Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

Locating dead witches via magic spikes isn’t as easy as I originally figured. There are fifteen spikes in the downtown area alone. Since I highly doubt this jackoff is doing all this in the middle of Montrose, I widen the search. Seventeen spikes between the 610 loop and the Beltway. Another twelve spikes in the outlying ‘burbs. Forty-four spikes in all.

“Does your fancy magic math tell us what range we should be looking in, Princess?”

Her head pops up from behind – surprise, surprise – a book. It’s one of my old calculus textbooks. How thrilling. “Yep.”

“Care to share with the rest of the class?”

“Anything under 52.8 hectomana per square foot is a complete waste of time.”

And we’re down to eight spikes. I skip the three in the city, for now, and print out the information on the ones furthest from downtown. The two highest spikes – 87.6 hmpsf and 81.5 hmpsf respectively – are at least twenty-five miles from the heart of Houston. That’s a good place to start.

One is in LaPorte, an industrial section near the ship channel and the Gulf of Mexico. Something about all the refineries in the area raises the mana level. I’m sure if I ask Az she’ll give me a two-hour explanation. No thank you.

The other spike is in Spring, on the north side of Houston. The plots are larger out there. There would be plenty of room for the not-Shifters to roam. I like it better than I like the spot in LaPorte. There is nothing in the area to influence the mana level.

I check the location against the list of addresses I compiled based on the names the Mage of St. Louis gave Az. None of the members of the old families live in the area, but that’s not surprising. It’s bad form to kill where you sleep.

The wow wow wow bark of a fox comes from the direction of the couch Az is seated on. I know that bark. It’s Ike’s bark, but Ike is supposed to be off romping with Greta and not cuddling up with Az. The bark sounds again.

“Detective Greer says thanks for the update on Claire’s murder,” she announces. “He won’t be quite so thankful when he checks with a few sources and realizes that Poerign hasn’t been used since the ‘20s because it’s scary unreliable. That’s a bridge I don’t look forward to crossing.”

Huh? What does Greer have to do with Ike barking? “Why is Ike here?”

“He’s not.”

“I heard him.”

She laughs. “That’s my phone. Jose and I recorded a ton of sounds last night. Ike’s my text alert. I used Jose purring as my ringtone. I wanted to set up each pack member with their own tone, but that could get confusing. You have too many barkers.”

That explains why I heard Ike. Sorta. “Why is Greer texting you?”

“Because he knows you won’t respond to him.”

“When did he get your number?”

“When you sent him over to ruin my quiet time.”

Yeah. I don’t feel an ounce of regret for foisting the good detective off on Az. Pain shared is pain halved. Except when I have to hear her whine about it. Then it’s pain doubled. As long as Greer doesn’t start going straight to her and bypassing me, I suppose there’s no harm in a few texts.

I download thirty-six hours of history for the sensor on Riley Fuzzel Road. The baseline for the area is around 16.8 hmpsf. Six hours before the attack at Dora’s Box, the level jumped to 36 hmpsf. An hour afterwards, it hit 96.1. It didn’t drop below 85 for another three hours. I may not be able to do magic math, but it looks fishy.

“Look at these readings, Princess. I think I’ve found the location.”

She leaves her book and her barking phone on the couch and balances on the arm rest of my office chair. There’s a red pen in her hand. Before she can draw on her arm, my arm, or the desk, I hand her a notepad.

“Increase of 19.2… no reduction for 60 minutes, which means something big was countering the Quals Effect. Spike up another 60 hectomana. Ouch. The differential gives you… factor in Merlin’s Variable…..” Her hand moves as fast as her lips. I am impressed. I did all right in regular math and accounting classes. I never cracked open an alternative math textbook. Blending physics, calculus, chemistry, and magic makes my brain hurt.

“Nice job, Rick,” she says after completing her calculations. “Since the Council frowns on draining witches to the point of death, there’s no actual record of what the mana residue should be, but I’d say this is where it happened.”

All right, then. Looks like we’re making a trip out to Spring. The Peckinpaugh Preserve out there, along with Spring Creek, is an excellent place for body disposal. I’ll call Greer to have him meet us there. If I don’t call Greer until we’re already at the site, well, he can’t kick me off a police case I’m not actually on.

I print out the readings, shove them in a folder with Az’s notes, and shut down the computer. It takes a poke to her thigh to get Az off my chair. She grabs her book and phone on our way to the kitchen. Jose, Uriah and Quinn are gathered around the kitchen table with glasses of milk and a half-empty package of Oreos.

Princess is still in her dress and those ridiculous lace sneakers. “Change,” I instruct. “Practical clothes. Jeans and boots. We’re going off-road for this one. Grab a hat if you have one.”

“Oh, I can’t go with you, Ricky.” Az snags an Oreo out of Uriah’s hand.

“Why the hell not?”

“That’s way too high a concentration for me. Even with spanking new shields and reinforced defenses, I’d only last four minutes. If you were there for me to try to contain the draw, I might last five. But probably not.”

