I wander into her kitchen, vaguely listening to Johnson as he recaps the conversation with the police dispatcher. I’m more focused on the fact that Jennifer hasn’t eaten in who knows how long. I rifle through her cupboards and manage enough useable ingredients for a subpar omelet, which fries up nicely with some melted butter in her pan.
The kettle heats while I right what I can in her kitchen. Johnson and I have already taken pictures of the turbulent state of the house for the police; Jennifer doesn’t need to see the remnants of her altercation with Kyle. She should have the option of feeling safe in her home.
Jennifer comes out of the bathroom on wobbly legs, bracing herself on the wall because she was tied up sitting down for too many days. Johnson’s still yammering on about something or other as I plate the omelet and rush to Jennifer’s side, offering my arm for her to hold onto, should she need steadying.
“Cheers, Sloan. What smells so good?”
“Lunch. Thought you might be hungry.”
She balks up at me, as if no man’s ever done a kind thing for her in her life. That can’t be true. She looks to be a good four or five years older than me, with plenty of life experience. “I am. Thank you.”
I help her to the table and pull out her chair for her, sliding it underneath her as she sits with wide eyes. The kettle insists the water is hot enough, so I turn off the stove and pour her a steaming cup of tea. She doesn’t have anything of quality in her cupboards, but perhaps the cheap store brand is what she prefers, so I keep my snobbery to myself.
Johnson touches his taser. “I’m going to check the rest of the house again. Set right what I can. You got her for a few minutes, Sloan?”
“Take your time.” Though truly, I should be going. Arly aside, I don’t want to be around when the police show up. In general, we tend to give each other a wide berth.
I fold a napkin and set it under her knife, making sure she has all she needs, including the salt and pepper. Though, to be honest, the omelet needs nothing. Arly and I have taken loads of cooking classes. I make a superior omelet.
“Am I dead?” Jennifer asks as I set her mug beside her plate. Mug, not tea cup. I mean, honestly. This woman took care of Arly. She deserves something more delicate than an “I do what I want” mug bearing a picture of a cat showing off two middle fingers. Though, I can see that this suits her.
Still, she should have a proper teacup.
I sit at the chair to her left. “Why would you think you’re dead? You’re going to be just fine.”
She motions to the omelet. “I mean, there’s a man in a suit in my kitchen who set my table and made me the fanciest omelet ever, along with tea. This is dead, right?”
I can’t help my smile as she stares at me, studying my details. “You are not dead. You’re dehydrated, though, so that cup of water isn’t there for decoration.”
She drinks, her hand trembling so badly that she nearly drops her cup.
I take a chance and mold her fingers more firmly around the vessel, standing so my free hand can rest in the center of her back.
I don’t know her. I shouldn’t be touching her.
“You’re going to be okay,” I promise. “There’s nothing that can’t be fixed. The police are on their way.”
And I should be going.
Why am I not moving?
When her lower lip quivers, I know I can’t possibly leave her side. Instead of moving toward the door, I find myself tugging my chair closer to hers. That’s all it takes for her to lean into me.
When my arms coil around her frame, her cheek gives itself permission to rest on my shoulder.
Her tears are silent, and well-earned.
As is the kiss I place on her forehead.
I need to get out of here.
Still, I stay.
29
Standing Against the Silence
Paxton
Six days is nothing to complain about when I’ve spent two decades without Arlanna. But the fact that we get no mention of her well-being has driven me to the point of near obsession.
There have been too many changes in this place in the past week, and the entire atmosphere has broken. There were once lively conversations happening during brick work, but now, the only talking happens quietly, and in small pockets across the yard.
“We would hear about it if Arlanna died, right?” I ask Cassia, who’s been at Prigham’s the longest.
She moves a brick into the wheelbarrow. “Is that not talking about it? We said we weren’t going to carry on about her, knowing there’s nothing we can do from in here. We’ll know when we know, and not a minute sooner.”
