Marcus laid on cold white tiled floor, eyes leaking, body limp, but utterly silent. Blightshrews were not an animal just anyone had access to. They were under literal lock and key. In order to get them and transport them into Norah's enclosure, they'd need approval from the very top. He pushed himself to his feet, brushed off Fielding's concerned hand on his shoulder, and pointed himself at administration.
Grant's secretary had just arrived as he was stomping through the office. She'd said something about Grant not being in, but it didn't register in his mind. When the handle didn't turn on his first attempt, Marcus took a step back and buried his boot-clad foot through the center of the door. The hollow wood shattered behind the force, leaving a gaping hole in the center of the door once he'd finagled his ankle free.
Not exactly how it worked in the movies, but he reached through the hole he created and unlocked the door to let himself in. The secretary let out a shrill sound, and then threated to call the police, but after a few minutes of badgering left him alone in the room.
Marcus paced back and forth in Grant's plush office, still wearing the jeans and t-shirt caked in dirt and moss. Couches in offset angles, a recliner in the corner, big fancy mahogany desk, all just obstacles he occasionally ran into in his repetition. He tried to consider what he was going to say when the man came in. Outright accuse him of putting the blightshrews in there and it's the end of his career. Ask questions, he lies.
The pain in her eyes branded an image in his mind he'd never lose. The longer he paced, the fury evolved into steely resolve. Resolve that lasted all of one second after Grant Jeong entered the administration building.
He did not enter alone. A tall, thin man in a suit walked beside him. Behind them, in perfect lockstep, Victoria's eyes met his through the open door. For a split second, he saw the shame in them. Then she broke eye contact, content to look in any direction that was not his.
Grant paused a few feet away from his door that now hung slightly askew, cocked his head, then shrugged a shoulder and stepped through the threshold.
"Mary, call someone from maintenance and have them replace my door, would you, dear?" Grant called back before grinning wide at Marcus and pulling off his sunglasses. "Tenneson!" Grant's arms raised as if he was going to come in for a hug, but he dropped them as he and his tag-alongs entered the office. "You alright? You're getting dirt all over my carpet."
His fucking carpet? That's what he's concerned about? Marcus' eyes closed, and he took a deep breath to keep himself from shaking as the rage returned. "Norah's dead." He finally let out, but rather then check for Grant's reaction, his eyes instinctively shifted to Victoria. Her perfect posture didn't change, but he watched as the color drained from her face.
"That's horrible." Grant feigned remorse as he stepped around him and slithered into his chair, the tall man taking a seat on the couch in the corner with his briefcase in his lap. "I don't recall getting any reports of her declining health."
"That would make sense, considering yesterday she was fine. You have any idea how a horde of blightshrews got into her enclosure?" His eyes didn't leave Grant this time, waiting for any signal that would give him away. There was none.
"That sounds almost accusatory, Keeper Tenneson." Grant's eyes narrowed in his direction. "Do you have something more pointed to ask me?"
"I do, actually." Victoria gave him a look of concern, and he thought she almost shook her head. Marcus took a couple steps over to the desk, planting his hands on it. "Do you know who has to approve any access to the enclosures where we keep the blightshrews?"
"I do." Grant's amused grin spread wider on his face. "So your point is, whoever put those nasty little beasts in there with beloved Norah must have had my blessing." Grant turned his head to the tall man, giving him a nod. "How astute." His case opened with the cool ease of tying a tie. Marcus barely had time to register the glint of metal and the hiss of a CO2 cartridge.
"No!"
The sound came from Victoria, but the sharp pain in his neck had already radiated through his arms and legs. His limbs failed, but powerful arms caught him as he crumbled. Blinking up at her angular features, the look on her face truly surprised him. She really did look so…
Sorry
###
Marcus grumbled.
His face pressed to cold tile, drool pooling around his mouth and nose. Though his eyes were closed, he could still feel the bright fluorescent lights beating down on him. There were several clicking sounds, then a door opened nearby. He blinked at the light, fighting to see, but his eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. The thud of a body landed beside him, followed by a familiar groan.
"James?"
When Marcus finally convinced his eyes to stay open for longer than a fraction of a second, he beheld his brother-in-law. At least, he thought it was him. The man's face was swollen almost beyond recognition. Dried blood stuck to his skin from his nostrils down along his lips.
"Fuck, James…What happened?" His limbs tingled as he forced them to move. Eventually he pushed himself to his hands and knees and crawled to his side. James grunted a couple of times, but blood oozed from between his lips more than sound.
"It's alright. Don't talk." Marcus said, examining the room through half-lidded eyes. "I'm gonna find us a way out of here."
