Disenchanted by A.R. Miller Page B

isn’t brown any more. The leaves are green and tiny buds are appearing, but before I can bother questioning what happened Frack pushes me down the hall.
    Guess what? More grey, this time cinderblock highlighted by flickering fluorescent tubes overhead. Every so often, we pass a steel door, of course, no windows to allow a peek. That claustrophobia thing presses in as my captors make a Keely sandwich coming to a stop in front of one of those nasty doors. Frick slips his passkey through the slot and a buzzer sounds as the door opens.
    My stomach is twirling, my heart beating so loudly I’m sure they can hear it. This is it. It’s all over. I’ll go in that room and never come out. I try to take a step back. Frack gives me a little push and I stumble over the threshold.
    The furnishings are even sparser than the entrance of the building. One chair on either side of a table, just like in the movies, but no swinging bare bulb, just the unflattering fluorescent lights. One of the boys grasps my arm, moves me to the chair farthest from the door and none too gently suggests I sit.
    Okay, I can handle that. What I can’t handle are the manacles built into the tabletop. A numbing tingle races up the back of my calf as I bump the leg of the chair, discovering another set. God’s, I hope they aren’t going to use them.
    The first real show of emotion from either of my guards is the grin on Frack’s face when he sees me eyeing them.
    “I don’t think we will have to use those, Miss Fey,” says Frick, taking the chair across from me.
    I nod in agreement, swallowing hard enough to make my throat hurt. I feel the spells, something to make a prisoner behave wrapped around another to drain, or contain any Talents.
    Frick smiles and rests his forearms on the table, a feeble attempt at friendliness. Frack stands blocking the door, feet slightly apart, arms crossed. I do a bad job of preventing a shudder and his lips curl upward making me shiver even more. Maybe it’s my imagination working overtime, but I get the distinct feeling he’d love it if I tried to escape.
    Frick’s questions all come out like the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons, wah wah wahwah wah . My biggest distraction is those stinking glasses! We’re inside, take the damn things off. I mean, rude, right? What are they trying to hide with them, or is it just another attempt at intimidation?
    “Miss Fey?”
    I give myself a mental shake as Frick leans toward me.
    “Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
    Biting my lower lip, I shake my head.
    He sighs, removing the glasses and I’m wishing he’d left them on. I’ve been told the pale silver of my eyes is disconcerting, but they’re nothing like this. White eyes stare at me, not the milky, or cloudy look of cataracts, or the blind. I mean totally white, no iris, no pupil, just white. I’ve never been this close to a tracker before, never wanted to be. Those eyes just amp up the desire to be as far away from him as possible.
    “Then let’s try this again. Do you know Eric Sampson?”
    Again, I shake my head, looking at the tabletop, the far wall, even Frack, anything to keep from looking into those spooky eyes.
    “The name doesn’t ring a bell, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been in the salon. We see a lot of people.”
    “Maybe this will jog your memory.” He slides a photo across the table.
    Wincing, I pull it closer. “It’s pretty hard to tell with all the bruises, but like I said he could have come into the salon.”
    “So you’re saying you know the boy.”
    “No, at the risk of repeating myself, I said it was possible. Again, we see a lot of people in the salon.”
    “Like these people?”
    He slides more photos toward me, rambling off their names, but he doesn’t have to. I know all three of them.
    “They were in your salon too, weren’t they?”
    I nod, sniffling and wiping my eyes. Something a little more substantial than pictures clunks down on the table.
    “What about these,