Charlotte touches my wrist. “She hasn’t moved from the place they took her to when she was rushed away. I assume they brought her to the hospital. She’s still there.”
“How spot on is your locator that can always find them?”
“Us,” she corrects me. “I did the ritual on you two nights ago. I can find you, too, if I need to. And it’s accurate. I can’t see the place Arly’s at, but I know she hasn’t been moved. Deep breaths, Paxton.”
Normally I’d be indignant if someone told me to take a deep breath, but I’ve lost the will to argue with Charlotte. The woman’s always right, and I don’t have it in me to get cross with her just because I’m mired in frustration.
I met the warden when I was first booked, but I haven’t seen him since. He’s more the pencil-pusher than actually being hands-on with the inmates. So when he stalks out with too much intention in his eyes in the waning sunlight, my stomach tightens.
The bullhorn he clutches draws up to his mouth. “On your knees, inmates!”
His tone is overly aggressive and the command is clear. We all obey, but the second my knees hit the dirt, my entire being feels all wrong. Kneeling is not something I’m accustomed to.
The warden’s voice echoes over the yard. “A new bill has gone into effect. The king himself drew up a new law called Sins of the Mother.”
Rage heats my blood, so I shut my eyes. If I set someone on fire with my angry glare, that would be a bad thing.
The sting of high-pitched feedback makes me wince. “Starting tomorrow, those of you sentenced for violent crimes will be tattooed on your wrist using a special ink that will take away your magic permanently.” When outraged murmurs break out, the warden clutches his megaphone tighter. “The king has made it clear that magic is a privilege, not a right. Everyone in here for murder will undergo the branding tomorrow. Any complaints will not be heard. This is a law, not a negotiation.”
Charlotte is quaking as we all rise when the warden disappears back into the prison, though her expression does not convey fear. It’s hard to read the many emotions that flicker across her face and tighten her fists. There’s doom mingled with determination. Fight does a mercurial dance with flight, tightening my stomach.
When Cassia moves to hold her hand, Charlotte takes a step back, shaking her head. There are so many things I would like to say to her, but it’s clear this is not the time.
Though everyone else is discussing the new development, and I can make out the sound of several people howling their frustration, the four of us keep to our work as much as we’re able. We’ve had time to digest this, not that a handful of days makes any of this more palatable.
Arlanna needs to be here. She would know what to say to Charlotte.
Gray is handling Arlanna’s prolonged absence far worse than any of us, though to any random onlooker, you’d never guess that’s what was going on. Rafe is inconsolable without Arlanna by his side. Gray tosses and turns throughout the night, whining for her like a pup as he bunches his toes in the sheets.
I’ve taken to sleeping on the floor between the two bunks, so he knows he’s not alone in this. Moving my mattress to the floor isn’t that much more uncomfortable than sleeping on the bunk, and if it means Gray has a brother who stays with him when he’s miserable, then that’s where I’ll be.
Plus, focusing on Gray’s
misery distracts me from my own.
The flip of that is comforting Charlotte when she awakes in the middle of the night in a puddle of her own tears. We’ve known the Sins of the Mother bill was coming, but the dread has been slowly tearing at her resolve. She’s slipped down onto my mattress on the floor to sleep in the protection of my arms many of the nights when peace was too far away to grasp.
During the day, Charlotte is glued to Cassia’s side.
Though I’ve done all I can to comfort my remaining cellmates, the bags under Gray’s eyes leave nothing to be desired. His stomach has been bothering him for days now, though perhaps that’s because Rafe is too restless for Gray to eat much.
Gray is the one who keeps our brick count high, moving twice the amount any fae could. But since Arlanna’s been gone, he moves slowly, his work ethic unfocused so much that the officer on duty often barks at him to get back to it.
“Shifter! You’re just standing there, man! Move your lazy arse and quit making me watch you to see that you’re still on the job.”
