Unhappy, I pushed my tray away and sat with my plastic coffee mug. I’d been here since the midnight boat brought me over with a load of canned goods, handcuffed to a pole in the middle of the boat. Since then, I’d showered in salt water in a big empty room—as if being on an island surrounded by salt water wouldn’t take care of earth charms on its own—reshowered in freshwater, been poked, prodded, gossiped over, and given a new band of charmed silver with my name on it. It had been a relief to finally get to my cell, where I fell into an exhausted sleep hours before everyone else. I felt like a dog at the pound. And like a dog, I worried that my owner wouldn’t come pick me up. I hoped it was Ceri who summoned me out of here, not Al. I couldn’t call Al for help while I wore charmed silver, but he could summon me. I had to believe that I’d be summoned by someone, eventually.

At least I’d gotten the cremation ashes off me, I thought as Mary jostled my elbow, and I blinked when her smile showed she was missing a tooth.

“You heard about the food then?” she said, glancing at my tray, pushed to the middle.

“What do you mean?” I took a sip of coffee.

“They drug it,” she said, and the guy across from us shrugged, continuing to tuck in.

I didn’t swallow, my mouth full of coffee as my gaze went between them, wondering if it was truth or prison razzing. The big guy across from me seemed to be enjoying his breakfast, but Mary looked like she hadn’t eaten in years.

“It is! “she said, eyes wide in her thin face. “They put in an amino acid that binds to the receptors in your brain to chemically strip you of your ability to do magic if you eat enough.”

I spit the coffee out, and the guy across the table guffawed as he chewed. Feeling ill, I set the coffee aside, and Mary nodded, adding enthusiastically, “Your sentence is based on how much of your ability they want to take away. I’ve got thirty years left.”

The witch across from me finished his eggs and eyed mine. “You’d get early parole and be out of here by spring if you’d eat,” he said.

Mary cackled at that, and I glanced at the guards, busy not caring. “So how long are you in for, Rachel?” she asked, eyes on the demon scar on my wrist. She obviously knew what it was.

“Life,” I whispered, and Mary cringed.

“Sorry. I guess you should eat, then. I got sixty years for killing my neighbor,” she said proudly. “His damned dog kept peeing on my monks-hood.”

“Monkshood Mary …,” I said, recollection raising my eyebrows. “You’re Monkshood Mary? Hey! I read about you in school!”

She beamed, extending her hand. “Hey, Charles, see? I’m still famous. Glad to make your acquaintance,” she said as if having rehearsed it a thousand times, and I took her bird-light hand, feeling like it might break in my grip.