Unfortunately, the room was not much help. Gray unfinished walls, white tile floors, the same drywall for a ceiling. No furniture, just the hellish bright lights that blared down on them, the heavy scent of bleach, and the big metal door, with a little slot at the top he assumed would open.
Marcus pulled himself to his feet with a grunt, wavering for just a moment He wasn't certain how he'd gotten here. Wherever here was. He did remember moment before though. The tall guy shot him, must have been a tranq dart. Victoria. Had she tried to warn him?
Stumbling toward the door, he tried the handle he knew wouldn't work before pressing his head against the cool metal. The chill against his forehead was enough to give him a little focus before turning back to James. He gingerly stepped toward him and knelt down.
"I'm gonna check you out, alright? Just don't move too much."
He gave him a quick once over. His breathing seemed okay, though he likely had a few broken ribs. Aside from the mess that had been his brother-in-law's once handsome face, he seemed mostly fine.
"James, I'm gonna ask you some questions. Hold up one finger for 'yes' and two for 'no', alright? One finger if you understand."
One finger.
"Good. Do you know where we are?"
Two fingers.
"Is Calliope okay?"
James hesitated, then held up three fingers.
Marcus blinked, prickles cascading over his flesh. "You—you don't know?"
One finger.
Fuck. Marcus grunted to his feet and started to pace, hoping the movement would get the groginess to fade. He didn't know if Calliope was okay, that meant he probably got nabbed from work when they weren't together.
"Is there anyone else here that we know?"
Three fingers.
"Okay, do you know who did this to you?"
"Ar…" He coughed hard, blood spraying against the white floor.
"James." Marcus dropped down to his knees beside him, wiping his chin with his shirt. "Sorry, man. That was too much. I shouldn't be interrogating you." He set a hand on James' chest, feeling the ragged rise and fall. "I'm gonna get you out of here. Just need to think."
Footfalls on a metal floor outside the door silenced him. He pressed himself up against the wall beside the door. Closer. The footfalls stopped before they got to his door. There was the slide of metal on metal and then a voice. "Harris, in front of the door, hands out."
"Go to hell."
The tone. The accent. It was unmistakable. Ophelia
"Now, Harris."
James and Ophelia? They must have been picked up at the reserve. Hopefully that meant Callie was okay. "Hey!" Marcus pounded at the door. "I'm awake you fucking cowards. Come get me!"
"Marcus?" Ophelia shouted, before the familiar mechanical click followed by the hiss of compressed gas sounded. They tranquilized her.
His fists slammed harder into the door, sending shocks of pain through his forearms. "You don't fucking touch her you spineless bastards! Come get me!"
"Can it, Tenneson." The voice whip-like in his ears. "You'll get your turn soon enough."
It was an hour before the footsteps came back. In that time, Marcus had attempted to bust through the drywall. Even tore most of it down from the wall their cells shared, but between them seemed to be solid rock. The thump of her body on tile floor resonated in his ears. He moved quickly to the door, clawing at the sliding metal peephole trying to get it open.
"Ophelia." He called out. "Ophelia, can you hear me?"
The only response he received were soft, muffled sobs. Marcus pressed his back to the door, sliding down until his knees were to his chest. Even if James recovered quickly, there was nothing in here for him to draw runes with. No spell ingredients either. They were at the mercy of these people. Whoever they were.
The footsteps returned, more numerous this time. They stopped outside the door and the same voice that came for Ophelia called out. "Tenneson, on your feet. In front of the door. Hands where I can see them."
"I don't do magic, stupid fucks. Where my hands are doesn't matter." Marcus kept his voice sharp and defiant, attempting to hide the panic that was rising in his gut as James scooted himself back into the corner of the room. In the end, he did as they said. The peep on the door opened, goggle covered eyes scanning the room for a moment to behold the ill-mannered gesture macus gave him with both hands. The slot slammed closed again, followed by the door swinging open.
Four men stood behind the leader, all dressed in head to toe tactical gear. The leader had the tranquilizer gun leveled on him before the door finished opening, those behind them all had military issued magitech rifles, though none of them were raised.
"Walk." The center man gestured the direction they came from with the tranq. Marcus' eyes narrowed and his muscles tensed. If he attempted anything now he would almost certainly get shot. Did not seem the best course of action.
So he walked.
With every step, every turn, Marcus tried to memorize the path. Humming purple lanterns hung on the walls about every two hundred feet like strange looking bug zappers. The grated metal walkway sat directly on leveled earth, so there was likely nothing beneath them.
After two more rights and a left, they led him to a door where tranquilizer man opened it and shoved him inside. The buzzing of the lanterns was noticeably absent from the room. A single square table in the center with two chairs and a hanging cone light over it. In the chair opposite him, the tall, bald man sat in the same suit he'd seen earlier with the same blank expression on his face.
