People signed papers, injected liquid into my veins, and shuffled me over to a pay phone. No one trusted me with a cell. It didn’t matter; legally anything I said would be recorded.

I only knew a few numbers by heart. Kahina’s was one. Calling her was out because I’d jerked the woman around too much for one lifetime. Maybe in sixty or so years I’d look her up and we could try again. A flash of my father’s memories suggested we’d both live a long time. Being inhuman had perks.

Evan didn’t have a cell and would only depress me even more. Bottom Pit would answer, but calling them would lead to questions from law enforcement. Getting in touch directly was out. My files might link to Roy’s family but I didn’t want to put them under the law’s gaze.

Daniel Crumfield could have done something but was undercover and there was no telling who managed my information. Someone had probably been alerted. His fiancée, formerly known as Ann when under cover, might work. Eddy, who had also been undercover with the Order of Merlin might help. Who else did Daniel trust?

Julianne had been in the know, but she died. Hell. If I’d been me, wholly me, saving her would have been easy. I ground my teeth and tried not to get sucked back into the self-loathing. We were past that and in a new place shit storm. I was me at long last, and I’d bide my time until these memory flashes settled, then take control.

Julianne’s brother, Thomas, could notify those involved. Trying to remember anyone else’s number or name was difficult past the almost random bursts of memory passing through. I stood staring at a memory of a girl with a fantastic ass lap dancing for a solid minute before the phone in my hand fully registered.

I dialed the bar. After four rings a harried sounding waitress answered. The background was loud with cheers. No telling what night it was, but there was probably a game on of some sort.

“JBG, how can I help?” Not a voice I recognized. She’d also abbreviated the bar’s name which might be a new practice. They’d always just called it Julianne’s before.

“Hey, Thomas there?”

“Thomas who? Who is this?”

“Jay, for Julianne’s brother.”

“Jay? For Thomas. Uhhhh... all right, he should be around. Somewhere.” The person on the other end didn’t even bother to muffle the line before yelling across the bar.

“Tom! Answer the fucking phone, you loser!” Voices broke out in laughter, shouts and jeers. Clearly there were more than a few people nearby. They chanted Tom’s name over and over.

“What!” I could hear the man himself among the noise.

“Phone, moron!” There was a clank of noise. She’d probably dropped the phone and went back to handling customers. Scratching noises nearly shocked me out of a drug induced stupor.

“’Ello, man of the hour speaking?”

“Tom, it’s Jay.”

“Holy Hell, princess, aren’t you dead?” he said.

“No.”

“That’s fucking awesome, man. Want me to tell the ball and chain?” The wolf sounded drunk but excited. “Scratch that, you should drop by and celebrate with us! Bring the old lady yourself. She didn’t like us too much despite our build building get together.”

“What? No, listen.” Too many thoughts crossed my mind at once, distracting me.

“No, you listen!” his voice lingered drunkenly. “I got the job!”

“I don’t have time,” I started to explain. These calls were often cut off, or so I’d been told.

“I start Sector training next week! You gotta drop by. The guys are throwing me this party, strippers, strippers! I don’t know where they found these girls but man. Both hands. Full—”

“They’re shipping me to Atlas.”

Thomas laughed loudly into the phone. “Got you too, huh? I thought the vampire thing covered all of it. They took Stacy away for a six month stretch on reckless driving!” Thomas was shouting in the background at the other guys. “Jay’s going to Atlas!”

His crowd cheered, but they hopefully had no idea who or what it was about. Jay should be another name in a faceless crowd from Muni’s charm. I rubbed the wrist where it’d been.

“Tom, I need you to let my people know. It’s important.”

I’d process what he said after this call. After this call, I might not be able to use a phone again. Atlas had rules, but as before, I’d been told about the place and never been there.

“Hey, Jay, man, min or max.”

“What?”

“You wayward or windward?”

“What?”

“Listen, you end up beach side, look Stacy up, she’s serving out her time in minimum. I mean, unless some guy hits on her. Then she’ll probably go max. That’d be bad.” He booed drunkenly.

“Tom, can you tell my family!” Any of them would do. Roy would tell the others.

“Sure, man, sure! You have family?”

“Tom! These ladies didn’t join us to be wallflowers! They’re here for a party. You better get over here and—” another voice I recognized yelled in the background. It sounded like Steven, a brown haired man who could pull in ladies with frightening ease. I prayed it was Steven, which felt like a contradiction. He’d tell Roy and the others as long as Thomas babbled near him.

“Yeah. Okay! Okay! I’ll tell your people. Wait, you got people?” Thomas replied while growing distant. The phone disconnected. Would this work? He’d shouted my situation to the entire room. That was potentially good and bad.

Hell. It was too late to worry about it. My next stop was Atlas Island. It occurred to me halfway through deportation that I hadn’t asked once how Leo was doing. Had he been shipped off as well? Had his brothers escaped?

That whole situation with Thomas becoming a Sector agent was weird. That sort of thing happened, but rarely. He was a full wolf, and his pack hadn’t been doing too hot since Julianne passed on. Maybe getting him into Western Sector would help in more ways than one. Daniel might have engineered it just to get Thomas into a controllable position.

Pack memory was one of the hardest to mess with according to Muni. The rest of us had to take her word. Thomas already knew more than he should, and by making him an agent he’d have to break ties with his old pack. That felt almost too clever for anyone but Daniel.

