Burned by Magic (The Baine Chronicles #1)(13)

“Yes,” he said, drawing his air of professionalism back around him. He pulled out a notepad and a pen from one of the pockets of his greatcoat and looked up at me with a polite smile over his glasses, his pen poised. “My name is Hanley Fintz, and I’m a journalist for the Herald. I heard about your unfortunate predicament, and would like to interview you.”

I arched a brow. “Bit late for interviews, don’t you think?” Not that I knew what time it was, since Brin and Nila had stripped my body of anything actually useful, such as my watch. The f*ckers had even taken my Enforcer bracelet, the symbol of authority I’d worked so hard to earn. But judging by the fact that the lights down here were still dimmed, it must be night above ground.

The reporter shrugged. “From what my sources tell me, your hearing is set for early this morning. Since they’re likely to rule against you, I have to take what opportunities I can get to talk with you before it’s too late.”

In other words, this schmuck had bribed one of the guards upstairs to let him into the jail cell so he could interview me. Did absolutely no one understand the meaning of ‘work ethic’ anymore? Pressing my lips together, I eyed the reporter distastefully, not sure that he didn’t deserve a beating just as much as the guard upstairs, though unlike the guard he was just doing his job.

A long silence stretched. Eventually Fintz cleared his throat. “Come now, surely you can tell me something,” he coaxed. “I would like to paint you in the most positive light possible, which is not very hard. If you have to die, at least you can die a martyr in the fight against the oppressive mages who rule us.”

His voice was low and urgent, infused with passion. But the hungry way he eyed me seemed less sincere. Releasing the bars, I took a step back, holding my hands up defensively.

“Look,” I told him. “If you want to paint me as a martyr or a hero or whatever after I’m six feet under, that’s your business. But I’m not dead yet, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop looking at me like some vulture waiting for me to gasp my last breath, so you can swoop down and start feasting on me.”

The man recoiled a little, his pointy nose twitching. “Well that’s vulgar.”

“Yeah, well you know what else is vulgar?” I leaned against the bars again to pin him with an accusing stare. “The fact that nobody in this town seems to give a damn about all the shifters who are dying of silver poisoning. If you really wanted a juicy story, you’d be investigating that, starting with my mentor’s murder, not trying to prod me for bullshit quotes about standing up to the system.”

“I would love nothing more than to investigate these poisonings you speak of,” Hanley said sulkily. “But unfortunately, Mr. Yantz decides who and what I investigate and what stories are printed, and he is simply not interested in publishing that story.”

“Of course not.” I bared my fangs in disgust. Petros Yantz, the CEO and Chief Editor of the Herald, had turned the once-prestigious paper into little more than a glorified gossip rag. He was one of the primary reasons I detested reporters. “Why don’t you go and tell your boss to f*ck off for me, before I find a reason to break out of this cell and come harass him in the middle of the night.”

“I see.” His eyes glittered as he returned his pad and pen to his pocket. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I suppose I’ll just have to contact your family for quotes instead. Do have a good night.” He placed his hat on his head, then turned and walked away.

I snorted at his parting shot, lying back down on my cot. It was doubtful he would get anything more interesting than a ‘Good Riddance!’ from my aunt Mafiela if he asked her how she felt about my death, and though some of my cousins might have nicer things to say about me, I doubted she would let them speak to the press.

Closing my eyes, I tried to take advantage of whatever time I had left before my hearing to get some sleep. But now that I’d been awakened, my mind kept buzzing with all the thoughts jockeying for position inside my head. The predominant fear, of course, was how the hell to ensure Roanas got avenged and the silver murders got solved. Even if I did manage to avoid execution, which was very unlikely, I would face a long sentence, most likely of hard labor in the mines. Plus I would be stripped of my magic, and at my age that would reduce my mind into a puddle of mush. No matter how the judge decided to punish me, I would have zero opportunity to conduct an investigation myself.

Of course, I could always ask Comenius and Noria to look into it for me... except I didn’t want to risk their lives on this. Comenius had a daughter abroad who he helped support with the money he earned from his shop, and Noria was simply too young to be involved in all this. Even if neither of them were susceptible to silver poisoning, that didn’t mean the killer wouldn’t try to take them out if he – or she – discovered they were hot on his trail.

I guess there’s always Rylan, I thought bitterly, twirling an inky curl of hair around my index finger as I stared up at the ceiling. My cousin would be more than happy to look into the murders, if only so he could point the blame back at the Mage’s Guild and gain one more nail to hammer into the coffin he was trying to create for them. But there was no way for me to get a message to him – mindspeech could only take you so far, and frankly it had been a miracle that Roanas had reached me at all. It was intended to be used in close proximity between shifters while we were in animal form, not as a mental telephone system.