Witch Condemned

by Valia Lind

  Slowly, I turn and find the same girl I smashed the tray against standing only five feet behind me. Her posse has grown since I've been in isolation, but even I can tell the girls don't have much power behind them. The guys are watching us now as well, hoping for a cat fight, no doubt. With a quick study I realize that I don't have any allies here. Not that I bothered to make some while I could. Involuntarily, my eyes want to find my broody shifter shadow, but I keep them trained on the girl in front of me.

  "The time apart has not taught you manners, I see," I comment, because this is my only weapon. I can't back down, not now.

  "What did you just say to me?"

  "Are you hard of hearing too? Wow, you really have nothing going for you, do you?" I cross my arms in front of me, while every single cell in my body is screaming at me to shut up. That's my secret though. I've always acted braver than I feel. Sometimes it helps and sometimes it causes more problems. Actually, most of the time it causes more problems. But in this case, it doesn't matter. I'm in the loss column either way. At least like this, I may stand a chance.

  It would be nice if I could use my magic. A few waves of my hand and I could scorch her skin to a nice crisp red. Just enough to make her uncomfortable for weeks to come.

  But if I reveal to the wardens that I still have my magic...well, I don't see a way that would end well for me. They might have to do some special spells to keep me locked away, and the only way I'm surviving this is because I can feel it coursing through my veins. Even thought it's diluted, the fact that I can see the prison tattoo gives me hope. Hope is all I have left right now.

  "You're really asking for it."

  "I would ask you to please shut up and leave me alone, but I doubt you understand such simple instructions."

  That does it. She screams as she launches herself at me, her body a bullet filled with rage. She's a little shorter than me, but stocky and when she slams into me, I surprise her by wrapping my arms and legs around her. We go down, the impact jarring my body, but I don't let go. When I fought Eric earlier in the day, I tried using the same technique. Pinning him down with my body. It works a little better with her, since she's not as tall or big as the shifter. But she does have a lot of rage in her and when she wiggles enough I have no choice but to let her go.

  Her screams mingle with the cheers coming from all round us. She kicks out at me, once, twice, but I manage to dodge every attack. It would've been better if I didn't exhaust myself earlier in the day, that much is clear to me the moment I go to attack. My body is tired and I think it's been tired for weeks. The uppercut slams into her jaw and she stumbles back enough for me to round kick, sending her flying against one of the columns I was leaning on earlier.

  She stays down and the cheering all around me quiets for just a moment, before it becomes a roar. Her posse descends on me without any warning and I'm dragged down to the ground. My body is slammed and punched, before kicks are delivered directly to my stomach and back. Twisting and turning, I kick and punch in return, landing a few solid blows. But that just enrages them more. Then just as suddenly as it begins, I'm dropped to the floor and everyone scatters.

  I try to raise my head, but the pain is too much to bear. Maybe I shouldn't have started a fight, maybe I should've been smarter with my words.

  "Try to remember that for the next time," a voice sounds above me and then I'm being lifted. Strong arms cradle me against a solid chest and the smell of my protector fills me from the outside in. I snuggle closer, almost clawing at his uniforms in an effort to burrow myself into him.

  "Shh, you're safe now," he whispers so low I don't think I'm meant to hear it. But I do and I trust those words more than I should be able to. Because since the moment Kelsey was killed everyone in my life has betrayed me. Yet, here I am, trusting my wellbeing into the arms of my jailer.

  The last thought I have is that I have never felt safer and I never want to let that feeling go.

  Chapter 5

  The first thing I realize when I come to is that I'm laying on the hard slab that is my bed. But also, that there is something soft under my head. The next thing is the excruciating pain that seems to be everywhere at once. I gasp, and then someone moves towards me, getting down to their knees near the bed.

  "Shh, you're okay," the voice, and the gentle fingertips on my forehead, sooth me instantly. Memories of what happened rush back then, as I turn my head toward my protector.

