Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

After the attack, Az stays so close to me it’s as if she’s velcroed herself to my side. She hovers while Hank cleans and stitches the wounds on my torso. They’ll heal slower if I’m in human form, but I can’t get much done as a wolf. Someone has to update Greer, after all.

Jose and Greta are currently holed up in the kitchen preparing Greta’s chicken soup. It’s her cure for everything from the sniffles to a broken limb. Judging by the smells wafting down the hallway, the soup will be accompanied by Jose’s flaky garlic biscuits. The others are either resting or reviewing the footage from the security cameras around the house.

“Did you fall in a ditch, roll around in mold, and then shove some in your ears?” Az asks from where she’s sprawled out on the couch in the study. Passing the energy on to me relieved her of the need for a temporary break from sanity, but she’s still prone to spurts of absurdity.

“No.”

“Hmm.” She taps her chin with her index finger. “Did you piss off a leprechaun? They’ll curse you for looking at them funny.” She laughs. “They do look funny, though. Those big ears and that nose. Whew. I’d hate to be the leprechaun who has to clean the bathroom.”

“There weren’t any leprechauns, Az.”

Her trying to figure out what is “off” about me is likely to drive me around the bend. I’ve told her to wait until she’s back at full capacity, but she doesn’t listen. Surprise, surprise.

“Good. Shifty little creeps. Can’t trust ‘em.” She rolls off the couch and skips across the room. Her nose is in my face before I can blink. “Dusty. You smell dusty. And wrong.”

“So you’ve said, Princess. About a dozen times.” I push her away. She’s showered and changed, but the scent of not-Shifter blood lingers on her skin. It’s just enough to keep me on the edge of Shifting. “Why’d you kiss me to transfer the magic? Does it always have to be that way?”

Her wide grin opens the fresh wound on her lower lip. “Nope. Any touch at all will do it.”

“Then we’re back to why.”

“Gee, Ricky, if you have to ask that question, then maybe I’m not doing it right,” she teases with a flirtatious wink. She shoves aside the reports from the sensors and perches on the edge of the desk. She reaches for my phone, but stills before her fingers can close around it. “Fudgesicles. Take off your shirt.”

Does she think this is Chippendale’s? I don’t strip on command. Not for free. Especially not when raising my hands over my head hurts like a bitch. “No.”

She huffs, rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She spins my chair around so that my back is to her. Warm hands slip under the hem of my t-shirt and dance up my spine before flattening over the Writ of Anglais tattoo on my shoulder. “It’s hot.”

“You can’t even see it, Princess.”

“Jerkwad,” she accuses without any feeling. “I mean it’s hot to the touch. Someone tried to use a memory spell on you.” She presses her face against the back of my neck. The slide of her tongue across my skin sends a shiver racing down my spine and through my pulse. “Yep. Memory spell. It went splat as soon as it hit you. That’s why I smell dust. Shoulda caught it sooner.”

“Are you sure?” I want to take back the question as soon as it’s asked. I can’t doubt her knowledge. Not when it’s been right so far.

She pulls away slowly. There’s a definite chill in the air between us. I try to turn, but her knees are keeping me in place. I don’t want to hurt her by forcing the issue.

“I can’t do magic. I had to accept that. But when Dad told me that I wouldn’t know magic at all, I refused to roll over and give up. All I’ve done my entire life is study magic. When I say I know it, I don’t just mean that I’m guessing or pulling stuff out of my ass. I know magic, Aldric, more than any Mage you’ll ever meet. I don’t know what else to say or do to make you understand.”

“Okay, then. Memory spell.” I carefully turn so that I’m facing her again. Her small, bare feet wind up in my lap. I pull up the pictures I took from the scene and hand her the phone. “This is what we found near the spike.”

While she flicks through the photos, I search for any information I can find on Mr. Joel Olivet. The website for MagSens is suspiciously rudimentary for a tech company. All the links circle back to the main page as if the site is still under construction. The contact button opens up a form that goes to the web administrator’s address, which likely means it goes to no one at all. Joel Olivet is listed as a tech, but there is no contact information for him.

I’m not in the mood for a conversation with Matt, but I need to know who the county has contracted to monitor the sensors. His secretary can’t go to the bathroom without asking for Matt’s permission first, so calling her is out of the question. Guess that means I have to call Greer. Again.

