Page 7 of Mud

“Ginger, Ginger, Ginger.” I stepped into the room and the dim LED light on the ceiling hit my chest. Ginger was not the boy’s name, but his hair had a reddish hue to it, so I made good use of the fact because there was no way I’d remember his actual name.

“What do you think?” I asked, pretending not to notice how he’d basically become one with the wall at the end of his bed. “Did Rotto do a good job, or is he gonna have an early funeral?”

I put my shirt over my shoulder and my other hand in my pocket where my raven feather hid, almost completely spent, and stood perfectly still as the boy looked at my brand-new tattoo. My skin was still a bit red and raw, but you could see it. No foil to cover it up in here, but as luck would have it, I’d beout thereby tonight.

“Well? Are you going to talk?” I asked a minute in. The boy was so scared he was practically shaking. He’d told me he just turned seventeen the month before, and that was definitely going to be a problem for him in this place, especially since he’d end up getting the attention of most every predator here by morning. Some were already coming closer to his cell to see the show.

“It’s…I-i-it’s good. He d-d-did a good job,” the kid stuttered, and my smile widened.

“You’re too kind,” I said, turning slightly toward the light and looking down at the tattoo myself. By then, at least two dozen inmates were watching us from barelytwenty feet away. “I like it, too. I think Rotto did a great job, and so did you. So, I’m here to give my thanks.”

The boy knew.

He fucking knew what was coming because he could see the sick smile on my face just fine.

“No-no, please,” he whispered, pushing his mousy brown hair to the side. “No thanks needed. P-p-please.”

They putthis boyin here with the rest of us?

And they calledusmonsters.

“Oh, but I think there is. And my mother taught me to alwayssaythank you.” Slowly, I left my shirt over my shoulder and raised my hand toward him. Black flames danced on my fingers, ready to devour the little guy. He was Greenfire, and he could have pulled up a shield to protect himself from me if he were older and stronger and had an anchor, but alas…

“Please!” Ginger called.

I laughed when I was done whispering my spell, and my magic, black and eager to consume, shot for him.

It looked so much like fire it still surprised me, but it wasn’t. My Blackfire was cold, ice-cold.Deathcold, and it consumed the tiny body of the seventeen-year-old boy so fast while he struggled to free himself, to breathe, to get away, all in vain. Guards were on their way, running their sticks against the metal of the bars as they came, as if they were hoping to scare me into backing away.

“Stop this second!”

My magic was shutting down the boy’s body fast as the other inmates laughed and stepped in the guards’ way to give me a few more seconds. We all laughed as we watched the light shutting down in the boy’s eyes until he was no longer moving. No longer struggling.

Rot.My magic would rot his flesh—but it was magicalrot, so much worse than actual decay. It was contagious, too, one of the worst diseases magic could cause. The pain it came with was no joke, even if it only hit once every couple of weeks.

“I said stop this second, you fucking m?—”

I turned, pulling my hand out of my pocket, my raven feather reduced to ashes.

“Hello, friends. What seems to be the problem here?”

Four guards, all Iridian, watched me like I was scum, worse than the insects they swatted off their lunch boxes every day. They were Bluefires and had their wands raised at me, their magic at the ready, their eyes wide and red as they moved from me and to the boy inside the cell.

“What the hell did you do to him?” the first guard asked, as other inmates gathered at my back. None would attack these guards—we knew what happened if we tried, so nobody would bother. But we did like to try to intimidate them every chance we got, so even if all they were doing waspretendingto be on my side, I took it.

“I simply said goodnight,” I said, smiling still. “He fell right asleep—see?”And he’s not going to wake up for a little while…

I turned to the cell again, watching the still body of the boy that only moved slightly when he breathed in.

But the guard wouldn’t have it. He pressed the tip of his wand right in the middle of my new tattoo, and it hurt so badly I almost hissed. As it was, the smile remained on my face even as the other inmates slowly took a step back.

“Get to your cell.Now,” the guard spit, pressing his wand against me harder until it hurt so much it felt like I was being burned with actual fire.

But I didn’t move. If I moved now, he’d have won. If I stepped away from his wand, away from the pain, therewould be hell to pay from him in the future—as well as from the other inmates. That’s the second advice I was given by my visitor—neverevershow fear to anyone, no matter the consequence.

So, I remained there, took the pain and molded with it, and I smiled and smiled until the guard had no choice but to step back and take his fucking wand with him.

“He’s just a kid,” he finally spit, and it made my night.

---