Page 46 of Mud

“It’s natural to be confused.”

The sound of the woman’s voice brought me out of my trance again—I seemed to be slipping so easily. It was the agent with the pad, one I hadn’t had the chance to talk to before. She must have been new, though she didn’t look too young. Definitely not fresh out of college, if thesoft wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were an indicator.

“You saw two of your teammates get slaughtered and you almost died yourself.” She proceeded to nod her head at my leg, and her red hair bounced around her head. Dye, but it looked really nice on her paired with her icy blue eyes. I thought she might be Bluefire, but there was a ring on her finger instead, pulsating with magic.

Just like mine, except…

I looked down at my father’s ring, still there, on my finger. And it just felt…off. Strange.Wrong.

“But you were very brave, Agent La Rouge,” she continued. “The IDD thanks you for your service.” Grabbing her pad with both hands, she gave me a tight-lipped smile, nodded, and stepped back. “We will be going over the details of what happened as soon as we get back to Headquarters and you’re given painkillers—I imagine that must hurt.” She threw a quick look at my leg. “And…I’m really sorry.”

Sorry.

What the hell was she sorry for?

But before I could remember that I had a voice to speak with, to ask, she was already walking back to the twins, while Philip kept his head down and his hands in his pockets. “I’ll have someone come carry you to the vehicles.” And he turned to leave, too.

Wait!I thought I said, but my voice wasn’t working right now.

Hold on—sorry for what?

I didn’t kill this catfairie. Erid and Michael were trying to killme!

Why is nobody healing me, and why would I needpainkillersinstead of a spell?

Why sorry? Why sorry?

Why the fuck did she say sorry?!

I found out soon enough.

Chapter 12

Rosabel La Rouge

Present day

I asked them again what had happened, why they hadn’t healed me, why they weresorry.

Nobody answered.

I passed out again on the way back to Headquarters and didn’t wake up until we were there.

The overhead lights in the building’s hallways were brighter than I’d ever realized. I could have sworn that this was Room Number Seven—the same interrogation room I’d been in with that siren that morning. That very room where I’d made her tell me where she’d hidden everything she’d stolen from humans, while giving in to her magic whenever I could to make her feel like she had the upper hand. Where agents had come in wearing large headphones to bring her food and drinks or bring me more documents at my request—because to hear the voice of a sirenunprotected meant to lose your mind and submit to her without question. Siren magic was strong, very strong.

Yet mine had kept me safe beautifully—when I was sitting on theotherside of this table.

When I was the interrogator.

Now, I was in the siren’s chair for some reason. I was in the chair of the criminal (until proven guilty, of course, but that’s just for the records because anybody who ended up in these rooms was considered guilty already), and though my hands weren’t chained, I was still sitting on the right side of the table.

The right, not the left.

Panic set in and I stood up, threw the chair back. The sound of it falling to the floor turned the blood in my veins ice-cold—it was so loud. It echoed a million times. Somebody would have heard it. Somebody was coming for me.

And my neck waskillingme from having held it at a very bad angle until I woke up.

Why was I left unconscious on a chair? Why am I in an interrogation room? Why haven’t they healed me—my leg is pulsating with so much pain, I can’t stand on it at all. Why-why-why?

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