Page 117 of Junk Magic

“I . . . didn’t expect any of this,” I rasped, too frazzled to lie.

“Yes, they never do,” he said placidly, while someone else strapped me down. I tried to turn my head to see who, but my body ignored the command. But a moment later, a burly guy came into view, wearing the same crisp white tunic and trousers that the Corps’ medics used, although I didn’t know him.

“Where are we?” I demanded hoarsely.

“Research facility,” Jenkins said absently, accepting a data pad from the medic. “The Corps has several of them, scattered about the desert, working on different things—”

“The Corps didn’t do this!” I said, with more anger in my voice than I should have showed. But I couldn’t seem to keep it out.

“No,” he agreed. “I tried to help them, but every time I suggested anything, I got those looks—you know the ones I mean.” He scrolled upward.

“I gave her the right dose,” the man began defensively. “I know I did—”

“Well, clearly not,” Jenkins said, and made a note with a stylus.

“What looks?” I said, trying to keep the conversation going while my brain sorted itself out. Which would have been easier without the sound of sizzling flesh and the smell of burnt meat from behind me.

“The same kind you get whenever you do anything less than human. Or more than, really.” He shot me an appreciative glance. “Weres are fascinating creatures.”

“It’s the same dose I give everyone,” the medic said.

“Yes, but she’s not everyone. This one is special.”

“Then . . . should I hit her again?”

“Not unless you want to kill her,” Jenkins said testily. “We’ll control her manually until time for the next dose, then up it by 10%.”

“But . . . she’s a war mage,” the orderly said, looking less than thrilled with this plan.

“Yes, a beat up one whose magic is bottomed out and who is drugged off her ass,” Jenkins said, pushing the pad into the man’s solar plexus and starting to walk away.

“Why special?” I asked, my voice a little high.

I didn’t know what the hell was happening here, but I knew that if Jenkins walked out of that door, I never would. You don’t leave your victim alive, and that was definitely what I was about to be. Another in this macabre collection, or else I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t be seeing this.

Jenkins paused for a moment, the need for discretion warring with the man’s love of his own voice. The voice won and he turned around with a little smile on his face. “Gather intel, stall for time, apply a distraction . . .” he said, reciting part of the mantra we drill into recruits’ heads. “You know, I forget the fourth one. But you’re a trainer. You should know it.”

“Overpower the enemy and escape.”

“Yes, that’s it. Good advice, but I imagine it’s a little different in practice, isn’t it?”

“No shit.”

He chuckled. “I like that about you. You’re blunt to a fault. No attempts at subterfuge, no double speak, no lies. It’s refreshing.”

“Then answer the question.”

He debated it.

Then he shrugged and ambled back over, before pulling up a stool and climbing on top. It left him slightly taller than me, even with the height of the table, since I was lying down. He seemed to like that.

I guessed it was a novelty.

“Why not? We both know you’re never getting out of here,” he said, equally bluntly.

“And here is?”

“I already told you. One of the Corps’ own research facilities. I just . . . remodeled . . . the lower level. Turned it into my own little lab.”

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