Chapter 3: The Interrogation That Wasn't
The corridors stank of rust and old blood.
Shiv counted the turns. Left, right, right again, left. Four guards, all masked, all silent save for the shuffle of their boots against concrete. They'd cuffed her wrists behind her back with something that hummed against her skin—anti-magic restraints, crude but effective. She'd felt the drain the moment they snapped them on, like someone had opened a tap at the base of her spine and let her power bleed out into the void.
Didn't matter. She'd been in tighter spots. Dublin, 1982. The trouble with the MacCarthy boys. That mess in Boston when Jan was barely three and some fool thought he could use her children as leverage.
She'd made it through those. She'd make it through this.
The guards stopped at a door that looked like every other door in this godforsaken place—heavy, industrial, flecked with rust. One of them punched a code into the keypad. The lock thunked open.
They shoved her inside.
The room was small. Bare walls, stained concrete floor, a single bulb dangling from a frayed cord that swayed with the draft from the door. The light it cast was sickly and yellow, throwing long shadows that danced against the walls like trapped ghosts.
In the center of the room: a metal table. Two chairs. One already occupied.
The figure sitting across from her wore a mask—smooth, white, featureless except for two eye holes that revealed nothing but darkness. They had a file open on the table, thick with papers, and a pen held loosely in gloved fingers.
The guards uncuffed Shiv's wrists, shoved her into the chair, and retreated. The door slammed shut behind them. The lock engaged with a sound like a bone snapping.
Shiv flexed her fingers, feeling the blood flow return. She looked at the masked figure. They looked back.
"Siobhan O'Connor," the figure said. Their voice was distorted, run through some kind of modulator that stripped it of anything human. "Born 1973 in County Cork. Married Martin O'Connor, deceased. Three children: Jan Siobhan, John Patrick, Brigid Moira."
Shiv said nothing.
"You've been living in Miami for the past twenty-two years. A quiet retirement, by all accounts. Knitting circles. Book clubs. Sunday mass." The figure turned a page. "But we both know that's not the whole story, don't we?"
Shiv examined her nails. They needed trimming. She'd have to see to that when she got home.
"Your daughter Jan. She's made quite a name for herself. The Order of the Green Moon. The events in Chicago. The void incident." The figure's head tilted. "And your son, John. His son, Martin. A child born outside of time."
Still nothing.
"The Order of the Golden Wands has been watching your family for decades. Your connections to the Green Moon are well-documented. Your associate Mandy Williamson's research into the old Consortium's remnant operations. The Dark Market. All of it."
The figure leaned forward, gloved hands flat on the table.
"We know everything, Mrs. O'Connor. What we want is confirmation. Details. Names."
Shiv finally looked up. Met the empty eye holes of the mask.
"You've a lovely set-up here," she said. Her brogue was thick, unhurried. "Very dramatic. The flickering light's a nice touch."
The figure didn't respond.
"I do have one question, though." Shiv leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Have you considered taking up knitting? It's very soothing. Helps with the stress. You seem tense."
A long pause.
"You think this is a joke?"
"I think you're wasting both our time." Shiv's voice was mild. "I've been kidnapped by professionals before. Better than you lot. You know what they had that you don't?"
The figure said nothing.
"Patience."
The gloved hand slammed against the table. The sound cracked through the small room like a gunshot.
"Your family is in danger, Mrs. O'Connor. Your daughter. Your son. Your grandson. Every one of them is a target. And you're sitting here making jokes about knitting?"
Shiv didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Her green eyes—the same green as Jan's, as Brigid's—fixed on the mask with a calm that seemed to unsettle the figure more than any threat could have.
"Let me tell you something about my family," she said. "My daughter Jan survived the void. Walked through it like it was a Sunday stroll. My son John mastered time before he was 12."
She stood up. Slowly. Deliberately. The chair scraped against concrete.
"My grandson Marty is learning what it means to be human in a world that wants to eat him alive. And my Brigid—" Shiv smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Brigid has a temper like her father's mother, God rest her soul, and a right hook like a prizefighter."
The figure had gone very still.
"You brought me here because you thought I was the weak link. The soft target. The leverage." Shiv shook her head. "Classic mistake."
She leaned forward, both hands flat on the table, mirroring the figure's earlier posture.
"You assumed I was a victim. That I was helpless. That I'd crack under pressure and give you whatever you wanted."
Her voice dropped. Low. Dangerous.
"Have you considered—even for a moment—that I might be exactly where I want to be?"
