Trial by Heist

by Kel Carpenter

  I knew that look. Knew what his determined tone meant. “Oli, please…”

  “It’s all in hand. Just do what you have to do here. I’ll handle everything else.” Movement outside, a light tap on the door, halted our conversation in its tracks. He offered me his best smile, his eyes shining as he kissed my forehead. “I’ll come back.”

  Before I could say anything, he removed his arm and winked, striding out the door. I stared blankly at the space he’d left. My cell suddenly felt too big. Too sparse. The loneliness sank like a stone in my stomach as I settled, cross-legged, on the bench.

  There was only one way into this place. Only one way out. If I walked out of here alive, it would be through that door, and that door alone. Oliver was good, and he was smart, but we both knew there was no way Anastasia would let me leave this cell unless it was for a march to the gallows.

  Chapter 4

  A sharp rapping startled me out of meditation. There was a clinking of metal against the door, the hinges complaining with a screech as it opened. I peered up at the golden half-breed before me, holding a plate of food in one hand and a washcloth in the other.

  “Can I help you?” I asked flatly, too tired for another round of questioning. I’d had enough in the chamber the other day.

  His eyebrows quirked up as he looked over me, a ghost of sadness in his eyes as the guards behind him pulled the door shut. Closing us both in. “My name is Alec. I brought you something to eat…” His voice trailed off at the stony look on my face.

  “I gathered,” I said, pulling my legs back to my chest. I nodded to the spot I’d just made, motioning for him to sit.

  He looked down at me for a moment, assessing me. “You don’t seem too anxious, for a girl who’s on death row.”

  I liked his honesty; it was refreshing in this den of vipers.

  “Fortescue lackeys don’t come for friendly chats, bearing gifts,” I murmured, gesturing to the plate on his lap. “Yet here you are. What do you want?”

  “Touché,” he said as he handed me the plate of food. Cold ham, hard bread, and a chunk of cheese. It wasn’t much, but it was better than the porridge they’d been passing off as food. The blond-haired man leaned back against the white walls, looking far too bright, even in this sterile room. His golden eyes glowed with an effervescence that reminded me so much of my Jayma that my heart ached.

  “So, tell me, how are you doing it?” he asked suddenly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His face turned towards me, rapt with interest.

  “Doing what?” I asked around a mouthful of bread. I knew full well what he was asking, but I wanted to make him say it. If he wanted information about me, he’d damn well work for it. Also…it was lonely down here. Any company was better than these four walls. Was that selfish? Knowing I was going to die and wanting a few minutes with another living being? I didn’t think so.

  “Remaining calm. You’ve been here five days, you know.” He wanted to know how I wasn’t babbling to myself yet and clawing at my own eyes. Maybe they were just hoping they could wait me out, and I’d do the job for them. No. Anastasia was too spiteful for that. She craved the display of power over me, the glory of striking the final blow…or kicking the chair. Whichever.

  “There are worse things than death,” I said dismissively. Jayma came to mind.

  “That’s very true.”

  I narrowed my eyes, peering through the spirit realm into his aura. Dark green and orange muted his natural sense of self. Flecks of black and gold fell from him like fireworks, and the thinnest line of gold ran from him to the wall, disappearing entirely. I frowned to myself, stepping out of the realm of the dragon and into the cold prison cell.

  “Tell me about your signasti,” I said abruptly.

  He stiffened, brows pulled in, and looked at me for a long moment before responding. “How do you know?”

  He seemed relieved that I’d asked, that someone had sensed it… Whatever was weighing on him had hurt his other half. The bond was so thin it was almost nonexistent.

  “I know many things,” I said vaguely. There was no need to get into the People of the East; their secrets would die with me.

  “So I’ve heard. Are the rumours true then?” he asked, referring to the very people I wanted to keep out of this. They’d been persecuted enough.

  “What rumours?”

  “About where you come from,” he said boldly, implying he knew more about me.

