Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

As soon as he leads his sweaty band of joggers onto the lawn, Ike zeroes in on Az. Seated on the porch with Greta, I don't feel the slightest inclination to intercede. In fact, I'm looking forward to the show. It's time for someone else to be the bad guy for a change.

Ike's anger has the potential to set off the others. He outranks everyone except for Greta and me. Uriah and Quinn, two coyotes still in high school, are particularly susceptible to outside influence. Neither has attacked a human, and I'd hate for Az to be their first. The guilt would crush them.

Jose and Hank herd the others toward the house. Good. Greta gives Hank an encouraging nod. She's been teaching him to be more assertive. As one of only two feline Shifters in the area, he tends to fade into the background. He has beta potential. He just needs to learn to use it.

"I never took you for a walking stereotype, blondie," Ike rages as he stalks across the damp grass. He corners Az against a tall pine tree. His finger thumps against her head so hard that just watching it makes my head hurt. "Do you even have a brain in this thick skull of yours?"

Az flinches but doesn’t fully submit to Ike’s fury. Stupid girl. "I had to tell Rick something."

"Was it a matter of life or death?"

She chews on her bottom lip and flutters her eyelashes. "I suppose, if you think about it, in the grand scheme of things everything is life or death."

Next to me, Greta winces. Az is digging a hole so deep she'll need a ladder to get out of. Greta doesn't look like she's going to help, though. She understands the need for Ike to handle this on his own.

"This isn't a philosophy debate, darlin'. I asked you a damn question, and now I expect a damn answer."

Ooh. There's that Southern drawl good ol' boy Ike tries to hide from his fancy architect friends. Not a good sign. Greta starts to rise. My heavy hand on her knee forces her to stay seated. Well-defined boundaries are part of what keeps this unconventional pack together. Some lessons have to be learned the hard way. Besides, I trust Ike not to kill Az.

"Probably not,” she murmurs, chin dropping. “I guess.”

Ike growls, tears a strip of bark off the tree. I admire his restraint. I'd have been tempted to tear a strip off her hide. If he does kill her, I'll volunteer to be a defense witness. He hunches down, leaning in until they are nose to nose. From the porch, I can see a hint of fang. Az pales.

"When you're with me, you are under my protection. That means you are my responsibility. I take my responsibilities very seriously, darlin'. You don't step one toe out of my line of sight without my permission. I don't give a rat's ass if you think the damn apocalypse is fixing to rain down on us. You don't move without my say-so. If you ever pull a disappearing act like this again, I promise that you won't like the consequences."

Lips pressed together and eyes on scruffy Ike's chin, Az nods emphatically. Smartest thing she's done all morning. Ike stares at her for a moment before letting go of his anger. I'll never understand how he does it. I like to hold on to my anger for a little while – to simmer. For him, it's easy as flipping a switch.

"Good." He kisses her forehead and tugs on the end of her ponytail. Big brother persona firmly back in place. "Now we'd better scoot if we want to get a shower before Tommy. He's a serial hot water hog."

Az blinks at him as if he's the one with a few loose screws. "That's it?"

He shrugs, rakes a hand through his sweaty hair. "I gave you a serious ass chewing, and you agreed to not be so stupid ever again. That's it." When Az doesn't speak, Ike's face scrunches up as he considers her reaction. "Do you feel like you need me to ground you or something?"

And that's my cue to intervene. I know what Az is expecting and why she's expecting it. Having it spelled out to him will either depress or anger Ike. Neither option is particularly pleasant. Greta's already growling, and she’s coiled tighter than a spring.

"Take a shower. Take Ike with you," I instruct her. "I'll deal with Princess."

"She wants Ike to-," Greta breaks off on a hiss. "He would never."

"I know that. She doesn't really want it. She just thinks it's the next logical step. It's all she's been taught." She expects it for the same reasons my mom didn't feel a relationship was working unless she was getting slapped around.

Greta's gruff and plays up the bad-girl rebel attitude, but she grew up in suburbia with the white picket fence and the relatively normal nuclear family. There are some things she doesn't truly understand - things I'm glad she doesn't truly understand.