The silence stretched. The bulb swayed. The shadows danced.
The figure's hands trembled. Just slightly. Just enough for Shiv to notice.
"You're bluffing."
"Am I?" Shiv straightened up. "I've been on this earth for seventy years. I've buried a husband. I've raised three children through things that would break lesser souls. I've seen things that would turn your hair white." She paused. "You want to threaten my family? Go ahead. But know this."
She held the figure's gaze.
"You'll have to go through me first."
The figure stared at her. The mask revealed nothing. But the trembling in their hands had spread to their shoulders.
Then they stood up. Shoved the chair back. The file on the table—all those papers, all that research—went flying, scattering across the floor like startled birds.
"This isn't over," the figure said. The modulator couldn't quite hide the quiver in their voice.
"It never is, love." Shiv sat back down. "Now be a dear and fetch me a crossword puzzle. The flight over was dreadful and I've nothing to occupy my mind."
The figure stood there for a moment. Frozen. Then they turned and stalked toward the door, their boots echoing against the concrete.
"Terribly rude," Shiv called after them. "Didn't even say goodbye."
The door slammed shut. The lock engaged.
Shiv sat alone in the flickering light, surrounded by scattered papers, her wrists aching where the cuffs had been, her power still drained and distant. But for the first time since the masked men had dragged her away from outside the bingo hall, she allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.
They had no idea what they'd just done.
They thought they'd captured a helpless old woman. A pawn. A bargaining chip.
They didn't know her.
They didn't know her children.
They didn't know her grandchildren.
They didn't know her extended found family.
And they certainly didn't know that the moment those cuffs had touched her skin, the moment those guards had dragged her through the streets of Miami and into this steel coffin of a building, she had started counting.
Not just the turns. Not just the guards. Not just the exits.
Everything. Every detail. Every weakness. Every opportunity.
She'd been in tighter spots.
She would make it through this.
And when she got home—when she got her hands on a proper cup of tea and her favorite knitting needles and the phone to call Jan—she was going to make these bastards regret ever laying a finger on her.
But first, she was going to figure out exactly what they wanted.
And then she was going to destroy them.
The bulb flickered. The shadows danced.
Shiv O'Connor waited.
---
Two thousand miles away, the beach house had transformed.
The coffee table had been cleared, replaced with laptops, tablets, and a hastily assembled battle map of Miami. Mandy stood at the center, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, her fingers flying across her keyboard as data streams scrolled across the main screen.
Calista and Katrina had arrived twenty minutes ago. Calista was in the kitchen, making coffee strong enough to strip paint, while Katrina stood at the window, her grey eyes fixed on the dark street outside.
"This is insane," Beth said for the third time. She was pacing, her camera bag slung over her shoulder like a security blanket. "We don't even know where they took her."
"We know." Mandy didn't look up. "Old Consortium facility. There were three in Florida. One's been demolished. One's a shopping mall now. But the third—"
"The third," Bruce said, "is a warehouse on the edge of the Everglades."
Everyone looked at him.
"Da used to tell me stories," he said. "The old Consortium had holding facilities all over the country. Dark Market traders used to trade information about them. My da knew a bloke who knew a bloke."
"And this bloke," Mandy said, "told your dad there was a facility in the Everglades?"
"Told him it was decommissioned. But that was ten years ago."
Mandy pulled up satellite imagery on her laptop. The warehouse appeared—a vast, sprawling structure surrounded by marshland and mangroves. Remote. Quiet. Perfect for holding someone prisoner.
"That's it." She looked up at the others. "That's where they're keeping her."
"How do you know?" Beth asked.
"I don't. Not for certain. But it's the best lead we've got." Mandy's jaw hardened. "And we're not going to sit here while Shiv's out there somewhere."
"What's the plan?" Ben asked.
Mandy glanced at Calista, who had emerged from the kitchen with a tray of coffee mugs. The half-elf woman met her gaze and nodded.
"We go in tonight. Small team. Fast. Quiet." Mandy started counting on her fingers. "Ben, you're with me. Bruce, you're on tech support—we'll need you to disable any security systems we find. Calista, can you shield us from magical detection?"
"I can try," Calista said. "But if they've got anti-magic countermeasures in place, my shields won't do much good."
"Then we'll rely on stealth instead."
"What about me?" Beth asked.
Mandy hesitated.
"You're staying here."
"The hell I am."
