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 Musicology Anthology Entry |
| Notes ▼ It's cold in the interrogation room. It’s barely a notch above freezing, but warm enough so I’m not puffing out condensation with every breath. It’s deliberate. Just like the greyscale palette and hard furnishings. All designed to make the occupant as uncomfortable as possible. My back aches from being pulled taut against the hard metal chair. And just like the chair, I’m bolted to the concrete floor. The iron manacles securing my wrists, twist my arms harshly behind me to limit my movements and bite into my skin, rubbing it raw, while my ankles are cuffed to the chair legs. I’m not sure what I’ve done to warrant such secure measures. I’m sure Wren would be flattered, but I’m just perplexed. I have no idea how long I’ve been here. There’s no window to gage the time of day and the air tastes damp and stale, like a neglected, underground bunker that’s seen better days. The stench of decay curls around me and invades my nostrils. Rot and rust has set in significantly somewhere close by. While my captors blindfolded me and jostled me around in the back of the truck, they couldn’t mask the obvious descent when we reached our destination, nor the pungent scent of the city. My guess is that I’m being held in a basement under one of the corporate buildings in the western bank of the city – the Lycan quarter. “Hey…” I yell, “Hello… ” There’s no reply once again. I’m not surprised, I’ve been met with silence each time I’ve called out, but I know someone is close by. I can hear their feet shuffling as they switch positions again. It’s probably a guard. A grunt, if the constant fidgeting is anything to go by, certainly not a fully-fledged guard. “Come on. Isn’t the iron a little much? What exactly do you think I’m going to do?” I exhale slowly as another bout of silence meets me and I sigh, tipping my head back to examine the water-stained ceiling for the third time, as I continue making shapes out of the obscure patterns like I used to do with clouds as a child. My daydreaming is interrupted by a deep voice as a warm body enters the room, “Ms Arcada, sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Captain Kestor.” My skin flushes from the heat emanating off them as they pass by; a wolf, or rather a Lycan, and a pureblood at that, if the hike in temperature is anything to go by; not that I'm complaining, my bones are grateful for the reprieve. I cast my eye over my interrogator’s tall, muscular frame as he casually lifts the chair in the corner of the room and seats himself across the large wooden table, directly opposite me. “Apologies for the wait.” I roll my eyes, but he just flashes a broad smile that shows off his prominent canines. His image is meticulously crafted. A simple white t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders and chest, and contrasts against the warm umber of his skin. It’s a snug fit, like he’s purposefully opted for a size too small just to accentuate his biceps and show off the hours spent at the gym. The military facade is softened by the twist of dreadlocks that are tied loosely in a bun, with a mid-taper fade that gives him a deceptively polished look, despite the short, cropped beard that graces his jaw. His mahogany eyes are fixed on me, actively analysing every twitch of my face. They are laced with vivid amber freckles and surrounded by a faint, pale red corona that draws you in hypnotically. I gaze back softly with a carefully constructed smile that warms my features, so I appear open, honest, and the furthest thing from a threat as possible. “Are you going to tell me why your guys barged into my store and arrested me, or are we just going to continue staring at one another ?” “Does it make you uncomfortable?” “Not as much as the cuffs and this damn chair,” he chuffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “I’m dying to know why your men thought it was necessary to destroy my products, frighten my clients, and haul me in here in chains. It seems overkill, even for wolves.” I continue, “Do they have something against moisturisers?” “The iron is a reasonable precaution. We are well aware of what witches are capable of with their magic intact. And you are a witch, are you not? And an unlicensed one at that… I assume you’re aware that unlicensed witchcraft within the pack boundaries is forbidden.” “I’m a witch by blood, not creed, I was never awakened. I have no active powers and don’t practice, so I don’t need to be licenced.” “You expect me to believe that you’re just a null. You have one of the most successful apothecaries in the city.” “It’s balms, salves, and tinctures. It’s herbology not magic. Anyone with a basic knowledge of botany can do it.” “You still have to be registered...” “My name is logged on the parish records. I’ve never hidden that I’m a witch, and it’s got no bearing on my livelihood – for which I am registered, as a certified healer. And let’s not pretend this farce has anything to do with a winter tonic or burn poultice. Why am I here?” He leans forward in his seat and rubs his palms across the top of the table, the tips of his claws dragging softly against the grain in the wood’s surface. He watches my reaction carefully as I follow the pattern he is tracing. My eyes flick back to his and I cock my head and sigh loud enough for him to hear. “I’ve heard rumours about you, you know. About the witch who chooses to live amongst the humans instead of her own coven. They even say you managed to sneak out of Annwyn once…” he chuckles. “Sorry to disappoint, but my life is pretty ordinary, you shouldn’t pay mind to the stories from the streets. They all think I’m crazy.” “So no jumping over buildings either…?” he mocks. “No, I don’t like heights…” “I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve brought you in to discuss the recent spurt of attacks against the pack.” “That doesn’t explain much… ” I pause for effect and furrow my brow, “You guys heal pretty quickly on your own, I doubt you need my advice, and this is the wrong way to go about it if you do.” “Well, the attacks are unusual and very specific…” “You’re going to have to give me more than that, if you are expecting me to help you.” “The wolves in question were killed-” “Killed?” I squeak. “Yes, mercury and wolfsbane, by all accounts, though the knife to the throat and chest didn’t help…” “And what, you think I had something to do with it? How in Annwyn would I ever be able to get the jump on a wolf, let alone two of them.” “They were separate attacks. And no I’m not expecting you to tell me where the bodies are buried. