by Logan Byrne
•••
Later that night, after the block had gone to sleep and wandering snores filled the hallways, I slipped out of bed and silently walked to the corner again. I looked through the hole, seeing Rosie dead asleep, before I pushed in some of the stuffing from my bed so she couldn’t see through. I peered out through the bars, making sure nobody was around, before crossing my legs and closing my eyes.
If I were going to use the mark to get me out of here, then I needed to flex that muscle and hone my skills further. Mirian said meditation would help and it would be a key to let me control it one day, and I figured it wasn’t like I had anything else to do in here. I wasn’t drowning in cases any longer.
I took a deep breath in through my nose, out through my mouth, and focused on my power. I felt it start to spark and tingle throughout my body, before my mind transcended out of this reality and into another dimension. I was back with the past mark-bearers again, but this time it was a new woman, an English woman, and we were sitting in a pub.
“Here for a chat?” she asked, leaning back in her wooden chair. The pub was lit by candlelight, and her outfit was a suit made more for a gentleman than a lady. She took a swig of her beer.
“Where am I?” I asked.
“London, 1810. Lovely place, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Can you help me with my dilemma?” I asked.
“I can try. What’s troubling you?” she asked.
“I’m imprisoned for a crime I never committed or attempted, and I want to break out. I want to use the mark to get myself and some others out of the prison so that I can stop a tyrant from taking over the magical and mortal realms. I believe he might know I’m a threat,” I said.
“Does he know you bear the mark?” she asked.
“No, I don’t believe he does. I think he would be experimenting on me right now if he knew,” I said.
“Ah, one of them,” she said, laughing a little.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“You get men like that every so often, trying to chase down the mark-bearers so that they can harness the power to cause chaos or harm to others. It really is the biggest downside to having this damned power,” she said, looking at her own hands. “Such is life, though.”
“Those with the mark? So there are others?” I asked.
“Yeah, there are, but they can die out, so I’m sure the numbers in your time are less than those now,” she said.
“Fascinating. How do they die out? I thought the mark picked someone new when the previous bearer died?” I asked.
“The magic can be taken from them, mainly through ritualistic practices. I’m betting the man you speak of is attempting that now, which is why you need to make sure you heed extra caution around him,” she said.
“So once the magic is taken, like you say, the mark never passes on again? What happens if all the marks are taken from their hosts?” I asked.
“The power either ceases to exist, or all of it is harnessed by one individual, usually a sadistic man who craves nothing but power,” she said, taking another swig.
“Where can I find other bearers? Surely we can work together and—”
“It’s not that easy, you know. Besides, mark-bearers should never be together or work together, for it only causes chaos. You know how much one of these sadists would love to get two, three, or eight bearers together in one room at once? They would be unstoppable. It’s imperative that the bearers are never together, at least not intentionally,” she said.
“I just—”
“Trust me on this, kid. You don’t want that sort of trouble in your life. Just mind your own business and take care of what you have to on your own. You’ll be better off that way. I must be going now,” she said, before getting up and leaving her glass with only froth left at the bottom.
“Wait, I still need you!” I said, trying to get her attention before the pub collapsed in on itself. I concentrated harder, not ready to leave yet, before I warped the space around me and dropped myself onto a snowy mountain.
I stood up, looking around. The wind was hitting me but the air didn’t feel bitter or cold, just tolerable. I was barefoot, still in my purple jumpsuit, and I could see Filtonshire in the distance. What was going on?
I couldn’t have been projecting myself out of my body, because it wasn’t even light outside in the real world, but everything about this seemed real. As I gazed at the prison, it suddenly got closer. I looked down and saw my legs dangling as I floated downwards. I panicked for a second, clenching my stomach, but I quickly realized I wasn’t falling. I was floating. There wasn’t anything to be afraid of.
I looked around as I came down, seeing the prison for what it was and surveying the surrounding area with a vested interest. I tried to take in everything I could, making sure it wasn’t lost in the sea of memories in my head, before I phased inside the prison walls. There were guards around, but none of them saw me. Instead, I went past the entrance to my block, and towards an office on the other side of the prison. The door said Warden on it.
“Yes, Mr. President, I know—”
The man, portly with parted gray hair that was slightly balding, looked nervous as he paced around the room, the curled cord of his telephone trailing behind him. “Yes, we are keeping close watch on your attacker and making sure she isn’t getting any correspondence from the outside world or those at the M.A.G.I.C. precinct. I can personally guarantee this, sir.”
I was disgusted, trying to discern if any of this were real or just the mark playing tricks on me. It would make sense that they wouldn’t let Blake or the others write to me, but it also meant I couldn’t get any clues or word about upcoming breakout attempts. They would just go in blind, possibly thinking I was on the other end waiting for a plan to take place that I never got word about.
“You want her to have an accident?” the Warden asked, shocked. “Sir, we don’t do—”
He patted his forehead with a handkerchief before sitting down heavily in his leather chair. “Yes sir, I understand. Yes, I will make sure. Of course,” he said, before hanging up the phone. He hit a buzzer on his desk, and two men entered the room.