"Beth—"
"I'm not staying here while you go rescue Marty's grandmother." Beth's voice cracked. "Shiv is family. She's—she's my family too. I've been living in her house. Eating dinner with her every evening. Learning from her. And now someone's got her locked up in some godforsaken warehouse, and you want me to sit here and wait?"
"Someone needs to stay behind in case something goes wrong. Someone needs to be here if—"
"If what? If you don't come back?" Beth shook her head. "No. I'm going. End of discussion."
Mandy stared at her sister. They were the same height, the same stubbornness, the same Williamson blood running through their veins.
"Fine," Mandy said. "But you stay behind Ben and me. You follow orders. You don't do anything stupid."
"When have I ever done anything stupid?"
"Last week, you tried to photograph a jellyfish that turned out to be a Portuguese man o' war."
"That was for science."
"You almost died."
"I got a great picture."
Mandy sighed. "Just—stay close, okay?"
"Deal."
Mai emerged from the hallway, dressed in black leggings and a tight tank top. Her dark hair was braided back, her expression grim. No trace of the playful woman who had stripped naked in the living room hours ago.
"What about me?"
"You're coming," Mandy said. "I need someone who can move fast and think faster."
"And me?" Felicity asked from the couch. She was wrapped in a blanket, her face still pale, but there was a steadiness in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
"You're our eyes," Mandy said. "I need you monitoring the feeds, tracking their movements, looking for patterns. Bruce will help you."
Felicity nodded. "I can do that."
"And me?"
Everyone turned. Jess was standing by the window, still in her Wand suit, her expression unreadable.
"You're our arm," Mandy said simply. "If this goes sideways, we need someone who knows how to fight."
Jess nodded once. "I'm ready."
"Then we move in one hour." Mandy looked around the room at her friends, her family, her team. "Get your gear. Check your weapons. And remember—these people aren't amateurs. They're organized. They're dangerous. And they've already taken one of us."
She paused.
"They're not taking another."
---
The wind had picked up, carrying the salt-sweet smell of the ocean through the open windows. Outside, Miami glittered like a jewel in the darkness, all neon and chrome and secrets.
Beth found Marty in the kitchen, staring at a cup of coffee he hadn't touched.
"You okay?" she asked.
"No." He didn't look up. "She's out there somewhere, and we're just—we're supposed to wait? To plan?"
"We're not just waiting. We're preparing."
"It feels the same."
Beth slid onto the stool beside him. "I know. But running in blind is how people get hurt. Or killed. Mandy knows what she's doing."
"Does she?"
"She solved the mystery of the void. She found the thing that killed those people in Chicago. She's the smartest person I know." Beth paused. "And she's got all of us behind her."
Marty finally looked up. His blue eyes were red-rimmed, exhausted. "I've lost so much time already. Years in the void, missing everything. And now Shiv is—she's my grandmother. My real grandmother. And someone just—"
He stopped. His hands were shaking.
Beth took one of those hands. Held it.
"We're going to get her back," she said. "I promise."
"You can't promise that."
"No. But I can promise we'll try. And we won't stop trying. Not until she's safe."
Marty looked at her. Really looked at her. And something shifted in his expression—something soft and warm and desperately fragile.
"I love you," he said.
Beth blinked. "What?"
"I know it's not the right time. I know we're in the middle of a crisis. But I've been holding it in for weeks, and I can't—I can't keep pretending. I love you, Beth. I think I've loved you since the moment I first saw you."
The kitchen went quiet. The wind whispered against the windows. The coffee cooled in Marty's untouched mug.
Beth opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"I—"
"You don't have to say it back." Marty's voice was gentle. "I just needed you to know. In case—in case something happens."
"Nothing's going to happen."
"You don't know that."
"I know that I'm not letting you out of my sight." Beth squeezed his hand. "And I know that when this is over—when Shiv is safe and the bad guys are dealt with—we're going to have a conversation about timing."
She leaned in. Kissed him. Soft and sweet and full of promise.
"We're going to have all the time in the world," she murmured against his lips. "But right now, we need to get ready. Mandy's going to call us in ten minutes."
Marty nodded. His eyes were still wet, but he was smiling now. "Okay."
"Okay."
They stood up together. Walked hand in hand toward the living room, where the others were gathering, where the plan was taking shape, where the night was waiting.
Behind them, the coffee mug sat abandoned on the counter.
The wind howled.
And somewhere in the Everglades, Shiv O'Connor was counting the seconds until her family came for her.
She knew they would.
They always did.
The wind carried the smell of rain across the Everglades, though the sky above remained stubbornly clear.
