Page 110 of Oh No! There's an Incubus in my Hot Spring
The cop car’s floodlight shines directly on us and I shield my face as my heart beats at a furious pace. There’s no escaping this.
“That’s the man that assaulted me,” Jason says.
“Put your hands where we can see them, everyone.”
My arms raise of their own accord as my blood turns to ice.
A policeman walks past me, straight to Apollo. “Sir, put your hands behind your back. Don’t make this difficult for us and everything will go smoothly.”
This can’t be happening. I close my eyes against the blinding light and try not to give in to the tears gathering behind them.
Apollo doesn’t have any paperwork. He has no identity. If we get taken in, they’re going to know something is wrong. Gods, they’ll think he’s an undocumented immigrant, and then what’ll happen?
“You have the right to remain silent,” the officer begins, and I hear the cuffs clicking around Apollo’s wrists. He goes on with the Miranda rights and my brain rapid-fires options.
Run.
No, absolutely not an option.
Use magic to escape.
Also not an option. Running from the police is a felony.
Talk. Explain.
“Please, sir, if we can just—”
Someone grabs my arm and puts it roughly behind my back. I gasp as I feel the cold metal snapping shut around my skin.
What a fucking close to the week.
twenty-nine
The Slammer
Six hours in an interrogation room is not something I ever wanted to repeat, no matter how long between stays, but here I am. They let me call my lawyer, Agatha, two hours in after I refused to say anything other than “I get to call my lawyer now.”
She’ll be here in an hour or so, and knowing my mother—who I told Agatha to keep informed—she’ll be here soon, too.
I have to pee.
My head hurts.
Fuck my life.
The officers tell me that everyone else is talking and I should, too. Yeah, I know that song and dance. I wasn’t the best-behaved teen after my dad passed, and landed myself in this spot more times than I’d like to count. Good thing my juvenile record was closed…
Leonard might actually be talking. I wouldn’t blame him. Poor kid has school today, and he literally didn’t do shit. Neither did Irene. But what would he even tell them? Witchcraft and demons are real? That would probably get him a one-way ticket to psych evaluation. Or they’d think he was being a little shit.
No matter. Their treatment of usreeksof Turdleneck interference… I doubt they’re even trying to get anything out of us. Maybe Mark wants to see me beg. Maybe he’s right in the other room, ready to accept my resignation of failure.
I rest my head back on the chair and close my eyes.
There’s a loud bang, someone hitting their fist on the table next to me. I jump a little, the need to pee intensifying, but I don’t look up.
“You want to go hang out in a cell?” one of them asks.
I won’t answer. Crazy-girl wants to say, “At least I’ll be in better company there,” but we say it in our head instead and laugh together. I wish Charlie was nearby.