That’s just fantastic. Now I’m stuck with the commercial magic detector. Perhaps if I take swabs and bring them home she could still pick up something. I give myself a mental slap. I’ve worked thousands of cases without Az. She makes things easier, but I don’t need her there to hold my hand.

“I can research how they’re making the not-Shifters. I don’t know of any one spell, but I think I know where to start,” she offers. She leans over Quinn’s shoulder to peer at the worksheets spread in front of the two teens. “Oh! Never mind. History! Can I help?”

Uriah glances over at me for approval before waving a hand over his homework. “If you wanna read this boring ol’ stuff, knock yourself out, Az.”

Hey, if she wants to play study buddy, then I’m not going to deny her. I try to help them as much as I can, but I don’t always have time. “Teach them what’s in the book,” I instruct. “That’s what they’ll be graded on.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n.” She even salutes. Cute. And so not going to fly once her probation period is over.

“Are you two going to stay in for the rest of the day?” I ask Uriah. Of the brothers, he’s the more extroverted. Quinn is quiet, shy. Uriah has Beta potential. Quinn does not.

“We had planned on going to the library to meet up with a few guys from the class. We have a presentation due next week.”

Not by themselves. Not after what happened at Dora’s Box. For all I know, stage two of the beta test involves attacking Shifters. Uriah and Quinn are the two weakest Shifter members of my pack. I had planned on announcing a new rule during dinner, but the four at the table are going to get a preview.

“There was an incident at Dora’s Box. It was ugly, and it means that we all have to be on guard for potential threats. No one goes out alone. Groups of three or more would be preferable. Always have your cell with you and let someone know where you’re headed, when you’ve arrived, and when you’re leaving.”

Quinn and Uriah have only been with the pack for three years. This is the first time I’ve seriously curtailed their freedom. Jose’s lips compress. He reaches across the table to hold Az’s hands. I’m not certain if he’s trying to comfort her or be comforted by her.

“Lockdown protocol?” Jose asks.

“Not yet.” I hope we don’t have to go that far. The house is large – I was lucky to find a foreclosed McMansion with so many bedrooms – but having thirteen Shifters stuck inside together for more than twenty-four hours almost guarantees bloodshed. “We’ll head out to the ranch before that happens.”

The ranch, as the pack calls it, is a hundred acres of wooded property west of Huntsville. There are two doublewides with all the modern amenities, but they hardly see any use. Most of the pack prefers to stay Shifted when at the ranch. It’s one of the few places we can be ourselves completely.

“Az and I will take them to the library,” Jose offers.

He’s not my top pick for the protection squad, but he’s all that’s available at the moment. On my way out, I’ll check with Tommy or Mark to see if they can swing by the library on their way home from work. Jose will have Az with him; I’m not sure if she’ll be helpful or a hindrance.

“Call me when you get there. Call me when you leave. Call if there are any problems.”

Jose nods. At least I know I can trust him to follow the rules. Az abandons her perusal of Uriah’s textbook to skip after me as I head for the door.

“Any special instructions for me?” she asks.

“Stick to Jose. Don’t do anything crazy. Find out all that you can about this spell.”

Her hand shoots out. Thin fingers wrap around my wrist. “Your rules should apply to you, too.”

“No one’s available, Az, and we can’t wait for the trail to disappear. Greer will meet me out there, and he never goes anywhere by himself. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will.” She smiles, but the concern in her eyes calls her a liar. “But if you’re not, you should know that I will be very, very unhappy with you.”

“Can’t have that, now can we? It’s a fate worse than death.”

She pops up on her toes to brush her lips across my cheek. Before the warmth of the kiss fades, she releases my wrist and retreats. “I’m so sorry that I can’t go with you. Take pictures and bring back whatever you can. I’ll work on enhancing my defenses for next time. Not that I think we want a next time, but better safe than stuck at home.”

“You can handle what you can handle, Princess. It makes things inconvenient as hell, but we’ll deal.” I spin her around and give her a small shove toward the kitchen. “Now go back in there and help those boys. Uriah has a C in history and that’s just because his teacher feels sorry for him.”

Greer, four uniformed officers, and a crime scene unit are already near the location on Riley Fuzzel Road when I arrive. The grim expression on Greer’s face is a good indication that this is not going to be a pleasant trip out into the woods.

“I was just going to call you,” Greer says. “Did that psychic of yours tell you about this place?”

“We’re running down a hunch. And she’s not psychic.” At least she’s not this week. At least he’s clear on who Az reports to. “Why are you here?”

“A group of Boy Scouts touring the preserve got more of a science lesson than they were expecting. They found the bodies of what we believe are three deceased females. It’s nothing like anything I’ve come across before.”

Burned out witches aren’t common. It’s sloppy to dump the bodies so close to where the spike occurred. Given all that Az had said, I expected more than three witches. Are there more dumped elsewhere?

