Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

Given Az's warning about something magical following me during my run, I'd like to cancel her shopping trip and focus on beefing up our wards. That's not practical, though. All she has is the small duffel of clothes Greta picked up for her a week earlier. No identification, either. So much for letting her and Jose run wild with the pack credit card and maintaining my sanity.

When I emerge from my freshly bleached shower, she's waiting cross-legged on my bed with the box from Claire's apartment. Three crystals and a bundle of dried black weeds are spread out on my duvet. Fine. If she won't bother to respect boundaries, then why should I?

I drop my towel and pad the few feet to the dresser. She doesn't look up from the small wire-bound notebook in her hands. That's… well, I'm not sure how I feel about that, to be honest. And I'm paying way too much attention to our resident pain-in-the-ass. Besides, it's too cold to be standing naked under an air vent. If she does look up right now, let's just say it'll be a less-than-impressive experience for her.

"You should wear the blue shirt," she says, flicking notebook pages and still not looking at me.

I pull out a red Henley. I haven't let a woman dress me since I was six. I'm not about to start now. Dressed, I toss a pair of socks on the bed and sit on the edge to put them on. One of the crystals rolls toward me and jabs me in the small of the back. Damn pointy crystals.

"Don't throw it across the room. It'll just make a hole in the wall and piss you off," she warns, finally glancing up from the notebook. "I think that I've been thinking about this all wrong."

Well, there's a statement that could mean just about anything. I arch an eyebrow. She huffs and rolls her eyes. We're getting this nonverbal thing down fairly quickly. If only I could trust her to follow my direction when we're in public.

"Claire writes about the things her Master – her capitalization, not mine – has had her do. They're little things like stealing and performing surveillance spells. She does mention working with a L.U. from another coven."

"We suspected he had other minions that he was using."

"They killed a gyrfalcon." Her nose crinkles. She turns the page. Her eyes flit across the paper. "She suspected that someone she calls L.U. killed a young centaur."

A serious mistrust of the "human" justice system runs deep in the centaur community. The same can be said for most of the PC – the Paranormal Community. If a centaur was killed, no one would report it to the authorities. The Herd would deal with the threat on their own. I worked a missing leprechaun case once. Asking around for information was a lot like banging my head against the wall and expecting an epiphany.

"Killed the centaur because he/she was ordered to do so?"

"Yeah." She tosses the book back in the box and wipes her hands on her jeans as if actually tainted by the dead witch's writing. "He wouldn't kill the centaur himself. There are lines witches can't cross."

I know this. It's why Sally has often called me in to deal with a few nastier details. "If the balance is upset, they may not be able to do certain things like healing or reading auras. Magical karma or some bullshit like that."

Az leans back on her elbows and crosses her ankles. Neon pink socks press against my hip. At least she doesn't have her muddy shoes on my bed. "It's not bullshit. It has to do with the type of energy you can draw on and a bunch of things you really don't care about."

She's learning. Hopefully that means I won’t have to suffer through many unnecessary magic lessons. "So he has his minions kill for him so that his karma stays lily white."

"Well, if he ordered them to kill it would cause a small stain, but nothing near the level of actually doing the deed. Still, a centaur. That's harsh. They're loners. They avoid witches like the plague."

"Because witches caused the Centaur Plague of 1883."

Her mouth falls open. What? I paid attention in my history classes. My degree isn't from a fancy Ivy League school, but I majored in paranormal politics. She may know finer points of magical theory, but I know people – and that's a term I use very loosely.

"We'll think about it while we shop." I slap her ankles. "Let's get this over with."

I have to remind her to pack up the box and bring it with us. I don't want to crawl into my bed tonight and jab myself with another crystal. Or crumble up the dried weeds. For all I know, they're the key ingredients in an impotency spell.

Jose appears at the bottom of the stairs as soon as Az's foot hits the floor. He's grinning wider than I've ever seen him smile before. She has a matching expression on her face. They look deranged. No way in hell I'm riding with the two of them in the front of my truck.

"Find her shoes," I instruct Jose. "Meet me in the garage. We'll take Ike's SUV."