  “I suppose that depends on who you ask, doesn’t it?” I answered lightly, brushing the crumbs from my torn black shirt. I nibbled at the corner of the cheese, listening to the hum of the lightbulb as I waited for his reply. It was the only noise in this silent cell, far enough underground that a bomb could go off and I may not even hear it.

  “Not really. Your story is your own. Their twisted versions don’t change the truth.”

  I frowned. Lackeys don’t usually have a backbone… “You should tell them that. See how that goes for you,” I suggested with a shrug.

  He leaned back again, running his thumb over his bottom lip. His eyes darkened, briefly, in the grip of some internal conflict.

  I continued picking at my plate, giving him time to think.

  “If what they say isn’t true then who are you, Johanna? Because you don’t strike me as a cold-blooded killer.” Those were dangerous words down here, where there were eyes and ears everywhere. They were true nonetheless.

  “I’m not,” I said darkly. That’s not quite true. “Well…you know, I didn’t kill my best friend.”

  “Then how did you get here?” he asked softly, locking his eyes with mine. His manipulation was so subtle he probably didn’t realize he was doing it. Unfortunately for him, I was looking for it.

  “That’s a long story, Alec.” I pushed the tray of cold ham back to the beautiful boy, who stared unabashedly, before shuffling back, resting my head on the wall, and closing my eyes.

  Americans, I thought. Such compassionate fools.

  “Who are you, Johanna?” he repeated, completely enraptured by my ease.

  I stayed that way for a minute, enjoying the break from the harsh light of the cell. They expected me to be afraid of death, not understanding that it wasn’t the end. Life went on, in its own way. The dragon ensured it, as he guided souls to where they needed to be. Jayma was still out there somewhere—maybe not as she’d once been, but she was there.

  Maybe in the next life, I thought wistfully.

  “I’m…tired,” I said quietly, wanting to say more but coming up short. I was tired, but not physically.

  Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I frowned down at my filthy arm. Alec offered me the washcloth he’d been holding. With a brief nod of thanks, I rolled up my torn sleeves and scrubbed at the dirt and dried blood, Jayma’s blood, trying to get my skin clean.

  “You’re different than I expected,” he said as I turned the cloth over and started on my face. “When I first started working at the Council, I was hired to track down a girl. My mistress called her a terror. She said this girl would be the death of us all, and that if I wanted to please her, I needed to scour the streets of the London Black Market. No one had managed to catch her yet, but I somehow thought I’d be different. It was just a girl, after all.”

  Goose bumps broke out along my arms, despite his soft tone. I rubbed at my skin, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

  “I searched for four months, with nothing to report back to my mistress. She grew more impatient by the day, threatening to hurt those I care for if I couldn’t deliver results. I was desperate and down on my luck, when one day, I saw the strangest thing. There was a fight in the square, down at the loading docks. A new group of slaves had been brought in for shopkeepers to bid on.”

  As he spoke, the day formed in my mind. It was drizzling outside through the heavy fog. My cloak was already sodden, and Jayma wanted me home, but there was trouble in the air, and we both knew it. I stayed at the loading docks, and watched as they unloaded a young slave g
irl with cloudy eyes and brown skin. Her tight curls flopped over in the rain, and her tiny body shook from the cold.

  “There was a girl. A young slave, half-breed, by the looks of her, but her eyes were all wrong. They auctioned her off to a brute of a man. He hadn’t owned her for five minutes before he laid his hands on her. I wanted to do something myself, but before I could take more than a step towards them, the man was dead. Stone. Cold. Dead.” His voice was hypnotic. “It was the oddest thing, for a Supernatural to die so suddenly with no cause of death. The crowd fell into a frenzy, thinking it was the girl who’d killed him. It wasn’t, though. As they closed in on the small Witch child, a shadow moved with them, and then they started dropping, one by one, falling away. I moved to get closer, but the crowd panicked and fights broke out. Stalls were smashed, people burned, others starved for days. The girl, though, the young Witch, was nowhere to be found.”