He doesn’t remember Olivet. No one who was at the scene remembers the smarmy bastard. Greer checks his notes, but there is nothing on Olivet. When he questions my sanity and my sobriety, I text him the picture of Olivet. Still nothing.

The picture does keep Greer from hanging up on me, though. He listens to my description of the meeting and looks up information on who the county contracts. MagSense – with the “e” is the name of the company. Their website doesn’t list Joel Olivet anywhere.

When I tell Greer this, he asks who in the hell Joel Olivet is and why he’s of interest. I disconnect the call. It’s not as satisfying as throwing my phone out the window, but it preserves the crime scene photos.

“Good news,” Az chirps. “If it’s looping like that it’s not a total wipe. I can break it, and Detective Greer will remember Mr. Olivet.”

“You don’t have to kiss him, do you?” I don’t particularly want to envision Greer kissing anyone, but the thought of his thin lips anywhere near Az is revolting.

“Nah. Proximity should do it. All I need to do is negate the magic.” She retrieves the phone out of my grasp and studies Olivet’s picture. “Warlock. Definitely. Memory spells, even the simple ones, aren’t for amateurs. They aren’t included in any spell books so they have to be taught.”

“Is he from one of the old families?” There has to be a reason for the memory spell. It could be that Olivet’s hiding from the police for any number of reasons, but my gut says otherwise. Olivet’s involved in the not-Shifter mess.

“Not the list Uncle Evan gave me. All of them have been accounted for. None of them are the bad guy.” Her nose crinkles. “Well, they aren’t the bad guy we’re looking for right now.”

Another thing I’ll need to look for when I go through the Register of Witches. If Joel Olivet isn’t the smarmy bastard’s real name, then I’ll be out of luck. My only other option at that point would be to pass the picture around the PC community to see if anyone recognizes him. Fun times.

“Uriah reads two levels below his current grade,” Az announces as she watches me log on to the RoW. “It’s why he has a C in history. He works hard, though, and with a little help and tutoring should do better in all of his classes.”

She doesn’t frame it as an accusation, but it still stings. I’ve tried to do all I can for Uriah, but the pack and my work take up the majority of my time. The pack takes care of its own, but sometimes little things fall through the cracks. Uriah isn’t one to ask for help, either.

“I’m going to help him as much as I can, and Jose will, too,” she continues. “Quinn wants to sit in on the tutoring sessions.”

“Thank you.”

She laughs. “Don’t thank me too much. I have an ulterior motive.”

What possible ulterior motive could she have for wanting to help a teenager graduate from high school? My confusion must show on my face because she laughs again. “Jose has a crush on one of the librarians. Spending time at the library will help Uriah and give Jose the opportunity to chat up the very dreamy Mr. Lucas Harney.”

Dreamy, huh? I can’t believe there’s anything dreamy about a librarian. Would a pretty-boy librarian be able to protect her from a pair of not-Shifters? “Remember the rule, Az,” is all I can say without sounding like a jerk.

“We’ll stay together,” she promises, eyes twinkling as though she’s heard my thoughts.

There is a Joel Olivet listed in the RoW. The address listed is far from where the bodies were found. There had been no spikes near his Galleria-area house, but that’s not surprising. It’s bad form to slay where you sleep.

Princess jots down all of Mr. Olivet’s pertinent information. Something about the name of his mother – Mary-Reinette Dubois Olivet – makes her forehead wrinkle. Is it a name she recognizes? When I ask, she launches into a ten-minute ramble on a branch of the Dubois family who tried, but failed, to take the New Orleans region – both the magical and financial empires - from her great-great-grandfather in the late 19th century. I can keep up when she talks about prostitution, gambling houses, and brothels, but as soon as she starts talking about binding spells and draining wards she loses me.

Salvation comes in the form of Greer and one uniformed officer. I send the officer with Hank and Ike to survey the damage done to the neighborhood. Jose and Tommy have already started making a list of what repairs need to be done. I’ll speak with the neighbors before the night is over.

Az shakes Greer’s hand. I can see the moment the memory spells falls apart. He reddens with anger. Veins bulge in his neck and in his forehead. I fear, for a moment, that he’s going to stroke out in the middle of my office. Definitely not something I need to cap off a shitty day.

