INVISIBLE PRISON (INVISIBLE RECRUITS) (2 page)

CHAPTER 3

There are two things you don’t joke about in prison. Getting your sentence commuted is one of them. I hadn’t discovered the other one yet.

Instead of answering directly, I glanced at the empty chair next to Ling Mai and bought some time by saying, “Maybe I’ll take that seat after all.”

Since my sore muscles were already stiffening, shuffling the few feet to the chair and easing down into it took longer than I expected. But it still wasn’t long enough to determine if the woman across from me was for real.

“What’s the catch?” I asked, bracing myself.

“We need someone with your abilities,” she responded. “And in exchange for a year of your services the state of Idaho is willing to forgive your sentence.”

Bull puppy. Killing someone didn’t get swept under the rug no matter what; and who needed me that badly to even suggest such a swap?

“What abilities?” I hedged, tackling the easiest question first.

“You being a witch and able to wield magic.”

I was glad I was sitting. No one outside my immediate family and my witch mentor who’d trained me for a few months knew who or what I was. No one. And I was damned sure going to keep it that way.

Being a witch wasn’t as hard to hide as say being a shifter or vamp. If discovered I could always pass myself off as a Wiccan, or a harmless back-to-earth kind of person, but the fact I possessed real magic, was not something I flaunted.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I was pleased my voice sounded level, except for that small crack on the last word.

“Quit the BS, Noziak,” Stone jumped in, obviously a master at hearing the lie. “We don’t have time to shoot the breeze here. Either you want to spend the rest of your crappy life stuck here.” He glanced toward the space beyond the Warden’s door. “Or you can jump at the best opportunity you’ll ever be given.”

“Only a fool jumps at some vague promise,” I shot back, “And I’m not a fool.”

The Ling Mai woman raised one hand to notch down the tension permeating the room. “Ms. Noziak is correct,” she said. “She doesn’t have enough data to make an informed choice.”

Yeah, take that a-hole, I wanted to crow, but held my tongue, responding only to Ling Mai. “Tell me who you are, what you want and what you want from me,” I said, my voice firm and no-nonsense.

“I am the Director of a very new, and very discreet agency being created to counter the growing agitation between human and non-humans existing in the world.”

“Non-humans?” I mumbled, curious as to whether this was a witch-hunt, pun intended or if she really knew what she was talking about.

“Weres, shifters, vampires, demons, faes and those we have not yet identified,” she said, her tone calm. “We’re not an eradication program, or seeking to kill and ask questions later. A few of us realize that humans and non-humans have existed relatively peacefully for centuries, and we want to make sure that status remains.”

“But?” I was waiting for the ten-ton other shoe to drop. The fact she knew about non-humans, while appearing to be human, was enough to take in. But the fact she knew about non-humans and wasn’t on an exterminate first and ask questions later agenda was the biggest issue to absorb.

As a species humans tended to be driven by fear. What we didn’t readily grasp or understand, we killed. It was a basic survival mechanism and one of the reasons humans remained at the top of the food chain. So the fact this woman was willing to keep the status quo, the much smaller and more threatened population of non-humans living secretly among the larger mass of humans, rattled me.

However, talk was cheap.

“But we are also pragmatists,” she continued, glancing over her shoulder at her granite-faced colleague before continuing. “Traditionally those humans who have known of the non-humans in our midst have dealt with those who pose a clear threat in one of three ways. Assuming all non-humans were dangerous and meeting that danger head on, warding any danger off before it strikes, or trying to avoid it through denial.”

I snorted, knowing how effective the last approach was.

Ling Mai nodded as if I’d spoken aloud. “My point is that as the world becomes more populated, the approach many humans have taken, to ignore the non-humans or non-human behavior around them, becomes less and less effective. The alternative is—”

“Another Spanish Inquisition?” I threw out. “Salem witch trials? Russian Pogroms, the riots against the Jewish population where the government turned a blind eye?”

“Where more innocents, both human and non-human, suffered and perished than those guilty of creating the situation in the first place,” she finished for me. “You’re also ignoring the Irish Leprechaun killings of 996, the Chinese warlock hunts of 1296, and the Islamic djinn slaughters of the early 1700s throughout North Africa.”

So she knew about those events, interesting. Most people only knew about the systematic killings of non-humans, or those deemed different, through fairytales and most of those stories had been whitewashed. Humans tend to come out on top in most of the tales I’d read as a child and not the trolls, goblins, or pixies. It wasn’t fair but it was reality.

Okay, I could see where there could be a need for a preemptive approach to potential clashes between human and non-humans. But that didn’t make me a believer that some government agency was the best option, or that I wanted to be any part of such an agency.

“Has nothing to do with me,” I said, spreading my hands wide, ignoring the tension knotting my neck and back muscles.

