To Dance With the Devil

It was damned impressive. No one had ever escaped from the Needle. Now I could see why.

We came to a stop at the stairs that led up to the front door. As we mounted the steps, the ATV drove off. I felt a chill run down my spine as it left us stranded.

There was a man waiting for us at the door. Tall and thin, his hair was cut short and was the same steel gray of the fabric of his suit and a couple of shades darker than the color of his eyes.

“Special Agent Rizzoli.” He shook Dom’s hand, ignoring me completely. “I see you brought us a guest.”

The inflection he put on the word “guest” made it clear he meant “prisoner.” I fought to swallow my anger. I had done absolutely nothing wrong, but this asshole wanted to lock me up. Gritting my teeth, I counted silently to ten before turning to look over at Dom.

Dom’s expression darkened dangerously, but when he spoke, his voice was level. “A visitor, Eric. Princess Celia is here to see Connor Finn regarding a case she’s working on. Warden Davis has approved it. And you might want to be a little more polite. You keep insulting her and we’re liable to have an international incident on our hands.” He turned to me.

“Princess Celia, allow me to introduce a former coworker of mine, Eric Zorn. Eric, her Grace, Princess Celia Kalino Graves of the Pacific line of sirens.”

“Oh, I know who she is.” Zorn’s eyes flicked over me dismissively. “I know all about her. We do our homework around here.”

He finally looked straight at me, his gaze locking with mine in a direct challenge. “I don’t like you, Princess. I think you use the press, your looks, and your rank to get away with things you shouldn’t. I’ve heard you have diplomatic immunity along with that royal blood. But you should know that that only goes so far. You may not be staying here today, but you’ll wind up here eventually. I’d bet my life on it.”

“Eric.” A new voice spoke like the crack of a whip. Zorn jumped, just a little, and turned to face the man who’d joined us so silently.

The newcomer wasn’t tall or particularly imposing. His features were as average as his coloring. His black suit was off the rack but well tailored, and his white dress shirt was crisp with starch. His red-and-black-striped tie was held in place by a silver-and-onyx tie tack. But while his appearance was ordinary, the man himself wasn’t. There was a strength, a presence to him that Zorn couldn’t match.

“Princess,” he said, bowing slightly, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Warden Bob Davis. I don’t believe you remember me, but I was at the demon rift. You saved me and God knows how many others that day. It’s an honor to have you here.”

“Thank you. I hope my being here isn’t causing too much trouble?” I put a lilt in my voice to make it a question.

“Of course not.” Davis turned to Dom. “Special Agent Rizzoli. I just got off of the line with your superior. If what he tells me is true, we need to talk. Eric, why don’t you show Dom to my office? I’m sure you want to catch up on things. Princess, if you will follow me?”

I didn’t smile, snicker, or give any indication that I felt smug as the warden and I walked away, but it wasn’t easy. Dom, however, felt no such reservations. He was grinning from ear to ear as a scowling Eric led him down a narrow hall that branched off to the right of the huge atrium Davis and I were crossing.

I stopped, looking around the place for a second. It was … imposing, with dark green marble veined with black and white, taking up a full two stories. The light fixtures and all of the building details were Art Deco, giving an otherwise cold and functional space just a bit of style.

The warden stopped, waiting for me to catch up before speaking quietly so that only I would hear. “I apologize for Eric’s behavior. He’s a good man, but for good or ill, he believes that high-class criminals do not get the same justice as the poor.”

That really wasn’t a good excuse for his behavior, but I decided I’d try to be gracious anyway. After all, I was a guest at the Needle … and truthfully, I wasn’t positive that Zorn wasn’t right. I’d read about studies done of prison populations—both regular prisons and the special places like the Needle and the Zoo. The inmates were predominantly poor and members of minority groups. What kind of minority depended on what part of the world the prison was in. But the percentages were nearly identical across the board.

Warden Davis changed the subject to my reason for visiting. “Connor Finn is on the twenty-ninth floor in one of our four most secure cells. The wards on that floor are supposed to be checked daily by our in-house mage.” He paused and waited for me to look at him.

“I hope it’s a coincidence that Mage Barton went home sick right after Special Agent Rizzoli called to arrange for your visit. But just in case, I’m sending you up there with a pair of armed escorts, both of them with mage gifts.

“Please be very careful. Connor Finn is an incredibly dangerous man.”