“Sir?” they asked.
“President Nightstorm is personally requesting something from us,” he said, clearing his throat uncomfortably.
“Anything for our leader,” one guard said.
“He would like a resident, a new one, to have an accident,” he said.
“But sir—” one said.
“I know, I know we don’t do that, but I cannot disobey a direct order from him. Sometimes we have to look the other way and do things we don’t like to keep ourselves safe and out of hot water. The last thing any of us want is for him to come down here in person,” he said.
“Who is the prisoner?” the guard asked.
“Lexa Blackmoon. She’s a witch, and a fellow officer in here for the attempted assassination of the President. She’s staying in block five,” the Warden said.
“Are we supposed to, you know, kill her?” the other guard asked.
“He didn’t say anything about that, so I’m saying no. I need you two to take care of it and don’t tell anybody, that’s an order. This stays between us in this room. Take care of it tomorrow. Rough her up a little, enough that he would be satisfied,” he said, before shooing them away.
The room folded in on itself and I was thrust back into my cell, the darkness of the dead of night still shrouding me in the corner. I wiped the sweat away from my brow. When was this going to happen? I looked around, but nobody was in the cell with me. I inhaled a deep breath and took the stuffing out of the crack in the wall, shoving it back inside my mattress.
I curled up with my knees to my chin, wrapping my arms around my legs, before burying my face and wishing fruitlessly that I’d never gone to that gala that night. Kiren was more than out to get me at this point, and I knew nothing about this was going to be easy. I had to get out of here, and I needed to progress my plan a little
ahead of schedule if I were going to keep my life.
5
I awoke frantically as two guards pulled me out of bed and roughly tossed me around. “Get up,” one said, before taking out handcuffs and putting them on my wrists, with my hands in front of me.
“What’s happening?” I asked, panicked. I tried opening my eyes more, my vision coming to after being pulled out of a dream, before I focused on the men. They were the ones from last night, from my vision during meditation. I couldn’t believe it. The mark foresaw what was going to happen. That meant that what was coming next wouldn’t be fun.
“The Warden would like a chat with you,” the other one said, before pushing me out of my cell. Without shoes on, I walked barefoot on the concrete. The cold chill crept up my nerves and around my spine. It was terrible, walking barefoot in a prison like this.
Some inmates watched from their cells, furling their brows as they tried to figure out what was happening to me, before we left the block and started towards an elevator. The men held onto me, one on my cuffs and the other my left shoulder, though neither of them showed any real aggression. They were the right men, but what if the mark was wrong? What if they weren’t going to harm me, and I was just going to see the Warden? I didn’t know, but I knew neither of the two options were really all that great.
We went up a few floors before entering a hallway and an area that looked like an office, and the guards led me towards a large metal door at the end of the hallway. Warden, it read on the door. They knocked, and he buzzed all three of us inside.
“Good morning,” he said as we walked in.
“Good morning, Warden,” I said, before they pushed me down into a chair across from him.
“Ms. Blackmoon, is it?” he asked, opening a file on his desk.
“Yes, sir,” I said, trying to remain calm.
“Do you know why I called you into my office this morning, Ms. Blackmoon?” he asked.
“No sir, I don’t. I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong,” I said. I was trying to play coy, for obvious reasons. I couldn’t tell them I knew about their plan from last night, because that would only cost me more problems than it was worth. They’d think I somehow bugged the place, and my roughing up would likely turn into a hit job to keep my mouth shut. My goal here was to keep myself safe and sane until either the resistance came or I could bust myself out.
“You’ve done nothing wrong here, no. You’ve been a model inmate, though I suppose you’ve barely been here any time at all. You see, Ms. Blackmoon, the problem comes with the crime that got you here in the first place,” he said, taking off his glasses. He breathed on them, the lenses fogging up, before he took out a handkerchief and began to rub them clean.
“Oh, sir, that’s a misunderstanding. My lawyer should—”
“Oh, you won’t have a lawyer for this matter, young lady. You see, you don’t need one,” he said.
“But I’m entitled to one,” I said politely.
“What is with the youth today and their sense of entitlement?” he asked, laughing coldly.
“Sir, Warden, the law outlines it,” I replied.
His demeanor quickly changed. He leaned forward, his mouth pursed as his eyes turned almost red with anger. “Are you saying that you, a newbie cop, know more about the law than a man who has been a prison warden for over thirty years?”
“Sir, I’m just outlining our constitution,” I said. “I’m afforded the right to counsel,” I said.
“If you had robbed a bank or kicked over an old lady, then yes, you would, but no, this great auditor just had to go above and beyond the call of duty and try to assassinate not only a person, but our president. You can see how that creates a problem, can’t you?” he asked.
“I didn’t do it, sir. He’s framing me,” I said.
“Framing you? Why would President Nightstorm care about you, a filthy little witch who’s nothing more than a pimple on the face of society? You must be quite the conspiracy theorist if you think he would scour the land for you just to put a target on your head,” he said.
