Page 47 of Mud

“It’s okay,” I told myself. “Perfectly fine. They just want to know what happened in the woods, that’s all.” All of this had an explanation. A very logical explanation that I was missing because of this fog that had taken over my mind and this excruciating pain that barely let me suck in air, and this weakness of my body that must have come from no sleep, exhaustion, loss of blood, and being exposed to all that magic, and?—

My ring.

A bell rang in my ears. My stomach fell all the way tomy heels and my entire body stood frozen at the edge of the table, the door a mere three hops away.

My ring was not on my finger, and my gloves were not on my person, and my jacket was gone, and the shirt and pants I had on were completely torn.

My ring is not on my finger.

It fell. It probably fell somewhere in that forest and I didn’t notice it. It just fell, and it would be somewhere with my jacket, wherever the agents had taken the stuff they found in that woods. All I had to do was go find it, that’s it. All I had to do was go find my father’s ring.

But my leg hurt even more the clearer my head became. I was at the door already, hand on the handle, but I couldn’t hop a single more time like that. It was still bleeding, that wound. My pants were torn, and I saw my flesh. I saw the green goo hanging onto the edges, too—an infection. Definitely an infection, and the magical kind that would need a heavy dose of magical antibiotics—meaning a heavy-duty Whitefire spell. But one of my own was going to do just fine for now, just to help me keep walking.

So, I closed my eyes and I tried. I whispered the words just like I had in the woods.

Then I tried a second time.

And a third.

My magic didn’t come.

“No need to panic,” I told myself. Look at the state I was in—exhausted and shot and infected, not to mention my ring wasn’t on my finger at all. Of course, my magic wouldn’t work without an anchor—it wasfine!All would be right as soon as I went to the medical wing. Plenty of Whitefires there at any given time.

So, I pulled the door open to walk out. It didn’t budge.

They’d locked me in, in the interrogation room.

“But I’m an agent,” I reminded myself—out loud again, as that seemed to work better than just thinking. I was an agent, and agents had badges with access to all interrogation rooms. My badge was in my wallet, which was in the pocket of my cargo pants, exactly as I left it. It was still there, and I could have fucking cried from relief, but I didn’t let myself because to be relieved nobody had thought to take away my badge meant to admit that something was wrong. To admit that my ring and my jacket were taken from me on purpose—and I wasnotready for that thought yet.

My badge worked. I pressed it to the panel near the door and the light turned green, giving me permission to open the door. I hopped out into the wide hallway on my good leg, gritting my teeth to keep from groaning in pain.

The hallway was empty—thank Iris,I wanted to say, but didn’t. Again, I was not relieved because this was all normal. Exactly as it should be.

Then I began the journey of hopping down the long hallway to get to the offices, and hopefully somebody would be there to help me get to the medical wing.

It was torture, worse than looking up in the eyes of a magical monster and waiting to die. Worse than the entire day yesterday—was ityesterday though? Because I was a level underground and I had no phone or watch on me so I couldn’t tell what time it was, when we’d come back, how long I’d been out of it.

I have no idea how I managed to hop all the way to the main office, and when I opened the door and was on the other side, it was like I’d been saved already.

Except I wasn’t. Because there were a few agents at their cubicles, and a few other IDD employees, and they all heard me stumbling in. They all saw me, recognized me—Iknew them all by name. Belkiz, whose cat died three months ago. I had brought her cookies from Madeline’s chef because I always felt like they made things seem a little less gloomy. Arnold, who went to Paris with his wife and daughter last year, and he still talked about Disney and the Eiffel Tower to anyone willing to listen. Randy, who was getting married in March to a human girl, regardless of how his family felt about it—and a few others. People I’d talked to at least once, had saidhito them countless times.

The same people who watched me now like I was something to be disgusted by. Something to be feared. People who didn’t even make an attempt to approach me or help me, though it was clear to see that I could barely stand.

Instead, they all stopped whatever they were doing, and they all turned and looked at me, analyzed me closely, moved back to the other side of the large space like they were afraid I might start running and attacking them like a goddamn catfairie.

It doesn’t matter.

The anger, the disappointment, this plainstupidityof mine for still expecting people to be decentwas what fueled me with a brand-new energy. I continued to hop and hold onto walls and chairs and tables, until I was out the door in the other corner of the room, and in the hallway that would lead me straight to the medical wing.Almost there.Another fifty hops or so, approximately, and I was going to run into a Whitefire who was going to take one look at me and start spelling me before I passed the fuck out again.

Notice what I said up there about my stupidity?

Yeah, I really meant it.

Right now, I was choosing to blame it on the blood loss because there’s no way I could justify expecting helpfrom anyone in this building at this point. No way. So, because my head was foggy and I felt…dirty,and I’d lost a shitload of blood and I was still bleeding, I genuinely thought that by the time I made it to the medical wing, a nurse or healer would see me and come running with a burst of magic.

Then I’d wake up and all would be well.

And before you ask,no,I wasn’t thinking about the fact that that catfairie who was about to kill me ended up dead on the ground instead—right after that little noise I heard before passing out. No, I wasn’t thinking of the fact that Michael had hadordersto kill me, and he had been in the process of actually doing it together with Erid, whom I’d considereda friend.No, I wasn’t thinking about the fact that Taland Tivoux had escaped the Tomb Penitentiary and was coming to finish me off—I didn’t think about any of those things.

---