The chopper ride was boring. Two grown men kept unblinking gazes on me, and hands ready at their firearms. I was so sedated I threw up as we flew over the ocean. Being in a car had made me sick before, this was much worse. Especially when I understood why.

I could fly. The thought made me grin even as I fought the latest wave of nausea. More memories rushed forward.

My wings were expansive leathery extensions. I could almost feel the tingle of freedom from memories of nighttime flights. Never during the day, there were too many lights, too many video cameras, and phones with the ability to take pictures. It’d be even worse now than it had been five years ago. Cell phones had come a long way.

Once these drugs were out of my system I could shift and fly back home. It was more north than east. The cords that connected me to those things I’d claimed grew easier to feel. Slipping into my other sight rapidly returned to automatic. The process would only increase in speed as my wits gathered. It might take a few days or weeks. Reconciling five years of memories against a lifetime couldn’t be simple.

Finally, having spent most of the ride dry heaving, we started to descend. Our destination was a massive block like fortress near a beach. Imposing gates and tall fences were electrified while their warning labels were worn from age.

Atlas was a huge island. The prison sat on one side, where there was a vaguely beautiful beach, complete with huge barbed fences. That had to be windward, as the waves were blowing in from great swells all up and down the coastline. Watching impossibly clear water bob made me sicker. Fish, reefs, and a pod of whales; I saw them all while emptying the contents of my belly.

Wayward was a giant forest that climbed around a short peak. Tons of nearly untouched land sprawled into the distance roughly sixty miles and ended in a high ridge. I could barely make out a tower on the far side. It reminded me of an insanely tall lighthouse driving into the sky, making an already impressive peak even more daunting.

The stir of my other mind made my heart rate jump. It was groggy and sluggish, but very much interested. I wanted to climb up there and shout a challenge to all the pathetic creatures roaming this island.

Mine. It will be mine.

One of the guards shouted. Choppers blades made it hard to know what he said for sure. That didn’t stop my two escorts from nudging me straight toward a roof access doorway. The entire time we shuffled I stared at the peak, wondering its purpose.

Drugs made escape impossible to truly consider but I tried anyway. For example, these sector issued cuffs would only hurt a little when silver tore into my arms. I could heal. From there I could jump off. My thoughts were too mixed up though, what I really needed was a place to hide while recovering my memories.

One guard opened the door. The other shoved me through. Our path didn’t lead to stairs, it went to an elevator. Guns nudged my back to keep us moving.

I counted floors as we descended in the elevator. Red numbers went from twelve to six. Other numbers were on the control panel, basements markings.

Elevator doors opened with an annoying chime. My two escorts nudged me out in silence. I obeyed because their guns were large and dangerous. Daniel would have known the models by heart, and probably be able to disassemble them on the fly while punching a guard in the face.

Another memory flashed, Daniel had been sparring with Roy and his family. There was something dangerous about it though. Hungry, like he wanted to murder Roy. The Security Chief barely registered it, eager for combat and the thrill of a challenge. I’d been no better. All of us driven by our nature to play with death like fools.

“Transfer of prisoner?” A voice almost exactly like Keeper, Kahina’s vampire sponsor, greeted us, his tone absent and a barely tangible thing. He must be an older vampire, at least three or four hundred years of age. Time did funny things to their heads.

I looked around this new room. A series of double gated bars were between our end of the hallway and the other. Not an ounce of natural light peeked through.

“Yes, sir,” an escort answered.

“Excellent. We received his file and are ready to welcome him,” the older vampire said.

He was a reedy fellow. No glasses or any accessories, extremely short hair and a carefully trimmed goatee. The hairs were almost white and his skin paler than normal. I’d seen albino humans once, but this felt closer to an albino vampire. I filed the rapid fire profile away.

“Sedation?” albino asked the guards.

“It’ll hold until end of orientation. After that...” I could almost feel one of the guards shrug behind me.

“That’s fine. It’s long enough to explain the rules. After that problems tend to resolve themselves.” He had a humorous smile on his face. Beneath the joke was a hint of a nasty temperament.

No one laughed at the thin fellow’s humor. Instead I slowly swung my head around, trying to gain some clarity and shake off the foggy feeling. If they thought the sedation would last a little bit longer maybe I could speed things up. My healing ability was near that of wolves. Claiming ownership of a place would make it faster. Giving me a cot, or a cell, anything, further accelerated the process.

“This way, Mr. Fields.” The man had a clipboard in one hand, checking off items as he went.

I slowly stepped after him. My guards didn’t join us. They stayed on the other side of the double doors.

“Welcome to Atlas Island,” he spoke, but it wasn’t to me, not exactly. “Through here.”

He had a keycard. It passed in front of locks and they clicked open with a warning beep. Each gate sealed shut behind us.

“Our first stop will be the primary intake. We have two new members waiting for orientation which makes your timing fortuitous. It’s easier to do this in a group. Nothing like starting off with friends.” He turned and flashed that same nasty smile, checking off another box on his clipboard.

I didn’t say anything, but walked through to where he was waving.

“Over there, Mr. Fields.” The man pointed to an x on the ground. There were other people as well. Only two of the markings had people standing on top of them. They were trussed with manacles that connected arms and legs to heavy weights.