None of the guards have ever been that aggressive in their speech toward me. I move closer to him, hoping the guard will lay off once he sees that I’m near Gray, that I can hear him being caustic.
Most of the guards have been replaced, though there’s no explanation for it. Officer Johnson has “moved on.” Officer McGregor was replaced. Pretty much everyone down the line, except for Nurse Jen and the warden, I’m told, were let go. They have been replaced by a surly bunch who don’t seem to understand that we haven’t actually done anything to be sentenced here. For the most part, we’re a compliant bunch, needing direction on our chores, sure, but not to be yelled at as if we’re belligerent lowlifes.
I’ve yet to get close enough to this new guard to learn his name, but I doubt that small tidbit would humanize him in the least. He’s got a shaved head, a portly belly, and a snarl about him that doesn’t seem to know how to soften.
“She’s safe,” Charlotte says quietly to us, though she’s looking at Gray. “Arly’s still at the hospital.”
Gray covers his face with his hands and lets out muffled cries for either relief or help, I’m not sure. The connection those two have is intimidating, but when Gray reaches out to bump his fist to mine, I know I won’t be edged out of whatever bond the two of them might never be able to shake.
I cannot imagine what it will be like for him when he’s released from Prigham’s and she’s still serving time.
I can’t think like that. There needs to be faith that this horrible institution will be overthrown before the Sins of the Mother bill is enforced.
In one day.
We have no news from the outside, only that the days keep ticking by, which means that all too soon, Charlotte will be branded.
Horrifying public shame aside, Charlotte’s magic will be muted forever. Since she’s the one steering our plans for escape or overthrow, her magic getting taken away would cripple our entire path.
Charlotte and Cassia are especially clingy to each other lately. Neither of us question them on the constant nature of their close proximity. Quite the contrary. Gray and I make sure no one comes near them.
The guard’s growl hits the entire yard with far too much aggression. “I said move it!” Then he grips the scruff of Gray’s collar and jerks him backwards. On a day where he wasn’t plagued by loneliness, he might have been able to hold his footing. But when Gray topples backward and falls in the mud, the entire yard stills.
No one outside of our group particularly likes Gray, but everyone respects that he doesn’t cause trouble, and is generally helpful, especially on the yard, since he’s far larger and stronger than anyone here.
Shifters are known to be dangerous, so everyone is waiting for whatever is about to be unleashed.
Cassia, Charlotte and I all run to Gray, despite nearing the officer who’s yelling at Gray to stop fooling around.
Charlotte’s arms go around his shoulders, her lips on his cheek. She’s whispering sweetness to him that makes his eyes close as he leans into her kiss.
Cassia and I are not as tender. Injustice like that doesn’t lend itself to my meek side, but conjures up the ruler in me. “There’s no need to manhandle Gray like that. He’s moving as fast as he can, which is on par with what everyone else is doing.”
“He can move twice the bricks, and he’s slacking off. Not on my watch.” He shoves his boot to the back of Gray’s shoulder. “Get up, dog!”
Cassia smiles, and I know she’s stepping full-force into a psychotic place that will never end well. “I wonder what would happen if you were my pet. Would you bark for me, or squeal?”
He looks her up and down in a way that tightens my stomach. “Get back to work, or you’ll see just how vicious my bite can be, girly.” Then he looks around the yard. “All of you!”
When no one moves, he pulls out his baton and knocks Gray twice on the back of the head. It’s not a full swing, but the message is clear: it will be if he’s defied any further.
Gray trembles, and I know he’s struggling to hold Rafe back.
Cassia’s voice carries, as if she’s talking to the yard, though her words are directed at the officer, whose last name I can now see is Meade. “What’s Gray done, other than his job? He doesn’t hop fast enough for you, so you throw him in the mud? Am I next? Gray isn’t just a shifter, he’s one of us. He’s paying for a crime he didn’t commit, so if he’s moving slower than usual, you can go ahead and take that up with the criminal who sent him here! Let his father haul these bricks!”