Mercenary Stone rocked forward on the balls of his feet, classic preemptive strike mode. I clutched the arms of my chair, hoping I could launch myself out of it before blood was drawn.

Ling Mai’s tone implied a reality-check absent from the room. “I think you’re wrong, Ms. Noziak. You are just the right type of individual we want for the new agency.”

“A convicted killer?” I asked with enough sarcasm to coat the room.

“A person who knows firsthand what can happen when a non-human attack is misunderstood. You had two options, hide the truth, which would have mitigated your sentence, or let a lie force you into prison for life.”

“You’re forgetting a couple of things,” I said, goading her. “The first is I’m here because of the violence of the crime.” She seemed familiar with the details so no need to elaborate. Bottom line was killing the rogue Were who wanted to kill my brother was not why I was in prison. I was here because I’d used black magic to call that death demon, thus he was literally torn limb from limb. Pretty gruesome, and not something that could be ignored.

It was the violence of my crime, and my reluctance to explain it, that railroaded me behind the walls of the Grey House. But if I’d explained what he had been, how I could use magic, I’d probably be facing a lot worse sentence than life in prison. Which brought me to my second point. “Here, there’s always the chance I can get parole for good behavior.”

“Not at all. You and I both know you’d be looking at a minimum of twenty to twenty-five years with good behavior before you could possibly see beyond these walls.”

Stone jumped in, “And with those fresh bruises you’re sporting I’m thinking it might be harder for you to turn the other cheek and fly low.”

I swallowed the lump of grief as their words washed over me. Twenty years meant I’d be close to forty-five, no telling if I could survive that long inside.

“So I’m a lifer who might jump at a chance to get out,” I said, easing my shoulders but not my tone. “Still doesn’t mean I’m qualified to fight non-humans, assuming I believed in them.”

No non-human, like my brothers or myself, ever admitted to any one, especially a stranger, and especially a government stranger, that there was the remotest possibility of someone being anything except human through and through. It tended to avoid calling down a bucket load of grief on our heads.

“Have you heard of the Custos per quod?” Ling Mai asked, leaning back in her chair, her tone conversational.

“Sounds Latin,” I said.

“Very good. It is,” came her enigmatic reply.

When no one spoke I did. “So what does it mean and what does it have to do with me?”

“Custos per quod is an honorary designation for the Guardian of Time,” she said.

“And this means what?” My bruises were screaming, my cuts needed cleaning and dried blood was sticking to a lot of me, mixed with dirt and grass. Patience was never my strong suit.

“Since the old days, humans have kept records of non-humans. A preventative measure.”

I raised a brow, aware of my stomach nose-diving but held my tongue. This was news to me.

“The Guardian of Time’s duty is to record the marriages of and offspring of non-humans, including those who have intermarried into human lines.”

“So?” My shoulder shrug said loud and clear get-on-with-it. No way would such a list exist without it being common knowledge among non-humans. But there had been a rumor once or twice about something called a Voco Vidico, a summons to protect, or some such thing. My Latin was rusty, but the concept was still viable. An underground group of non-humans who were created to protect against humans who might know a little too much.

But wasn’t that a different kind of fairytale? One meant to give some species of non-humans hope? Those non-humans who didn’t like hiding their abilities for the greater good of all species.

Ling Mai’s voice snapped me back to the present. “Your mother was a very powerful witch, your father part-shaman, part-shifter, all four of your brothers are shifters, and you, my dear, have shown very early signs of being an extremely powerful witch in your own right, even without your shamanic abilities.”

Every instinct in me screamed run. Or hide. But I didn’t have the option for either. This woman knew too much, far too much, and in this case knowledge was danger.

“Cut to the chase here,” I growled, my fingers biting deep enough into the leather armrests to create half-moon indents. “What do you want?”

“You, to work for us,” Mercenary Stone said flat out.

“And if I don’t?”

“You stay here, and whoever beat the crap out of you will finish the job.”

His tone said he’d make sure that happened. Bribing a guard to look the other way. Passing a weapon to Big Mad Martha or one of her minions. Making sure I was assigned a work relief detail that made me vulnerable. Oh, yeah, there’d be a dozen ways to easily make sure I never saw parole, never saw my father or brothers again.

My mouth dry, my gaze cut diamond hard toward Ling Mai. “And if I go with you?”

“If you survive one year working for me, then you’re free to get on with your life.”

Now why did that sound like a very big if?

Ling Mai stood and added, “There’s one other thing to consider, Ms. Noziak.”

“What?”

“If you remain here, you know that at some time your father or brothers will come to your assistance. To liberate you. It’s in their natures.”

I swallowed. Hard. She was right.

She angled her head before driving home the dagger. “And if they come, they will die. Do you wish that?”