My partners were Leo and a moron I’d never seen before. I couldn’t gauge how Leo was doing while focusing on moving forward. Both eyelids were heavy and arms barely reacted. My brief glance revealed a blank expression with no hint of awareness about me.

Our third member seemed disturbed by the whole process. He didn’t have a standard wolf’s build or reediness associated with a vampire. Neither ear had a point on the tip. He was human.

Atlas didn’t care. They were Western Sector owned, run, and sanctioned. This place took all offenders of interracial events. The other governments didn’t have a choice, and there was too much demand for a place like this.

“Welcome to Atlas Island. In the next ten minutes you’ll be given a number, new clothes, and a fresh injection of sedatives. This will give you time to adapt to your new companions. It’s been my experience those imprisoned here as a result of violent crimes can be unstable without time to adapt. Later you will be given a bath and job to perform as part of your potential rehabilitation.” The clipboard carrying orientation specialist wasn’t even looking at us. He flipped through notes. It was the same action I’d seen Daniel do hundreds of times.

There were two types of Western Sector employees. Those who found all their answers in the paperwork, and those who found all their answers in the field. Rarely did the twain meet except in cases like Daniel, and maybe Shaggy—Ann.

“Each of you is here for different offenses.” He flipped through the papers again. “Scratch that, two of you share an offense. Congratulations. You must already be friends. Social bonds are healthy to rehabilitation efforts.” His vacant voice woke up and sounded almost excited. The orientation man smiled briefly, stretching his faint goatee.

Leo’s eyes slowly slid up toward our speaker. No one said anything.

“Regardless of the duration of your stay, all rules at Atlas are the same. We do this because of our sincere belief in rehabilitation.”

He loved that word. I decided to hate it. The word would join “fantastic” in a special land reserved for detestable items. There, it would join kimchee and cat hair.

“I will address the hope of escape first. Here is a fact; should you choose to escape Western Sector will use their trackers, then pursue with shoot to kill orders. There are no outstanding escapees at this time.” Our tour guide to all things Atlas paused and let that sink in for a moment.

Leo didn’t move. The third prisoner barely blinked. I didn’t know how to react either and kept my head down.

“Very well. Onward then. Here at Atlas we operate by a three strike system.” Now he was getting in our personal space while making eye contact. He leaned over slightly and peered upward into my eyes. I briefly considered tearing his head off. The thought made me smile which earned a return smile from the tour guide but the man turned and marched on.

He stood in front of Leo.

“Killing a fellow inmate is considered a strike.”

Roy’s youngest shuddered. He couldn’t even focus directly on the pale haired man’s face. If Leo and his father were anything alike he would have been chomping at the bit to fight, drugs or not.

“Failure to meet basic performance on your job is a strike,” he said while walking to the third man. “And, as always, failure to follow orders from a Caretaker or Warden is a strike. Isn’t that right, Mr. Simms? Back for a fourth visit? Why don’t you tell our new friends what happens on a third strike?”

The man down at the end looked very unhappy. I could see him swallow, then shuffle his feet back a step.

“Well, Mr. Simms?”

“You go to the other side of the island,” he answered.

“And is that bad?”

He gulped again and nodded sharply.

“Use your words, please. We endeavor not to be barbarians here. Being uncultured is a common ailment of our guests.”

Mr. Simms’s shuffling feet begged to differ. Hell. I’d been here for thirty minutes and I already knew what was going to happen next. I’d done the same thing to other people, many times. Fighters in the ring who begged, people who owed debts but couldn’t pay, they occasionally got the same treatment.

“Yes. The other side is bad,” Mr. Simms answered while looking down and closing his eyes.

“In your last three visits you’ve successfully avoided being sent to the other side of the island. Congratulations. You’re clearly half a cultured human. Do you think you can avoid being cast over a fourth time?”

I cleared my throat. This was building to the next step and boring. Humiliation as a demonstration of power only entertained the people in charge. “Get it over with.” My voice was sluggish.

“Oh?”

I could hear Mr. Simms whimper in relief as the pale haired man and his annoying goatee slid toward me. My eyes tracked polished shoes, tailored pants, and a stack of papers.

“He’s screwed no matter how he answers. We get it. The other side is bad.” I bobbed a little while, trying to right my head and stare down at the man. I could feel myself struggling to shift but there was nothing to fuel it. If I’d had wings they’d be spread wide, making myself loom over the other figure. If I had fire this man would be half a cinder already.

“I’m sure every moment over there is a fight for survival and people die.” There was probably still some barf on my face from the ride over. I ignored it.

“Why yes, Mr. Fields I do believe you understand my point,” clipboard man said.

“There’s more, right?” I asked.

“Of course. What do you believe comes next, Mr. Fields?” The man had a half grin with puckered cheeks. He was enjoying himself. I wondered how many times in the past my face had the same smug expression. A dozen mushed memories compiled under a layer of drugs.

I pushed on. “Now you find someone. Give them a task. They refuse and get a strike, or obey and you’ve established dominance.”

I was annoyed with this entire place. Could it burn down? How much heat would it take? The walls felt dull and heavy. Trying to light this place on fire would be futile. There had to be something wrong with me if I could talk to a person and analyze how flammable our surroundings were, while drugs coursed through my system.

“I’ll bet you use the same line each time. What is it? Oh, you seem like the type who gets off on people licking your books. Try it.” I glared at the reedy man. “Tell me to lick your boots.”