I've had someone working on setting up an identity for Az. Her father hasn't sent anything of hers, and I'm not entirely sure she wants to run around as Astraea Vardan. She can't hide from people who already know who she is or who can smell her blood or whatever the hell it was Sally did. She can have some anonymity, though. Just one more layer protection the pack offers.

The guy I use is good. He's the PC's version of witness protection. He will have already started setting up school records, old email addresses, and anything else a person needs to have an established history. She won't have a driver's license because I'm not about to unleash her on unsuspecting (though deserving) Houston drivers. A state id, pack membership id, bank account, and handful of credit cards should be enough.

"Can I be Jose's sister?" she asks after I describe the nature of our first stop.

I glance away from the road long enough to peer in the rearview mirror at the duo seated side-by-side. Jose's dark hair and skin, as well as his square jaw, are a sharp contrast to Az's pale and elfin features. No one would believe they're siblings. Besides, both of Jose’s parents are Shifters, so it’s impossible for a non-Shifter to be Jose’s sister. The key to a false identity is plausibility.

"Jose grew up in Houston. People will be surprised if a mystery sister pops up. You're Ike's little sister. He's from Shreveport. He doesn't talk about his past."

For good reason. Ike's a hereditary Shifter – the mutation is passed down through the father's genes and is recessive in females unless both parents are Shifters - and his Daddy's never shown the slightest hint of fur or fang. Only Greta and I know what Ike endured after his first transformation. Let's just say that I'm starting to wonder if there's something in the water in Louisiana that makes fathers turn on their children.

"Okay," she agrees. As if she has a choice.

It takes twenty minutes to get Az's identity sorted. Fifteen of those are wasted retaking pictures because they don't meet Jose's ridiculous standards. It's an id card, not the cover of People. Identification photos are supposed to look shitty.

"You got my birthday right," she says once we're in the SUV. All her cards are tucked in the pink leather wallet Ike had purchased for his new 'sister'. She won't stop staring at her pack membership id.

Yeah. It was real hard to look up a twenty-five year old birth announcement. Took a whole three minutes on Google. "We're changing your name and your history, Princess, there are some things you get to keep."

Jose explains the basics of video calls while I drive to Harold's Hallowed Emporium. I can't keep a straight face when I say the name, and the tiny store doesn't fit the description of 'emporium', but Harry stocks quality stuff. Unlike a few other shops in the area, he doesn't openly discriminate against Shifters.

Princess stays in the car with Jose's phone – I make a note to get her something better than the burner – while Jose and I head into the store. This is going to be a disaster. I can feel it. It makes my teeth itch.

Jose's in charge of the list. I'm in charge of holding the phone up to the items for visual confirmation from Az. She is in charge of getting on every one of my nerves.

"Could you hold the phone steadier? All that wobbling is making my head hurt."

"No, no, tilt it to the left. My left. Okay. Now back. Closer. Whoa! Whoa! Too close."

"We want the not-blue one. No. That's blue. I said not-blue. Yes. Green. That's what I said, isn't it?"

"Yean Finger. It's not an actual finger. It's a root that looks like a finger – not a human finger, though. It was named by the -." A moment of blessed silence. Even Jose looks a little frazzled. The phone rings. "Did you hang up on me?"

"Stop!" Her voice echoes off the shelves. There's only one item left on the list. I sure as hell hope she's not making additions. "Turn around. Slowly."

Growling, I comply. This is the last time – and I mean the absolute last time – that I am doing this with her. Any magic supplies she needs, she can order off the internet. "What?"

She presses her face against the phone as if that's going to make the image any clearer. "I want to see what's on the fourth shelf. The Gravita Inker. The – the copper thing that looks like a pitcher with an eyedropper in the handle."

I see it. It's too high for me to hold the phone up without looking like a dumbass. I reach for it to pull it down, but she stops me.

"No! Don't touch that. Just… don't move!"

This time she hangs up on me. I call back. She doesn't answer. When I hit the redial button a second time, I can hear Jose's phone ringing from behind me. A warm, solid weight slams into my side and wraps its arms around my waist. Two hot hands wriggle under my shirt and clamp onto my flesh.

"The hell, Az?"

"If I absorb energy from you, I'm less likely to take enough from the items in here to negate their charges. And, it's possible that the sheer amount of magic in the room won't overwhelm me because I'm using your energy to block it out."

