Life’s a Witch

by Skyler Andra

  I pressed my palm to my head, rubbing my forehead, left to right, three times. I sighed. “I understand.”

  The officer stamped each page, and I flinched with each kachunk of the plastic as it hit paper. After he filed the paperwork away, he jabbed a finger on a buzzer and a lock released. “Go through now.”

  I wrung my hands as I crossed to the giant barred door.

  Behind me, the officer called out, “Larry, get the crew in area two. This mad lass has freed them.”

  Larry, the guard at the door, shoved his hands into his belt. “You’re mad, love. These clowns don’t deserve it.”

  I stood there, book tucked under one arm, crossing my fingers over and over, hoping this made a good impression with the guys.

  He shook his head and pressed another button, activating the doors. The metal clacked and shrieked as each rolled open, revealing a long, darkened hallway with another door at the end. Someone inside one of the cells hollered, and several prisoners moved within their chambers, their boots scraping on the stone floor. Dimly lit faces appeared at the edge of barred cells.

  “Hey, sugar.” The first prisoner, a short-ass with a buzz cut, whose eyes barely hovered above the window of his cell door. “Come ta’ get me out?”

  My body iced over when I recognized his face from the fight; the one whose arm I’d dissolved.

  He licked the bars and moved past him with nothing more than an eye roll. Wouldn’t do to show weakness.

  Keep dreaming, pal. Besides, at some point his eyes would adjust and he’d recognize me as the one who dissolved his arm, then he’d change his tune. Hopefully, I’d be back at the Guild of Shadows by then.

  “Fuck off.” It was the best response I could think of.

  “I’d fuck you.” He snickered and I shuddered at the implied threat.

  Laughter erupted from the surrounding cells. Sinister. Evil. The kind a girl would expect to come out of a place called The Hole.

  “Shut the fuck up, Devon.” Larry whacked a crackling baton against the door, sending a current through it, and the prisoner’s head hammered as if he’d been shocked. Seconds later, Devon cursed under his breath and stepped back into the shadows.

  I wrapped my arms around my waist and waited in the middle of the corridor. This place wasn’t safe. The word target practically flashed on my back. Shit.

  “This way,” Larry grunted for me to follow him to another door at the end of the hallway.

  He unlocked it with a key, and the clanging of the metal rollers made my heart stop, feet refuse to move. We entered a second set of solitary confinement chambers, darker than the first, where the light didn’t penetrate as far.

  “Come on, baby,” Devon hollered after us. “Don’t leave me. It’s cold in here. Come warm me up.”

  “Leave her alone, fuckwit,” someone growled, gravely and low. The threat wasn’t implied. It was like a flashing neon sign.

  A thrill ran down my spine. The cadence had me weak, it reminded me of my favorite audio book narrator Travers Randall.

  Larry unlocked the first cell and swung the door open. “It’s your lucky day, Knoxe. Early release.”

  He walked into the dim light that left his face in shadow. “Thank fuck, man, I was going stir crazy in here.”

  I rubbed my arm several times to chase away my nerves.

  When Knoxe noticed me, he blinked at the light behind us and squinted. He looked me up and down and everywhere his gaze touched burned. “What’s your name?” He tilted his head and the light caught his strong jaw, chiseled features, full mouth. Holy. Shit.

  I wasn’t down with the protocol. Should I shake hands? Fist bump? Shit, what did criminals do to greet each other? Butt heads? Hide the soap? “Astra, your new team member.” I gave him a three-fingered wave.

  He ran his tongue over the corner of his lower lip. If it wasn’t a planned move, this guy didn’t know the power he had. If it was a planned move, this was a guy I needed to watch out for. Time would tell which was which.

  Finally, he cleared his throat. “We’re good. We don’t need another team member.” He moved to stand in the middle of the corridor. The heat I’d felt a second ago froze over. Much like hell would before I slobbered over him again.

  “You’d think you’d be a little nicer to the team member”—I stressed it because he needed to know I wasn’t going anywhere—“who just ate four-hundred points to get you out of there.”

  He grunted and turned away from me. Real friendly guy.

