As he spoke, Agent Söze’s dead eyes drifted over me. My blood ran cold. The “human” in all those charges was me.
He turned the page. “We also have three counts of assault, three counts of assault with magic, and three counts of first-degree murder.”
“Murder?” Aaron burst out in a snarl. “Who—”
“William Burke, Halil Demir, and Fenton Armstrong, members of the Utah-based guild, the Keys of Solomon. We have multiple witness accounts of confrontations between you and their team during the unbound demon hunt last Halloween.” He ran a finger down his page. “Speaking of demons, your charges also include harboring a rogue Demonica contractor, participating in illegal Demonica magic, and abetting in … numerous murders.”
“What?” Aaron snarled furiously.
Agent Söze observed Aaron’s reaction with clinical indifference, then shifted his gaze toward Kai’s cell. He began reading off the electramage’s charges. They were similar to Aaron’s, and the endless list turned to mush in my ears.
How did he know we’d killed three Keys contractors last Halloween? And the “rogue contractor”—was he talking about Robin?
Agent Söze finished Kai’s list, focused on me, and began to speak again. My body chilled, limbs trembling, as he listed off my charges, which included most of the same ones as the mages, plus several new ones related to impersonating a mythic and lying to the MPD about it.
“It’s very nearly impressive, the amount of criminal activity you three have racked up,” he concluded dispassionately. “Between your crimes and Darius King’s numerous infractions and evasions, this guild disbandment will be very straightforward.”
He flipped the papers on his clipboard back into place. “Your charges will be finalized in the next twenty-four hours, and the Judiciary Council will convene shortly afterward to determine your sentencing.”
“What about Ezra?” Kai asked, his voice low and terse.
“The MPD is duty-bound to pursue every avenue of investigation.” Agent Söze tucked the clipboard under his arm. “However, none of our experts feel safe performing the Demonica detection test on a convicted demon mage.”
“None?” Aaron spat. “You’ve got to be f—”
“The Judiciary Council will make the final decision.”
With his two agents in tow, he walked away. The security doors clattered, then slammed shut. Silence fell over the cell block as I stared dazedly at the spot where Agent Söze had stood.
“That bastard,” Aaron rasped, his voice thick with fury. “He’s going to block anyone from testing Ezra and execute him anyway.”
I didn’t reply. My throat had closed, muscles locked. I could scarcely breathe, let alone make a sound. Stumbling, I retreated to my bunk and sat before my legs gave out.
All those charges against us. They couldn’t possibly have hard evidence for most of them—but that didn’t matter. Just like it didn’t matter that Ezra had peacefully turned himself in to prove he wasn’t a demon mage.
Aaron and Kai had gone quiet again, and the other prisoners stayed silent too. Maybe they felt sympathy for how completely screwed we were—or maybe they felt the same voice-muting powerlessness that this place radiated.
My thoughts twisted and boiled, consuming me entirely. I sat on the bunk, face buried in my hands, doing nothing but breathing and thinking. But no matter how I fit the pieces together or pulled them apart, no matter what wild idea I considered, I saw no way out of this. None.
I didn’t know how much time had passed when, with an electronic click, my cell light dimmed to a faint glow. Blinking, I looked toward the hall, where the lights had dimmed as well. Bedtime for the prisoners?
I stared for a moment—then gasped.
An unfamiliar man stood outside my cell.
As I gawked, he smiled and pressed a finger to his lips, then crooked that finger in a “come here” gesture. Huh?
Cautiously, I pushed off the bunk and crossed to the bars.
“Hey there,” he whispered. “Enjoying your stay at Hotel MagiPol?”
My forehead scrunched. “Who are you?”
“You don’t recognize me? I remember you.”
I squinted, taking in his youthful face. Early twenties, maybe? Short chocolate brown hair and the kind of blue eyes that made girls swoon—deep and penetrating but softened by an amused sparkle—accentuated his boy-next-door good looks.
“No clue,” I muttered.
“Maybe our last encounter was more memorable for me than you. I was a forgettable rookie agent on his first field assignment at the time.”
I recoiled. “Wait, you’re an agen—”
“Shh,” he whispered, then stuck his hand through the bars. “Kit Morris—Agent Kit … uh, Agent Morris.” He grimaced. “Call me Kit.”
Staring in bewilderment, I shook his hand. Weird time for a polite greeting, but why not.
He squeezed my fingers. “Ready to check out?”
“Huh?”
“Unless you want to face a rigged judiciary hearing, but I don’t recommend it. I’ve been there and it sucks.” He raised his other hand, a ring of keys hanging from one finger. “Personally, I’d like you out of the building before Agent Commodus gets really carried away. I think he’s planning to display your head on a pike in the lobby, and that’s just tacky, you know?”
When I merely gawked, he arched his eyebrows above those strangely perceptive blue eyes.
“Get on my page here, Tori. I’m breaking you out, and I don’t have time to explain Joaquin Phoenix’s filmography to you first.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Why are you, an MPD agent, breaking me out of lockup?”
Kit inserted a key into the door’s bolt. “Why are you, doomed prisoner of the MPD, complaining?”
“I’m not complaining. I just want to know why.”
He opened the cell door, careful to make as little noise as possible, and whispered, “Does a man need a reason to undertake his very own Mission Impossible heist? If there were an overhead vent in your cell, I’d be rappelling down from the ceiling right n—”
“Are we rescuing Aaron and Kai too?” I interrupted in a hiss.
Winking casually, he ambled over to Aaron’s cell. The pyromage, sitting on his bunk with his shoulders hunched, looked up—and his jaw dropped. I shushed
