Page 11 of Sigils & Spells

I don’t have time to explain before the volunteer enters the room. He and Angel speak in low tones, like old friends.

I’m supposed to administer the potion and watch the subject’s vitals.

Ivan has given me a chart to fill in, blank on the left side of the chart and with Ivan’s own readings on the right, supposedly so we can know what is normal for a hybrid shifter like him.

I don’t want to do this.

But if I want to keep this job, I have to.

I motion the volunteer to take a seat on the hospital bed in the center of his module, glancing at the chart for his name as I prepare to begin explaining what we’ll be doing. “Hi, Quincy. I’m Evie.”

“Call me Q,” he says with a sweet smile.

“Q. After you take the formula, I’ll be monitoring you for any signs of adverse effects.”

He nods cheerfully. “I’m ready when you are, doc.”

“Just Evie is fine,” I say. I should probably tell him that I’m not a doctor, but I don’t want to worry him.

I, on the other hand, am more than worried. I’m terrified. What if something goes wrong? Why isn’t there an actual doctor here? Or even just a nurse?

My hand shakes as I get him hooked up to the monitors, just as Dr. Fitton taught me.

Then Ivan’s voice comes in over some kind of PA system. “I’ll be monitoring the test from here,” he says—whereverheremay be. “Please administer the first dose.”

I swallow nervously, then hand a tiny medicine cup of the pink liquid to Q.

“Cheers,” he says, and drains it down in one gulp.

And then we wait.

For a moment, I think everything is going to be fine.

And then Q begins to writhe in the bed. All around us, machines begin screaming out alarms. His pulse, his blood pressure, his oxygen intake—everything goes haywire.

I move closer to the bed, unsure what to do, how to reverse the negative effects of the potion—my potion. The one that’s sending him into convulsions. But I’m sure if I can just touch him, I can use my magic to ease his agony.

I don’t reach him in time, though.

Q’s body begins to smoke, sending the scent of charred flesh swirling through the room. Then, like some monster in an old horror movie, he bursts out of his restraints and out of his skin all at the same time, exploding into fur and fangs and claws.

He lunges toward me, claws out, madness spinning in his eyes, and like a horror-movie victim, I stand perfectly still, glued to the floor.

You’re going to die now, Evie.

The words run through my mind, like a calm observer who doesn’t care if I live or die.

And part of me realizes that Idon’tcare—not if living means inflicting this kind of pain on other human beings.

Then a gun goes off beside me, flashing in my peripheral vision and leaving me temporarily deaf from the noise, my ears ringing with the aftereffects of the sound.

The monster that was Q collapses onto the floor, blood instantly pooling around his body.

I take a step back and bump into Angel. When I glance at him, he’s shaking, his dark brown eyes wide.

“I had to,” he says, and I can barely hear the words. “He was going to kill you.”

I nod, and two of Ivan’s men sweep into the room, gathering Q’s body and placing it on a stretcher.

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