The Witch Hunter Chronicles: Hunted

“I look like a miniature CEO,” I said, as I stared into the full-length mirror. I wore a charcoal gray ensemble, with a knee length skirt and a tapered middle to give the illusion of a more distinct hourglass figure. Black pumps and a matching satiny black undershirt completed the outfit. Fran even loaned me a string of black Tahitian pearls, which up close had a bit of a translucent green sheen that she promised would bring out the emerald in my eyes. I looked over at Lucía and added, “And you look...”

Lucía wore a skirt suit similar to mine but darker, and my satin undershirt went up to my collar, while hers was cut low enough to allow her ample cleavage to poke out on top. Her hair was pulled back tight and tied into a fancy bun.

An Instagram model playing dress up? A naughty teacher? Maybe an OC housewife?

I carefully answered, “A full sized CEO?”

She snickered. “You clean-up quite nicely,” Lucía said, “and that, my friend was no easy feat.”

Before I could think of a witty comeback, there was a knock at the door. “You ladies decent,” Jordan called from the hallway.

“Enter, number one,” I called in my best Patrick Stewart monotone.

Jordan entered with his mouth open, preparing to say something Jordanesque until he caught sight of me. He froze slack-jawed and did a double take.

“What’s up bro?” I asked innocently.

He looked down at my feet and said, “What, no glass slippers?”

I snorted.

“And I didn’t realize fairy godmothers came in Amazonian sizes,” he continued.

“It was basically magic that I resorted to,” Lucía answered.

“The tangles?” Jordan asked.

“It was like she’d been lost in a forest for the last week, sleeping on beds of pine needles,” Lucía replied. “Now it’s cascading waves. Smells better too.”

“I’m right here,” I said.

He turned and looked at me and said, “Kid, seriously, you look so beautiful.”

“Kenzie...” Lucía warned.

I drove my nail into my palm and said, “I’m not going to cry.”

Jordan grinned and added, “I wonder what Marc will say when he sees you.”

“Marc?” Lucía asked, looking from Jordan to me. “Why?”

I felt my cheeks warming, and it wasn’t only because I wanted to kick Jordan.

“Oh, no particular reason,” Jordan said, with a dismissive wave of his hand and an irritating smirk on his lips. “And I’m supposed to be letting you know that the car is here.”

The car turned out to be a black stretch limo with an open moonroof and a uniformed driver. He was a blocky guy with flicks of grey in his hair and beard, who tipped his cap and held the door open as we climbed in. Marc and Hugo were already in the back seat, in their matching black suits and paisley blue ties.

“No jacuzzi?” Jordan said as we climbed in. “I suppose the leather makes up for it.”

“How many cows had to die for your comfort?” I asked.

“The right amount,” Jordan replied.

Hugo looked handsome in that middle-aged sort of way, but my eyes were drawn to Marc as if they were controlled by a new gravity source. His black hair was swept back and textured with enough product that he was not just hot, but flammable in the literal sense, and he had just the right amount of stubble on his chin that he looked roguish rather than scruffy.

I know I need to blink but I just don’t want to. He’s like candy for the eyes. Oh, eye candy. I get it now. If he wasn’t such an infuriating jackass...

Hugo nodded at me from behind his hi-ball glass. Marc looked up, and his eyes just about bulged out of skull when he looked at me. He quickly nodded in my direction and went back to talking to his dad.

Play it cool all you want pretty-boy. We both know I’m lookin’ good. I may never look this good again without Lucía ’s help, but that’s another story.

“Do you think maybe your dad would pour me a glass of whatever he’s drinking?” Jordan asked Lucía.

“His Pappy Van Winkle?” Lucía scoffed. “I doubt it.”

As the car pulled away from the house, Jordan nudged me and asked, “What do you think they’re talking about?”

“Printing money, cattle futures, who knows,” I answered. “You know what would be cool?”

“We are not sticking out heads out the moon roof,” Jordan answered. “That is so Freshman Homecoming.”

How does he always know?

“That’s not what I was going to ask,” I said.

“Oh?” he answered. “Do tell.”

I glared at bestie and turned in my seat towards Lucía. “Why isn’t your mom coming?”

“The family is just too big to invite everyone,” Lucía replied. “This meeting will just be the family heads and their heir.” Lucía frowned and her eyes twitched involuntarily in her brother’s direction, but she covered with a quick smile. “I talked my way along because I’m your first knight and I’ve sworn to protect you. I made it very clear that I wasn’t going to be left behind.”

“And Jordan, you’re here because you’re pretty and are really good at lifting luggage,” I added.

“Jordan’s actually pretty famous,” Lucía said. “He’s your immortal BFF after all.”

“Damn right I’m famous,” he added. “You’re lucky I’m letting you come along. Say, why are we pulling off on a dirt road? I can’t imagine this is the shortest route to Madrid.”

“You thought we were driving to Madrid?” Lucía asked.

“You thought we were driving all the way to Madrid?” I parroted. “Dumbass.”