Greta storms across the yard. She ignores Az, grabs Ike's hand, and drags her mate toward the house. The door slams behind her. Great. Hopefully Ike can work his magic – which I don't want to think about since I share a bathroom with them – and calm her down before breakfast. It's her morning to cook. I hate burnt eggs.

"Az." At the sound of her name, her head snaps around to the porch. "Come here."

"Greta's mad at me," she announces, voice tinged with bewilderment, as she flops onto the porch next to me. She leans against one of the posts and swings her legs up into my lap. "Man, my calves hurt. This running thing sucks."

"You spent most of the run hanging from my back like a monkey

"You made me sprint that last mile. It sucked."

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a whiner?"

"Yes." She tilts her head back and closes her eyes. I can see the faint yellowing from the bruises her father left. It's easy to understand Greta's fury. "So what did I do to piss off Momma Fox? I didn't lick Ike."

Somehow I don't think that just telling her is going to do the trick. Nor do I think I can undo a lifetime of conditioning and misery in one morning. "Tell me about the day before your father brought you to Houston."

"Mom and Dad were having a dinner party. The Mage of Richmond was there. I wanted to ask him about the theory of knowledge transference through the Rite of Elsalt. He wrote a thesis on it twenty years ago. It's brilliant. Genius stuff. Dad wanted me to stay in my room. I snuck downstairs during dessert. Dad caught me before I made it to the hallway."

"It's safe to assume he didn't reward you with a slice of chocolate cake, right?"

Her hand goes to her throat. "No. He was really mad."

So mad he tried to choke her to death. All because she wanted to ask a question about magic theory. "How did you get the pink cast?"

Az's hand drops to her left arm. It's still pale, but not as sickly looking as before. "I took a flashlight from Sister Lavina's room."

"Stealing is wrong." I feel like a tool for having to say it, but I'm not entirely sure she gets the finer points of human decency. It's not like she's had the best role models.

"Of course it is." She shrugs. "The bulb was out in my room, and I'm not a bat. Sister Lavina wouldn't have even noticed, but I got caught reading after curfew. Sister Isolde is a tattle."

"Stealing and breaking curfew are offenses we take seriously here."

She tightens her grasp on her recently healed arm. Terror flashes across her face. "Rules. Okay. I'll remember that."

"That was the maddest I've seen Ike since Jose accidentally set the grill on fire. You broke one of his top five personal rules. It's one that's pretty damn high on my list, too."

Az goes completely still. I can practically see the pulse pounding in the base of her throat. Fear and panic waft off her slight frame. I don't particularly care for either aroma when they originate from a pack mate. From her, they are downright nauseating.

"I'm very, very sorry," she murmurs softly but sincerely. She bites down on her bloodless bottom lip before holding out her left arm. Her fingers tremble. "Here."

Jesus. I swallow a growl. It's a damn good thing she didn't make this offer to Ike. He's far more sensitive than I am, and I'm having a damn difficult time suppressing the desire to let the wolf loose on everyone who taught her to expect pain as punishment. Had she been here, Greta would have already started out on the warpath.

"I'm not going to break your fucking arm." It's not Az's fault, I know that, but it doesn't stop me from snapping at her. We should all be lucky I haven't Shifted yet.

She retracts the arm. Swallows. Leans forward with her neck extended.

"Fucking hell! I'm not going to strangle you!"

"Oh. Do you want to overload me with magic? That usually works, too." At my growl, she gingerly settles back against the post. "I don't understand."

Which is pretty much what I figured she was going to say. "There are consequences for breaking pack rules, but those consequences don't include beatings, broken limbs, corporal punishment, or attempted homicide. There will be some yelling and lecturing. Depending upon the infraction, there may be restitution or extra chores."

"So Ike yelled at me and now we're done?"

"Yes. He might tether you to him for the next few mornings, or I might insist you run with me, but that's it. No broken arms. No bruises. No turning you into a loon."

"Are you sure?"

Okay. So trust is one of the many, many things we're going to have to continue to work on. My word is law, but the only reason the pack accepts that is because I've never broken a promise or double-crossed them. She's new. She gets a pass. For now.