"It'll make you less crazy."

She tilts her head back to blink up at me. "Yes."

That's all I need to hear. "What's so special about the pitcher? We have a ton of pitchers at home."

"It's for blood. Not many rituals use blood – not anymore – but there are a few that do. The Gravita Inker has an inscription that keeps the blood fresh for up to two days."

"So why couldn't Rick touch it?" Jose asks, shuffling closer to Az.

"Because it's only used in rituals that use Shifter blood. The rite that keeps the blood fresh also keeps the Inker full. If a Shifter touches it while it's empty, it'll take blood from the Shifter." She scowls at the innocuous looking device of doom. "And it's not friendly about it."

All the items on that shelf are covered with a thin layer of dust except for the Inker. Someone's touched it recently. Replaced a sold one, perhaps? Why in the hell is anyone selling something that uses Shifter blood?

I send Jose off to find the last item on the list and check out. Princess and I need to have a conversation with Harry. A friend of the pack, indeed. With friends like Harry and Sally, why bother with enemies?

Harry's an aged hippie beanpole. He smiles congenially when I approach the counter. He even offers a wave to my void-turned-octopus. Az gives him a fairly impressive growl.

"Find everything you need, Rick?"

"I have a question about the pitcher in aisle eight. Top shelf. Copper. Weird handle."

Harry's cheeks flush. I can hear the changes in his heart rate and the hitch in his breathing. Busted. He licks his lips twice and swallows. Long, tapered fingers drum on the countertop. "You don't want that, Rick. If it's a pitcher you need, I have a nice Waterford one behind the counter. Beautiful craftsmanship. It'll make a great gift for a special little lady."

The special little lady at my side starts to peel herself off me. I clamp a hand on her shoulder. Jose has just finished checking out and is moving toward us. I don't want her to drain the voodoo out of everything we just purchased. That would only mean having to repeat this exercise in patience.

"Here," I say as I pluck the keys out of Az's pocket and toss them to Jose. "Run those ingredients home. Greta's waiting on them. Pick us up at the ice cream place around the corner. I promised Az a treat."

Jose doesn't argue over the change of plans. He flashes Az a worried smile before scurrying out of the store. I wait until I hear the roar of the SUV's engine to turn back to Harry.

"Gravita Inker," Az mutters. Her fingernails have dug furrows into my skin. "You have one."

"Oh, that old thing?" Harry's nervous laughter fools no one. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I hate being lied to. Especially about things that threaten my pack.

"That 'old thing' is the only object on that damn shelf not coated with dust." I take particular delight in the pounding of Harry's pulse. His fear is potent. Not a witch or anything other than human, Harry is fragile. So breakable.

"Rick, I'd never -."

"Who did you sell one to?"

"Most recently?"

I don't like that question. It implies that there have been multiple sales of that damn device. My Shifters haven't been safe for a long time. How could I have missed it?

"All sales. I want to see the records."

Harry rushes to comply with the demand. Fangs often translate the urgency of a request. Az slides her arms off my waist. The chill left in their absence only ratchets up my anger. All it would take is one more lie out of Harry's mouth to send me straight into a Shift.

Having a snarling werewolf in the middle of your store is bound to be bad for business.

"I doubt he'd taste very good," Az remarks, hopping up on the counter. Her bouncing heels make the glass in front of the case shake ominously.

"Duplicity is hell on the digestion," I agree.

She grins as she spins then hops down on the other side of the counter. Normally, I'd stop her from being nosy, but Harry isn't my friend. Not anymore. He deserves whatever damage she does to his inventory.

She runs a finger across every item on his 'private' shelves. A few objects require a bit more contact. I let her run amok in Harry's shop because it's kinder than letting myself loose. She'll just ruin him financially. I'm more likely to make it a personal attack.

At the first giggle that erupts from her mouth, I leap over the counter. She's cradling a sapphire orb and cooing at it like it's a baby. Before she can lick it or stick it in her pocket, I grab her by the waist and tuck her up against me. The orb, now a muddy gray, goes back on the shelf.

"Okay, Princess. That's enough. Need a clear head for all the shopping we have left to do, don't you?"

