eleven
Gentry
Gentry wasn’t sure what possessed her to speak up. Maybe it was because the little girl had healed her from the freaky ghost knife wound, or that all the kids had treated her so warmly over the past two days. But rage bubbled in her chest as she watched them wander away nonetheless. Skadra was dangerous. Everyone knew that. Ten-year-olds had no business here. They should be back in Sophia’s orphanage, fed and loved and thriving as she’d witnessed yesterday morning. Not here.
Despite the reasonableness of her question, Kit glared daggers at her as if she’d said something insensitive. She ignored the indignant assassin and focused on the old woman at the helm of the bus.
Sophia’s watery blue eyes met hers through the bus mirror. Tears flowed down the carved lines of her face when she answered the question, “Their school blood tests them for magic, girl. For all fourth graders. That law hasn’t changed. If I keep them with me, the government will take them as assets. Skadraisdangerous. But it’s the safest place for witch children. The citycovers their food, clothing, and shelter. They won’t be needled at, prodded, or anything of the like here.”
Experiments? The idea threw a cog in Gentry’s thoughts, making them murky and less focused. She knew all about experiments, after all. Government mages had poked and prodded at her enough for several lifetimes. It sounded like the government’s MO, but… “The government values witches. They wouldn’t dare hurt them, Sophia.” As far as she could tell, the government mages were given luxuries far beyond what they’d allotted her.
Sophia let loose a frustrated, angry sigh. “Oh, so you’re an expert on the feds, are you? They lobotomized my witch sister as a child, my community has tales which would melt your ears. They don’t value witches, girlie. They want to control them.”
For the first time in a long time, Gentry was struck silent as that old, tough woman rested her head on the steering wheel as if she couldn’t bear to hold it up any longer. Kit stood up and touched his old caretaker’s shoulder, and whispered something in her ear. In an instant, her tough exterior cracked. Her shoulders shook as she cried, “Those are my children. You were too. I’m giving them the best shot I can.”
This time, she heard Kit whisper, “I know, I know.”
Much like how they’d given her privacy after the ghostly knife had cut her wrists, Gentry sank down into her seat to give the pair privacy. Sophia truly believed in what she was saying, that much was clear, and it’d be foolish of her to pretend she knew what was going on. Computer expert or not, she’d lived in a government facility for far too long to have a clear picture of the world. It hurt a little, to realize her own ignorance. Gentry loved information. The bigger picture of the world was yet another thing Drayer Netherton had stolen from her.
Her arm was still sticky from dried blood, and she absent-mindedly traced where the skin had been sliced clean open.She’d nearly died. All this time, she’d thought Drayer could hurt her, but not kill her. Now she knew better. What else didn’t she know? The vulnerability made her skin crawl. She wished desperately that Mykel was with her, that she had someone to share the worries with.
“Where do you wish to go, girlie?” Sophia’s crabby voice broke through Gentry’s growing panic. She peeked up at the pair at the front of the bus. The old woman had recovered from her breakdown, her eyes rimmed red, as Kit scowled at her like she was responsible for his caretaker’s tears.
“Oh, yeah,” she said awkwardly, “a clothing store, please. Any will do.” She needed to ground herself, recheck her next steps. The day was nearly over with, and a lot could’ve changed in forty-eight hours.
It took only five minutes before Sophia dropped her and Kit at a ritzy corner full with many stores and restaurants whose franchises Gentry recognized from before she’d been committed. The waning sun washed the signs in red, and she had to squint to make out the logos. Aside from the brands she was used to, there were plenty of unfamiliar witch weirdness for her to feast her eyes on.
What exactly were vanishing burgers? Or toasted wyvern meat? She doubted even a witch would kill and eat a half-bat, half-Komodo dragon. Those hybrids were notorious for their viciousness, and they roamed the Wilds west of Skadra with all the rest of the monsters since the Great War two hundred years ago. She stared at the billboard depicting the fearsome creature with wings in wonder, the witches zooming above their heads on brooms making the world feel even more overwhelming.
Despite it being evening, people milled about on the sidewalk, brushing her shoulders and shoving her closer and closer to the edge of the street. The wind of speeding cars hit her back and sent strands of her hair flying everywhere. The constant thrumof people talking, booming and quiet and cackling all mixed together, took away her stability. It was too much, far too much.
Her brain shut off. All the tricks her mother had taught her to combat losing herself to all the loud sights and sounds disappeared. She no longer saw the street, or the crowd nudging her closer and closer to the edge. No, instead she was backthere.
“What is this place?” she’d asked her father, as their brisk city walk had ended at a bright white warehouse with overgrown weeds crawling at the edges. Its overflow pond was filled with algae as if the rain itself had stagnated. Gentry shifted uncomfortably on her feet; they’d walked perhaps ten miles through the grungiest sides of Tunsa, and she was no longer having fun. What con could possibly be worth this much work?
Her father, always prone to constant motion, wasn’t rocking or fidgeting or bouncing. Slender like her but taller, Maxwell Greenbriar stood perfectly still, his green eyes locked on the monstrosity of a building, as he answered her question, “Our contacts are waiting in there, Gen. They wanted us to make sure we weren’t being followed.” He walked towards the factory as if in a trance.
Gentry hugged herself, cold from the morning breeze, but kept pace with her father as anticipation sang in her blood. She didn’t bother telling him that the money better be worth it. Her dad never settled for anything less than what would put them up at a ritzy, toitsy place for the evening. Personally, she was getting a little sick of the motels.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, rocking, when she shook herself out of the memory. Maybe ten seconds. Normally she’d be elated to remember something, but this time, it gave her nothing new and she couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not here. She looked around, trying to reorient herself.
“You all right?” Kit asked, his breath warm in her ear.
She jumped and looked up at the tall witch. He looked concerned, albeit a little annoyed, which was more than she would’ve given him had their roles been reversed.
“Yes, just old memories coming back,” she told him, trying to ground herself against the overwhelming crowd. Once, she’d been a predator in a crowd of people, looking for marks with loaded pockets to con with her dad. A lot of people meant a lot of money. But now? It overwhelmed her. Yet another mark that place had left on her.
Saving her self-pity for later, she scanned the store signs and dragged Kit to the nearest makeup store. They had a lot of work to do, namely dolling up for their next destination. Currently, they looked like bedraggled tourists with their baseball caps and baggy clothing. Gentry was thankful her hoodie hid her bloodied arm. Kit looked so thuggish that onlookers could get the wrong idea.
She filled up a basket full of the essentials — mascara, concealer, blush, lipsticks. She suppressed a squeal once she found the wig aisle.Perfect.
Kit trailed behind her like a reluctant boyfriend, his nose scrunched as he scanned the overstuffed inventory. Both female and male customers ogled him with a mix of fear and want in their eyes. “What are we doing here? Do you want to get caught?”
“Relax, this is the first step to disappearing,” Gentry responded as she held a red wig to the light. Flimsy, but she could make it work. Then she spotted the hair dye — her hair was too dark to go lighter without bleach, but Kit’s ash hair was fair game.
“There are illusion spells for that type of thing, you know,” Kit told her stiffly, “that’ll look terrible.”
Gentry smiled evilly at the witch’s snobbery as she picked a hair dye that didn’t look like it’d be awfully flattering on Kit. Ofcourse he thought magic was the answer to all his woes. A typical magic whore. Her father had taught her all the ways magic was often a dead giveaway to those with magic. Witches often overlooked the mundane. Being clever was its own superpower.
