by Shaw, Leia
He considered her a moment. It wasn’t a lie – just an omission of the truth. Shapeshifters were only a percentage of the supernaturals that made up the rebellion. But they were gaining some allies now that the sorcerers had targeted others in their war against the Underworld.
Maddox, no doubt, had been trained to sniff out a lie. Seeming content with her answer, he snorted. “Just a hundred? And you think you can take us down? The Council, with five hundred men at our disposal?”
The army was small to human standards but supernaturals were considerably fewer in number. “We already have,” she whispered, staring up at him. “What does that say about you and your five hundred soldiers?”
Pain exploded across her cheek. She hadn’t even seen him move. Admittedly, getting smart with an unstable, jacked-up, traumatized prison guard wasn’t one of her best decisions. She blinked back the tears that came with the slap and faced him again.
“Where are you hiding?” he demanded.
“Right now I’ve got the best hiding spot in the world.”
His eyes narrowed. “Where?”
“Here.”
When anger flooded his eyes, she braced for another slap. Instead, he exhaled a dark laugh. “All right. You’ve chosen your fate.”
He stomped across the room, his heavy footsteps echoing in the small space. A sense of dread made her stomach flip. Did she just screw herself?
Maddox opened the door and announced to one of the guards outside, “She’s on food restriction.” He looked back and gave her a cruel smirk. “Until tomorrow, shifter.”
The door slammed and she was alone. Step one: stay alive. Completed. For today.
MADDOX: There will always be a cause to rally behind, Cee. Rebellion rarely makes change, but it leaves plenty of martyrs in its wake. Stay out of trouble, little girl.
FELICITY: I’d rather die a martyr for a good cause than from old age having spent a lifetime watching injustice from the comfort of my couch.
Email exchange, May 2003
Food restriction officially sucked. Felicity’s cramping stomach had kept her awake most of the night. Three days in prison and she’d been given only water. Could’ve been worse. Hopefully she wouldn’t find out how much worse.
Shifting to lie on her side didn’t help her stiff muscles like she’d hoped. Her nose ran from the constant cold.
She still couldn’t believe that bald, tattooed terror was Maddox. What had they done to him to create such cruelty? This place was so dark and evil, imagining the possibilities made her heart ache. Drops of dried blood dotted the floor in her cell. The stench of vomit and death churned her empty stomach. Anyone, even those with the sunniest of dispositions, would fall into a deep depression after being here for a spell. While an optimist, she wasn’t a Suzy Sunshine. She kept herself busy reciting Maddox’s letters she’d memorized.
Maddox. She didn’t have the luxury of feeling bad for him now. She needed to survive. Surviving meant keeping empathy out of this. Was her only hope for getting free making Maddox remember who she was – who he was?
If she ignored everything she knew about Maddox, ignored her feelings for him, ignored their shared history in exchange for staying safe until rescue – would that make her a coward? She was only one person and she had a feeling the torture hadn’t even begun yet. Would Maddox really hurt her?
The answer came easily. If the hardness in his eyes was any indication, she knew he would. Maybe when he saw her injured, bleeding, crying, something would snap inside him.
Should she try talking to him? She’d watched an American documentary once about brainwashing in cults. One family had rescued their son from a dangerous group but he’d lost so many of his memories. Together, they’d inundated him with stories from his childhood. They’d told him over and over about all the things they used to do together – all positive memories. Slowly, he’d come around and had started to remember.
Maybe that was the best strategy for survival. Waiting it out, instead of working to free herself, seemed naïve. She wasn’t the sitting and waiting type. What were the chances she’d be rescued anyway? As far as she knew, her whole team had been captured that night. And it wasn’t as if Marwolaeth Du was known for its easy entrance. Shifters went in, they never came out.
She’d known breaking into the recruitment camp was risky, but Ezra – who’d been like a father to her since her parents died – had begged her to help. His son, River, had just turned sixteen – the perfect age for recruitment into the sorcerer’s growing military.
Dalton had said they weren’t prepared enough, but she’d let her emotions get in the way, and pushed him to come anyway. River didn’t deserve that fate – didn’t deserve to be dragged into a fight that had nothing to do with the shifter’s peaceful colony. When shifters disappeared into Marwolaeth Du, they never returned. The war between the sorcerers and the Underworld had been going on for long before her thirty years. She’d heard about a new queen that had taken the Underworld throne from the Dark King. Rumors that the war would end spread through the supernatural world, but it only made the sorcerers panic. They recruited younger now and trained harder. It would break Ezra’s heart if River hadn’t made it out. Had she failed him too?
Footsteps outside the door made her scramble back against the wall. There was a click, then the door opened. The same guard from two days before stood in the doorway, revolver pointed at her head.
“Up, shifter.”
Shakily, she rose to her feet, grasping the wall to steady herself. “Inkman again?”
The guard ignored her, gesturing to the door instead.
She walked through the hallway, a few steps ahead of the guard. When the weight of her hunger made her stumble or slow down, a firm shove made her move again.
