Solomon's Seal

>>vex, neat, unwilling, certain, reading

"You vex me."

I glare at my captor from behind the glass. Neat beard, tinted shades. These days they've got no class. He's scribbling away in a notebook as he speaks. No manners, either.

When he leans in I snap at him. But the man just goes back to his writing. That's all they do these days. They go through a few musty lines and suddenly they're magicians. You can't learn magic just by reading.

"What breed are you, hm?" He drags a chair to the table. "Ram's horns don't tell me much. Unless you want to talk to me?"

He makes it a question. The imbecile.

"Unwilling, eh? Well, that's fine. I'll just need to do a few more tests."

I try fire. The flames lick at the sides of the prism, not even scorching the wood beyond.

The man grins with his too-white teeth.

"All your brothers tried that too. Don't worry, I've made certain you can't  get out. Not unless I want you to."

My claws slide off the glass without a single mark.

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