Mandy stood in her bedroom, the holographic image of her mother flickering in the air above her dresser. She'd stripped down to her underwear—plain black cotton, practical—and was rifling through her closet for something darker, something that would blend into the shadows.
"You're taking longer than ten minutes," Casey observed. Her image was seated at the kitchen table back in Chicago, a mug of coffee in her hands. "I raised you better than that."
"You raised me to be thorough."
"I raised you to be punctual. There's a difference."
Mandy pulled out a black tactical vest, examined it, and tossed it aside. Too bulky. She needed something that would let her move fast, stay quiet.
"Mom," she said, reaching for a dark long-sleeved shirt. "Can I ask you something?"
"You're going to ask anyway. Might as well save time."
"Why was Dad acting like he'd never seen me naked before?" Mandy pulled the shirt over her head, then immediately pulled it off again. Too tight. She needed range of motion. "We've had sex parties in that house for years. He knows I'm not a blushing virgin."
Casey's laughter crackled through the hologram. "Oh, sweetheart. Your father has spent the last twenty years perfecting the art of plausible deniability."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means he's not stupid. He knows exactly what goes on at those parties. He knows you and your sisters aren't innocent little flowers." Casey took a sip of her coffee. "But he also knows that if he acknowledges it out loud, he has to think about it. And he'd rather not."
Mandy found a black tank top that would work. She pulled it on, then started hunting for her tactical pants.
"So he just... pretends?"
"He doesn't pretend. He just doesn't look." Casey's voice was warm, amused. "You probably didn't notice, but during those parties, he made a point of never being in the same room as you when you were undressed. If you walked in, he walked out. If you were changing, he found something else to do."
"That's ridiculous."
"That's fatherhood." Casey paused. "He loves you, Bug. More than anything. But there are some things a father just doesn't need to see."
Mandy found her pants. Black, reinforced knees, plenty of pockets. She stepped into them, zipped them up.
"What about Fat Aunt Jan?" she asked. "She was always the guest of honor at those parties. Did Dad avoid looking at her too?"
"God, no. Jan was the whole point." Casey snorted. "Your father and Fat Aunt Jan had a thing for years. Still do, I think, though they're both too old to admit it. Those parties were mostly for her benefit."
"For her benefit?"
"Jan has... particular needs. She likes to be the center of attention. Likes to be wanted. And your father—" Casey's voice softened. "Your father is very good at making women feel wanted."
Mandy sat on the edge of her bed, pulling on her boots. "That's disgusting."
"That's marriage. You'll understand when you're older."
"I'm twenty-three."
"And you still think your parents are gross. Come back to me when you're forty."
Mandy finished lacing her boots. She stood up, checked her reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back at her was hard-eyed, focused, ready.
"You're trying to distract yourself," Casey said.
"What?"
"This whole conversation. The outfit. The questions about your father." Casey's voice was gentle now. "You're trying to distract yourself from what's actually happening."
Mandy didn't respond.
"Shiv is out there somewhere. You're scared. You're angry. And you don't know what to do with any of it, so you're focusing on tactical pants and awkward conversations."
"I'm not—"
"Bug." Casey's voice cut through her protest. "I know you. I've known you since before you could walk. You don't have to pretend with me."
Mandy sat back down. The fight drained out of her shoulders.
"I don't know if I can do this," she said quietly. "What if I mess up? What if I get someone hurt? What if Shiv—"
"Stop."
"What if she dies because of me?"
"She won't."
"You don't know that."
Casey's hologram leaned forward. Her face was serious now, the laughter gone.
"Listen to me. You are the smartest person I have ever met. Not just book-smart. Not just tech-smart. You see things other people miss. You find patterns in chaos. You solve problems that would make most people's heads explode."
"That's not—"
"There are other ways of being smart besides knowing how to find stuff online." Casey's voice was firm. "You have all of them. Every single one."
Mandy looked at her hands. They were steady. She didn't feel steady.
"Shiv is counting on you," Casey continued. "Not because you're some kind of superhero. Not because you're invincible. But because you're you. And that's enough."
The room was quiet. Outside, the wind had picked up, rattling the windows.
"I love you, Mom," Mandy said.
"I know." Casey smiled. "Now go save your sister's almost-grandmother-in-law. And for God's sake, eat something first. You look thin."
"I'm not thin."
"You're not eating enough. Mothers know these things."
Mandy laughed. It surprised her—a genuine sound, warm and real.