  The next door opened and another guy came into the hallway. “Don’t mind him. He works strong and silent like most guys work a sword. But I’m sure as hell grateful to you, whoever you are.” He shot me a smarmy wink that was less smarmy and more yummy. “Come on over and give me some loving.” He reached out a hand—literally groping in the dark—and ended up rubbing Knoxe’s head.

  “Knock it off, Tor.” Knoxe shoved him away.

  “Lighten up, boss man.” The guy hugged him anyway. “You’re way too serious.”

  Knoxe shoved him again. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the reason we’re here, asshole.”

  Wow they were tall. Way taller than me, and really broad.

  “Did what I had to do, boss.” Tor winked again then walked up to Larry, gave him a little fist bump, wiggle of his fingers and a clap on the shoulder. “Larry, good to see your handsome face as always.”

  Larry chuckled and shook his head. From this interaction I could tell that Tor was somewhat popular with the prison guards, despite getting in trouble—and often by the sound of it.

  He strode to the door to the other corridor, walked through and started throwing insults back and forth with the guys celled there.

  I hugged myself and clutched my right arm with my left.

  Knoxe thumped a third guy on the chest and said, “You okay, Pascal?”

  “I can’t see any thing,” Pascal muttered, following Knoxe out of the chamber, leaving me standing there.

  Hoots and disgusting slurps accompanied me as I walked back the way I came, waiting for Larry to unlock the last team member so that we could get out of here.

  “I knew ya’d be back, baby.” Devon studied me through the window. “Ask nicely n’ Larry’ll unlock da door n’ ya can come in n’ I’ll show ya a real man.”

  I rubbed my arm, faster and harder, desperate to get out of there.

  Tor approached the cell. “You wouldn’t know a real man if he threw you through a window. But I’m willing to try. Talk to her like that again, and we’ll see, won’t we?”

  I liked him already. He reminded me of Clay from Bastard Bikies. God that man made my knees weak with the way he protected Fay.

  I didn’t get to enjoy my mini daydream when Devon spat, and Tor lunged, sticking his arms through the cell window, and yanking the worm against the door several times until blood gushed from a cut on Devon’s forehead.

  Larry reappeared and smashed his baton across the backs of Tor’s knees. “Cut it out, or I’ll throw you back in.” Then he tasered Tor in the back.

  Tor staggered into the wall, leaning on it to rub his legs.

  I stood beside Knoxe, shaking as Larry disappeared back into the other chamber to unlock the last door. It was bad enough I was in a supernatural prison, having to wear a bracelet for the next twenty five years, and now I’d earned enemies through association. When the door clinked open, the fourth man emerged and strode into the hall. Larry let us out into the foyer where the grumpy man in the booth waited for us.

  “Sign here,” he barked at them all, his features sharp and hard, like an angry bull.

  I hugged my waist, studying the four men I’d been paired with. Anything to take my mind off Devon. Hot damn! Three of them had brightly colored hair. All four of them looked like a misfit bunch of superheroes, game, and pop culture characters with vibrant hair, leather outfits, and the physiques to match. I had a moment—one of those awestruck, pee in my pants, drool and fawn kind of moments—as I sized them up, e
tching every single body line and feature into my memory.

  Then reality came crashing back. They were criminals just like me stuck in this prison. I just had to deal with them long enough to win my appeal and get the hell out of here.

  Larry returned to his post, picking up a copy of a men’s magazine, and reading it.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Tor.

  He rubbed the back of his legs then stood and smiled. “Better now.” He held out his hand. “Tor. And you are…?”?”

  Under normal circumstances, that deep timbre, rich and velvety like sticky date pudding, would trap me like a bug in honey.

  “Astra.” Rattled by everything that had happened, I couldn’t stop brushing my arm. “New teammate. Personal savior. Bail bondwoman.” I shrugged and pretended to check my non-existent manicure. “Take your pick.”

  He bent deep at his waist and took my hand to press a soft kiss to my knuckles. “Then I owe you the next two weeks of my sentence, milady.” Blue-eyed with little pieces of blond mixed in with his green hair, Tor was beautiful and tall. Dutch or Norse ancestry by the look of him. Definitely reminded me of Thor God of Thunder and Lightning.