  "How long have I been out?" I ask, finally opening my eyes and meeting Eric's. What I find there is genuine concern and I wonder if I look even worse than I feel.

  "A full day."

  My eyelids fall closed again and I let that sink in. Since the prison is void of magic, they're very cautious about bringing in healers. But they would have done so if the situation required it. That means I'm bruised but not broken. My body feels heavy, as if I've been weighed down by a hundred weights and constantly sinking to the ground. When I go to sit up, Eric's hands fall on my shoulders.

  "You shouldn't. You need rest."

  "A day is the longest I've ever stayed in bed. That's not enough?" I try for a chuckle, but it just comes out as a dry cough.

  "No, it's definitely not enough."

  He moves away then, reaching for something and I stubbornly make my way to a sitting position. The wall to the left of me is the only way I manage, and I lean my back against it to stay upright. When Eric turns I swear there's a moment where he's about to roll his eyes, but he doesn't.

  "You don't have to be so tough all the time," he comments, handing me a cup full of something that smells suspiciously like tea. My fingers wrap around the warm cup and the heat of it tingles my skin. It's been so long since I've had anything but stale water, the steam makes my eyes water.

  "But I do," is all I say, before I greedily sip from the cup. The taste reminds me of green tea, but with a hint of something sweet in it.

  "It's honey," he answers my unspoken question and I smile into the mug as I take another sip. This kindness—the first real kindness I've experienced in months—is making me very weepy. So I concentrate on the drink and try not to fidget under Eric's watchful eye.

  I want to ask him why he's being so nice. As my warden, he technically doesn't have to. His job is to make sure I don't get in trouble or die. Nothing in the description talks about taking care of me when I'm beaten down. But I also don't want to ask, because I don't want to shatter whatever illusion his kindness is bringing me. For just a little bit, I'm desperate to feel comforted and taken care of.

  "You need to eat something too," Eric speaks up after a few minutes, before turning and walking out of the cell. My eyes trace his retreating back and I suddenly remember how he held me right before I passed out. There was so much strength in those arms, but also gentleness. He's that perfect balance, and my heart squeezes in awareness at the thought. But the moment it does, I start to berate myself.

  What is wrong with me? I'm seriously crushing on my jailer? Not that he actually jailed me in here, but it's the same difference. I am not about to become one of those stalk syndrome people. And yet, I can't really find it in me to hate him. He's been nice to me from the very beginning. Even when he's stern. He's definitely a puzzle I haven't come close to figuring out.

  "Here," he returns to the cell, carrying a plate with food on it. I can actually see the steam coming off it, just like I did with the tea, and the excitement I feel at eating something that's actually hot is almost overwhelming. He places the plate in my hands as he takes the mug and I glance down to find actual mashed potatoes and grilled chicken. My mouth waters instantly, and a grin splits my lips. Looking up at Eric, I can't even pretend to hide my excitement. He stares at me for a few seconds, unblinking, and suddenly I feel self conscious.

  Instead of speaking up, I grab the fork he holds out to me and begin eating. Eric stands still for another few seconds, before he moves back over to the doorway, putting as much distance between us as he can, while still staying in the cell.
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  The food feels heavenly on my tongue and I pace myself to savor it, instead of dumping the whole thing straight into my mouth. It's amazing how quickly you forget the simple comforts, and how appreciative you are of them when they return. If I get out of here I vow to never take little things for granted again.

  My body is still hurting, but my heart is warm. Glancing over at Eric, I find him still watching me, but this time I don't feel as self conscious. I watch him right back and right then and there, it's like something passes between us. He's my ticket out here. Of that much I'm sure. I just don't know if I can trust him to help or I will have to use him to get my way.

  The next two days go by in the same fashion. I don't think Eric is supposed to be bringing me this food, but he does it anyway. My body heals slowly, and I honestly think it would take even longer if all of my magic was suppressed. The mob sure did a number on me with their kicks.