I had to give the man points. He didn’t seem thrown off but wasn’t distant either. No, he was very much here, now, with us. His mannerisms were so much like Keeper’s that it was creepy. Was he an elder vampire? It felt like a possibility. The fluid grace as he slid around. The desire to read paper instead of digital tablets spoke of an old-fashioned comfort.

“Excellent idea, Mr. Fields, since you so kindly offered,” he said and grinned, displaying two pointed teeth. “Lick. My. Boots.”

Leo laughed, it sounded more like an addled man wheezing. Memories flashed by of the young man. When I’d first seen Leo he was ten or eleven and sent home from being in fights. His rage mirrored my own in so many ways.

“No,” I said.

My response didn’t surprise either one of us. The following backhand did. Its strength was such I went skidding across the room into a wall, where I thumped.

I sat quickly and readied for a follow up strike that never came. My head swam and growls shook the ground slightly. The air in my immediate area grew heated. No additional attack came. In fact, the man giving us our orientation still had his clipboard tucked comfortably under one arm.

“Strike one, Mr. Fields. Only two remaining. Now, back to your mark.”

The blast to my face hurt. Stiffness set in and moving my jaw made me wince. It served me right for being aggressive while handicapped. I’d settle this once my head wasn’t full of cotton.

I staggered back to my mark, dragging clanking metal chains the entire way. How much had he just sent across the room? Three hundred pounds of metal and muscle?

He continued his speech. “Here at Atlas Island, problems solve themselves. They always do, given motivation and room.”

“What’s your name?” I asked. I kept trying to lift my arm up to feel the side of my face. Repeated failures were marked by the repetitive ring of metal.

Leo still attempted laughter. Wheezing in broken breaths.

“I’m one of three Wardens. You may call me Warden Bennett.” He checked off a mark further down the page then moved his pencil back up the list. “The Caretakers and I keep this place as orderly as one can expect.”

Leo’s drug addled gaze was focused on one of the Warden’s hands. I followed the line of sight over and tried not to smirk. The hand he’d hit me with was showing some signs of swelling. He kept it covered for the most part by the clipboard. Leo noticed, and now, so had I.

“Nice title.”

“It has its perks,” he admitted with a smile. None of us spoke and the Warden looked toward another guard at the door. “First, as promised, new clothes. Keep in mind we honor all deals around here, and when I speak I mean precisely what I say.”

A man walked stiffly carrying three plastic wrapped bundles of cloth. This one didn’t make the same kind of eye contact. His suit was blue and zipped up with no tags, buttons, or anything loose to grab onto.

The items were yanked out of their plastic and loaded into our arms. These pieces of fabric were flimsy. We were expected to hold them with our limited range of movement. Warden Bennett checked off another box and hummed at his clipboard.

“Ah yes, the carrot side of our welcome speech.” Warden Bennett started to lose focus on being present. Apparently this part didn’t interest him like confrontation and smacking prisoners. “Atlas is a place for those who have disregarded society’s rules. Prove yourself capable of following the basic expectations and there are rewards. In laymen terms you’ll be allowed visitation rights, yard access, and possible television privileges. Therapy will be provided for those seeking reform and demonstrating ability to adhere to the stipulated rules.”

“Phone calls?” Leo managed to get his head together enough to say something.

Our third party member, Mr. Simms, shook his head sadly. His eyes remained downcast, focused on the floor.

“Calls are limited to those who demonstrate a willingness to return to an orderly society. I find few people behave to the expected caliber.” Warden Bennett checked through his papers again.

“Mr. Simms here performed quite well last time.” He smiled and let the papers slip back into place. “I doubt you’ll be so lucky, Mr. Fields. Men like you tend to get three strikes very quickly.”

“Suits me,” I said. At least they wouldn’t sedate me on the other side.

I’d have to play it cool and wait until the drugs cleared my system. There were a ton of messed up memories to sort. Then there was figuring out if returning home would get me in hotter water. Being in jail might be a good thing. The Order of Merlin couldn’t get a hold of me here. That’d buy everyone some more time.

“How long am I here for?” I asked.

“That’s a problem for another day, Mr. Fields. Today’s remaining tasks, as we’ve discussed, are getting you assigned a number, then to your cells. Ah. And fresh medical assistance to ensure a smooth transition.”

Another guard came up with a strange looking device. The needle was obvious, but the small tube situated on the back made no sense.

“Your numbers come in two forms. One is an injection chip just under your skin. That was my brother’s idea. I’m more old-fashioned and prefer a simple name tag.” Warden Bennett walked to the third man and scooped something off a tray being held by another guard. “See here, Mr. Simms. We still had your old number available. Would you like it, for nostalgia?”

Mr. Simms whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut. The answer was clearly no, but Warden Bennett didn’t seem to care.

“Welcome back, guest seven two three five one. I hope your stay is enjoyable.” Mr. Bennett used a joking tone to his voice, like he was saying something highly amusing, but no one else laughed.

The image of beating Warden Bennett with the tray kept me amused while they stuck the needle in my arm. Imagining leaping into the sky with his body in one hand helped me survive the name tag being shoved in my hands. Dreaming of dropping him into the deepest ocean trench close by kept me sane as we walked down the hall to our cell.

