Page 43 of Pulling Strings

Something thick and wet wrapped across my face, then darkness blanked my vision.

It cinched around my throat, held tight at the nape of my neck. York’s towel, gripped by what must have been his clenched fists, threw me off balance. I stumbled into the scalding spray, grabbing at the makeshift noose as it ratcheted down.

Magic sparked in my brain but fizzled out just as fast. I was powerless here. I’d done a decent job remembering that, but the reality of it struck anew.

A fist plunged into my gut, and I doubled over, blind and sucking wet air. Jax cackled while York did his damndest to drag me to the ground. When my knees hit the tile floor, I shoved back, colliding with the tall man’s legs. With a grunt, he toppled onto me. The towel remained secure as it wrenched my head sharply to the side.

Panic spiked as the shower soaked me. The terrycloth plastered across my mouth and nose moistened every gasp. I coughed and kicked, struggling to loosen the fabric cutting against my windpipe.

“Guards!” a distant voice yelled. “Incoming!”

Pain pinballed inside my ribcage as blows struck from all sides. Survival became a choice between fighting for air or shielding my face, and breathing took precedence. My fingers scrabbled, turning into blunt claws that scraped the skin of my throat. My efforts became feebler as the rest of me started to go limp.

“Hey! Break it up!”

Something slammed into my face as abruptly as an explosion. Pain spread from my nose to both eyes, and the taste of copper left me sputtering. The towel noose fell slack as I rolled out from under the onslaught of water.

People scuffled around, sounds more than sights as I peeled the wet, bloody fabric off my face.

I laid on my stomach with my ribs rattling as I tried to make up for lost breath. Sensation returned in a flurry. I groaned, wishing it hadn’t.

When a hand grabbed my arm, I flailed back.

“Knock it off!” the same voice yelled, very near my ear.

I craned my neck to see the guard holding me.

Other officers restrained Jax and York, hauling them away.

“That’s a strike for you, inmate,” the man gripping my arm said.

“They started it,” I spat past the watery blood dripping from my lips.

“Get him to the infirmary.” The guard holding York nodded toward me. “That nose is broken for sure.”

15

The Doctor’s In

The infirmary looked more like a field hospital than any doctor’s office I’d seen. A trio of padded gurneys were parked beneath hanging lights, each accompanied by an IV pole and tray table. The disgruntled guards dropped me off in the vacant room, then left without a word.

My nose throbbed, clogged with the stench of drying blood and the antiseptic smell of the room. Broken, yes, as were a few ribs if the stabbing pain accompanying every breath was any indicator. So, I laid still, unsure how long I was supposed to wait for what I assumed would be a bare basics patch job and a couple of aspirin for the road.

Wooden cabinets hung on the walls alongside a glass case boasting bottles of antiquated elixirs and specimens floating in formaldehyde. Healing powers were a highly regulated resource. Even a hint of medical magic was a golden ticket to a cushy Capitol job, so I wondered what kind of flunky ended up here, administering care to society’s least desirables.

I didn’t ponder long before the doctor—though I hesitated to call him that—entered the room.

He wore canvas coveralls the same as my soggy, blood-splattered ones, and a black medical mask I hoped was for his protection and not mine. As he approached, the creep factor intensified. Inky hair curtained his face, parting just enough to allow a view of his eyes, one black and the other solid white.

“Let me guess.” He sighed. “I oughta see the other guys.”

I shifted on the gurney. Every move made me wince. “Better if you don’t. Then you might believe me when I say I didn’t get my ass kicked.”

He arched a brow. “Looks to me you got your face kicked, if anything.”

He was British, judging by the accent. An intonation with the unique ability to make everything he said sound condescending as hell. He leaned in, poking at my busted nose.

Pain surged and I recoiled, though there wasn’t far to go with the gurney pressed against my back.

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