  Since that first day, Eric hasn't really said much of anything to me. I've been in complete lockdown, not even allowed to leave my cell to go shower. My skin feels filthy and I'm tempted to dump one of the water cups he brings me over my head.

  "Get up," Eric's voice comes from the other side of the door and I manage to get to my feet before it swings open. Something seems to be off about him today, his shoulders more squared, his jaw more clenched. But I don't comment. He motions for me to go ahead and I step past him into the hall.

  "Where to?"

  "Showers."

  Thank goodness. I pivot immediately, ready to get the muck of the last few days off me. Eric has done a good job washing off most of the blood, but the film of dirtiness is still over me. My body is extra tense and sore, making it difficult to appear as confident as I usually do. At least I don't have to put on a show for anyone but Eric. The hallways are empty as usual.

  Once inside the shower room, my eyes zero in on the fresh clothes laid out for me and I almost sigh. My jumpsuit is already unbuttoned and tied around my waist, and I can't wait to get the tank off me. But the moment I reach for the material to pull it over my head a sharp pain shoots into my side and I gasp.

  Eric is there immediately, as I bend over clutching my side.

  "What is it?"

  "I can't raise my arm."

  The tears of frustration almost spill over, but I refuse to raise my head until I can control myself again. Eric steps closer, his feet almost touching mine.

  "May I?"

  The question is barely audible, and when I raise my head, I find real concern in his expression. Which only lasts a moment, as usual. He's determined not to feel anything around me, but he does anyway. That much I can tell. I'm just not sure what to do with that.

  Instead, I nod my head and he reaches for the bottom of my tank. He tugs it up, over my stomach, before pausing. His eyes flash with something I can't put into words, and my skin heats everywhere he touches it. The feel of his fingertips over my body is almost more than I can take. There's a moment of stillness, and then he moves again.

  Slowly, he walks around so he's at my back, and then proceeds to remove the tank, one arm at a time. The cool air races over my naked skin and all the pain is forgotten at his nearness. We stand like that for a moment, my back at his front, and I can't explain the emotions that rush through me. A sudden desire to lean against him almost overwhelms me and I dig my feet in place, before I make a fool out of myself.

  "You have ten minutes."

  Eric's words shatter the illusion and when I glance over my shoulder, he's already gone. I finish undressing, taking my time as not to hurt myself any more and have to have Eric come back. Once the water hits my skin, I hiss for just a second, before the pleasure of it runs down my body. Such a simple every day aspect of life, and yet, it seems like a gift right now.

  I wash quickly, moving my body as little as possible every time some pain pulls on my muscles. There is a way I can heal faster, it's one of the first things I learned as a child. If I was going to be a Protector, I needed to know how to take care of myself. But calling on my magic now seems way too dangerous. Especially since the prison is on extra high alert after the events of a few days ago. Which I still don't know what happened exactly, what caused the evacuation into the general population. Not like I can ask Eric either. I can never pinpoint what I can and can't do with him. It's quite frustrating.

  Once I'm done with the shower, it takes some serious manipulating to get the tank over my head. But it's easier after I lay it out on the counter and bend my whole body forward. If I asked him to come back in and help me, I know he would've. But I've already let him see too many sides of me that are vulnerable. I can't keep doing that.

  When I step out of the shower room, Eric is right on the outside, his eyes trained on the doorway. We stare at each other for a moment, and I feel his eyes roam over my long hair, before coming to rest on my eyes once more. I realize I typically at least pull it back into a ponytail before I braid it, but that was too much work after I exhausted myself washing it in the shower. Eric motions for me to go ahead, and I lead the way back to my cell without question.

  I should've taken the risk and tried my magic in the shower. That was my one chance and now I'm in for another long night of being uncomfortable on the hard bed. I can berate myself a million times, but as we walk, all I can think about is how Eric's hands felt against my skin and how his gaze warmed me from the inside.

  I have a serious problem.