Each destructive thought that passed through my muddled brain assisted me in drowning the cries of other inmates shouting at us. Fresh “medical assistance” played a part. Still, entire floors of people jeered. Wolves howled while humans rattled their bars. Other figures were sleeping in a clump of rooms we passed while descending. Verbal insults irked me but were minor.

Three men with guns surrounded us as we walked. One took point with Warden Bennett. The other two were behind with hands on their weapons. This place was Western Sector run, so they probably had the training needed to end our lives quickly. The thought made me shudder. None of my abilities made me bullet proof in this human form. The wound on my leg from Daniel reminded me just how bad things could get.

Hell. Suddenly a new thought flashed through my head. If this place was Sector run, there might be other Hunters here. I knew that bit of information, too. Hunters were normal people. Hunter Born like Daniel came into the world with a drive to fight monsters. They were given power, instinct, and ability that made them almost inhuman.

“Befriending the enemy.” Daniel’s voice rang through. Muni’s words chased after it. “When the trinket wears off.” A memory from Muni played. Past issues were shoved back into their proper spots.

Being shot by Daniel had hurt more than attacks from wolves and vampires. Wounds from a Hunter hurt worse than a normal human. I’d been hit by normal humans, wolves, and vampires, and shrugged it off. A through and through wound from Daniel had hit harder than anything I’d experienced in a long time.

Warden Bennett showed us into a room just like the dozens we had passed walking down here. No matter the floor or race, each cot was the same. There were four beds on two bunks. A pile of thin blankets on each bunk. A crappy metal panel served as a mirror. No window. One light covered the entire cell in a faint yellow. Other cells had curtains, made from the sheets and wedged in the top of their cell doors. No one cared.

“Here we are.” Warden Bennett stopped in front of a new cell and gestured us in with his clipboard. “The three of you will share accommodations. A reminder of the rules is posted on the wall inside. You’re expected to follow them as part of your rehabilitation. Decide bunk orders on your own.

“Your schedules are listed on the wall along with a single clock. Destruction of the clock doesn’t change your schedule. Strict adherence is expected. Failure to do so will result in a strike.” He checked the clipboard once again. We were crowded into the cell by three armed guards who stood next to the Warden. “In case I’ve not made it overwhelmingly clear, surviving Atlas is simple. Follow the rules. Those who are unable to do so will not last.”

“Unless someone else breaks them for you,” Mr. Simms said. I turned briefly to see him behind us, forlorn with eyes cast to the floor.

“That is also a possibility. Other guests may choose to break the rules. Consider it an exercise in interpersonal relations. Regardless of the instigator, violations of law will result in consequences.” Warden Bennett stared at the three of us as the door slid shut.

One guard gestured for us to turn our backs to the bars. Mr. Simms went first, making it clear that he’d been through this too many times. The guard undid his cuffs and they clanked free. Leo went next. I moved slower, still feeling sluggish.

Soon after, our guards left. People grumbled nearby. Some chatted and insulted each other with derogatory names. But since my arrival on this floor the place was never quiet.

Leo stared at Simms. Simms stared at the ground while breathing deeply. He wore a practically visible sheen of terror only being fought off by a stubborn refusal to recognize the world around him.

There we stood, the three of us quiet in a sea of noise. People shouted for attention. Every time someone yelled Simms jumped. I didn’t know how to treat the man. Simms was pure human; which meant he was either a dyed-in-the-wool killer, a radical protestor or a sucker in the wrong place with the wrong people—four times in a row.

How stupid did a person have to be to get sent back to Atlas repeatedly? Even Roy hadn’t dared violate the law enough to deserve this kind of punishment. He’d be pissed once word of Leo’s imprisonment reached Bottom Pit. Especially since it was because of me and a failed rescue attempt. Leo had dared violate Western Sector laws. However, based on my understanding, Leo he hadn’t hurt anyone on the way out. He might be able to leave in a few months.

“I’ll take the left side,” I said. Dealing with either of them bothered me. People and me needed a comfortable distance of about seven hundred miles.

Leo shook his head and eyed the right two cots. He said, “Bottom for me. Unless he wants to argue.”

“God, no. No. Do whatever you want. I’ve been here often enough to know how high on the pecking order I’m not.” Mr. Simms waved.

It was easy to figure out why a man like Leo might want the bottom bunk. Being stabbed in the back was a tiny bit harder. Leo didn’t claim the spot right away, he went over to the schedule and ran a finger along the text. I saw him squint at the letters, tilt his head, and mouth words.

I sat on the left bottom cot, knees on the edge of the bed, head against the wall, and tried to clear my mind. Simms and Leo could solve their own problems. I’d look at the schedule after they settled—though it was probably easy to understand. Doors would open, groups of us were allowed into an activity of some sort, making car plates, yard time, cleaning part of the building, whatever it was we were given. Then food and back to work, followed by more food. Finally we’d be shoved back into the cell. Good boys and girls might get to watch television sometime during their day.

“You go by Mr. Simms?” Leo asked. He wiped the drool oozing from his face with a sleeve. His posture slowly righted itself.

“Nathan. Or Simms. It doesn’t matter. You?” Nathan Simms lost focus and glanced around nervously.

“Leo Forge.”

“His name?”

Leo at least looked at me before answering right away. Probably trying to see what name I wanted to go by. Now that the memory trinket from Muni was shattered there was little point in mixing things up.