I still don’t tell Greer about the not-Shifters. He has enough to deal with, and my earlier reason stills stands. The HPD isn’t equipped to deal with not-Shifters. Even if they were, Greer isn’t my first choice to lead the charge.

He grills Az on memory spells. I have to give her credit for keeping her cool. She explains things in terms even a small child could understand. Funny how she expects me to already know all the magic jargon, but she treats Greer like a layman.

“He’s not a powerful as he’d like you to think,” she says once her explanation is done. “A complete wipe would have been ideal. It’s draining, but doable. Even on the fly. Whatever he did before he met y’all killed his reserves. The cover-and-loop was an ugly Band-Aid.”

Greer storms out of the house, ready to rain fire down on Olivet’s head for messing with Greer’s memory and his precious notebook. I don’t bother asking to be part of the team that searches Olivet’s house. It’s unlikely he’s there. He’s probably hiding the remaining the bodies. Or preparing his next round of not-Shifters. Either way, he’s working away from home.

Over a dinner of heavenly soup and warm, garlicky biscuits, I lay down the law. No one is to go anywhere without at least two other pack members. It means that a few will have to carpool, but it’s been done before. Az and I will drive Uriah and Quinn to school every morning. Jose and Hank will stay home with those too wounded to return to work. Had I made my proclamation before the attack, there would have been some grousing. With evidence of the danger evident in bandages and broken bones, there are no complaints.

Hours later, movement outside my bedroom doorway rouses me from a light doze. I pull open the door expecting to find any one of the more nocturnal pack members. Princess, in pink plaid pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt that looks suspiciously like one that used to be in my drawer, stands in the hallway. She looks shell-shocked.

“What’s wrong, Princess?”

It takes her a moment to turn toward me. Her movements are sluggish. Thoughtful. Her cheeks are flushed, and the knuckles wrapped around her book are white. “I was going to sleep with Greta and Ike. The chair by their window is comfy, and they said they didn’t mind. I don’t think they expected me up here this early.”

Ouch. I walked in on Greta and Ike so many times during the early years that I’ve learned to block out anything I may accidentally see. Most of the pack has done the same. For the uninitiated, it has to be a little awkward. I’m not sure anyone ever gave Az the birds-and-bees lecture. If not, then watching a live demonstration has to be startling.

“I’ve never… I mean, I guess I should have expected something like that at some point, but to see it… When you’re not expecting it. I just….” She frowns, eyes me warily. “Is that something you like?”

Ah, hell. What exactly did she walk in on? Ike and Greta have been in a relationship for years, and neither is particularly inhibited. The possibilities are endless. They are, after all, the reason for the soundproofing. I’m not sure this is a conversation we need to have in the middle of the hallway.

Not that the location or the possibility of being overheard seem to matter to Az. “I like you,” she says. “Really like you. So there are a lot of things I’ll do, and I’ll try just about anything once, but I’m going to have to put my foot down on this one. Just thinking about it makes me gag.”

With a hand on her elbow, I drag her into my room. I pace in front of the closed door while I work through a jumble of thoughts. “If, and this is a big if, we ever pursue a relationship there are two things you need to know. First off, I would never try to make you do something you’re uncomfortable with. If it’s no fun for you, it’s no fun for me, sweetheart. Secondly, we don’t have to dive into the deep end of anything straight off. We can talk about things. Whatever reservations you have can be worked out.”

“I’m ninety-five percent certain my tongue isn’t designed to work that way,” she interrupts.

Her tongue? She’s concerned about her tongue? The same tongue I’ve seen scrape across the wall of a holding cell? What in the hell did she see?

“I get that social grooming is an animal thing. I’m sure it happens all the time around here. I’m just telling you upfront that you’re going to have to go somewhere else to get that particular need filled. Hairballs are not a turn on.”

“Grooming!” She caught Greta and Ike grooming. Of course she did. It’s a comfort thing for foxes. Now I feel like a complete jackass.

“What did you think I was talking about, Ricky?”

“I thought you walked in on them doing… it.”

Az blinks once. A sly smile steals across her face. “It? You mean sex. You thought I caught Greta and Ike having sex.” She shakes her head and laughs. “It’s just a word. Three letters. S-E-X. I won’t swoon from the sound of it. Sex.”

