Minx

Minx

Minx had expected the Command Center to be a stately building in the middle of the city, heavily guarded by beefy Hands with scarred faces. She anticipated a high-stakes takedown, much like in her favorite spy movies, so much so that she started humming the theme song to one of them while Wraza led her down a tunnel to their destination.

Her humming ceased when they emerged on a cobbled street in the middle of an upscale neighborhood. Manors rose from every direction, their perfectly manicured lawns glittering with lamps and fairy lights even at night.

Wraza jutted her chin to one at the very end of the street, a stately stone manor with a giant fountain of a siren spewing water from her tits.

“That gaudy piece of work is our target,” Wraza said, and Minx’s mouth popped open.

“Seriously? They are holding prisoners there?” She asked, looking at Wraza like she was joking.

“Seriously. They like to have… fun with them before shipping them off.” Minx felt her face go cold as all her blood rushed to her feet.

“Why can’t you and Rhea go guns blazing in there again?” Minx asked, swallowing the bile that threatened to come up as she considered what fun meant to a bunch of sadistic Hands.

“Guns?” Wraza asked, looking confused.

“Never mind, but why not?”

“Because these particular Hands are also in the arcane business. Specifically, Fae Fyre.”

Minx scrunched her nose. “You mean the jelly?”

Wraza nodded.

“As in the stuff Fae crap out?” Minx asked, her voice cracking as she tried hard not to lose her composure. She’d read about it in the books back home, but only in jest. Once she figured out the jelly-like substance that the cute little Fae pooped out was combustible, she’d run straight to Sage to show her. They shared a few laughs over pizza and terrible rom-coms at the time, but now she felt a cold dread spike through her gut.

“Should I ask how they get it?” She grumbled.

“That, we are unsure of. But sources point to a local source. As in, they probably have a few in cages there, as the intel we have suggests they have enough of a stockpile that would level this entire district. And as much as I’d love to even the odds, most of the people who live here are semi-decent.” She gave Minx a pointed look, “Even the rich live under the Hands’ iron thumb.”

Minx couldn’t argue. Fae Fyre had been used since before the Goddess in place of candles, since the jelly-like material burned longer and, despite being poop, brighter and clearer. But there had been a few incidents over the centuries, the most notorious of them being Romulia. It had been a decent-sized village in the Vizar region, until a farmer accidentally knocked over his Fae Fyre lamp in his barn. Where he kept a barrel of the stuff.

The entire village burnt down within the hour. No amount of water or sand could put out the flames. Fae Fyre only died when all the jelly was burnt. So Minx did not blame Wraza and Rhea for being cautious.

“Alright, I’m guessing you’re back up only in case I actually die or something, then?” Minx asked, earning a genuine grin.

“Oh no, I’m not coming within a hundred yards of that place. You’re alone in this, Orefell. My gift might be flames, but even those flames cannot be tamed by me.”

Minx bemoaned not having Alec or Elinar to help. She’d even taken Kade or Naru out of sheer desperation at this point since Sage was out of commission and Gabriela barely knew how to make a breeze.

Glaring at Wraza’s toothy grin, she had begun to think this had been her plan all along. “Having backup would have been helpful.” Minx hissed, her tone accusing.

“Yes, but then we wouldn’t know what you are capable of.”

“You mean how trustworthy I am?” Minx spat back. “I can easily go in there and tell them where the Under is, but you already know that.”

Wraza shrugged, looking disinterested as she strode over to the high brick wall of a manor. Leaning against it, her shark tooth earring swaying with the motion. She said, “Sure you could.” But that would only put your friends at risk.”

Her heart raced at the implication. Were the others in trouble? Did Wraza plan to do something to them if Minx failed, or if she thought Minx betrayed them?

“You couldn’t stand against Sage, you know that. Even in the state she is in, she has the power to bring that cavern down on your heads if you try anything.” Not to mention the others.

“Those caverns were Maiden made. You don’t think Rhea has a way of ensuring everyone’s safety in case it came to that?” Wraza countered.

“Rhea wouldn’t agree to that,” Minx said with more confidence than she felt.

Wraza must have seen her doubt. The sides of her mouth curled into a feral smile. “How much do you want to wager?”

Minx scoffed, “Even if I intended to betray you, which I don’t, I would be a fool to do so now, knowing that.”

“Maybe. Or maybe the blood that flows in your veins is simply what it is. Orefell.”

Minx threw her the finger, and nearly laughed at the way Wraza’s face contorted, perplexed by the gesture. Bolstered now, she moved towards the manor before the spike of adrenaline that laced through her veins waned.

She hadn’t been alone since coming here, and certainly never had to face danger solo like she was now. Sticking to the shadows as she approached the manor, she remembered when Sage had to sneak into Leox entirely alone to save Kade.

If Sage could do it, then so could she - but maybe with a little more finesse and less destruction.