“Jay’s fine.”

“Okay. They’ll probably keep us in the same bunk for a while. Normally you’re paired with someone who’s been around longer, but this is my fourth…” Nathan drifted, lost focus for a moment then regained his voice. “Fourth time. I’ll give you a tour.”

“How’s the food?” Leo asked.

“Terrible,” Nathan said.

“Work?” the young man asked.

“Miserable.”

Nothing good would come my way. I already had a strike. What would I do for two more? Smarter men would lay low but that tower was stuck in my mind. Not because it was some mysterious piece of my past. Not because it held a special meaning. It was a landmark, unique on the island, and overlooked everything.

I wanted it.

Leo continued to pry more information. “Is there anything good about this place?”

“Most people leave each other alone. No one wants a strike on their record. Unless you do something to piss someone off.”

“What about wolves?” Leo sniffed in disgust. “Or bloodsuckers?”

“They’re in groups. There’s always a pack or two but they form based on what part of the Sectors they’re from. Wolves. Wolves generally fight each other, and leave humans alone.” Nathan Simms was trying not to glance in my direction. I’d glanced at him during our escort. Those sheepish eyes and quick expressions led me to a conclusion, that my mere presence made the man nervous.

Maybe it was the low growling as I contemplated the best course of action. Measuring the value of two more strikes versus this supposed difficulty of going to the wayward side.

Then those damn bits of memory hit. One more bounced through. An image of the room in Bottom Pit came to life as I stood in the office where I’d seen Boss Wylde. From there I watched fighters battle each other for blood and money.

A predatory smile made my jaws ache. The fight below had been both satisfying and a disappointment. In the memory I felt hands slide over my shoulders toward pectorals, not dark like Kahina’s, no, these were pale white hands. The flashback abruptly ended while I tried to follow it.

“When’s food?” I demanded.

“Dinner’s at seven for our block.” Nathan ran his finger over the schedule. I didn’t know when they’d switched spots. “Oh no,” he said.

“What?” Leo had recovered his physical acuity quicker than me. His face was still strung out, hair and the tiny series of knots were matted. He hadn’t even changed into the new clothes yet.

“Block seven. I hate block seven,” Nathan said.

“Old friends?” I asked with a halfhearted smile.

“No. Seven is in the middle, we can get yard time during the day or night. That means we’re in the group that tries to rile vampires and wolves. It can be bad.” His words were subdued.

“It looks like we’ll have a shower first. As a group activity.” Leo sounded disgusted. “Like high school wasn’t bad enough.”

I couldn’t figure out why they’d let us wear our clothes at all. Maybe they simply wanted us to have something familiar to return to before taking everything else away.

No one said much of anything. I worked to remember more details of the brief memory but couldn’t figure out who those fingers had belonged to. It was not the touch of a casual acquaintance. It was intimate and leading. It smelled like burnt cinnamon coupled with rose painted fingernails, and scalding heat.

In addition, why had I been standing in Boss Wylde’s office like I owned it? I’d felt a sense of possession and ownership. Her office belonged to me somehow. Those memories didn’t rush back. It’d take me time to put it together.

An hour passed in a blur. Even though the drugs were wearing off it didn’t help my mind at all. Either it would take more time for everything to settle or pieces were missing. Muni told me that suppressing my memories was far too dangerous. Stealing them outright would have been worse.

A guard rattled the bars. Contemplation of their frailty disturbed the woolgathering. Those slips of metal would be effective against a human, but negligible to anyone with enough strength.

“Shower time. Bring all clothes with you. Old ones will be turned in, to be returned upon release.” The guard’s voice didn’t waver, but his expression was apprehensive. Ready. One hand rested on his belt. “I’ll be escorting you to your assignments the first day. After that you’re on your own so pay attention.”

A fellow prisoner made a kissy face through the bars as we walked by.

“Hey, sweetheart.” The guard ignored him. Simms did his best to be inconspicuous.

I gave him the best view of my teeth possible. The other man blanched. Someone across the way laughed. Leo said nothing, walking in a cadence too familiar to me. That shuffle, the measured pacing, the way his feet never really lifted off the ground. Abrupt flashes of memory showed the bouncers at Bottom Pit using that same footstep pattern when getting ready to toss an offender out.

Roy’s son was debating a fight right here and now. I coughed in a barely subtle manner. Leo looked back. I shook my head. His pattern changed almost immediately to a slower more relaxed pace.

We were ushered into a relatively isolated stall. We were given no privacy. Mr. Simms sighed and stripped, folded his clothes and put them in a cubby hole next to where the guard had stationed himself. Leo and I followed suit.

The warm water helped wake me then chased away the last bit of shakes and cleaned the remaining barf still riding my face. Even Leo looked a bit better. The orange jumpsuit that’d given us served to drown the tint of his skin.

I hadn’t noticed it before but Leo’s old clothes were rather clever. A series of lighter tones made the hint of green almost look like a dark tan. Jumpsuit orange and black strips helped distract from his skin color. Maybe I only saw it because I expected it. His eyes were less obvious as well, having that same light-yellow hue.

Maybe he still wore a trinket from Muni that confused other people. No one asked why the new inmate looked slightly green with yellow eyes. Neither the guard nor Simms commented on the tattoos. They were minimal compared to the ones Roy and Tal had. Leo was younger with fewer achievements.