Playful Az is my favorite, but not when the jokes come at my expense. And I really wish she’d stop saying sex so often. At midnight. In my room. In my t-shirt. At least Greta is spared the embarrassment of having to give her the talk.

I know I’m going to regret this, but I don’t like surprises. “Have you even had sex, Az?”

“With someone other than myself? Nope.”

Oh. Thanks for that. Good news is I’ll save the pack money by not using as much hot water this month. I keep my eyes on the top of her head and not on her hands. God, those hands on those… hell.

Still smiling like a Sphinx, Az plops on the edge of the bed. “When I was seventeen, I spent seven months at the Library of Sheiala near Seattle. Largest collection of books in the Pacific Northwest. The Librarians are big on spreading knowledge and, fortunately for me, not real big on keeping guests locked up. As long as I stayed quiet and did my chores, I could read anything I wanted.”

I’ve noticed that she’s had access to books in every place she’s been. Perhaps that’s why she enjoys reading so much. It’s the only constant she’s ever had. That explains why she was so appalled over Uriah’s reading difficulty.

“So you read about sex,” I say. She was seventeen. That’s not really surprising.

“Oh, I read everything. Romances. Self-help books. Religious texts. Instruction manuals.” She waggles her eyebrows. “I even got my hands on a copy of the Kama Sutra.”

“Yeah. Real accurate picture you got there, Princess. I’m not sure half those positions are physically possible.”

“I would never try to make you do something you’re uncomfortable with,” she deadpans.

Bitch. “Go to bed, Az.”

“Can’t.” She pouts. Drags her knees up to her chest and tries to look as pathetic as humanly possible. She’s disturbingly good at it. “I washed my hair so Jose’s out of the question. Hank snores. Ike and Greta are, obviously, unavailable. I’m not cozy enough with the others to show up on their doorsteps. Besides, most of them are hurt and cranky.”

“Here’s a thought: how about you sleep in your room? You know, that pink monstrosity designed just for you.” The one with the brand new memory foam mattress and the iron headboard that weighs more than its appearance would suggest. The bed she has never, as far as I know, spent a single night in.

“You,” she starts softly, pauses to lick her lips, “and the pack are everything I’ve ever dreamed of having. Everything. And dreams don’t come true. Not in the real world - especially not in my world.”

I know where this is going. After years of indifferent caregivers and having only herself for companionship, she’s basking in the novelty of being part of a family and she’s fearful it’ll all disappear. “If you go to sleep by yourself, you’re afraid you’ll wake up that way.”

“Yes.”

Okay, Princess. You win. “Get in bed. Left side. Under the covers.”

“I don’t have to go to sleep right away, Rick. I have my book, and there’s a perfectly good chair.”

Knowing her predilection for perching on my furniture, it’s more likely she’ll camp out on the armoire. “The hell you’re keeping me awake with that damn booklight. Get in bed.”

When at home, I don’t sleep Shifted. I need to be able to do human things like answer the phone, open the door, and fire a gun. Az sleeps with the others in their animal forms, though, and after the big conversation we just had about being comfortable I don’t want to screw up before we even get out of the gate.

Az is already tucked in on the left side of the bed when I emerge from the closet. She snaps off the bedside lamp before my first paw reaches the mattress. The bed creaks under my weight. I’ve never slept in this bed as the wolf. I hope to hell I don’t rip up the sheets.

“G’night, Ricky,” she murmurs into the darkness.

The scent of magnolias curls around me as she moves. She rolls back and forth six times before heaving a weary sigh. Great. Neither of us is going to get any sleep. This was a terrible idea. I raise my head to look at her.

“Sorry. Sorry.” She rolls again. One arm lands across my torso. Az stretches out along my back so that the point of her chin digs into side of my neck. Warm, even breath stirs the hair on my ears.

On pack retreats I sleep alone. I’ve never Shifted in the presence of a romantic partner. I’ve never been secure enough with one to expose myself in such a manner. Shifting is personal. The wolf is vulnerable in ways the human form isn’t.

Az isn’t the only one treading in uncharted territory.

And she’s not the only one who fears it’ll vanish with the rising sun.