Viper Moon (40 page)

While she flattened my intestines with one foot, she had the other firmly planted on the floor mat. Grab her ankle and snatch her off her feet? I knew better. That was action movie special effects. I needed more leverage. I made a fist and slammed it into the knee of her straight leg.

She grunted. The knee gave a fraction of an inch, but she shifted her weight to compensate. As she did, I caught the foot jammed on my stomach with both hands and jerked. At the same time, I twisted my body toward her. She went down.

The vinyl mat hissed as she rolled to get on her feet.

I’m faster. Blade-sharp pains shot through abused muscles. I ignored them. I leaped up, made a fist, and punched her in the kidneys. She crashed facedown on the mat. Her breath whooshed out, and before she could draw it back in, I caught her right arm at the wrist. I twisted the arm across her back, then stomped my foot on her left hand.

I had her. Sort of. She wore boots and camouflage fatigues. I wore gym sweats and thick practice mat socks. Her fingers clawed at my sock, and in minutes, her nails would tear through fabric. Then she’d rake the skin and flesh off my bare foot, right down to bone.

I couldn’t knock her unconscious, despite the fact that she punched me out on such a regular basis that I marked it on my calendar. The Sisters of Justice Correctional College frowned upon lowly students—aka prisoners—beating the crap out of the faculty, even if upon incredibly rare occasions, they could. Secure in her mantel of authority, Sister Eunice—alpha female and consummate she-devil—lived to teach and torture her unfortunate pupils.

I’d beaten her twice. I’d surprised her six years ago when I first came here. Only nineteen, but I’d been in jail long enough to learn a few tricks—and I’d been taking martial arts lessons from Daddy since I was six years old. The second time I beat her, last year, I used the skills she herself taught me. She would never forgive or forget either incident.

Laughter sounded in her ragged breathing. I hadn’t beaten her this time either. Unwilling to tear her arm out of its socket and incapacitate her, I was unable to let her go because she would pound the holy shit out of me. Shit pounding me is Sister Eunice’s favorite hobby. Shit pounding hurts a lot more than the boot in the stomach.

“Good morning, Madeline,” said a sweet voice from behind me. “What are you going to do now, dear?” Sister Lillian. Dark skinned, petite and graceful, Sister Lillian taught knife fighting. She’d immediately assessed my dilemma.

“Good morning, Sister Lillian. I’m giving serious consideration to releasing Sister Eunice and running away.”

“You won’t,” Sister Eunice said. The mat muffled her words, but she was right. I’d stopped running years ago—and I had nowhere to go that she couldn’t find me.

Lillian nodded. “Please release her, Madeline.”

I let go and jumped away.

Sister Eunice rolled over, leaped to her feet, and hurtled toward me. I kicked out and planted my foot in her chest. Flesh on flesh, bone against bone. She went down, smack on her ass. She rolled to come at me again. I drew a deep breath, planted my feet, and prepared to meet her. She stopped. She sat on the mat, panting like a winded dog.

Amazing. I’d taken her down. Taken her out.

“Oh, my,” Sister Lillian said. “That was well-done.” Sister Lillian’s praise meant so much to me. “Thank you, Sister.”

“Come with me, Madeline.” She turned and I followed her, but I walked sideways to watch behind and in front of me. Sister Eunice staggered to her feet. She glared at me until I left the room. It felt so good to win. She’d make my life hell next week—and the week after. A small price to pay for such a rare and precious victory.

I changed into shoes before I followed Sister Lillian, and pulled a jacket over my lead gray gym uniform. They kept our hair cut short like a man’s, so I didn’t need a brush. My hair is white as a mid-January snow. That hair, my pale blue eyes, and the scar on my face isolated me long before I arrived here. Sister Eunice wasn’t the only one who called me a freak.

I didn’t ask where we were going. The Sisters had persistently taught the futility of questions and defiance. I’d stopped asking questions. Defiance remained a work in progress.

We walked the brick path through the sculptured flower gardens to the administration office. Summer approached upstate New York and brought a multitude of blooms, offering their pretty faces to the afternoon sun. Sometimes, in my few free hours, I’d come here to lose myself in the sweet fragrance of the growing season.

The Sisters of Justice Correctional College looked like a couple of weathered-stone medieval castles with the incredible English-cottage gardens between. Ivy covered the walls in some places, and sickly green algae grew at the foundation in others. I was intimately acquainted with the algae. I spent many hours with bucket and brushes, scrubbing it, only to have it grow back within days, sometimes hours. The smaller building housed the Sisters’ apartments and offices, and the larger building had the dorms, classrooms, and training rooms.

At first, I had thought the Sisters were nuns. Maybe they are in a bizarre way. They all wore black robes, except Sister Eunice, who dressed in fatigues like a soldier. They rarely spoke without imparting some factual information. Some are kind but stern teachers. A few are ill-tempered hags.

The key word—
correctional
—went by me the first week. No wall or fence surrounded the grounds, and no bars covered the windows. No one had ever escaped, though. I tried twice. Each time, two Sisters met me and hauled me back before I made it to the property line. I’d never seen more than thirty young girls here at one time. Right now, there were only ten. I’d been here longer than most. The Sisters came and went, too, and it seemed as if Justice were a sanctuary for them as well as a prison for us. Only sweet Lillian and brutal Eunice remained constant here, and for some inexplicable reason, they focused most of their attention on me.

Sister Lillian slowed to walk beside me. I straightened, uneasy at her action. She’d broken a firm rule. Students are supposed to walk behind the Sisters. The hem of her robe brushed the stone path, giving the illusion that she floated rather than walked like a mere mortal.

“Do you remember when you first came here, Madeline?” Her voice usually carried soft laughter, but this time a more serious note crept in.

“I remember.” How could I forget? I’d expected state prison when they put me on the transport bus, not to be dropped off at a massive country estate.

“You were so angry.” She spoke in a softer voice.

“I’m still angry.” I always told Sister Lillian the truth. She never judged me.

“And you learned . . . ?”

“I have a right to be angry.” I knew the mantra, the lessons they had pounded into me with complete indifference to my pain. “Bad things may happen. But I can and will control my emotions.”

“And why do you control them?”

“Control makes me stronger.” Again, recited the mantra. “Control permits intelligent action rather than reckless disaster.”

She gave me a wonderful smile, angelic and genuine. I had to smile back. I loved this woman.

“I love you, too, dear.” Sister Lillian laid a hand on my arm and squeezed hard. The intensity surprised me. “Madeline, if we could have the scar removed, we would.”

“I know, Sister.”

The scar—the smooth, flat silver streak across my cheek—had been created by magic, so it was beyond the skill of the finest surgeon to remove. Other than Sister Eunice’s occasional taunting, the Sisters ignored it.

I hated it, because it bound my life to a terrible duty. In some ways, though, it was my armor, my shield. My solitary nature and the scar kept my fellow inmates at a distance. I neither wanted nor needed friends. Whatever I endured here, I endured with only occasional comfort or counsel.

I won’t say the Sisters broke me, but they came close. For the last six years, they’d beaten me down and raised me up again as a deadly weapon. I don’t know why. I was twenty-six years old, and the State of New York had given me a twenty-five-year-to-life prison sentence.