Free Anomaly (Causal Enchantment) by K.A. Tucker

the wailing, we only needed one person to walk past the door and alarms would be set off. I didn’t want to hurt anyone else.
    The nurse’s sneakers squeaked as her feet edged backward toward the door
    Yanking her farther into the operating room, I locked onto her terror-filled eyes. “Please! I need you to be quiet! Now!”
    Her lips clamped shut and she silenced immediately.
    I paused for a second , startled by how easily she’d obeyed. “I’m sorry about your hand,” I whispered, my ears now perked for more intruders. “I need you to tell me where you keep your blood.”
    “Downstairs , next to the morgue. Room number one-oh-nine.”
    Excitement sparked inside. I would have my hands on blood shortly . “And how do I get in there?”
    “Take the stair s at the end of the hall. You’ll need my badge to get in,” she answered robotically. Gazing into her eyes, I noticed the cloudy swirl in her irises.
    I t finally hit me.
    I ’d compelled this nurse.
    Des pite everything, I giggled. I did it! And without anyone’s help!
    Checking the name on the ID badge, I offered, “Thank you very much … Peggy. You’re going to go sit over there,” I pointed to the corner farthest from the door, “and you’re going to stay there quietly until that clock up there reads midnight.” My eyes flittered to her fingers, already beginning to swell. By midnight, her hand would look a fright. I wish I at least had an icepack to offer her. I had other concerns, though. If the fledglings broke free, I’d have more to worry about than one broken hand.
    Her head bobbed up and down and then she strolled over to the corner, turned to face the clock, and plunked down.
    This was too easy.
    A white coat hung on the prep room just outside the OR. I pulled it on over my clothing and made my way to the stairwell. The basement of this small hospital was exactly as I’d expected: dark, dingy, the heady odor of bleach and used bedpans permeating the air. The lights flickered in and out as I ran down the hall, scanning the room numbers, like a scene out of an old horror film.
    Finding room 109, I swiped Peggy’s security badge. When the light flashed green, I barged in.
    The steady thump of another human heartbeat caught me off guard . A tall, lanky man hovered over two metal containers, a clipboard in hand, furiously scribbling something. His plain white uniform and jacket sported a blood transportation company logo. A visitor’s badge hung from his neck. Not sure why he was down here at this time of night, but I wasn’t going to complain. I was simply going to relieve him of his product.
    His eyes nar rowed as he studied my face. He glanced at my borrowed name tag. “You are not Dr. Magnotta.”
    I countered with a light stammer, “Yes, I am.”
    He blinked twice. And then smirked. “Dr. Magnotta is a sixty-year-old Italian man with a beard.” Turning to give me his full attention, he demanded, “Who let you down here?”
    I guess compulsion wasn’t as easy as I had thought.
    While I frantically grappled with what my next move should be, the man set his clipboard down and marched over to take hold of my wrist. “Okay, young lady. It’s time we went upstairs to visit security.”
    I swung my arm out, intent on shaking his grip. I n the next second, his lanky frame sailed backward, crashing into the tall refrigeration unit. With one, two, three blinks, his eyes settled back into his head and he slid down into a heap, the stainless door dented to the shape of his body, a streak of blood smearing where his head had dragged.
    I stood still for a moment, mouth agape, waiting for him to regain consciousness.
    But w hen the constant throb of his heartbeat in my throat faded, I knew that he wouldn’t be waking up ever again. My hands flew to cover my mouth, to suppress the scream from escaping.
    I had just unwittingly killed a man.
    If I were still human, I would crumble to the ground in sobs. But instead, a warm wave of shock coursed