Spell Broken

1 - Doughnuts and sweat

The officer's rough, calloused hand guides me down and into the cruiser. Once his hand leaves my head, there's a moment of nothing before the door is closed with a loud slam! An overpowering smell of sweat invades my nose, causing my eyes to tear up. Under that smell is the tiniest scent of freshly baked doughnuts. I try to focus on that scent, but the sweat is too much.

The two doors at the front open and the two cops get in. They thump their doors closed, causing the whole car to shudder.

As the engine hums to life, the radio turns on to one of those new Dua Lipa songs.

"Would you turn that nonsense down?" asks the female officer. Her voice comes from my right. I remember that she's an old little thing, but very daunting.

"Yeah, sure," utters the much younger, deeper voice of her partner. His voice comes from my left. The music slowly fades until it's just a hum in my ear.

The cruiser jerks into motion, causing me to slide forward a bit. I dig my toes into the floor to stop myself from going any farther.

The ride is quick and, mostly, quiet. They don't turn on the siren, probably because they don't want people to know their protector failed. The only time they talk is when they whisper to each other, but I can't catch what they're saying.

I rub my hands together. I'm surprised that they aren't sticky anymore.

The door to my left opens with a whoosh of air. Hands clamp around my arm and pull me out. When did we stop?

"We're here. You should keep quiet and keep your head down," he whispers into my ear. I nod. 

I can tell he's good at his job. His grip is firm, and he doesn't do a shuffle dance in guiding me to the door.

Whoosh! A blast of cold air hits me. I almost lift my head to welcome it, but remember I shouldn't. The cop pulls me forward. "What's the room number?" he asks.

It's quiet. Too quiet. Then the rustle of paper. "Room two," someone whispers, and then we're on the move again.

As we move down the hall, my neck begins to tingle. Hushed tones whisper. Do they know who I am? Have they figured out I failed them?  Do they know he's still out there?

A click sounds off, and I'm pushed into a room. The cop's hands leave my arm for a moment, and I walk farther into the room.

"This way girl." The woman's voice reaches me. Her voice is like honey to my ears, sweet and strong. Someone places their hands on my shoulder and guides me over and down into a chair. Hot fingers touch my wrists and pull them up. Click! A cold metal touches my wrist. I pull my arms, but they're held down by an unknown force. She must have cuffed me to the table.

Suddenly, someone rips away the cloth from over my eyes, and a blinding white light assaults them.

I violently blink my eyes until the black spots disappear. Two people stand before me. They are the cops who brought me here. One of them is a tall young- but still older than me- man. He has tied his hair back in dreadlocks and his brown eyes are gentle but stern. The woman next to him is a chubby old lady with silver hair. She smiles at me with a mouth of missing teeth.

How can she smile at me? Knowing what I did?

I avert my gaze to the mirror on the wall. It's a one-way mirror, but it's better to pretend that it isn't, than knowing someone on the other side is recording this interrogation.  My usually wavy long blue hair is straight. I wonder for a moment if it's from the blood or sweat, but then remember that blood never got near my hair. Black eyes with blue flecks stare back at me lifelessly. When did everything get so exhausting?

"Sweetheart? Can you tell us what happened today?" My gaze slides back to the lady. She's looking at me like I might run at any moment. 

"He got away from me." My voice is scratchy from all the crying I've done.

"Who got away?" the male cop asks.

"The one who killed Madam Mara," I tell them.

They share a look.

"You were investigating her death? When the cops were on it?" the lady asks. She places her hand on mine.

I look at it with distaste, while I answer, "She was my mentor. Of course, I would."

"Honey, I know it's hard to accept a death, but you have to leave it to th-"

"I'm the protector! I shouldn't have to leave it to anyone else!" I yell, knocking my chair down.

They react immediately, like lighting, up on their feet and hands on their tasers.

"I should... have been able to stop him!" The tears are rolling now. When did they start?

The woman comes around and fixes my chair. She tentatively places her hands on my shoulders and when I don't pull away, she guides me back into the chair.

"Look," the male cop starts, "your job is to protect the people from the outside world. Let us deal with the stuff that happens within the town."

I look up at him. "But Madam Mara helped you guys."

"Only once in a while, and she had been the protector for a long while. You, sweetie, have only been the protector for two weeks." 

"But he's a magic-user! You need me!" I splay my hands out, hoping that they understand. Why can't they see that they need me? I'm the only one who can stop him. I need to fix my wrong.

"If we need you, we'll let you know," the woman says kindly.

I huff. "Fine."

This day didn't go as planned. The plan was to get him out. To kill him, not... Not to kill... 

"Why am I here?" I ask.

The cops share another look. Is this a thing all cops do? Share glances? Do they know it makes me feel all weird? "You want to help us?" the woman asks.

"Yeah, of course, but didn't you just say I couldn't?"

"You can't help us find him, but you can help us by telling us when all this started and who he is," the man clarifies.

My breath catches. Could I out him? But he isn't himself any more... he's someone else.

Would it really be outing him? I drop my gaze to my lap. My pants have the barest tint of red to them. "I don't know if I can." My voice comes out as a mere whisper.

"Why not?" the man demands.

"He is- was my friend." How could they make me out him?

"Sweetie." I look up at her voice and meet her soft blue eyes. "You won't be betraying him, you'll be helping the town that you promised to keep safe." she says it like it's simple. Like if I tell them who he is, everything will be alright.

I hate to admit it, but she has a point. I made a promise to keep this town safe, both from the outside world and the people inside. If I don't tell them the story, then I'd be breaking that promise. But is it alright to break that promise to protect him?

Maybe, just maybe I don't have to tell them outright who it is. Maybe I can work up to it, maybe I can tell this how it needs to be told.

"Alright," I say, pushing my chair back and kicking my black boots up onto the table. Then cringe when I see the blood and quickly take them off. "Settle in. It's a long story."