  I dumped the filthy cloth on the plate at his side, and nodded to indicate that I was listening. At least he wasn’t asking questions.

  May as well let the lad talk.

  “Here’s the strangest part, though. I saw the Witch leave when this fight broke out, and she had help from a girl cloaked in night. It was so fast I almost missed it. You were that good. But when you reached to help her over a wall, I saw the briefest flash of a tattoo that looked like scales. I didn’t pursue you, even though I was ordered to. For months, I thought about why, and I think…it was because I wanted to know what kind of person would take on a crowd to save a young Witch’s life. You don’t have to say anything, Johanna, but I know a fighter when I see it, and you’ve been fighting for a long time, haven’t you?”

  He held me in a curious gaze for a moment then glanced at the partially uncovered dragon tattoo on my arm. I didn’t move to hide it. There was no point. He already knew.

  His words were touching, so reminiscent of a young Oliver. I had a feeling which family this boy served, and his masters were losing their hold on him. He was turning with the tide.

  “As long as there’s injustice in this world, I will stand to fight it,” I said softly, leaning back into the white tiled wall, which felt a little less cold for once.

  His lips twitched at the corners. “Tell me about yourself. Tell me about the girl who would stand up before the Council and give them a lesson on honour.”

  I sighed softly, peering up into his eyes. Maybe it was time to tell someone my story before the dragon claimed me. Just once.

  “Come back tomorrow with news of my trial, and I’ll tell you a bit about myself,” I said.

  With a reproachful look, he nodded. Taking the plate of untouched ham and dirty washcloth, he hammered on the door three times with the side of his fist before the guards let him out. He glanced back, offering me a small smile before disappearing from view.

  The guards flinched as I shifted my position, as though they expected me to jump out at them and attack, like the demon Anastasia tried to paint me as. So loyal to their superiors, they didn’t know that the real demon was the one outside the cell, not in it.

  Chapter 5

  Two days passed, marked only by the five plates of unappetising food that were brought to me and the sound of footsteps and muffled conversation as the guards at my door changed over. I was thankful for the training the People of the East had given me in meditation; it was the only thing that could soothe my lonely soul. I spent my time in fitful sleep, restful meditation, and mourning the loss of my friend. Sometimes hours would go by in seconds, when I let the abyss swallow me whole. Other times…I would sob for hours that felt like days at the realization that Jayma was gone. I missed her carefree nature, her warm smile, her steady assurance that we would, ultimately, succeed. We would win the fight. See our kind live free from fear. I wouldn’t let that die with her. I’d fight as long as I had breath in my body, and face my own death with the confidence that it wasn’t in vain.

  The now-familiar sound of an approaching guard marked another mealtime. Another unfriendly face at the door, another pair of eyes watching me closely because they still feared the monster they thought I was. I stayed in the corner of the room as the door opened and Alec strode in.

  It was odd that after everything that had happened, a small spark of joy could still rise in my chest. Someone to talk to. A friendlier, if not entirely trustworthy, face.

  Without speaking, he put a plate on the bench by my feet then took a neatly folded pile of clothes and a small bucket from the guard as the door closed, locking us inside.

  “More gifts?” I asked, sullenly.

  “You haven’t washed in a week,” he said, placing the water on the bench beside the plate and turning to face the door.

  I quickly stripped off my clothes, throwing them in a heap on the floor. Jayma’s pendant hung between my breasts, warm on the side that touched my skin. She’d said it would bring me peace, and even though I’d never been trained in the arts of witchery, some part of my soul still recognised the jewellery for what it was. A carrier for powerful magic. The Supernaturals hated them for their turbulent and uncontrollable gifts. Unlike Supernaturals, who only manifested a single ability, Witches had many affinities for which they thanked the three-faced goddess. Their power lay in something new, but still old, something flexible, and yet the most unwieldy of any known magic. For all my talents, it was my witchery I’d never come close to mastering.