We’d reached a bank of four elevators. Waiting in front of the brushed metal doors were two guards who wore the same uniform as those I’d met at the front gate—but these guys were carrying a lot more hardware, including holstered wands. They were big and strong and looked reassuringly competent. I really hoped that nothing would happen that required their expertise, that they were just going to be intimidating decoration, but it felt good to have them there. Just in case.

“Thank you.” I smiled at Davis. He didn’t smile back.

“I just hope we aren’t both making a terrible mistake.”

Going through the prison was creepy. It wasn’t like on television or in the movies, where guys in jumpsuits behind bars catcall the people walking by. There were no bars, for one thing. Every person in the Needle was in permanent solitary confinement. There was nothing to see but sterile white concrete walls, gleaming polished floors, and the evenly spaced steel doors. Each door had a four-by-six-inch window of wire-and-magic-reinforced glass and was sealed by four separate locks that were evenly spaced down the side away from the hinges.

Video cameras were placed at ten-foot intervals on opposite sides of the hall, angled so that there was overlapping coverage. I doubted there was one inch of space that wasn’t covered by the cameras. There were no dropped ceilings. Instead the lights, wiring, and ductwork were out in the open, clearly visible above our heads. That area, too, was full of surveillance cameras.

It was all very quiet, very impressive, and very depressing.

My escorts took me to a circular meeting room that seemed to be in the center of the twenty-ninth floor. As I stepped over the threshold, I gasped in pain. The room had been built on a powerful magic circle and was ringed with major protection magics.

The room was bisected by a wall that was divided horizontally. The bottom half was cinder block; the top was made of what I assumed was a very thick layer of the kind of glass used to protect the audience at hockey games. There was a chair on my side of the room and one on the other side, each centered within a magical protective circle. Matching microphones and speakers hung overhead. The only entrances were two doors—one behind me and one directly opposite, in the other half of the room. All the walls, including the cinder-block portion of the divider, were painted a cheerful lemon yellow. I doubted anyone on either side of this room ever felt all that cheerful.

The guards with me took positions on either side of the visitor’s chair. I sat down and felt the circle spring to life; the power washed over me in a rush.

I tried to be patient and calm while I waited for them to bring Finn into the room on the opposite side of the glass. Then the door opened and everything changed.

I knew what Connor Finn looked like. I’d seen him in the hologram, after all. But seeing him in person, I was still surprised by his sheer presence. Even wearing the trappings of a prisoner—standard-issue orange coveralls and green rubber flip-flops—he held himself like a king.

The silver circle that glowed around his seat was much more elaborate than the one on my side. It was engraved with symbols meant to block magical power so that no spell of any kind could be worked from inside. His hands and feet were bound in silver-and-steel shackles, and he sat calm and patient as the guards locked the connecting chains to a ring bolted to the floor. Connor Finn smiled, and I fought not to shudder as I remembered the last time I had seen that smile. Then he spoke, and I heard anew the voice that had haunted me as I lay burning on the beach.

“Well, well, Celia Graves, as I live and breathe. I thought you were smarter than this.” He pretended bonhomie, but there was no warmth in his expression.

My return smile could’ve given the man frostbite. “Evidently not.”

He laughed at that. “So, not so smart. But brave. You’d have to be, to come here when you know that so many people would love to make the Needle your permanent home. One wrong move and you’ll be joining me.”

I shrugged, trying to look impassive, as if his words hadn’t hit a nerve.

“I really hoped you would learn your lesson from our previous encounter. Burns are painful enough that they usually make a very effective teaching tool.”

He said it so very casually. I knew then that I’d made a mistake. I’d thought a man who’d been obsessed with a family feud would be obsessed with family, that he’d care what happened to the son who was the last of his line. But Connor Finn wasn’t capable of caring about other people for any reason. It simply wasn’t in his nature. I wondered why he’d killed the Garzas. It certainly wasn’t about the blood feud.

He stared at me, waiting for an answer. “Sometimes I can be a little bit stubborn,” I admitted. He smiled again, looking self-satisfied. I hated that smile.

“You’ve gone to quite a bit of trouble to see me, and now that we’re together, you’re very quiet. What would you like to talk about?”

What did I want to say? My insight of a moment ago changed everything and nothing. So I plowed ahead, hoping that if we kept talking I might stumble onto something important. “You’ve got Garza blood in your veins. If you do this curse of yours, you’ll not only kill Michelle, you’ll be killing yourself and your son as well.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">