“I have my reasons,” I said, putting my head down. Keep quiet, Lexa, you need to keep quiet. He can’t know about your reasons.
“You see, we cannot just let these sorts of crimes go unpunished or be slipped under the rug. People who commit these heinous and treasonous acts need to be punished. How do you think you should be punished, Ms. Blackmoon?” he asked.
The guards stood near the door, crossing their arms and nodding as he talked, exuding the smell of salami and whiskey on his breath. “I’m not sure, sir,” I replied, keeping my replies short in case he was recording this conversation.
“A beating, of course. We find here that physical intervention is needed to keep our prisoners in line and make sure they don’t act out. Sometimes that means extending our rules to prisoners like you, Ms. Blackmoon, so that they know we are in charge and that they are here to take our orders,” he said. “Take her.”
He motioned to the guards, who came over and grabbed me, though I didn’t fight it. I kept calm, though my adrenaline was pumping, as they took me through a door connected to his office, a small storage area, and threw me to the ground. “This is for our leader,” one said, kicking me in the gut.
I gasped, using my hands and arms in front of me in a stealthy manner to soften the blows. They kicked me, punched me, and spit on me. I tried to protect my head and neck, curled up in a ball on the floor. Time slowed, as if I could hear the whooshing sound of the air rippling as their feet moved. I blinked slowly, hoping it would all be over soon, and that my body wouldn’t take too much abuse.
I don’t know how long they went on for, maybe two minutes, maybe four, but it eventually stopped. My hair was disheveled even more than it was before I was yanked out of bed, but they didn’t touch my face, leaving it pristine so nobody would see what they’d done as they took me back to my cell. I didn’t think anything was broken, I didn’t feel like I did in the club that night, but I could already feel bruises forming all over my body. It was over, though, and that was all that mattered. It was over.
The Warden stared at me with angry eyes as the guards took me out of the storage room and we headed back towards my cell. I coughed in the elevator, feeling the pricks of pins and needles all over , before I gasped and tried to calm my nerves. They tossed me in my cell before taking off the cuffs. I fled to the retreat of my bed, when I heard Rosie in the next cell trying to get my attention through the crack in the wall.
I ignored her as I lay on my bed and felt a few tears roll down my face. It all flashed before me, everything I did to get here, and I saw Blake’s face. There he was, smiling and laughing, before I entered the picture, kissing him and holding him tightly.
Suddenly I felt a little better, and the feeling in my gut turned to butterflies, before I remembered how much he cared about me. I wouldn’t even want to think what he’d do if he could get his hands on those guards. I knew he’d kill them. Somehow I knew that was going to get me through this, the thought of seeing him again. I was going to get through this, and then I’d make sure nobody ever stepped foot in this prison again.
•••
“Where did you go this morning? Why are you limping?” Rosie asked as we sat in the cafeteria later that morning.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, before taking a sip of my water.
“Lexa, they can’t treat you like that. It’s against the rules here,” she said, putting her hand on my back. I winced, feeling a sting, before she quickly pulled her hand away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I don’t think they care, Rosie. They don’t care about the rules because if they did, they never would’ve done this in the first place. I just have to be grateful nothing is broken and I still have my life,” I said.
“Are you the girl?” a guy asked, sitting down across from us at the table.
“What?” I snapped, annoyed.
“Are you the girl, the one
who attempted the assassination?” he asked, wide-eyed.
“Raul, get out of here,” Rosie said, shaking her head.
“I didn’t attempt to kill anybody. What you’ve heard is wrong,” I said.
“But you’re the girl they say did it, right? I saw you get carted away this morning. Did they beat you up?” he asked.
“Why don’t you just go back to your table and leave us alone? She’s hurt and doesn’t want to be pestered by you,” Rosie said.
“Well, I just want you to know that a few of us, four of us, are in your corner. I know others here support you as well. Long live the resistance,” he whispered, before getting up and walking back to his table.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“Everybody thinks you’re a part of the resistance, a figurehead I guess, because of what you were charged with. I guess they like that sort of thing and look at you like you’re going to save them or something,” she said, taking a big bite of gruel.
I stopped for a second, thinking, as I looked over at Raul and the few others he was sitting with. Was this my opportunity? I mean, I didn’t know how I felt about being some sort of figurehead, especially for an act I never even attempted, but maybe they could help me.
I knew everybody here wanted to get out—none of us enjoyed being imprisoned—and my plans were going to be difficult to execute with just Rosie and I, and she wasn’t even fully on board yet. Having a larger group could mean something to me. It could mean actually having a shot to get away, and I knew all of them would happily join the resistance if I got them out. Besides, it wasn’t like they’d have anywhere better to hide.
I only had one chance at it, though. If the guards or somebody else found out I was trying to use the resistance to get us out of here, I’d be taken into that room again but I wouldn’t be hauled out alive. I only had once chance to get them on board without them turning on me, and I had to make sure I did it right. Today wasn’t the day, especially while I was in such pain.
