Confrontation

Inside, the air feels different — thicker, private, hostile. I turn to speak but he’s already at the console, sending the authorization files to my terminal. My title flashes across the display, followed by the new routing order: All outgoing communications and directives now require review by Assistant Spell.

“Compliance procedure,” he says. “Nothing unusual. They moved quickly after your report.”

He looks exhausted, eyes shadowed from a night without sleep. Somehow that makes it worse; he must have been working all while I tossed and turned in bed last night.

“You tried to break our arrangement this morning,” he adds, voice still quiet. “That means more punishment, you know.”

“I didn’t disobey you.” The words come out brittle. “I tried to correct a misunderstanding…. And route you to…. A position better suited for you… better for you in general.”

The calm breaks. “You tried to have me sent to an airless asteroid.”

The anger isn’t loud, but it fills the room. He moves with practiced motion across the space between us in an instant. I feel his hand on my throat. “You don’t even realize how easy it is to ruin yourself here, do you?”

I can feel the pressure on my throat. I gasp and vainly struggle, but he’s too strong. I can still breath that hand there is a threat.

I open my mouth, reach for my own threats, for rank, for anything—but each argument sounds smaller in my own ears. The console light reflects across the glass, doubling our faces just inches apart.

The hum returns, steady, inside my skull. My breath slows to match it.

“I probably would have died on that rock, like a lot of other people. It's likely that all your little transgressions would have come out as well. What would have happened to my family?”

With his free hand he snaps his fingers, and then suddenly somehow a set of matching black lacy underwear is clutched in that hand.

Mine.

“Its time for some abracadabra bitch”

Then I feel the sensation spreading between my legs.

Seriously I think, FUCK MAGIC……