Hunters, like that strange lady in the alley with her twins, could see past these charms. Memories flickered by of Daniel words. “Gifts didn’t restrict the Hunter for long.”

Simms looked like your typical white guy with brown hair everywhere. He had few muscles and no real signs of major physical activity anywhere on his frame. Even his hands were without calluses. The man could be a paper pusher or serial killer.

The water spraying made it hard to talk so I waited until we were putting on our new clothes.

“How long, Leo?” I asked. “How long did they give you?”

“Six months. And a fine.”

“Does Roy know?”

“My father was at the hearing. He asked for a heavier punishment.” Leo sounded upset. “He said I needed discipline and a healthy respect for the Law.”

“Tal? Did he get a funeral?” I asked.

“We held a wake. They fought over how to handle his remains. Father decided on cremation, he said it was the closest grandpa could get to a blaze of glory.”

“Yeah.” Being burned to ashes would fit Tal.

I tried to remember if I’d ever seen a ceremony for the Tribe, but it’d never been shared or was lost in my muddled mind. I could tell you how elven girls celebrated losing their virginity but not how Roy, a man who was essentially family, mourned for the dead.

In fact most of what I knew was tied to their nature, and the fighting styles. Beyond that there was little ritual carried down the generations. Considering I’d only ever found the ten of them, it was no surprise. Ten people, scattered across the country, could not uphold a tradition on their own.

Leo asked, “You couldn’t save him?”

“Maybe.” I wasn’t whole then, and even now it occurred to me how rough trying to heal someone could be. It drained me, drained the subject, and created a bond because of the blood. That bond was a dangerous twisting thing and could change the very nature of someone.

“He asked me to respect his wishes,” I said absentmindedly.

Hell. Kahina had had a few doses of my blood. Daniel’s fiancée had some as well. There was no telling exactly how it was impacting their nature. A vampire and a Hunter? Daniel’s fiancée might escape any side effects.

“Seems a strange time to respect the Tribes’ wishes,” Leo commented to the wall.

Processing his statement took a bit. Was he talking about being failed during the Trial? Or had I done something else? There had been a swath of people upset over my plans to go into hiding.

I mulled it over while we continued on to our next location. We moved from the showers, into our distracting faded-orange suits, and down to a smaller mess hall. Leo nibbled at his meal. Simms stared down in depression.

I ate a bite and almost retched.

“Canned meat.” Displeasure tainted my words. This was barely real food and another reason to escape. I wanted burned cow.

“Yeah. It lasts longer.” Nathan briefly chuckled. “The shelf life is higher than those who go to the other side of the island.” He idly ran his utensil over the plate.

“How long are you in for?” Leo asked me.

“Haven’t been told. Still waiting for a hearing.”

Nathan whistled and seemed to pull out of his self-pity. His eyes traveled carefully over my hands, shoulders, taking in my build and probably doing the same mental math I’d been running through my head. There had to be a joke like this. Three men sat at a prison table, a linebacker, an office clerk, and a murderer.

“You?” I turned the conversation to Nathan.

“Four months. My lawyer tried to get me somewhere else, but failed. The judge reasoned I’d survived here before, so no other place was suitable.”

“What for?” I asked.

“My sister’s husband is a burnout. He keeps draining her.” Nathan managed to get through the admission without a stutter. I would have stuttered, draining anyone repeatedly was nasty. Vampires didn’t have to feed on blood, but they could become addicted easily.

“You stood up for a woman?” Leo asked. The runt straightened with a bit of respect in his posture and voice.

If Leo was anything like the rest of his family, the welfare of a woman was paramount. Roy and the rest of his kind had a healthy respect for females. It bordered somewhere between worship and willing to murder if they ever saw actual abuse.

“I tried. Again. And again.”

“Surprised he didn’t thrash you,” Leo said.

“I used a cross. His Tribunal lawyer called it a hate crime. But what else could I do? It was my sister, and I don’t know anyone who could take a vampire in a fight. I certainly can’t.”

“Sounds like an asshole,” I muttered.

“Vampires.” Nathan Simms just smiled weakly and shrugged. “They get like that.”

“Burnout? Sure he won’t survive?” I asked.

“Fairly sure. He has no backing. Our only hope is that he’ll be dead soon. But…” His stress was evident. There was a chance the partial vampire might kill Nathan’s sister before it mattered. Western Sector and the Vampire Council wouldn’t step in until it was murder.

“And you’re in here,” I said while poking at the slop.

“Uh huh. Now you know my sob story.” Nathan took a heavy breath and shuddered then attempted a friendly smile. “What about you, Mr. Fields?” Hell. Nathan was prying a bit too hard for someone who’d been around for only a few hours. I felt okay asking about other people, but not sharing my own issues.

“Mh?” I dug in the food hoping for something edible to be revealed.

“What are you in for?” Nathan pressed.

“Depends on how long they were paying attention,” I quipped.

“Oh.”

Leo shook his head with a frown. I’d have to talk to Roy about his kid’s grumpy demeanor. Not that I’d expect happiness from anyone in here.

“He isn’t in here for selling cookies,” Leo said around a mouthful of bread.

“Well, I didn’t think so. I figured it was something serious. To stand up to Mr. Bennett like that.”

“Do you really want to know?” I asked.

“Probably not,” Nathan admitted.

