Shea out of her thoughts and sent a cold ball of lead dropping into the pit of her stomach. Again they walked, continuing on past the rows of cells, their measured steps drowned in the cacophony of sound.
Shea’s mind continued to turn to the fierce man who had rescued her less than a day ago. She’d run from him, thinking that he was too dangerous. Too connected to the visions that haunted her. Would she have been in deeper trouble if she had stayed with him? Right now, she couldn’t imagine that.
The guard stopped and the prisoner in front of Shea stepped into a cell, the metal door sliding shut behind her with a finality that was soul shattering. Then it was only Shea, following the grim-faced guard.
An hour or so ago, the men who had captured her had reluctantly turned her over to the prison guards and Shea had been almost grateful. Yes, this was prison and God knew when-or if-she’d ever get out again. But at least, she’d told herself, she was away from the more imminent physical threat the men had presented.
Her arms tightened around her burden and the scent of bleach wafted up to her from the well-washed fabrics. She wore a pale blue jumpsuit and white sneakers with no laces. Her hair was loose and still damp from the supervised shower she’d been forced to take on arrival.
The tiny humiliations that had been heaped on her made all of this seem even more surreal. A bored prison guard had run her fingers through Shea’s long, thick hair, looking for concealed weapons. Another guard had watched Shea strip and then searched her discarded clothing. She tried not to recall the degradation of the strip search. And thinking about the inoculation the nurse had made as painful as possible only made her want to cry, which was useless. Then there was the open shower area that almost reminded Shea of high school gym classes until the water came on and it was icy cold. Two female guards had kept watch while Shea bathed as quickly as she could and then dried herself with a scratchy white towel.
The only item she’d been allowed to hang on to was the white gold chain around her neck, lying like ice against her skin. The cold sensations sank deep into her spirit, blanketing whatever she was or might have been.
This was her life now, she thought, glancing into the cells as she passed, watching woman after woman meet her gaze, then look away. A few stood, chins lifted, quietly defiant, but they were in the minority. Most had been beaten, emotionally if not physically. They, like her, were trapped in a cage designed to hold them forever.
There was no presumption of innocence for a witch.
“In you go.”
Shea looked at the guard in front of her and then turned her head toward the open cell door. Swallowing the bitter taste of fear and regret, Shea walked into the narrow, cheerless room. Pale green walls here too, in a cell no bigger than six feet by five feet. There was a slender bunk covered by a thin mattress, a bare toilet and a tiny sink with buttons rather than faucet handles. A single hard chair was the only other appointment in Shea’s new home. Glancing around, a fathomless well of desolation rose up within her. She let out a long sigh and slowly turned to watch the guard close the cell door, shutting her in.
Smiling, the guard stepped close to the bars and Shea moved back two paces, driven away by the cold gleam in the guard’s eyes.
“I heard about you,” the woman said, her voice nearly lost in the surrounding swell of sound. “Killed a man today, didn’t you? Enjoy it?”
“Of course not,” Shea said, arms tightening around the bundle of bedsheets.
“Sure, I believe you.” Sarcasm was thick in her voice and the woman’s eyes flashed with something dangerous. “Everyone knows what happened. Word spreads fast in a place like this. You used magic to kill a man.”
A swift, sharp stab of regret shot through her but she defended herself anyway. “He was attacking me.”
“Found you out, didn’t he?” the guard taunted. “Knew what you were and so you had to kill him. Shouldn’t have done it in front of witnesses, though. That was stupid.”
Shea took a deep breath. “That’s not what happened.”
No one would believe her. No one would ever hear her side of the story. New laws were being rushed through Congress every day. Laws that said dangerous witches weren’t entitled to a trial by their peers-because their peers were in prison. No human jury would sit on a trial for a witch because they were too afraid of retribution.
So there were no trials anymore.
Witches were now immediately imprisoned and, if deemed warranted, executed.
“It’s exactly what happened,” the woman said. “You’re no better than your aunt. And if you weren’t wearing that chain around your neck, you’d kill me in a heartbeat to escape, so don’t bother telling me any lies.”
The slurs on her aunt stung. Mairi had been one of the kindest, most gentle people Shea had ever known. And in one horrifying instant, she’d become Public Enemy Number One.
Shea’s gaze dropped to the name tag the guard wore. JACOBS. When she spoke again, it was in a calm, rational tone. If she could win this woman’s understanding, maybe even make a friend here, there was a chance she could make her new life a little less hideous. “Officer Jacobs…”
“Don’t say my name!” she shouted, cheeks paling even as she pulled a nightstick from her belt and slapped it hard against the white gold bars, making Shea jump back farther and drop the sheets and blankets to the cold, cracked linoleum floor at her feet.
The harsh whack stilled everyone nearby. The silence was almost as unnerving as the racket had been before.
“Don’t ever say my name,” the woman said, eyes wide, mouth twisted into a feral snarl. “You try and spell me, witch, and you won’t live to see your legal execution. You’ll die right here.”
Shea’s gaze locked with the guard’s-and what she read in those dark brown eyes sent a chill racing through her. There was no safety anywhere now, she thought, realizing that the guards here had complete control over the inmates. And the “accidental” death of a witch wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow.
“Don’t you push me, Witch. Understand?”
Shea nodded, holding her breath, leery of even thinking about arguing, lest it show on her face. Slowly, the women around them came to life again and hushed voices once more whispered into the stale air. Seconds ticked past and the activity in the prison continued as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening-and that was probably true.
Threats and beatings were nothing new in the prison system, Shea realized. And not even the ACLU was willing to stand up and speak for a witch.
She was alone here.
Atonement, Torin had said. Was this part of it? Was she being punished now for something that had happened in another world, another life?
Alone, she shivered at her own thoughts and the empty dread filling her.
As the guard moved off with one last fulminating look, Shea slowly walked to the cell door to look out at her new home. The cold from the white gold did battle with a new kind of chill inside her.
Someone in the distance shouted, “Lights-out!”
One by one, the overhead lights blinked off as Shea looked across the dozens of women in nearby matching cells. Darkness crept along the cellblock and those women’s faces receded into the shadows.
As the last light flickered out, Shea understood a horrible truth.
They were all alone.
Chapter 11
Two men wouldn’t have stood a chance at breaking into the internment camp nestled deep in the forest.
Two Eternals, on the other hand, encountered little trouble.
Torin felt the drain to his powers from the proximity of the white gold that had been sprayed across the chain-link fence surrounding the camp. Though his magical abilities were weakened by the man-made element, his physical strength remained. He and his fellow Eternals had been created to be strong, nearly invincible. As if the demigod who was their creator had foreseen that one day man would find a way to abridge their magic, he had