The interrogation room looked the same. A lonely table, a hard metal chair. She sat obediently when the guard told her to. No reason to start the theatrics so soon. For some reason, she hoped this guard’s job was only prisoner transportation. Even if it meant Maddox hurt her, she wanted to see him again – be near him, touch him.
Ugh! She recoiled. What sane person hoped to see their torturer? And she was still sane. Hungry, tired, constantly cold, but she still had her sanity. She only prayed she could keep it.
Maddox entered the room. She didn’t even need to look up to know it was him. When had the other soldier left? It was so hard to keep her guard up. The hunger made her feel floaty and messed with her concentration. Even after having stared at the floor for several minutes, she just noticed the splotches of blood marking the tile beneath her feet.
This is a dangerous game, Felicity. Focus!
Slowly, she raised her head. Maddox stared at her from the other side of the table, his thick arms holding his weight as he leaned over. Black eyes burrowed their way deep into her soul. Her hands trembled. This man had lost his sanity in this place. What chance did she stand?
After a short stare-down, his lips quirked into a sarcastic smile. “Hungry?”
Anger replaced fear for a moment. “Very!” She slapped her hands on the table. “How could you do this to me, Maddi?”
As soon as the word left her mouth, she knew it had been a mistake. The chair tipped and she hit the floor before she could catch her balance. The back of her head cracked against the hard ground. Her vision blurred..
A hand wrapped around her throat. Maddox’s enraged face reddened as he growled, “I told you not to call me that.”
She opened her mouth to apologize but all she could do was squeak. Desperately, she clawed at his hand, but his grip was like steel. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she pleaded the only way she could, staring into his eyes, willing him to remember.
His nostrils flared and she braced herself for his anger. Would he slap her, punch her? Waiting, she started to drift. Her vision tunneled and she blinked a few times, trying to clear the fogginess.
The hand lifted away. The world came back as she dragged in lungfuls of air.
&nb
sp; Maddox stood, turned around, and walked away. “Call me Maddi again and I won’t be so nice,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t almost killed her.
Her head throbbed. She tried to sit up but the black spots came back when she moved her head. Lying flat on her back made her too vulnerable. Her throat was on fire and it felt like a hammer was pounding the back of her skull with each beat of her heart. She rolled to her side and curled up into a fetal position. Crying took too much energy so she remained still, focused on breathing.
She barely registered the door close, then she was alone.
Just be careful, Felicity. If you went and got yourself killed, I’d be so pissed at you.
Maddox to Felicity in a letter, June 2003
Wrong. It just felt wrong to leave the girl bleeding on the floor in the interrogation room. Maddox rolled his shoulders, attempting to loosen the anxiety of the last few days. His muscles had never felt so tense. He walked down the hallway, his pace matching the pounding of a drill off in the distance. One, two, three, four, pivot, one, two, three four.
It sang inside him. Order. Discipline. He thrived on it.
But something was off. This assignment…this girl…. She was messing with the order in his narrow world. She’d been plaguing his dreams at night, his thoughts in the day. She’d only been there four days and she’d unbalanced him…bewitched him. At night, he dreamt of taking her to his bed, exploring her body with his hands, his tongue.
Discipline, he coached himself as he entered his office. No weakness.
The vision of her trembling in fear when he’d walked into the interrogation room nagged at him. And when he’d put his hands around her throat, it’d torn him up inside, which only fueled his anger. Who was this girl that haunted him?
Was this some kind of trick? She’d sounded so sure that she knew him. He recognized a lie when he heard one. The shifter was either such a good liar she could deceive him or….
No. He wouldn’t let her get to him. She had too much power already. If she was a man, he’d have beaten him by now. But just thinking about harming her….
He slammed his fist down onto his desk. A pen jumped off and rolled onto the floor. He examined the crack he’d made in the wood. The crack…cracking sound…Cee’s head bouncing off the floor…
He growled and fisted his hand again. Who the fuck was Cee? He lunged, meaning to punch into the wall, then stopped short.
Order. Breathe in. Discipline. Breathe out.
He was better than this. Slowly, he loosened each finger until his hand relaxed, then he made it hang at his side. Papers on his desk were askew. He fixed them and picked the pen up off the floor.
The folder right smack in the middle of his desk was hers. He sat down in his chair and opened it, staring at the two lines. Why didn’t they have more information about this woman? Couldn’t they find out her age, her family, anything?
Someone had paper-clipped a photo on the inside of the folder. Blue, soulful eyes half-hidden under shaggy brown bangs and lips pouted into a sullen frown.
“Who are you, girl?” he asked the photo. “And how do you know me?”
“Know who?”
Startled at the sudden presence, Maddox closed the folder and jumped up from the chair. The older man walked in, slowly. The frown lines on his face were his most prominent feature.
“Father,” Maddox said with a nod.
“I missed you at dinner last night.” He gestured to Maddox’s chair. “Please, sit.”
He obeyed, as he always did, even though his father remained standing. Saith was always putting himself in a position of dominance and authority. Maddox admired that and strived to imitate it with soldiers and foes.
“I wasn’t hungry so I stayed late to work.”
Saith was not one to accept excuses easily. Maddox ignored the suspicious look.
“And how is that going? Has the new girl spoken yet?”