I told him anyway.

“Acquiring objects that weren’t mine. Relocating other people’s funds. Assisting the unfortunate with falling onto my fist over and over. Accidentally helping people to stop breathing.” I felt like Julianne for a moment. Her clever way of saying things boiled down to simple words. Theft. Racketeering. Violent beatings. Murder.

The chain of admissions set me back. I ransacked my recovered memories, and tried to add up the numbers. I’d induced broken limbs, throttled people until they passed out, beaten wolves until they were hanging on by a thread.

I hadn’t really been a killer until Kahina. Keeping her alive had ended more lives than the rest of my existence put together. Should that thought make me happy?

“You all right, Mr. Fields?” Nathan asked.

“I’m fine.” I wasn’t.

Leo made a disgruntled noise and kept eating.

“You, Mr. Forge?” Nathan asked.

“Wrong place, wrong time.”

“Warden Bennett said you were in for the same crime. Did you”—he paused and inhaled deeply—“help people stop breathing too?”

“No.”

“Leo’s never killed anyone.” I defended the younger man. Leo was barely twenty, though from his build and the tattoos he might seem close to thirty.

Leo shifted slightly, looking down and away, as if trying to avoid this entire conversation. Either he was embarrassed or upset I’d been the one to defend him. I shuffled through my memories and vaguely remembered adults of his race were expected to mount their own defense, physical or otherwise. Only children, runts as they were called, were considered weak and protected by the rest of the Tribe.

By vocalizing this, I’d reminded Leo of his rank back home. And as their Tribe’s Great Beast, I stood above Roy in the hierarchy. I tried not to roll my eyes. No wonder the man and his entire family had bent over backward to help me. Not to mention the other people from Bottom Pit. The waitresses, Steven, even Muni’s nephew.

A thought struck me and stayed for a moment. Hell. I had family. Not just a vague semblance of one. They were real people working together to make their lot in life better. We each had our quirks due to racial drives but still, we made it work or gave each other space.

Rachel was a short woman who had always been cooking. Between her and Tal I’d gained people to look up to. Though Tal and I went through a strange reversal over the years, due to what I did for them.

Each new member of Roy’s Tribe had been a headache. Proud, headstrong, but Tal and Roy had been an amazing centerpiece. Roy demanded his people to act proper, to overcome their speech issues. That classical veneer on his character was a result of Roy’s attempt at overcoming the natural drives his kind had. Self-discipline was everything.

And I had descended into drunken depravity before returning to Bottom Pit’s doorstep. They stayed with me as I recovered. Followed me to a strange town and established false identities. I let the memories slip away. Now was not the time to dwell on stupid choices. Doing so would keep me in prison for the rest of my life.

“How does this work?” I asked Nathan.

“This?” He looked around with a half shrug.

“Yeah.”

“Keep your head low. Everyone else will do the same. Piss off the wrong group and they’ll force you to the other side.”

“Does that include the Wardens?” I continued.

There was a pause in our conversation. Leo’s eyes flicked left to right, appraising the small room and other prisoners. He seemed to be checking for unwanted eye contact by watching feet, hands, and body language. At least he had the luxury of really watching people. I couldn’t even look at my bread roll without some half-buried memory resurfacing.

“Any group,” Nathan finally said.

“So if we avoid them, they avoid us?”

He nodded. “Mostly.”

“You got enemies?” I asked. With three prior trips Nathan probably had all sorts of old buddies.

“No”—he hesitated and shifted his gaze about the room—“friends, here and there.”

I glared and shoved the last of the slop into my mouth. Rachel would be disappointed in their cooking. Maybe they’d let me do something with this meat. If I could get in the kitchen at least part of the meals would come out decent.

Eventually a guard escorted us to the next section. There we were assigned chores, dull tasks where another inmate showed me how to mop the floors. Leo and Nathan got stuck with cleaning as well but in different rooms at different times.

Hours passed and still nothing was quiet. People chattered and banged on metal pipes that rang throughout the halls. Guards rarely shouted but when they did people listened. Time passed while I swept a water laden stick back and forth. Me and the bright warning sign traveled in hops across the floor.

It was near midnight when someone took over and promptly complained about the state of the cart. I shrugged, cleaning wasn’t one of my skills, much less when it’d been shoved into my hands earlier. This was my first day and already I wanted to punch people.

The lights had dimmed on our block, but enough lit the walkways. Leo was already on a cot, meditating on the backs of his eyelids.

Nathan barely made it back before a guard shouted a final warning. As the paper pusher slipped inside, our gateway locked shut with a heavy clink. I didn’t even bother to get up. Between mopping for hours, the drugs they’d filled me with, and the completely crappy food, I was willing to pass out in a room with one person I barely remembered and a complete stranger.

I sat arms over knees on my bed and watched Nathan as he traveled across the small cell. A fresh bruise was forming on his face.

“That a gift from your friends?” I asked while pointing with a finger.

“Yeah. Best friends.” Nathan fake smiled and climbed onto his cot. Leo tensed for just a moment then relaxed once the other man settled. They both lay there, still as could be for different reasons.

I was growing aware enough of my surroundings to tell a few things. Leo’s breathing was never truly at rest. His body stayed rigid and tense. Nathan’s eyes never closed as he faced the wall. And me, trapped in a scattered flow of past memories, didn’t manage to sleep either.