A few cheers echo her sentiment, but for the most part, people are silent.
Then she does something no one expects. She turns her back on the officer and throws her arms out, shouting so there’s no mistaking a syllable that’s been burning in her soul. “My name is Cassia Chang, and my mother is the Diamond Street Burglar!” She pauses only for the murmurs. “I’ve never stolen a thing in my life, but I’m in here with all of you, hauling bricks because one way or another, I’m going to pay for my family’s sins. If not in here, then out in the free world where people are happy to judge me because my blood sometimes runs in wrong ways.”
There are murmurs of approval, but no call to action, and no one standing by her side.
Except for me, I guess.
Except for me.
Officer Meade winds up to strike, his baton in hand. “Enough! Get back to work, all of you!”
Cassia doesn’t see the intent coming from behind her. She only sees the people considering her protest.
“Cass!” Charlotte screams, her heartbreak echoing through my entire being.
Before I can think anything through, I run at the officer, raising my arm to take the blow for Cassia. “No!” I shout at Meade, raising my arm.
A few guards are running toward us, but they’re too far away to do much just yet. The baton cracks down on my forearm, and Cassia screams as she turns around to see what I’ve done. It could have been the back of her head he’d bludgeoned. He could have given her a concussion. All because she… spoke?
Well, I can do more than that. If I’m going to take a blow, then I’d like to truly earn it. This officer, snarling through his shock over just having attacked the crowned prince, has no idea how numb I am to beatings. He didn’t even break any of my fingers.
Agony rings through my arm, but I don’t care. I’m standing up to the man, and I couldn’t be more steady on my feet.
Suddenly, the wanton and listless Gray is on his feet and growling beside me. My three friends band around me, daring the officer to justify his violence. If he thinks I’m going to cower, he’s dead wrong.
I could so easily burn him alive. Standing here before me in his defiance of what’s proper, I’m tempted to turn my stare into a fiery glare. I could consume all the evil in this man and watch it burn.
Gray could shift into his wolf-monster.
Cassia could turn invisible and run.
But Officer Meade isn’t
the real problem. He’s a symptom of something far more foul.
Complacency. Acceptance.
And finally, I know it’s my time to step up and lead. Father’s always told me I was too soft to lead, too sensitive to be respected.
Maybe the throne isn’t mine yet, but I cannot pretend that I don’t know what must be done.
“Do you hear that?” I shout, and not a person moves their shovel. I’m staring at the officer, but I’m speaking to everyone around us. “It’s the sound of nothingness that rings in my ear. The sound of no one standing up and pointing out the injustice because we don’t have the batons. We don’t have the tasers. We don’t have our freedom.” My voice stretches through the yard. “There has been too much silence, but it stops today!”
Cassia and Gray are on either side of me, while Charlotte takes Cassia’s other side. We’re not violent. We’re not doing anything but standing.
But that’s too defiant for the officers who run to back up Meade. I don’t expect them to shove Gray, Charlotte and Cassia to the dirt, batons wedged against their kidneys.
I’m so horrified that these three might pay the price for my protest that my volume climbs.
I’m in too deep now. There’s no turning back.
“Today, it’s these three, but they’re coming for you next. We could be out in society, making the world a better place. Instead, we’re stuck in here while the real criminals are wandering free, destroying everything good about the world! No more!”
“On your knees, Your Majesty!” Meade shouts. I can tell he wants to hit me again, but he’s too scared.
Good. He should be.
This is about more than Cassia, Charlotte and Gray being manhandled. I’m betting high and going for broke.
I have a right to my voice, and I’m damn sure going to use it. I will not wallow in my prison of silence any longer.
“I let you all down when I was your prince. I fought against the Sins of the Father and the Sins of the Mother, but I failed. Now I’m on the inside, and I will not fail us this time! Who wants out?”
Sins of the Mother: A Paranormal Prison Romance (Sinfully Sacrificed Book 2) Page 18