Minx found a shadowy spot to lurk while she observed the manor and its three stories. A few balconies jutted off, and the roof dipped and rose, suggesting multiple levels within. She crouched down, pressing her fingertips to the gravelly drive that stretched down and around the siren fountain. Minx stretched out with her gift, touching every bush, flower, and root that surrounded the manor, whispering to them in their language.

In a wild mass of sound, they told her their secrets, divulging the manors’ layout, and where the Hands were stationed outside. Confident they would alert her to danger, Minx kept to the shadows, growing small bushes to conceal her when she could, making her way to the cellar door by the rose bushes.

The roses thrilled when she neared, and she froze. A guard, a lower-ranked Hand, trudged by. He was young, as young as she and Sage were, and it was apparent by the way he dragged his feet along, his head thrown back to the stars above, that he couldn’t care less about his job.

But she stuck to the shadows, hunched low to the ground, a hand over her nose to conceal her shallow breaths. If he had cared to look down, he would have seen her.

He walked on, and the rose bush vibrated softly. Minx rushed behind it, sending a tendril of magic to its roots, bolstering a growth spurt that hid her well enough she could sit on her knees. The cellar door was similar to ones from her world, found on old farms that had root cellars. The door was wooden, set against brick, but it was the iron lock that made her brow furrow.

The size of her hand, heavy and formidable, she chewed her bottom lip as she puzzled out how to get through.

The cellar was her only viable option. Going through the front or the back would be suicide, and the top levels of the house held only Hands. According to the roots that snaked around the sub-level, this was where they held their prisoners.

Worrying her lip, Minx sat back on her heels, considering what she could use to break the lock. The rose bush brushed against her shoulder, its thorns poking at her skin. Minx smirked, then touched the branch closest to her. It grew thicker, harder, wrapping around the lock.

With a pulse, the new branch crushed the lock, then slowly pulled it away. Minx put the branch back, just as it was before, only now holding onto the broken lock like an ornament.

Tiny vines erupted around her feet as she slowly cracked the door open. They snaked through the opening, keeping to the wall as they made their way down into the dim depths below. Tiny black buds occasionally popped up as the vines spread out, clamoring into the first open chamber.

They whispered to her, and though she couldn’t see the chamber with her own eyes, she understood it was empty of life, but branched off to another chamber where the vines could sense many lifeforms huddled in a group.

Minx slowly crept down the short stone steps, stopping when she came to the first chamber. By the time her eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight, she had a sinking feeling she knew what the Hand’s definition of ‘fun’ was.

The chamber was clearly a torture room.

The stale air had a tinge of blood and rot on it, the most likely source being the wooden barrel in the center of the room. Minx carefully picked her way towards the hall in the back, where the vines were watching over the prisoners. She tried to keep her eyes forward, her stomach knotting as the rotten scent became overpowering, keeping as far away from the barrel as she could.

Just before she reached the hall, she froze, her feet too heavy to move. She couldn’t not look. She had to see; she had to know. Minx didn’t want to ignore it. She had to face the reality of what had happened there, even if it was terrifying.

She barely had to turn her head to see. The barrel was so large and the room so cramped; she didn’t need to get any closer to make out the various body parts rotting away inside.

Ears, hands, and fingers - none the same, all coming from different victims of different races.

Her stomach dropped, her blood turning to ice in her veins. She knew what she would find before she took a step inside the holding chamber. Prisoners, starved and beaten - they had many missing parts of their bodies. Some were branded, some were not.

They huddled together in the center of the room, practically naked, wearing threadbare smocks, stained with blood. Elves, humans, and Demons, ranging from old to young.

Her mouth went dry and hot at the sight of an infant Demon, being held by an old human woman. She was branded with the symbol of a witch, but Minx couldn’t sense magic coming from her.

None of them looked up when she stepped inside. She was at a loss for words, unsure of what to do now. There had to be at least thirty of them, and many were missing feet or legs, so how was she supposed to get them out?

A tiny head peeped out from the group. A mass of silvery blonde hair, matted with grime, bobbed as a small witchling stood up. Her dark eyes were empty, void of emotion as she watched Minx, waiting. Minx could sense the tiny seed of magic coursing through her skinny frame, not nearly enough to pose any threat to the Hands, but enough to cause them an annoyance.

Then she noticed the little witchling was missing her left ear.

The world spun around her as her eyes honed in on the bloody wound, unbound and unattended because the Hands couldn’t care less if it got infected. These people were bound for Leox, her ancestral home, to be held in a dungeon that used to house actual criminals, for months.

The reality slammed into her like a cold wind, pushing away any doubt she held.

Minx heard the vines’ thrill, alerting her to someone coming down into the chamber. The air vibrated with her gift, pulsing with her heart as it thundered against her chest.

The group finally looked up, noticing someone was with them.

Minx caught the little witchling’s eyes, holding her gaze as she said, “Cover your mouths. I’m going to get you out of here.”