Free A Criminal Magic by Lee Kelly

law—”
    â€œShut him up.”
    A thin slip of a blindfold is tugged over my eyes. Rough fingers scratch my face as another rag is tied around my mouth. A car approaches, wheels tumbling over the smooth road. Bright headlights pulse through my blindfold like two electric hearts.
    Then from somewhere behind me: “Put him in the back.”
    *    *    *
    We ride in silence—minutes, maybe hours. It’s impossible to keep track of time when your heart’s beating like a racehorse and your eyes and mouth are sealed shut, but at some point, thecar I’ve been shoved into slows to a stop. A few doors open and close.
    â€œCome on, on your feet.”
    I mumble through my mouth gag in response, and a few brusque hands pull me out of the car. Another door opens—this one heavy and creaky. I must be inside now—the air is mustier and warmer, like it’s been trapped. There’s no wind. No sound.
    A new voice whispers, “Sit him down.”
    My escorts shove me into a seat. My blindfold and gag are ripped off, and light sears my eyes. I steal a glance at a man sitting across a small table, though the aftershock of the light clouds his face. “What’s all this about?” I squint. “Why am I here?”
    â€œThank you, boys,” the man across the table says. “That’ll be all.”
    A smack of metal rips through the room, and I jump and look behind me. Four black-clad men slither out the door and close it with a BOOM .
    My eyes dart from corner to corner of the room, trying to find some answers. This place is clearly some kind of storage facility—boxes and overflowing bins clutter the far corners, and there are no windows. I’ve been seated at a cheap folding table in the middle of the mess—one lonely lightbulb hangs down over it like a glowing teardrop.
    â€œAlexander Danfrey.”
    I look at the man across the table, study him, from his kempt, parted gray hair right down to his beat-up briefcase. And I relax, a little. The chap’s definitely some sort of government man—he’s got that tame, approachable look about him despite the dramatic introduction: cheap suit, soft features. Thanks to the late nights spent helping my father run his remedial spells scheme for D Street, I’ve seen enough hard-nosed gangsters to know this man most certainly isn’t one.
    Still, government man or not, I was just kidnapped, stuffed into a car, and shuttled to a hidden storage facility.
    â€œWho are you?” I ask carefully. “What’s all this about? Why am I here?”
    The man unbuckles his briefcase, removes a single manila folder. He places it on the table but doesn’t open it. “I’m Agent Frain, a captain within the Prohibition Unit.” He gives me a lukewarm smile. “Apologies for the subterfuge in bringing you here, but there are bought men everywhere in the Unit. Here we’re safe from prying eyes and ears.”
    A different fear starts to take hold. If this Frain chap is with the Unit, those men who just left are likely junior agents . . . maybe they were following me . . . maybe they saw that sorcering move I pulled outside Sam’s fraternity party. . . . Christ, maybe I’m going to get kicked out of the Unit before I even truly start.
    â€œYou’re a trainee, am I right, Alex, within our Domestic Magic division? You’ve been at the academy for around three months now. Set to graduate in a week.”
    I give a slow nod. “Yes, that’s right, sir.”
    â€œYour superiors tell me you’re smart. Good marks in your Shine Transference and Dangers of Performance classes, and you’re adept in field exercises. No red flags, other than several notes about your attitude problem, in and out of training class.”
    I blush. “What exactly did my superiors say?”
    â€œDespite its terrible reputation, there are