“Oh, really Kenz?” he added. “Please enlighten me with the itinerary.”

“Lucía,” I said, “tell the man the plan.”

Because I haven’t the foggiest idea. It better not be a plane. I don’t ever want to look at a plane ever again.

“We’re taking Dad’s helicopter,” Lucía replied.

“Ooh, I call shotgun,” Jordan said.

“Shotgun?” Lucía asked.

“He just wants to sit in the front seat,” I translated.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s fine,” Lucía replied. “Marc usually sits in front, but I bet you could wrestle him for it.” Jordan’s hopeful eyes widened. “I’m kidding.”

“Don’t toy with my emotions Lucía,” Jordan said solemnly.

After passing a small vineyard and a horse stable, the road came to an end next to a two-story aluminum-sided airport tower. In front of that was a short blacktop runway and on the other side a grey cement airplane hangar. The hanger was closed, but there was a navy-blue helicopter parked next to it.

“Is this where we landed when I...” I started. I still had trouble talking about that night.

Lucía nodded. “It’s my family’s land. We don’t use the jet very often, but Dad flies to Madrid in the chopper almost every week.”

The body of the helicopter was high enough off the ground that the doorway had its own little retractable stairwell, and it rested on a tripod of wheeled landing gear rather than the skids I was used to seeing on police and news crew choppers. It wasn’t the VW bug with a propeller that I was expecting. This was closer to the size of the short school bus.

The driver crossed the runway and pulled in next to the chopper. After parking, he came around and opened the back door for us.

As we filed out, Jordan said, “This looks like the helicopter the President uses.”

“Close,” Hugo replied. He smiled and added, “Mine’s a newer model.”

***

I woke up with my face pressed up against the glass window. Down below was cityscape. When I’d fallen asleep, we’d been over a green zone.

Thank you, cows. You’re hides are so soft.

I sat up discreetly wiped the drool off the window with the side of my hand.

I thought Spain was all adobe huts and knights jousting windmills. Is that a past life memory or am I just remembering something I was forced to read in school?

The interior cabin had two rows of leather captain’s chairs, separated by wood-grained consoles with built-in drink holders. There was also a little bathroom in the back that wasn’t much bigger than a hallway closet. And Lucía must have seen to the snack situation because assorted pastries were available in the kitchen nook. The front row was a pair of chairs for the pilot and it this particular case, Jordan. Through the windshield, a cluster of high-rise buildings loomed.

“Bro,” I said to Jordan. Lucía slept silently beside me. Even asleep, she looked like a supermodel. “Bro!” I said louder.

Jordan turned in his seat. “Hey, you’re up,” he said. “You were snoring by the way.”

“I don’t snore,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow.

Did Marc hear me? Why doesn’t Lucía snore?

“Whatever. Does the pilot see the buildings?” I asked. “Cause we’re flying right towards them.”

“No, he’s one of those blind pilots Mackenzie,” he replied. “I’m trying to guide him by explaining the terrain, but you’re totally distracting me. Our deaths will be on your conscience.”

“Won’t I be dead too in that scenario?” I asked.

“Good point,” he admitted.

The pilot looked over his shoulder and smiled at me. “We’re headed for the Picasso Tower. It has a helipad on the roof.”

“Sure, I figured it did,” I said. He nodded, accepting my lie at face value. Assured that we weren’t going to die in a fiery helicopter crash, I sat back and peeked out my side window.

The Picasso Tower is a glass and metal skyscraper nestled within a sea of the parks, cathedrals, and white stone monuments – as well as older looking two- and three-story stone buildings that look like they predate the industrial revolution. We touched down on the Tower’s flat roof, right on top of the large, red H. The pilot flipped a few switches and the propeller’s speed slowly diminished. When it was safe to disembark, he came around and lowered the stairs for us.

The view from the roof was spectacular. Without turning my head, I was able to see multiple skyscrapers, tree-filled parks, and countless buildings that looked like they came straight out of a renaissance oil painting – all with the backdrop of rolling green hills and snow-capped mountains in the distance.

Why does everything look more vivid from up here? Adrenaline rush maybe? It’s like standing on top of a mountain. The cars look like toy... well, cars.

“You look nice today,” Marc said quietly. I was so surprised my head jerked back.

“Oh, we’re talking now,” I said. Don’t I always look nice was a distant second.

He winced slightly. “About last night...” Marc started.

“Marc, let’s go,” Hugo said.

Marc sighed and said, “We’ll talk later.”

We followed Hugo from the helicopter landing platform down a flight of metal steps and across the roof towards a bank of elevators.

Lucía and Jordan formed up on either side.

“What’s going on between you two?” Lucía asked. “Marc’s acting weird and you get all flushed whenever he talks to you.”

“Apparently Marc’s straight,” Jordan said sadly.

“Yeah, I’ve been telling you that,” Lucía said. “What’s that got to do with... oh.”

“Yeah, it appears he likes skinny Irish girls with anger management issues,” Jordan said.

“He doesn’t like me,” I said.