"Just one more. Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

Her smile shifts from silly to sultry. Her eyelids droop. She melts against me. "I'll make it worth your while."

"You not being batshit is worth my while, Az."

And, just like that, she goes from seductress to pouting five-year-old. "You're no fun."

"Something you should remember. Besides, I have a feeling you're going to regret this in a few hours." At least I hope she does. If overloading on magic is like binge drinking, then she's due for a hell of a hangover. That'd make a nice deterrent from running wild in magic stores every time someone pisses her off.

Harry's hands shake as he hands over a pile of handwritten receipts. Most of the names don't mean anything to me, but Az perks up at one. Lucretia Updike. L.U. The L.U. Claire suspected of killing a centaur?

Centaurs are like Shifters. We don't consider each other family, but there are deep genetic similarities. Would a Gravita Inker work with centaur blood?

"Yes," Az murmurs. "Whatever you're imagining, the answer is yes."

"Your pack is small." When he was back retrieving receipts, Harry must have also retrieved his balls. "I can't deny customer requests because of your pack. You don't buy much, and the witches -."

"Stop talking."

My arms and back tingle with the need to Shift. I have to get out of the store and away from Harry before I do something I'll regret. Shoving the receipts in my pocket, I hop over the counter and then drag Az over.

"Sell one of these again, and it'll be the last buck you make." They're shitty last words, but it's hard to talk when you're fighting a Shift.

Az gives the door a hearty slam behind us. Two glass panes break. Harry's shouts of protest follow us down the street.

Centaurs are like Shifters. The magic is different. So are the energy signatures. Since they're stuck in a mid-Shift form, some people view them as half-Shifters. They're less violent, too. If you wanted to experiment on something like a Shifter without actually having to use a Shifter, then a centaur would be a good place to start.

Az slides a hand into mine. Her short legs have to work twice as hard to keep up with me, but she doesn't complain. "Did you know that once upon a time, there were almost as many witches as trees in the Black Forest?"

"No." And I don't see the point to this little story. I don't want to hear about anything involving fucking witches. If she's trying to calm me down, she's doing a terrible job.

"It's an exaggeration, but there were over three thousand witches living in camps. They said the smoke from all the cauldrons was so thick it was like fog. But there was a pack of werewolves in the heart of the forest. A medium-sized pack of about two hundred Shifters. The witches crept closer and closer to the pack. They wanted all of the forest to themselves."

"Fucking witches."

"Fucking witches indeed." She squeezes my hand. "Eventually, the witches attacked the werewolves with silver weapons and arrows laced with wolfsbane."

I growl. She laughs. "The wolves won. Two hundred Shifters versus three thousand witches. Only two witches survived. The Shifters sent them out of the forest to spread a warning. There haven't been witches in the Black Forest since."

"I've never heard that story."

Az shrugs. "It's not something the Council wants spread around. The Tragedy of 1546 is what it's called."

Now that sounds familiar. "That was a plague."

"It was a massacre." She waves a hand dismissively. "Not the point."

"Oh? There was a point?"

"Irritant," she accuses with a chuckle. "The point is that witches fear Shifters. You may not have the magical capability, but you're stronger. Nearly impossible to kill. Bursting with energy."

"We're a threat."

Her beaming, proud smile burns away the urge to Shift. "To anyone looking to build a power base. Your pack is tiny, but you're well-known in the area. You're loyal. Smart. You have ties to the community. If someone tries to take over, it's a good bet you'll stand in their way."

"How do witches kill Shifters?"

"With other Shifters."

Shifters will fight over territory or over anything, really, but we don't follow orders from anyone outside our hierarchy. Especially not from witches or the Council. Something Az wrote after the confrontation with Claire makes sense now. It would explain why someone would need centaur blood and why Claire spouted all that crap about dirty Shifters.

"Test tube Shifters."

Az frowns as she considers it and then nods. "All of the strength and energy. None of the free will. Perfect."

Perfectly shitty.

Az tugs on my hand to keep me moving. "C'mon. I see Jose parked down the street. We need to finish shopping. There's a store he told me about that sells amazing shoes. Nothing but shoes. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Is it too much to ask for the apocalypse to hit before the shopping marathon begins?