  Tor was the kind of guy who made panties dissolve. Dangerous. One to be watched and watched out for. A Thor doppelganger who wore a body-hugging superhero suit, knee high boots, leather apron and arm guards and a red cape. Fitting that Tor’s name sounded like Thor. I felt like I’d entered a Supernova Comic convention and was about to pose with all the Cosplay people that dressed up.

  For ten solid seconds, words escaped me. “You owe me four hundred credits.”

  He brushed the top of his spiked hair. “Four hundred.”

  “Four hundred.” No way was I going to let them haggle it down, either.

  “First day and down four hundred credits.” He shook his head and smiled. “For little old me.”

  Not just for him, but since he was the only one talking to me…whatever.

  I studied the other three. I couldn’t tell them apart yet without hearing their voices. One was Knoxe, the other Pascal, and only god and these fools knew the last guys’ name. Tall, dark and broodingly handsome.

  So, I gave them names in the meantime. Mr. Fierce and Scowling stared at the walls because he had a God complex and thought he was better and of higher rank than the rest of us. Polynesian ancestry by the look of him, with a large and sharp mouth, solid cut of his shoulders, broad chest that tapered to his waist. His bright orange hair, shaved at the sides, with the remaining length of it held back in a ponytail, reminded me of a sexy Viking warrior about to pillage.

  Mr Glare Pants, dark and broody, the last one to be released. Similar body to Knoxe but wider in the hips. The only one with without colored hair—a bit of a letdown in the fan girl department—but he had a sexy Captain Victorius vibe combined with the secretive side of The Slayer.

  Mr. Stare at His Shoes, shy and withdrawn, a blue-haired hunk that hovered just at the edge of the group from the group.

  Talk about a mixed bunch More time and a less stressful environment, I would’ve been able to come up with a kick-ass name or two for them, but I was freaked out after the ordeal in the commons this morning and then again after bailing them out. My mind wasn’t at its best.

  Someone cleared his throat behind us, and I turned. “Miss Nomical.” The officer.

  “As in astronomical?” Tor smirked.

  Mr. Fierce and Scowling smiled at Glare Pants. Stare at His Shoes bent his head further, staring at the ground.

  Ha-ha. Fricking hilarious. I’d heard all the funny jokes about my name. All the not funny ones, too. My mom picked my name because she thought I was special.

  Oh, how Samantha Jayne had her fun with it. She and her cronies would stand around me in a circle so I couldn’t get away and throw balls at me and make me dodge them. Or shove me and hit me. Call me a loser when I couldn’t escape. I spent a lot of time before I came to the Guild of Shadows crying.

  A hundred thousand times I’d wished I had my sister’s first name. Jenny. Standard. Boring. Nothing to see here.

  I scuffed my boot and pushed my glasses up. Head high, I ignored them and approached the counter, where the officer tapped the paperwork. Another form to sign.

  As I waited, Tor leaned close so his warm breath brushed my ear and shot little sparks of pleasure from my earlobe to my toes. “I think it’s a great name. But to me, you’ll always be Supergirl.”

  Oh yeah. This one had moves and he knew which of my buttons to hit.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Knoxe announced. “Tor, I’m gonna train your ass off for landing us in here.”

  Chapter 7

  Astra

  “Welcome to the team, Supergirl.” Tor smiled, used that same low, husky voice. “Let me introduce you, seeing as our fearless leader hasn’t. Up front on the left is Knoxe. He’s as friendly as an axe and just as ferocious and dangerous.”

  I believed Tor one hundred percent. Knoxe didn’t even raise a hand in hello. He had all the warmth of an iceberg. Such an asshole. But had me purring like a damn cat when he reminded me of Katana, an anime character from my favorite series. Hot as hell, but someone I hoped to avoid as much as possible.

  “Why is she in the team?” Stare at his shoes asked.

  “The warden assigned her,” Tor replied.

  “He can’t.”

  “He has.”

  Stare a his Shoes started to hum after this.

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Beside our fearless leader is Raze.” Tor held out two palms. “Stealthy like a fox, but more deadly. Doesn’t talk much, unless you get him drunk. Then he’ll tell you how he caught a wild boar with his bare hands.”

  Raze chuckled and flicked a finger in the air. My welcome.

  I couldn’t pick his heritage. Darker skin, plump lips and wide, flat nose. Maybe part indigenous Australian. A shiver of attraction shot down my spine when he stared at me earlier, his piercing cerulean eyes like those of a wolf eyeing his prey.

