Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

After a night spent worrying about what the Mage of St. Louis will demand in return for his assistance, morning comes sooner than I wish. The alarm shatters under my fist. It's the fifth one in two months. Ike keeps a box of the cheap things in a linen closet. He bought me a nice, expensive, heavy-duty alarm clock once. It had taken three fist-bashings to shut it off. He'd bitched about the waste of money as he'd stitched up my hand. A lesson learned for everyone. There is no sign of Princess in my room, but there is a book I don’t recognize on the foot of my bed.

I follow the sound of chatter and good-natured grousing to the front porch. Hank and Ike have gathered most of my pack, including Az, onto the lawn for their morning jog. Aside from all the health benefits the activity provides, it is an excellent outlet for the extra energy that builds up during the night. The last thing I need is a bunch of hyper, grouchy Shifters fighting over the first cup of coffee.

Speaking of coffee, a mug of hot liquid ambrosia appears in front of my face. Greta makes sure I have a good grip on the cup before lowering herself onto the edge of the porch beside me. If I didn't love her like a sister, and think of her husband as a brother, I'd kiss her. Full on the mouth. She's an angel. She's also a little frightening in the pre-dawn hours.

"They like her," she says, cradling her own mug. Her eyes, like mine, are on the pink-and-blonde figure stretching on the grass. Az looks like a fluorescent highlighter in a drawer full of Sharpies.

She chats with the guys as if she's known them all her life. Jose is glued to her side, which is gratifying to note. I have no doubt that he'll protect her from any threat – even if it comes from our pack. At something Oscar, a weremink, says to her, she grabs one ankle and stretches her foot over her head. And then smacks her toes against Oscar's cheek. Points to her for excellent balance and holding her own with the biggest flirt in the pack.

Ike whistles sharply. The chatter stops. He glances at Greta. She gives him a small finger wave. He whistles again and then sets out down the street. The others fall into line behind him. Az is smack in the middle of the parade with Jose in front of her and Hank behind her.

"Yeah, they do," I finally respond, leaning back and crossing my ankles. The coiled ball of tension in my stomach is nothing new. It's an automatic response to having so many pack members out of eyesight. That they have an unknown variable in their group doesn't factor in at all. Nope. Not one teeny, weeny bit.

Ha! I can't even lie to myself.

"She's a good addition. We needed new fresh blood. Things were getting too predictable." Greta nudges my shoulder with hers. "Too easy."

"She's two tons of trouble in a hundred-pound flesh sack. It's likely she'll get us killed. Given that she's an overachiever, odds are by the end of month we'll all be dead or insane."

"That little bitch Sally's been growing the wolfsbane for months. That witch's master has been operating in the area for who knows how long. You can't blame all this on Az."

"Yes I can."

This time, the nudge is not so gentle. "Be nice. She's ours now." Greta's lips curl up in a teasing smile. "For which you have no one to blame but yourself."

Most people think that Ike is my second-in-command because he was the first male member of my pack. Most people are, of course, idiots. Greta is the dominant in her marriage. She's my second. Has been since day one. If anything were to happen to me, she's the only one I'd trust with my pack.

Greta's logic is sound. The problems in Houston started long before Princess was dumped on me. That doesn't mean I'm letting Greta or Az off the hook so easily. I'm all for girl power, but I don't think Greta understands just how much of a pain in my ass our newest pack member actually is. Alphas don't have to bother with such petty things as logic.

"We're all going to have to wear protection amulets so that her father doesn't wipe our memories in our sleep."

Greta shrugs a shoulder and hops off the porch. She leaves her mug between us. "Actually, I've heard that memory wiping spells are usually done with the subject fully conscious. It is supposedly a fairly painless procedure."

Seeing as Greta cares as little for magic as I do, I don't have to guess who told her that little gem. Well, that explains what she and Princess were chatting about into the wee hours of the morning. Normal girls talk about clothes and shoes and boys during a sleepover. Not mine. No. Of course not.

My phone rings just as I'm about to join Greta's stretch routine. It's Matt fucking Anders. My finger hovers over the 'reject' button. Forget blaming Az for the thundercloud hanging over my head. He's the reason I'm in this mess.

"Hey, buddy," is Matt's response to my grunted greeting.

"I already have a case, and you're way the hell out of favors."

I abhor Matt's chuckle. It's that slick politician laugh. The one that gives me the nearly uncontrollable urge to rip out his spine. "From what I hear, that last favor has turned out to work well for you. Perhaps you owe me one after all."

Obviously, we have differing opinions on the subject. "What do you want?"

"What do you know about Claire Eras?"

A criminal dies in custody and the DA gets involved. Not a big surprise. I should have been expecting Matt's call, but I've been distracted by spell-inked voids, memory amulets, and the overall feeling of impending doom.

"Witch. Bitch. Pawn. Dead." After a moment's contemplation, I have another description. "Fucking nuts."

Matt doesn't let it go at that. Wordy man that he is, he likes things spelled out for him. No imagination at all. "Greer says you have proof that Eras didn't commit suicide."

Dealing with the law enforcement community can be a lot like that old game of telephone. Nothing you say ever comes back the same. "I have a magic-detecting void who says that someone used magic to kill the witch. Nothing that will stand up in court."

"Can she get proof?"

"I don't know. You saw her that night. She's unreliable." Az will have to forgive me for the lie. If Matt, the only non-pack member in the area who knows what she is, thinks she's unstable then he won't try to use her for political or personal purposes. Given the act she put on for Greer, I don't think she'll have a problem performing for Matt if she has to.

"Someone died while in police custody. I don't need to tell you - ," Matt starts.

"So don't tell me. We'll do what we can but no promises."

"You'll keep me in the loop." It's a demand rather than a question.

