader again.
He unlocks an empty cell and shoves the door open. Crossing his arms, he glares at me. “Get in and shut up.”
“Cheers,” I say brightly.
When I don’t walk in fast enough, the Warden grabs me by the collar of my shirt and shoves me in. I feel a sting at my tail as I go stumbling in, and I spin to see the warden shoving something orange in one of his pockets.
“Did you just pluck one of my feathers?” I demand incredulously, looking down so I can inspect the damage. He totally did.