  I made quick work of scrubbing from my skin the blood that had seeped through that night, as I’d held her dying in my arms. The water in the bucket slowly turned from clear, to reddish-brown, and eventually so dark it looked black. With my skin finally clean, the green scales of the dragon’s tail gleamed on my hand, running up my right arm and around my back. Its body extended from one side to the other, coming across to my right shoulder. The scales crawled up my neck, stopping short and fading off where the tattoo was never finished. I’d left the compound before I reached the final stage of my training, where the tattoo would’ve been completed, with the dragon’s face tattooed over half of my own. Symbolizing that my soul would guard the gates to the celestial heavens and beyond. And that the People of the East owned me.

  After wringing the washcloth dry, I threw it on the pile of discarded clothes and dressed in plain linen pants and a long-sleeved cotton shirt.

  “Thank you,” I murmured, plucking the apple off the plate and taking a bite.

  He sat on the bench. His eyes looked wary, but I wasn’t one to be put off by normal social constrictions. I crunched down on the core, before tossing it aside and moving the plate away. “Did you bring news, or have you come to watch me eat?”

  The shadows left his eyes, and he raised them to meet mine. Momentarily mesmerised by their golden glow, I checked myself and looked away.

  He smiled, huffing a small laugh, and said, “It’s your turn.”

  I frowned. That wasn’t what I’d agreed to. At least he brought you food. Clothes too. Maybe the soft-hearted American isn’t so bad.

  “What do you want to know?” I asked, chewing the inside of my lip.

  Cocking his head, he thought for a moment then said, “Start at the beginning.”

  I rested my chin on my knees as we settled back, beginning my tale about a girl from a distant country, a long time ago.

  Eleven years ago…

  “Johanna, you must hide. They are coming!” Papa said, waking me from my dreams.

  Wide eyed, I shook my head. What was he talking about? We were safe here. This was our home. “Papa…” I said, my voice trailing off into quiet sobs. The time had come, the very moment he and Mama had trained me for.

  “Shh, you’re going to be okay. Get dressed. Faster now. We haven’t much time.”

  I pulled on my clothes and followed him out of the house. My father took me in his arms and ran to the square, my mother waiting by the alley that led behind the bakery. We moved faster in the shadows, concealed by darkness. My parents spoke in hushed whispers as they smuggled me out, just like th
ey’d told me they would. It was happening. The bad people were coming. The Council had turned on us.

  My parents held me tight as they ushered me towards a parked van. Opening the rear doors, my father said, “We are doing this to keep you safe. We love you, Johanna.” He choked on his words, turning away as my mother pulled me into her arms. Her sleek black hair stuck to my cheeks as I sobbed.

  “Run, Johanna. Run, and run, and keep on running. Do not use your powers unless you are certain you are safe,” she said, squeezing me tightly.

  She released me and pushed a small backpack into my arms. “Everything you need is in here, and—” Her head snapped up, and her eyes widened with fear. “Inside. Hide. You will head East. Keep going East, and never look back. The Mother will guide you. The dragon will call.”

  She walked away, her eyes heavy with unshed tears.

  My father placed a large, comforting hand against my cheek and nodded once before closing the van doors.

  Dazed and hopeless, I didn’t know what to think when they rushed away as the engine started. They ran in one direction, but we were headed in another. I hugged the backpack and stared at the reflection of my tear-streaked face in the window as we picked up speed.

  Then I saw them. The van rolled straight past where the Fortescues built their pyres, oblivious to the child hidden in plain sight, as the baker and I streaked across the cobblestone path. A dark goddess with hair black as coal strode forward. Her blue eyes were dangerous, more frightening than the gnomes that liked to pull my hair and play mean jokes on me in the garden. I knew who she was. I knew what she was there to do. My parents came forward, and I watched as they faced their extermination at the hands of Anastasia Fortescue and her henchmen.

  “So, I ran, just as they told me to.” I shrugged—projecting apathy was easier than letting him see the truth. I wouldn’t show him what those memories did to me; I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of reporting my heartbreak to her.