"Is good to see you again, Marcus." He gestured to the other chair. "Please sit."
The door closed behind him and shut out all sounds from the outside world. Marcus hesitated, then stepped forward and sat in the chair across from him. "You going to tell me where the fuck I am?"
"In time." His bald head bobbed, and he leaned forward, resting large swollen knuckled hands on the table. "First, you will talk."
"You like the Grizzlies?"
One corner of his mouth turned up, though the amusement did not spread to the rest of his blank face. "Grant said you a funny man." His fists closed tightly, knuckles audibly cracking in both hands. "So, here is deal, funny man. People I work for are…displeased. You've been irritating. Like mosquito." He waved a hand in his face. "You know mosquito?"
His pulse was erratic as he struggled to keep cool. "Yes, I'm aware of what a mosquito is. Get to the point."
"Good." The man lifted the briefcase from his side. Though Marcus was ready this time, all he pulled from it was a stack of papers. "Is contract." He replaced the case at his side and slid the papers over to him. Arcanex letter head. He should have known.
"I'm not signing shit." Marcus blurted out before his brain caught up.
His pale fingers pulled a pen out of his breast pocket and set it on the stack of papers. "Is what your friends said, too. At first, at least." He patted the documents before pulling his hands back. "You see purple lights outside?" Marcus stared at him blankly, refusing to answer. "Project antimagic field. One in this room too, but you don't do magic. So is turned off."
"What's your point?" Marcus leaned back in the chair, trying to look as casual as possible.
"Point." He nodded slowly. "When your friends refused, convincing them required physical touch." He lightly pounded his fist into his palm. "You though? Lots of fun magitech we can use with no concern of it being turned on me."
"You think threatening me is going to get me to do what you want?" Marcus did his best to remain calm, though his heart raced and sweat built in his clenched fists. "I'm not signing shit."
The tall man pursed his thin lips, nodding slowly. "Perhaps. Maybe you too tough for torture, yes?" He suddenly slammed his open palm on the table. "Ah! Wonderful idea. I send my friend out there to get James. Or pretty one, Ophelia? Perhaps another beating will change your mind?"
Marcus' jaw clenched, teeth grinding. He stared through narrowed eyes at the man for some time before reaching out to the documents, pulling them over to read. It read like a normal nondisclosure agreement. There was something off, though.
Apparently his face betrayed him, because tall, bald, and violent spoke up. "Is not legal contract. Is magical one. You break, you die. Blood ignition. Too fast for my taste, but very flashy."
"Don't suppose I can get a copy of this?" Marcus' comment drew a dry chuckle from the man. Legal agreements often had loopholes. From what his father had told him, magical contracts tended to not have that problem. Once a spell was cast, in this case a ritual bound document, it couldn't be broken. Not without knowledge of the ritual and access to the original document. He knew his parents were under several from their time with the military that meant some of his most harrowing stories simply couldn't be told. "So if I sign this, you're just going to let us out? Simple as that?"
"Eh…" His bald head bounced side to side. "Keep reading."
Marcus shot him an annoyed glare, then forced his focus back down to the pages. He was not allowed to talk about the blightshrews, Norah, or any sickness he'd seen at the reserve. Toward the end of the agreement, he found the catch. He was no longer allowed on any magical beast reserve. Adding insult to injury, if Arcanex ever needed his expertise, he was required to report to them and accomplish any task they asked as long as it was in accordance with local law. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."
"Am not joker like you, unfortunately. Don't have face for it." The bald man gave him a wry smile.
"And if I don't sign it?"
Baldy just shrugged. "How you deal with pesky mosquito?"
Marcus stared down at the final lines of the contract, gnawing the inside of his cheek raw. It was really a no-choice situation, but he searched between the lines like there might be something. Military rifles gave him the feeling whoever W.H. was that signed the opposite side of the contract wasn't going to let him just walk out of here without agreeing. If by some miracle he did escape, multibillion dollar corporation with a grudge hunting him down didn't seem like an ideal way to go through life.
The pen vibrated softly in his hand the moment he picked it up. As the black ink stained the page in the shape of his name, it was as if his very soul bled out through the pen. Unfortunately, that emptiness was not the end of it. A violent burning sensation shot through his fingers, lighting up his veins up his right arm and then down his left. He dropped the pen, leaning back in his chair as his muscles tensed and yelled through clenched teeth.
"Oooo..should have warned. Very sorry." Yuri held up his hands in apology. "Is just spell settling in blood stream. Will pass."
Marcus stared at the contract as Yuri slipped it into a clear sleeve and then a manila envelope. His face still contorted from the physical agony that was the spell coursing through his veins, but he knew the real pain was that pile of paperwork. His life being handled with the utmost care as it was stolen away before his eyes.