  Chapter 6

  The pain wakes me up. I've been trying to lay as still as possible, to keep it at bay, but now that I'm healing, it's just worse. So much worse. Finally, giving up on getting any sleep, I sit up, leaning over my knees, my head bent. This whole thing feels like a never ending nightmare.

  "Why are you up?"

  My cell door opens without me realizing it, and Eric leans against the doorway, his hard eyes on me. A certain type of ruthlessness is coming off him like a scent and what I wouldn't give to be able to know what he's thinking. His attitude is really giving me a whiplash.

  "Because I can't sleep," I snap, matching his tone. He doesn't move from his spot and he doesn't' stop watching me. The intensity in his gaze makes me want to squirm, but I'm not about to give him the satisfaction. It's like a switch was flipped from who he was when he took me to take a shower to now. I'd like to know what that switch is, but I doubt he'd share it.

  When I go to roll my shoulders back, a gasp escapes from the pain. I thought I was healing much better than this, but I guess not. It's almost like I'm going backwards.

  "What is it?"

  "Pain."

  I'm seriously having a difficult time understanding his attitude towards me. But also, my shoulders really hurt. Sleeping on this slab of cement isn't helping any.

  "You need to heal."

  "Wow, thanks for that helpful insight." I stand then, placing my hands on the wall in front of me and pushing against them. It hurts, and when I lean my shoulders back, I think I might cry. Yet, the stretch also soothes me somehow, so I push through it.

  "You need magic."

  "No duh." I'm not even turning around now, as I place my toes against the wall and stretch my leg. The movements are small, but at least I can feel my blood moving through my body again. What I wouldn't give to get some of my magic to flow freely through me. It needs just as much stretching as my sore muscles.

  "You should've kept your mouth shut."

  The words are low, but firm, and this time I do turn to face him. He hasn't taken his eyes off me. There's a challenge there, which makes my blood boil.

  "Maybe you should keep your mouth shut."

  "Oh, are you angry?" He asks, crossing his arms in front of him. He's baiting me, but even though I realize it, I can't help it. I am angry. At being stuck here. At being not allowed to grieve. At this whole situation and the jerks who are responsible.

  "Are you angry?" He asks again.

  "Yes," I barely utter.

  "Are you?" his voice is louder, harsher, as he pins me d
own with his gaze.

  "Yes!"

  "Then be angry. Stop pretending you don't feel anything."

  "Excuse me?" That gets right under my skin. I place my hands on my hips, just so I have something to hold onto, the anger he wants to see boiling at the surface.

  "Don't you dare tell me how I'm supposed to feel or act. That is not your job."

  "No? Then maybe you should do it for me. Instead of cowering like a little kid who didn't get her way."

  There are a lot of things I can withstand, but being called childish is apparently my boiling point.

  The magic doesn't hesitate. It bursts right into my palm and it's only practice and my quick thinking that keeps it from spilling out across the cell. Automatically, I curl my hand into a fist, catching the fire in the palm. But he doesn't miss a thing. He sees it. I know he does.

  Fear hits me like a wave, but I don't move. I don't even breathe. I can't let him see me scared. My whole life is in his hands now. If he calls me out on my magic, that's that.

  Eric doesn't move either. His eyes stay on mine, and I can't read him even if my life depends on it. Which at this moment, it actually does. The whole world stays still for a moment, and then Eric steps back out of the cell and shuts the door behind him.

  Yet, I don't move. Straining to hear any kind of movement on the other side of the door, I wait for the other shoe to drop. After I don't know how many minutes, nothing happens and I finally relax enough to move. Sitting down, I place my head in my hands, exhaling. What have I just done? There's no going back now. The prison has to have felt my magic. If it didn't, Eric definitely saw it. Maybe he's known about it all along. He was definitely testing me, even though I don't understand why.

  Laying down on my back, I stare at the blackened ceiling, my mind racing with possibilities. There's a chance I'll be dragged out of here and this time when they bind my powers, it might be for years. Something that would only be undone by the council. My magic has been the only thing that's keeping me sane in all of this. And I think I'm about to lose it.