"Yes." And because she has to feel safe if she's ever going to be comfortable with us, I have to make something very clear. "If anyone, pack or not, ever threatens or tries to hurt you, you have to tell me about it. Immediately."

"Yes, sir. So Greta's mad because I thought Ike was going to punish me?"

"What they did to you – those Sisters of Sadism or whatever they were – wasn't right. What your father did you wasn't right. People aren't like that. My people aren't like that."

She smiles like she's just discovered the secret formula for turning asparagus into chocolate. "And assuming that they are like that offends them. I got it." Her smile dips a notch. "I should probably apologize to Greta and Ike."

"You should probably keep your mouth shut so everyone can move past this completely craptastic morning."

"Okay," she chirps. She's as mercurial as Ike. Great. Two of them. Just what I need. "Think you can do the right one, now?"

"The right what?"

"Calf." She jiggles her left leg for emphasis.

I glance down. Sure as shit, I've been massaging her left calf for who knows how long. Rather than give in to her request, I shove both legs off my lap. She pouts but doesn't press the issue.

"How much magical protection can I feasibly give my pack when they are away from the house?"

Two minutes into her response, I realize my mistake: I should have been more specific. There's no need for protection against gnomes or leprechauns or fairies. I'm pretty sure there hasn't been a Ruthgar infestation in North America since the 1800s. When she pauses to take a breath, I slap a hand across her mouth.

"Practical protection, Princess, against things like magical trackers, hexes/curses, and memory spells."

I remove my hand. She takes off like a chipmunk on crack. I honestly had no idea there were so many protection amulets available. This isn't going to work. I don't know enough about magic to make an informed decision about which amulets my people should wear. Normally I would consult Sally, but she's no longer a reliable source of magical information.

Trust is a two-way street. I've been preaching it to Az; it's time for a little less talking and a little more doing. "This your pack, too. This is your family you have to protect. What five amulets would you suggest they wear for maximum protection?"

I can only hope that she understands the true meaning of family - pack family and not the back-stabbing witch and Mage family she grew up in. She starts to answer. I press a finger across her open mouth. No thank you. My head already hurts. I don't need additional magical knowledge killing valuable brain cells.

"Write them down. Make a shopping list. Jose and I will pick up the supplies today, and then you'll give him instructions on how to make them."

"What are your thoughts on tattoos? The Writ of Angalis would be awesome against mind control, but it has to be inked onto the skin for maximum protection." She lifts the hem of her yoga pants to her knee. Two lines of gray text appear just below her knee cap. "Short and sweet."

"I'll discuss it with the others." Oscar has a fear of needles, but I'm sure we could work around it. Or knock him out. As long as she isn't going to suggest we tattoo the writ with blood or other bodily fluids.

"I'll put it on my list."

She pops to her feet. I rise at a much slower pace. She may have aching calves, but she's not the one who carried a giggly, bouncy void for six miles. Hopefully Tommy's left enough hot water for me to work the kinks out of my back.

"Az," I call before she can reach the back door. She stops and turns but doesn't return to my side. Good. We need a little distance. There's still a river of rage I need to deal with, and I don't want to scare her with it. Maybe I'll take a trip to the punching bag in the garage before I shower.

She arches an eyebrow when I take too long to pose my question. Impatient void.

"How can you be so calm about your past?" I ask.

She squirms. For a moment I think she's going to blow me off, but then she meets my gaze. Her eyes are older, dimmer, than usual. "There are many things that could drive me crazy: being a greeter at a witches' convention, riding a dragon bareback, manning the kissing booth at a leprechaun fair, or spending a little too much time in a magic store. I can't let my past be one of those things. If I have to choose between letting it go or clinging to the anger, I'm going to let it go. I have to. It's the only way I'll keep from curling up and offing myself."

"Forgive and forget." It's a nice motto. In theory. For some people.

"I'll forget, Ricky," she says, a cruel smile lifting her lips. The expression on her face wouldn't be out of place on a hunting Shifter. "I never said I'd forgive."