  Tor slowed, and I matched his pace, falling into line with Pascal. Tor threw an arm over his shoulder. “You okay, buddy? That was a bit rough back there.”

  “Tor, no.” Pascal squirmed, twisting free. “You know I don’t like that.”

  Tor slapped him on the chest. “Sorry, I was concerned The Hole might have shaken you, that’s all.”

  Cute. He looked out for his teammate, which was more than I could say for Knoxe.

  “Yes. I need a tune though.” Pascal fell a step behind us.

  “That’s Pascal, my man,” Tor announced, his loud, boisterous voice carrying down the hall.

  Pascal. A nice name… for a unit of pressure, not someone who liked to fiddle with tuning forks. But I’d reserve my judgment until I knew him better.

  “Don’t touch him.” Tor held up a finger. “He’s shy, doesn’t like to have hands on him, but his powers are—” He chef-kissed his fingers.

  Equally as handsome as the others, Pascal had the long, lean physique of a swimmer rather than a brawler, but he ruined the effect with his hunched back. He was awkward, socially, unsocially, distracted, unsure.

  He flinched, fiddled with a tuning fork, tapping it as if silent notes played. A nervous tic. Discomfort with even minor conflict. An inability to meet my gaze. I could spot others like me a mile away. I’d bet one hundred credits that he was on the spectrum.

  Tor flashed me a saucy wink. “Pascal has a real chip on his shoulder.”

  Pascal glanced at one shoulder, brushed it, then repeated this on his other shoulder. “No I don’t. I haven’t eaten chips today.”

  Tor chuckled. “Never gets old.”

  I was right. Taking things literally was a sign of someone on the spectrum.

  I glanced over my shoulder. “Nice to meet you.” That encouraged him to glance at me, and I smiled before his fleeting gaze returned to the floor.

  “And you’ve already met Tor.” Knoxe’s tone tightened, dropping deeper a
nd he scowled over his shoulder. “Resident screw up.”

  Raze thumped Knoxe on the chest and glared. “That was disrespectful, Knoxe.”

  I turned my gaze to the green-haired Thor wannabe. His jaw tightened, shoulders curled forward, and he focused on the floor. Outsiders always piqued my interest, especially considering I was one. So far I knew Tor was the one responsible for the fight two days earlier. But they’d all been in on it, so his anger toward Tor was a little strong for that. There had to be more. I made it my mission to discover the history there, but not now.

  “You’re a dick.” Harsh. Raw. Top of my lungs. Induced by stress. This was angry me.

  Knoxe turned so fast I almost collided with him. “You just need to remember I’m in charge here. You keep your fucking mouth shut and do what I say, and we’ll get along fine, got it?”

  I cocked my fuck-off eyebrow, imagining myself shooting him with a bright orange lightning bolt, like my fave super heroine. This guy had hate sewn into the very fabric of his soul, a serious grudge problem. Probably spent hours curled up in a ball crying like a baby over his daddy issues. But when none of the guys stood up and clapped back at Knoxe, I figured the hierarchy. He was top of the totem. I was the underground anchor. I shrank, determined to stay out of his way.

  Pascal stuck his fingers in his ear and hummed to himself, obviously wanting to avoid conflict. His humming rose and fell in pitch as he murmured a symphony. Beethoven I think.

  I took Tor’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Knoxe was a hardass who didn’t care who he hurt. It would be up to me make friends to help me with him. Tor was a good start. Until he jerked away.

  “Silver Blazes,” I muttered under my breath.

  The Guild of Shadow had floor to ceiling windows in the hallways, rooms with history built into the beams, magic in the walls. Hand-carved trim and floors walked by the greatest Gildrons in history. This place was dark. Dank and damp. Somewhere in the far recesses I could hear water dripping. Here, the walls probably wept and the floors whined. Nothing great would come out of the Guild of Guardians.

  There were no tapestries to declare one Gildron team over another. No statues to commemorate great leaders of the past. No painting or decorations. Walls here were bare. Floors devoid of woven carpets. This was a building of stone walls, grafittied with runes to ward off magic, of windows with metal bars and insulated green glass, of Gargoyles perched on walls, unblinking, always watching.