"I'll eat something. I promise."
"That's my girl." Casey's image flickered. "Call me when it's over. I want to know you're safe."
"I will."
"I mean it, Bug. Every detail. Don't leave anything out."
"Every detail," Mandy agreed. "I love you."
"Love you too. Now hang up, for Christ's sake. You're burning daylight."
The hologram vanished. Mandy sat alone for a moment, her mother's words echoing in her ears.
Then she stood up, grabbed her gear, and walked out the door.
---
Beth found Marty in the kitchen, exactly where she'd left him. He was still staring at that same cold cup of coffee, his hands wrapped around it like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.
"I love you too," she said.
Marty looked up. His eyes were wide, startled. "What?"
"I love you too. I should have said it earlier. I should have said it the first time you told me, when we were in Shiv's kitchen and you burned the toast because you were too busy staring at me."
"You remember that?"
"I remember everything." Beth crossed the room. Sat on the stool beside him. "I was scared. Not of you—of what it meant. Loving someone is terrifying, you know? Especially someone like you."
"Someone like me?"
"Someone who appeared out of nowhere. Someone who didn't know what a microwave was. Someone who looked at me like I was the most interesting thing in the world." She took his hand. "I didn't want to get attached. I knew eventually you'd figure things out, and you wouldn't need me anymore."
"That's not—"
"But then I realized something." Beth squeezed his fingers. "I don't need you because you need me. I love you because you make me laugh. Because you ask questions no one else thinks to ask. Because you look at the world like it's a miracle, and that makes me see it that way too."
Marty's eyes were wet. He blinked rapidly, trying to hide it.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "I don't care if I figure things out. I don't care if I learn everything there is to know about this world. I'm staying with you."
"Good." Beth leaned in. Kissed him. "Because I'm not letting you go."
They sat there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, the cold coffee forgotten.
Then Mandy's voice cut through the quiet.
"Everybody ready? We move in five."
Beth stood up. Pulled Marty to his feet.
"Let's go get your grandmother back."
---
The van was packed and ready, parked in the driveway with its lights off.
Bruce had loaded it with equipment—jammers, scanners, a portable EMP device he'd built himself. Calista had woven protective charms into the seatbelts. Felicity sat in the passenger seat with a tablet on her lap, already pulling up satellite imagery of the warehouse.
Ben checked his weapon—a compact pistol loaded with rounds that Bruce had modified to disrupt magical barriers. Mai stretched in the back, her body loose and ready.
Jess stood apart from the others, her Wand suit replaced with black tactical gear. She looked lean and dangerous and utterly focused.
Mandy climbed into the driver's seat.
"Last chance to back out," she said.
No one moved.
"Good." She turned the key. The engine hummed to life. "Let's go."
The van pulled out of the driveway. The beach house faded behind them, swallowed by darkness.
Ahead, the Everglades waited.
And somewhere in its depths, Shiv O'Connor was counting the minutes until her family arrived.
She'd made it through Dublin. She'd made it through Boston. She'd made it through every threat and every danger and every dark thing that had ever tried to touch her family.
She would make it through this.
And heaven help anyone who got in her way.
The van sped through the night, carrying its passengers toward danger and darkness and the promise of a reckoning.
The rescue had begun.
---
Shiv sat in the interrogation room, alone with the flickering bulb and the scattered papers.
She'd been counting. Not just the seconds, but the footsteps outside the door. The pattern of the guards' patrols. The subtle shift in air pressure when someone walked past the corridor.
Six minutes between patrols. Three guards visible, probably more hidden. One camera in the corner, its red light blinking steadily.
She could work with this.
The door opened. A different guard this time—taller, broader in the shoulders. They set a tray on the table: a bottle of water, a sandwich that looked like it had been made three days ago, and a crossword puzzle book.
"From the boss," the guard said. Their voice was flat, emotionless. "They said you asked for it."
Shiv picked up the puzzle book. Flipped through it.
"Tell your boss I said thank you. And tell them the sandwich is stale."
The guard didn't respond. Just turned and walked out, the door slamming shut behind them.
Shiv opened the puzzle book to the first page. Pulled out the pen that had been tucked into the spine.
The clues were simple. Three letters for "Irish river." Five letters for "traditional folk dance." Seven letters for "the act of waiting patiently for rescue."
Shiv smiled.
She filled in the answers with steady hands.
And she waited.
The night was still young. Her family was coming.
And when they arrived, these bastards were going to learn exactly what it meant to cross an O'Connor.