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you weren’t involved. My men are currently searching your shop for any contraband items.” “You mean ransacking… I don’t carry any contraband. And I have papers and permits for the more dangerous ingredients. This is just a witch hunt!” He laughs loudly, “Yes… I guess it is. But you are intimately familiar with the substances lethal to Lycans.” I glare at him and lean forward, the chains strain and creek. “Obviously, I wouldn’t be able to counteract them if I didn’t… How would I even get mercury across the border? Fly it in on a pixie?” “You have managed to stay off your coven’s radar Leigh… You’re a resourceful woman.” “Is that your play, threaten me with my coven, until I confess to something I didn’t do?” I scoff. “Of course not. I want the person or people who did this. If the search-” “When..” “Of course…. When… the search turns up empty you can go on your way. In the meantime,” he nods at my restraints as he rises from his chair, “sit tight.” He heads through the door, and I hear the heavy metal lock shut with a clunk. Kestor mutters briefly to the guard stationed outside the room, and then I’m thrown into silence once more.” A large spider scuttles across the table and stills in front of me. Even before it starts to transform, I know it’s Baal, I’d recognise the demon’s eyes anywhere, especially when there are eight of them peering back at me. “Are you ever going to stop getting yourself into these predicaments?” he drawls, once he’s fully in his demon form. He leans against the edge of the table, arms crossed over his chest as he shakes his head. He’s right. Trouble seems to be drawn to me. But he’s not really complaining, he loves my brand of chaos. “Took you long enough…” I feign annoyance, but he knows my tone too well and just grins widely at me. “I am not a knight in shining armour, little witch. And you do not strike me as a damsel in distress.” “No, that would mean you’d have to be helpful.” The sarcasm rolls off my tongue so effortlessly, but like most of our conversations lately, there is no bite. He leans forward and captures my chin gently between his cold fingers, tilting my face left and right, scrutinising every inch of exposed skin for damage. “I can be helpful… ” he mutters under his breath. I scoff in jest, “Oh really?” “Yes,” he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear and cups my jaw in his hand, rubbing his thumb across the bruise that’s formed on my cheekbone. “Or, should I not treat your wrists with the balm I’ve brought?” “No, you should definitely do that.” I can’t help the smile pulling at my mouth. “Hmmm, thought so.” He walks around me and squats at the back of the chair, tugging at the restraints anchored to the concrete floor. “Am I staging another jail break? It would not take much to break through these.” “No, not this time. I’m sure Kestor will be back soon. Their search can’t go on much…” I wince as he rubs the cool cream along the chafed skin. “You should go… before he gets back.” “I am not leaving you-” “Baal… I think he might notice a six-foot-five demon towering over him.” “This is not up for discussion, little witch. I do not trust the wolf.” “Neither do I, but we have to be smart about this. I can’t just disappear from a compound full of Lycans. They’ll hunt me down and drag me back.” “Fine… “ “How’d you even get in here anyway?” “The vent.” He nods to the metal grate in the wall, “It is a warren down here, but I just followed the blood tie. It appears to have its benefits after all, especially when it comes to keeping an eye on troublesome witches.” “Time to go Baal.” “I told you-“ A bang at the door and the scraping of keys signals that Kestor, or one of his minions, is back. Baal shimmers away, dissolving into a heap of scales as a small, thin snake materialises where he was standing. He slithers up the leg of the chair and wraps himself around my waist, hiding in the folds of my cotton tunic. His scales are surprisingly warm against my skin. “Well, it appears you were correct Ms Arcada. All of your ingredients are benign. We have confiscated a few items for further testing, but for the most part it appears you are in the clear… for now at least.” “Of course they’re benign, I wouldn’t be much of a healer if I killed people with my wares now would I.” I snap. “When can I leave.” “I’ve arranged transport for yourself and the other healers we interviewed today.” “The other healers?” “Of course, you didn’t think you were the only one being held for questioning did you?” “I don’t know, I don’t know what I thought.” “Your apothecary will be off limits until further notice until we’ve finished our investigation and fully processed everything, but for now you can return home.” He unlocked the ankle braces and unclip the chains from the cuffs, gripping my arm and hauling me to my feet. “The iron will stay on until you have been released. Move…” He shoves me through the door and directs me to a queue of people huddled together at the bottom of a set of stairs. I follow the rows of shuffling feet up the steps and out into the cool evening air, as we make our way to the back of an open roofed truck, where we’re packed in like sardines. It’s an uncomfortable ride as we knock against each other. The truck lurches to a stop in the market square, and we climb down to head off in the direction of our homes, painfully aware that our movements are being tracked. I close the outer door of my building and climb the narrow stairs to my home on the top floor. I breathe a sigh a relief once the lock is securely in place and carefully unwind Baal, setting him on the floor in front of me. He transforms immediately and I step into an awkward embrace, leaning my forehead against his chest and clutching the fabric of his shirt. “That was so close,” I mumble. He hesitantly wraps an arm loosely across my shoulders and rests his chin on my head, “It was… But it is over now.” “I don’t think this is the end Baal… I think it’s just the beginning.” Lyrics ▼ |
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