Visions of Magic by Regan Hastings Page B

that was over.
    Now she knew she was what they had long suspected her to be. The accusations were true. They knew what she was capable of. And so did she.
    â€œWe’re not there yet,” a deep voice said. “Don’t let down your guard until we’ve handed her over. No telling what a trapped witch will be able to do.”
    Trapped.
    She really was. She was on her own.
    Under different circumstances, she would have found the situation laughable, since that was the reason she’d left Torin’s house—to be on her own, trusting no one but herself.
    See how well that had gone.
    â€œWhite gold stops their powers for real?”
    Oh, God, that was what they’d put around her neck the moment they’d grabbed her. White gold. No wonder she felt as though there was a lead weight pressing on her soul.
    Shea turned her head toward the speaker, the youngest, most excited one of the group. He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs, and watched her as if he expected her head to start spinning around. As if he were looking forward to watching it. He licked his lips in anticipation and she shivered again before turning her head away.
    â€œYeah,” someone else said and Shea closed her eyes. “White gold shuts their power down flat. Don’t really know why. Something about it being a conglomeration of an element of the earth or some damn thing.” He snorted and Shea sighed. “Doc Fender figured it out about eight or nine years back and we’ve been using it ever since to trap these bitches and keep ’em compliant.”
    â€œAny of ’em ever get away?” the young one asked. “I mean, you know, do magic even with the white gold chain around their neck?”
    Shea listened carefully, longing for a ray of hope. She was disappointed.
    â€œNot a one. The white gold shuts ’em down, makes’em as helpless as kittens.” He drew a breath and released it. “Supposed to act like a sort of a blanket, covering up what they can do.”
    â€œThen why do we have her tied up and gagged?”
    â€œJust cuz she can’t use magic don’t mean she can’t scratch your eyes out or kick your nuts up into your throat. You want to risk it?”
    Disgusted with herself for not doing exactly that back when they’d first captured her, Shea tried to ignore the conversation rolling around her. She didn’t care what they had to say anymore. They were just the henchmen. The guys who did the dirty work for the Bureau of Witchcraft. It was BOW she was worried about.
    The MPs were probably taking her to an internment center. If she was lucky. If not, she would just vanish until her body was discovered in a culvert somewhere. But no, she thought, if they were going to kill her, they could have done that already.
    She stared out the back window of the van and groaned as the wheels hit something in the road. Her body jostled and every square inch of her felt the ache. But pain wasn’t important. What she wanted to know was where she was headed and what she could expect.
    Was it only yesterday afternoon when she’d warned her student Amanda Hall to run because her mother wouldn’t be leaving whatever camp she’d been taken to? Now . . . less than twenty-four hours later, Shea herself was in the same situation. Ironic? Or just punishment?
    She had killed, after all. There was no denying it.
    Outside the van, freeway lights flashed by and the roar of traffic sounded like a caged beast trying to get inside the van.
    â€œDid she really kill a man today?” the young voice again. “She looks so . . . helpless.”
    â€œHelpless? Not likely,” someone growled with a snort. “Bitch flipped that poor son of a bitch the bird and he went up like a tiki torch at a barbecue.”
    A couple of the men laughed and Shea closed her eyes on a wave of sorrow. She’d have to live with what she’d done—if she was