Chapter 1
Jake stood in front of the sign for the Franklin
County Youth Detention Center and sighed. How come he got all the
juvenile delinquent witches?
Being a monitor for the Witch Sentinel System
was supposed to be a life of excitement and reward. At least that’s
what his recruiter Duncan had said when he signed on the dotted
line. Of course, Duncan was monitor for zone eleven, which meant he
mostly got to sit around on Maui beaches.
Lots of sand in New Mexico, but that was about
where the similarities ended. And this was the second time in three
months a Sentinel alert had led him to a kid in lock-up.
It probably made sense. Uncontrolled magical
powers tended to get you in trouble.
In extreme circumstances, you grabbed the witch
and asked questions later, but since there were no signs of
impending magical disaster, Jake preferred to do surveillance
first. He was going to have to get inside.
He reached for power, and reveled in the flow of
magic. One of the good things about the New Mexico zone was an
ample power supply.
“ I ask the power of earth and land,
Come on out, give me a hand.
I need a way into this dive,
Peel away years, ten and five.
Gotta do what must be done,
Make it so, Number One.”
He hoped Jean Luc didn’t mind the line rip-off.
Some witches could get away with spellwork that didn’t rhyme, but
he wasn’t one of them. And he’d gotten past the “as I will, so mote
it be” crap a long time ago.
The bit of his face he could see in his
motorbike mirror looked fourteen. Excellent. It was always easiest
to cast an illusion that was fairly close to reality. Peel fifteen
years off his looks and passing for a delinquent wasn’t going to be
a problem.
Franklin County juvie wasn’t one of the hardcore
lock-ups, so sneaking in shouldn’t be too difficult. Sneaking out
with a rescued witch in tow might be a bigger issue, but he’d cross
that bridge later.
Jake walked in the front door and muttered a
standard “don’t notice me” spell under his breath. He’d needed that
one a lot lately.
Moving to a chair in the corner, he sat down and
tried to get a read on the place. Three doors—one for staff only,
one into the detention wing, and the front door. Damn, that wasn’t
a lot of escape routes.
It was an entirely depressing space. Puke-green
walls, grunge floors, and a bunch of bureaucratic paperwork and
preachy signs blanketed over the walls. A colorful poster
advertising rehearsals for Delinquent Drama’s production of West
Side Story was the only thing that kept his eyes from squeezing
closed in self-defense.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Damn. The
hand belonged to a skinny black woman dressed in a guard uniform.
Her nametag said Darlene.
“Where are you supposed to be, kid?”
It took Jake a moment to remember he looked
fourteen. And delinquent. “Dunno.”
“Well, who left you out here?” Darlene looked
very grumpy. He couldn’t blame her. Puke-green walls could cause an
epidemic of cranky.
Jake tried his best tough-guy face and
shrugged.
Darlene scowled. “You’re never going to be as
tough as me, kid. Don’t even try. Where are you supposed to
be?”
The wall poster caught his eye. “Stupid drama
rehearsal.”
“You one of Romy’s kids? You must be new; I
thought I had all her kids pegged. Come on, I’ll take you in.” The
hand on his arm was a lot gentler than he’d expected.
Romy must be the do-gooder that ran the drama
program. No way the state funded anything that touchy-feely.
Darlene escorted him through the door into the
detention wing. The puke-green theme continued, with no windows to
see the desert outside. Sadly, he was no longer shocked by where
society chose to stash some of their kids. Five years ago, as a
green recruit, he’d been horrified.
He suspected his power-detection spell wasn’t
going to work very well through concrete walls, but he tried
anyhow. Nope. All he knew for sure now was that Darlene wasn’t a
witch. Of
Jake stood in front of the sign for the Franklin
County Youth Detention Center and sighed. How come he got all the
juvenile delinquent witches?
Being a monitor for the Witch Sentinel System
was supposed to be a life of excitement and reward. At least that’s
what his recruiter Duncan had said when he signed on the dotted
line. Of course, Duncan was monitor for zone eleven, which meant he
mostly got to sit around on Maui beaches.
Lots of sand in New Mexico, but that was about
where the similarities ended. And this was the second time in three
months a Sentinel alert had led him to a kid in lock-up.
It probably made sense. Uncontrolled magical
powers tended to get you in trouble.
In extreme circumstances, you grabbed the witch
and asked questions later, but since there were no signs of
impending magical disaster, Jake preferred to do surveillance
first. He was going to have to get inside.
He reached for power, and reveled in the flow of
magic. One of the good things about the New Mexico zone was an
ample power supply.
“ I ask the power of earth and land,
Come on out, give me a hand.
I need a way into this dive,
Peel away years, ten and five.
Gotta do what must be done,
Make it so, Number One.”
He hoped Jean Luc didn’t mind the line rip-off.
Some witches could get away with spellwork that didn’t rhyme, but
he wasn’t one of them. And he’d gotten past the “as I will, so mote
it be” crap a long time ago.
The bit of his face he could see in his
motorbike mirror looked fourteen. Excellent. It was always easiest
to cast an illusion that was fairly close to reality. Peel fifteen
years off his looks and passing for a delinquent wasn’t going to be
a problem.
Franklin County juvie wasn’t one of the hardcore
lock-ups, so sneaking in shouldn’t be too difficult. Sneaking out
with a rescued witch in tow might be a bigger issue, but he’d cross
that bridge later.
Jake walked in the front door and muttered a
standard “don’t notice me” spell under his breath. He’d needed that
one a lot lately.
Moving to a chair in the corner, he sat down and
tried to get a read on the place. Three doors—one for staff only,
one into the detention wing, and the front door. Damn, that wasn’t
a lot of escape routes.
It was an entirely depressing space. Puke-green
walls, grunge floors, and a bunch of bureaucratic paperwork and
preachy signs blanketed over the walls. A colorful poster
advertising rehearsals for Delinquent Drama’s production of West
Side Story was the only thing that kept his eyes from squeezing
closed in self-defense.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Damn. The
hand belonged to a skinny black woman dressed in a guard uniform.
Her nametag said Darlene.
“Where are you supposed to be, kid?”
It took Jake a moment to remember he looked
fourteen. And delinquent. “Dunno.”
“Well, who left you out here?” Darlene looked
very grumpy. He couldn’t blame her. Puke-green walls could cause an
epidemic of cranky.
Jake tried his best tough-guy face and
shrugged.
Darlene scowled. “You’re never going to be as
tough as me, kid. Don’t even try. Where are you supposed to
be?”
The wall poster caught his eye. “Stupid drama
rehearsal.”
“You one of Romy’s kids? You must be new; I
thought I had all her kids pegged. Come on, I’ll take you in.” The
hand on his arm was a lot gentler than he’d expected.
Romy must be the do-gooder that ran the drama
program. No way the state funded anything that touchy-feely.
Darlene escorted him through the door into the
detention wing. The puke-green theme continued, with no windows to
see the desert outside. Sadly, he was no longer shocked by where
society chose to stash some of their kids. Five years ago, as a
green recruit, he’d been horrified.
He suspected his power-detection spell wasn’t
going to work very well through concrete walls, but he tried
anyhow. Nope. All he knew for sure now was that Darlene wasn’t a
witch. Of
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