Lights (Flicker #3)

Chapter 1: First Steps

Lee watched the man sitting across the table, her hands twisted together, trying to appear as if her insides weren't in knots.

"I've spoken to your partner," said the man, Dagen, as he flipped through his notes. He was a big man, broad-shouldered, with a strong jaw covered in dark blond stubble. His eyes were hard and dark and impassive. "Filo Shine. What do you suppose he told me about you?"

"Exactly the same things I've been telling you," Lee said, fighting the urge to grind her teeth.

In the beginning, she'd tried to be calm and cooperative, but that routine was harder to keep up by the minute. She was tired and miserable. The handcuffs that sealed her magic left her feeling shaky and weak. It was increasingly difficult to think through the headache throbbing behind her eyes.

She had woken, bleary and disoriented, on a narrow cot in this small, gray, windowless room. Her shoulders had ached, because her hands were cuffed in front of her, and probably had been for hours. Someone had dressed her in a beige jumpsuit and put thin, slipper-like shoes on her feet. They'd taken her necklace, too, the locket Nasser gave her. Just the thought of someone putting their hands on her while she was unconscious made her skin crawl.

The only other furnishings were a table bolted to the floor, two metal folding chairs, and a stainless-steel toilet in the corner. It didn't take her long to surmise that this was a cell and interrogation room rolled into one.

Before long, the man swept in: Kurt Dagen, of the Seattle Guild. He wore a crisp black uniform, and never so much as unbuttoned the jacket. A circular patch on each arm showed an open hand with an eye on the palm, embroidered in silver. Dagen identified himself as a dragoon, a member of the Guild's equivalent of a police force. Then the questioning began.

Lee wasn't sure how long they'd been at this—a day, maybe two. There was no clock in this room, and Dagen refused to say how long she'd been held here. In fact, he refused to answer any questions at all. She'd been allowed to sleep between bouts of questioning, but it was anything but restful; she kept waking in a panic, not recognizing where she was.

"Are you sure about that?" Dagen asked. He leaned forward, folding his arms on the table, and Lee glimpsed runes stitched into the cuffs of his jacket, in silver thread.

"Of course." She had seen enough police procedurals to know how this worked. Dagen wanted to scare her into spilling something incriminating, but there was nothing more to say. And wherever Filo was, he was telling the same story.

Or maybe not. Back at the shop, the night of the arrest, Filo had insisted that Lee, Alice and Jason weren't involved with his operation at all, that they didn't know anything. What if he was still trying to protect them by downplaying her involvement, or lying about it altogether?

He had to realize that the truth was their best bet. If anyone was dishonest, it would be obvious, once the Guild noticed that their stories didn't match up. That kind of inconsistency could only cause more problems. Filo wouldn't lie. Would he?

"Our dragoons have been through that shop of yours," Dagen said. "They've searched the apartment, top to bottom. We have more than enough evidence to convict you."

He didn't have to remind her of the charges again; she could recite them if she wanted to. Failure to register as a magical practitioner. Dealing in commercial magic without a license. Trafficking unregulated goods. Criminal recklessness.

She raised her cuffed hands to rub at her eyes. "What do you care what I have to say, then?"

"Lee." His voice stopped her cold. He'd never addressed her by name before. She didn't like the way it sounded in his mouth. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it. Your crimes are serious. The council won't look favorably on you. But if you can help us—"