Does he? Why?

“What eves,” Jordan said.

“Kenzie,” Lucía said. “Marc is... how can I explain this?”

“A slut?” Jordan asked. “Horny? Loose? A hound dog? A rake? Maybe-”

“Let’s just say not ideal boyfriend material,” Lucía said. She looked at me and added, “Basically what Jordan said.”

A pretty twenty-something Hispanic woman, flanked by a dozen or so security types, met us at the elevators. She wore a white blouse and grey pencil skirt, while the heavily muscled guards of various ages were dressed in dark blue suits and matching ties.

“Mr. Castile,” the woman said in accented English. “I trust your flight went well?”

“It was fine, Angelica,” he answered gruffly. He looked at his watch and shook his head. “I take it everyone is here?”

“Yes sir,” she replied. “The representatives are waiting in the Figueroa conference room.”

“Perhaps you can get our guests up to speed on the way,” Hugo said.

“Of course, sir, I’d be happy to,” Angelica replied. “Hello Lucía. And you must be Miss Flynn and Mr. Lin. It is so nice to finally meet you both.”

As we said our hellos and shook hands, the elevator arrived. Two of the bodyguard-types held the doors open as the rest of us followed Hugo into the elevator. One of the guards pressed the button for forty-one, which was just one level below us.

“Is this your first time in Madrid?” Angelica asked, as the doors slid shut.

I smiled and nodded, which was my portion of this dance. Jordan knew to handle the small talk.

“It’s basically our first time outside of California,” Jordan answered. He glanced briefly at one of the guards to his right, and I watched his expression change slightly as he added, “but we really like what we’ve seen so far.”

I retraced the path of Jordan’s gaze.

Well hello there. Is he old enough for security work? He certainly fills out the suit. Oh, is he smiling at me? Don’t look away. You’re the chosen one or whatever. You can make eye contact with cute boys.

“Don’t you agree Mackenzie?” Jordan asked.

“Oh, I certainly do,” I said.

The elevator doors opened, and we walked past two new security guards as we filed out. Beyond the elevator was a large central corridor that stretched all the way to another set of elevators at the far end of the building. In between was a sea of cubicles and offices. Hugo and Marc looked like they knew where they were going, and everyone else followed.

“Senorita,” the cute guard said, nodding to me as I passed. He was young enough that the goatee he was trying to grow wasn’t quite filled in around the corners of his mouth.

That smile. Maybe Latin boys are my type.

As we walked down the office hallway, the security guards formed up around us in a human ring. It seemed like overkill to me, but if they wanted to surround me with a bunch of polite, physically fit men, who was I to argue.

“The city has other fabulous landmarks as well,” Angelica was saying. “Perhaps if there’s time later, you’d like a tour of the city? The Sabatini Gardens are lovely this time of year, and the Almudena Cathedral must be seen in person to be truly appreciated.”

“Sure, that sounds great,” I replied.

I wonder if there any fabulous gelato shops nearby. Maybe I can request a hand-picked security detail for the tour.

“This building you’re in now is called the Picasso Tower – named for the city’s famed painter, Pablo Picasso,” Angelica continued. “It’s part of the Avenue of Paseo de la Casrellana, which is comparable to your country’s Wall Street. Calatrava Investments occupies the top floors seven floors.”

I smiled and made throat noises that I hoped made it seem like I found this all very interesting. Apparently, I was pretty convincing because she went right on explaining.

“The Castile family founded Calatrava Investments over six hundred years ago during the Spanish Reconquista. Initially it was a private investment bank lending money to a group of disposed Spanish monarchs. The corporation grew steadily, and now has many regional branches throughout Europe and Asia under the Calatrava name and owns controlling interest in a number of worldwide financial institutions.”

And Hugo isn’t excited turning all this over to a seventeen-year-old kid with no qualifications other than a dubious claim to a mythical bloodline? Weird.

Offices with floor-to-ceiling window views, rows of cubicles and open secretarial nooks lined the hallways on either side of us and were filled with adults mostly staring at computer screens. Some of them may have actually been working.

At the halfway point of the corridor, we came to a glass-walled conference room on the left. Inside, I could see a group of men and women in business attire sitting around a massive round table, and another ring of people seated along every inch of wall space behind them. A few people in catering outfits were busy placing food and drinks on the table. Three seats were open at one end of the table, and two corresponding seats in the outer ring.

“And here we are,” Angelica said. She handed me a card and said, “Let me know if you’d like that tour after your meeting.”

“Thanks Angelica.” I took the card and put is in my purse. There was plenty of room. The only other thing in there was the tiny gun Fran gave me. “I’m not really sure what our plans are after this, but if we have time, I’ll definitely call you.”

Angelica smiled and turned to Hugo. “Is there anything else sir?”

“Not now,” Hugo answered. “But I’ll need to go over my schedule with you after the meeting.” He turned to me and asked, “Are you ready my dear?” His breath smelled ever-so-slightly flammable.

I looked at all the expectant faces and sighed. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”