CHAPTER 4

Ten hours after the m
ysterious Ling Mai and the pull-no-punches M.T. Stone had left, I was lying rock-still in my bunk, sleep eluding me. Damn them anyway.

How did they know what they knew about me and my family? Was that knowledge immediately dangerous? That was an easy one. Yes, if they used that knowledge against us. How could I warn my dad and brothers? Or would that create more problems?

Three of my brothers worked for government agencies who accepted their uniqueness without pushing as to why. A lot of government organizations who thrived on Alpha personalities and a hierarchical structure took advantage of Weres and shifters, without admitting that their members might be different. The ultimate don’t-ask, don’t-tell policy had been in effect for generations.

Ling Mai knew that most non-humans found it easier to hide in plain sight than to rattle the status quo and announce our abilities. For one thing, the sheer numbers of humans meant we were vulnerable, in spite of some of our talents; strength, stamina and for some, immortality. But not all of us were Weres, shifters or vamps, and all of us could be killed, one-way or another.

Like any species there were always a few who colored outside the lines and threatened to expose our existence. For the last thousand years or so we had policed ourselves, creating a Council of Seven whose sole function was to keep the knowledge of non-humans from humans. Not an easy task but a necessary one. So what if a mystery remained around Lizzie Borden killing or not killing her parents? Better to focus on that question than on the fact she was a troll with a little Beserker blood in her veins. Or what about Vlad the Impaler? Better to call him a vampire so people didn’t look too closely at his cousin Gyula the Old, who ruled Partes Transsylvana, the lands beyond the woods, and was a true vampire.

So did the Council of Seven know about the Guardian of Time and the damned list of non-human progeny? That wasn’t my real problem, my real problem was much closer.

What about the cryptic offer? Real or a hoax to flush out a non-human like myself? I wasn’t Wiccan, which was a choice. I was born a witch, the ability being passed down the female blood-line, and practicing or not, I’d die a witch, as well as pass along my abilities to any female offspring. My dad’s shamanistic abilities were also hereditary, which meant on the wild chance I ever got out of here and had kids, they were as doubly screwed as I was.

Nor did I want my dad or brothers to get hurt, doing what they’d held off doing for now.

And on top of that there was the niggling, very small voice of hope. Could I get out of here? Kiss Big Mad Martha and her cohorts goodbye? Do something with my abilities that might help people instead of hiding who and what I was as much as possible?

On the other hand, what Ling Mai and Stone were talking about was a death sentence of sorts. Being a witch didn’t mean I couldn’t die going up against non-humans, especially the strong ones such as Weres, shifters, trolls and warlocks. Witches bled red, just as quickly and easily as a human. The dozen bandages the infirmary doctor had plastered on me today, after a stern but very unnecessary lecture about survival, was proof of that.

Take a risk and go only to die? Or stay and die? Hard choices, but at least there was a choice. That’s the part that kept sprinting through my thoughts. If I did nothing I kissed life goodbye. If I risked, sure I’d most likely perish, but I’d die on the outside in the world of sun, not inside concrete and steel walls.

Since the overhead lights never gave a hint of the passage of time I listened for the tell-tale sounds of morning arriving: increasing movement, the thud of law enforcement issued boots signaling shift change, the rattle of prisoners facing another useless day of nothingness.

Then the other sound blasted through the cells. The ear-piercing whistle of trouble.

My muscles tightened, the fight or flight response. Something unexpected was happening and I didn’t need the double-time cadence of boots thundering down the hall to tell me it involved one of the prisoners.

Like the rest of the population trapped here, any change created interest and a break from the monotony. Plus if the siren meant danger, lying on my back was not the best way to meet it. I swung my feet over the hard bed and padded to the cell door, grasping the cool bars as a wake up tonic. It worked. It and the increasing cat calls coming from the other cells.

“Hogs gone wild.”

“Open the house, you snouts.”

“Lock-down.”

That last wasn’t good. Prisoners are managed in large part by the unremitting routine imposed on us. Change that routine and we got antsy.

I caught Mingo Martin scurrying toward me, a deep frown marring her face.

“What’s up?” I shouted, knowing I had as much chance as a snowball in an Arizona summer of getting an answer. Favoritism was frowned on in the Grey Hotel.

Damn though if she didn’t skid to a stop. “Keep your nose clean,” she snarled, as if I’d just screwed the pooch.

My response was automatic, holding my hands before me, palms out, stepping away from the cell bars.

Martin must have realized she’d come down really hard as she shook her head and stepped near my cell.

“It’s Been-There,” she said, as my stomach took a free-fall.

I grabbed the cell bars again, this time twisting the cold metal, knowing I didn’t want the answer to my next question. “What happened?”

“Hung herself during the night.”

Then and there I made my decision
.