Page 3 of Flames and Blood

“I told you, we don’t need your lip.”

Then the left one leans in behind my shoulder, his voice pitched for his partner only.

“It’s her.”

“So?” There’s bravado in it.

Her. Everybody in the trade knows what I am. That’s old news, and it doesn’t bother me.

What bothers me is that normally my sass would’ve got me a crack to the back of the head by now. These ones are being careful.

Why?

I slow my stride half a beat. Testing. Their grips stay at my elbows without tightening, and neither man corrects me. They match my pace instead.

Interesting.

At the last compound, a lagging step bought you a shove. These two adjust to me.

“Keep moving,” the right-hand one says at the doorway when I slow again to be sure.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I brace myself for a kick or a shove. Nothing.

Inside smells of fresh paint over concrete, and nothing else. No cooking, no smoke, no people. One desk, one bulb, and a hallway behind it with the lights on in half the fittings.

The man at the desk has a book open in front of him. New book. Stiff pages, uncracked spine. He opens it to an empty page and writes one line on it.

“Anything to report?” he asks the guard.

“Driver says everything went as planned,” the guard replies.

“Meals?”

“Two on the road. She ate both.”

“Good.” He makes a mark. “She’s on the sheet from tonight. Anything else goes to the office, not to me.”

The man at the desk closes the book, then he jerks his chin at the hallway and turns away.

They walk me down the hall he pointed at, and I add up what I’ve got so far.

At the last stop, a woman in a white coat gave me a brief examination, then told the guards she was satisfied. The food I was given on the drive was better than anything I’ve had in months. The escorts handle me carefully. Not gently. Carefully. Somebody will be in trouble if I arrive damaged.

Something’s changed.

Somewhere, someone is expecting me in good condition.

The hallway smells like the yard, cold and new, and it’s lined both sides with bars still bright at the welds.

Every cell is empty.

Not emptied. Empty. No cots pulled apart, no blankets, nothing under the frames, nothing on the floors but the dust off the concrete. Doors standing open on rooms nobody has ever used. A whole block, both sides, and our boots are the only sound in it.

I look into every one as we pass, because I can’t help it. Nobody looks back.

Last time I had the little wolf girl on the other side of the wall. I told myself not to make anything of it, but when she was gone, it gnawed at me. My own fault for getting attached in a place like this.

I don’t get the choice this time.