On the trek to the dump site, he doesn’t ask after Az. I can only imagine the show she put on for him in the coffee shop. The odor burnt flesh reaches me before we spot the crime scene tape. I pop two mints, but it does little to mask the smell.

“It’s about as bad as the Box,” Greer warns, as if I’m the one in our duo who has booted at a scene.

He’s not lying, though. The bodies are stacked haphazardly on top of each other just off the path. A hasty dump, then. All three have the same injuries. The extremities are charred. Every one of their facial features is sunken into the skull. Trails of dried blood indicate bleeding from the ears, nose, mouth, and eyes.

The women are naked. I use my phone to snap pictures of the symbols burned into their flesh. Judging by the gaping chest wounds, I doubt we’ll find their hearts. Whatever they’ll be used for is bound to be disgusting and creepy. I’m sure Az has a theory or two.

“Does this have to do with the murder of Claire Eras?” Greer asks. “This has all the hallmarks of radical magic. I can’t believe we have two murderers using freaky-ass spells to kill. Not at the same time.”

“Yes. It’s likely these women were killed by the same person who killed Eras.” There’s no point in lying to him. This is getting too big to cover up. Besides, he gets sulky when he learns I’ve kept things from him. I am not in the mood for sulky detectives.

I photograph every inch of the dump site. Greer asks for full disclosure. I don’t give him as much information as I gave the Patriarch. Greer’s susceptible to political pressure. The Patriarch has more at stake.

All Greer needs to know is that a warlock is using witches as his lackeys and draining them to give himself more power. I gloss over the fact that he’s using the power to create not-Shifters. At this point, the police will just hamper the investigation or make things infinitely worse. Greer doesn’t delve too deeply into the why. He just accepts that a warlock wants more power because they’re greedy bastards.

Back near the squad cars, two uniformed officers are talking to a tall, thin man in tailored pants and a white dress shirt. Whatever one of the officers says must frustrate him because he rakes a hand through shaggy dark hair. He reminds me of Matt and Matt’s prissy it-took-me-two-hours-to-look-like-I-just-got-out-of-bed hair.

“Hello. Detective David Greer. You are?” Greer steps forward and extends a hand.

“Joel Olivet.” The man shakes Greer’s hand. Distaste flashes across his face. He completely ignores me. Fine. I learn more as an observer than as a participant.

“This is a crime scene, Mr. Olivet,” Greer says, a touch of steel in his voice. Maybe he’s more perceptive than I gave him credit for. “I’m afraid whatever business you have in the preserve will have to wait.”

I snap a picture of Olivet. Something about him is off. I’d lean in for a sniff, but my senses are still trying to recover from the stench of burnt flesh. It’s a scent that lingers for hours. He’s a warlock. He has to be. He has that smarmy look most warlocks are born with.

“I live in the area. I heard the commotion and, like most citizens, couldn’t resist the allure.”

Fuck me. He even sounds smarmy. I may throw up right here and now. ‘Couldn’t resist the allure’? Who the hell talks like that? Witches don’t ride broomsticks anymore. I guess I know now what they did with the surplus stock of them.

I’m about to leave Greer with the dweeb, when Olivet opens his mouth again. “Did the criminal use magical means, by any chance?”

Greer and I exchange a quick look. Every now and then he and I are on the same page. How does Olivet know magic was involved? Did he feel the spike? Did he cause the spike?

Olivet’s eyes widen. Has he realized his mistake? I’ve heard of cocky killers, but this is just pathetic. He couldn’t stay away from the scene long enough for the first body to be removed?

“I work for MagSens. We installed, maintain, and monitor the sensors in Montgomery County and portions of Harris County.” Olivet fumbles in his pocket. He produces a laminated ID card and hands it to Greer.

Greer looks it over and then passes it on to me. I commit the details to memory. Taking a picture of the ID would be a little too obvious. When I hand the ID back to Olivet, he makes a face at me.

Ah, a Shifter-phobe. Not my first encounter with one. It explain the lack of common courtesy. I give the ID to Greer. Once it’s back in his possession, Olivet wipes the ID with a tissue before returning it to his pocket. Smarmy, closed-minded jackass.

Greer proceeds to question Olivet. Olivet has no alibi. He was working at home alone. He saw the spike but didn’t act on it until he saw the police cars barrel past his house.

There’s no evidence that points to him. Not yet. My gut tells me that something about him is off. As Greer has pointed out many times, my gut holds no weight in court. Which is ridiculous. It’s the most accurate bullshit detector in the state.

Before I can pull Greer aside to give him a few more questions for Mr. Smarmy, my phone chimes. It’s a text from Az. She is, apparently, the official spokesperson for the library crew. While I was examining the witches, she texted me when they left the house, when they got to the library, when Jose wouldn’t let her check out six books on animal training, and when they left the library.

Two messages from Greta follow in quick succession. One from Ike. One from Hank. Oh, shit.

Heart in my throat, I open Az’s message.

“Home. Now.”