“Not yet, but I have her on food restriction. She’ll cooperate soon.”
“I can’t stress how important this is for our cause.”
“I know. I’ll make her talk.” Did his father think he was an idiot? Every case was important to their mission. He dropped his gaze to the folder still in his hands. “Why is it we have no information on the girl?”
Saith took the folder from him and opened it. “She’s an elusive one. Fast, smart.” He studied the photo briefly then, with a bored look, handed it back. “Who she is doesn’t matter, son. Only what she can do. Who her contacts are. Where they’re getting their weapons. That’s what we need to know.” Leaning forward, he stared down at Maddox. “Don’t concern yourself with who she is. Think ahead, Maddox. Many people are counting on you. Lives of our soldiers and friends depend on you extracting this information.”
As if he didn’t know that. But still, the urge to learn her history gnawed at him. Why was she so sure she knew him? And why did he believe her?
His father straightened. “Understand, soldier?”
He nodded. A year ago, he’d have been all sirs and salutes, but now that Maddox had moved up in rank, they were almost on equal footing. Almost.
A fleeting smile crossed his face. His father rarely showed emotion, but the more Maddox abided by his will, the more his father showed his pride.
Saith turned on his heel and started toward the door.
“Sir?”
He stopped.
“Do we have her friends in captivity? Her accomplices?”
“No,” he answered, regretfully. “But she doesn’t need to know that.”
Maddox nodded. It was a tactic he used often with stubborn prisoners. He found out who the prisoner loved most and used it against them. But with no information on the girl, he’d have to be especially creative to make her believe they had someone she cared about.
Again, he felt sick. In his mind, tears pooled in her eyes. He forced that vision away. His father was right. Too many people depended on him. This was no time for a crisis of conscience.
When he looked up, he caught his father giving him a suspicious look. Was his struggle that apparent?
He cleared his throat. “Not to worry. In two years of interrogation, I’ve never failed. This little girl won’t get the best of me.”
His father gave him a last glance then nodded curtly. “Keep up the good work.”
He left the room and Maddox was alone with his thoughts. Through the confusion whirling in his mind, two visions appeared, seeming to fight for his attention – the girl with the soulful eyes and his father’s proud smile. Conflicting, pulling him in two directions. His mind spun to a halt.
A solution. Despite his father’s advice, finding out who she was would break the spell she had over him. He would learn why she thought she knew him – maybe he would even play along. Once he knew her history, he would school her on who Maddox Blackwell, Inkman, really was. When she realized he wasn’t who she thought, he would break her.
FELICITY: You know who’s to blame for this war. You’re on the wrong side of the fight, Maddox. Come back to me.
MADDOX: I wish it were that easy, love. For now, I’m stuck here. Missing you.
Email exchange, July 2003
A chunk of fresh bread, a bowl of what looked like soup, and a cup of milk sat on the table of the interrogation room and made her mouth water for the first time in days. She stumbled toward it.
A hand wrapped around her arm and yanked her back. She stared at the food longingly just a few feet away. Maddox sat her in a chair then leaned in front of her against the table. Tearing her gaze away from the steaming plate of food was impossible.
Now she knew why they’d tied her wrists behind her back. It had only been four days of hunger, but added to that the constant cold, the poor sleep, and accumulating pain and four days felt like forever.
“Felicity,” he said gently.
Her name on his lips caught her off guard. She looked up at him.
He smiled, but it didn’t seem genuine. She wasn’t su
re if the fake smile made her more nervous or not. Anger or pretend kindness? At least anger she could predict.
“That’s your name, right?” he asked.
Speaking wasted energy so she nodded.
“We’ll skip the interrogation today.” He eyed the food then looked back at her. “You say you know me. I want to know how.”
Was he starting to remember her? Or was this a trick? She couldn’t concentrate with the smell of food so close. She tried to force her mind to focus. Was this the good cop routine? Did it matter?
He lifted the spoon from the table and used it to stir the yellow broth.
Surely there wasn’t any harm in telling him about their childhood. What could that do? Maybe it would trigger his memory. Eating went with step one – staying alive.
“For every answer you give me, you’ll get a bite of food,” he explained and scooped up a chunk of meat in the soup. “Deal?”
“Okay.” It came out a throaty whisper.
His brow creased and he frowned. When he put the spoon down, she panicked.
“No! Please.” She wanted to shout but couldn’t manage more than a rasp.
Maddox picked up the glass of milk and put it to her lips. She looked at him in question. He hadn’t asked anything yet. A free pass? Should she trust him?
“Drink,” he ordered.
She did. Milk spilled down her chin as she gulped mouthfuls.
“Whoa. Slow down or you’ll get sick.” He pulled the glass away then wiped the liquid from her chin and where it’d dripped down her neck and chest. Then he picked up the spoon again. “How do you know me, Felicity?”
She liked hearing him say her name way more than she should. It felt personal. Much better than shifter or just girl. “We were best friends.”
A patronizing smile this time. “Very good.” He brought the spoon to her lips and she slurped the contents down.
It went down so fast, she barely tasted it. Eyeing the bowl, she yearned for more.