"We'll call you before we call Greer." I hope it sounds more reassuring than it actually is, considering I don't plan on calling Greer until absolutely necessary. The fewer people involved, the better the likelihood everyone in my pack will survive.

Matt tries to pry a few additional promises out of me. I hang up on the bastard. When he calls back, I give in to the urge to hit 'reject'. Not even seven in the morning and I'm on the verge of a migraine. Pity my coffee mug is empty.

Running with Greta clears my head. She doesn't make idle conversation to fill the silence. It's just the two of us and the sound of pounding feet on the pavement. I can let my mind drift away from thoughts of Mages and voids and magic. Nothing but crisp morning air and birds and a warm hand on my arm. No. That's not right.

Before I can fill in the blanks about the mystery grabber, I fling off whatever is stupid enough to try surprising a Shifter and step between the threat and Greta. Greta stops running and jogs back to me. I don't have to look at her to know that her claws are out and her teeth are bared. She's feeding off my aggression.

"Ow. Ow. Ow."

I know that voice. I'm starting to hear that voice in my dreams – and they're not always pleasant, fluffy bunny dreams. Greta relaxes. I can't turn down the anger quite so easily.

Az is in a heap on the sidewalk a few feet away. I don't smell blood so she can't be too injured. Then again, I hadn't been particularly gentle when I tossed her off me. Stupid void should know better than to sneak up on a Shifter.

How did she manage to sneak up on a Shifter? I was in the zone, but not that deep into it. Teleportation is magic so that's not an answer. Was she waiting to pop out like a deranged stalker? Why isn't she jogging with Ike?

"So many questions," she groans, slowly climbing to her feet. She swipes at a vivid pink abrasion on her cheek. "Anyone ever tell you that your brain is like a pinball machine?"

"Tell me you're not reading my damn mind, Princess."

"I do not possess the power of telepathy," she grits out with the air of one who's had to make the claim a time or two too many. "Your face is expressive. And you always act exactly how I expect you to act."

There's nothing more disappointing than having a woman tell you that you're boring. Even if it's a woman you're not looking to score with. As if Az hasn't emasculated me enough in the brief time we've known each other.

"What're you doing here?" I figure that's the most important question. If she manages to skip out on answering the others, at least I'll have something.

"I needed to talk to you."

Oh joy. It's teeth-pulling time again. "Princess."

"I figured something out. And we need to talk about the memory protection. It has to be done before we talk to Uncle Evan."

"I thought you trusted him."

"He's Council." She sighs and rubs her left arm. "I want to trust him, but I don't know anymore. I thought about it a lot last night. All night, actually. He and Dad fought over a chunk of Alabama a decade ago. I don't trust him not to use me against Dad."

"And he would wipe our memories to take us from you."

"Maybe not."

"That's still a maybe yes."

She nods rather than admit it aloud. It's good enough for me. The scent of blood floats on the breeze. She's opened up one of her scratches. Beside me, Greta growls.

"Calm down, Momma Fox," I mutter. She swipes at the back of my head. Fortunately it's a half-hearted gesture that doesn't quite make me see stars. "Let's go, Princess. We can talk while we run."

She looks at me as if I'm the crazy one. "I can't keep up with you. I can barely keep up with Ike." She winces like a kid caught stealing a cookie. "Speaking of the drill sergeant, I should probably get back to him before he freaks."

As if on cue, Greta's phone rings. She huffs in annoyance. Good. I'm glad someone else is finally recognizing what a pain in the ass our void is.

"Yes, honey, we have her. She needed to speak with Rick." She backs away from us with the phone still to her ear. "Honestly, I think it's separation anxiety."

"It's not," Az protests. She glares at me. Sure, this whole mess is my fault. Why the hell not. "It's not."

"Whatever." I turn around. "Hop on."

I have to explain what a piggy-back ride is. Three times. Her grip around my waist is too tight, and she's holding herself too stiffly. Fortunately she's light so it won't throw me off much. I jog to catch up with Greta.

Az swallows. Oh hell no. "Throw up on me and it'll be the last thing you do."

For once she doesn't argue with me. She just nods. By the time we're side-by-side with Greta, she's relaxed enough to flow with my movements. I'd tried telling her that it was like riding a horse but that hadn't helped any.

"I don't have separation anxiety," Az tells Greta. "I wanted to tell Ricky that I have an idea for how to locate our master of evil."

"So tell Ricky," Greta laughs.

"Does this idea somehow get us out of contacting the Mage of St. Louis?"

"No."

Ah, well. Can't fault a guy for hoping. "Spill, Princess."

Her plan involves looking into the Record of Witches to compile a list of those who had been ejected from covens or put on probation. The covenless witches could be Claire clones who could lead us back to their master. Access to the RoW is open to members of law enforcement, and I just so happen to have a password. There are a lot of 'coulds' in Az's plan, but it's worth exploring. Claire's already proven that the flunkies are the weak links.

"Also, I should tell you that you were being followed."

"What?" Clearly, she and I are going to have to have a conversation on information priorities.

"Well, not followed-followed. More like a magical tracker. It made my hair itch."

"Where is it?"

"Destroyed. You sorta threw me on it. Which hurt. A lot."

I won't apologize for that. Someone in the pack has to remain impervious to her. "Who put it there? Was it your father?"

She rests her chin on my shoulder. The bouncing of her head makes her teeth clack together, but she doesn't move it. "No. It felt old. There wasn't one following Ike. It was focused on you."

Whatever plans I had for the day are officially toast. I won't be getting out of that trip to the magic store, either. Az and I are going to have a little pow-wow on how to beef up magical security and the house and figure out how many protection amulets we can realistically stick on my people.

The migraine hits before we finish our second mile.