Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

The one night I go to sleep with Az in the room is followed by the one morning I wake up alone. She isn’t in bed or perched on the furniture. Whoever taught her stealth did a hell of a job. Given her upbringing, it was like learned out of necessity.

After silencing the alarm by smashing it with a paw, I Shift where I sit. It takes my caffeine-deprived mind a good three minutes to make the transition from four legs to two. On the bright side, the wound in my side is nearly completely healed.

The second floor hallway is quiet. All of the doors are closed. Good. After the attack, my people need to rest and recuperate. No one likes a wounded, grouchy Shifter. They bear a startling resemblance to hand grenades or landmines.

I don’t have to search long to find Az. The back door in the kitchen is open and she’s seated on the threshold. The gray Tevan crystal she liberated from Kooky Claire’s apartment is balanced on her bare toes and her palms are flat against the door jamb.

“Stop staring at me,” she greets, the slightest bit out of breath.

I lean forward to get a better look at her face. A fine sheen of sweat coats her forehead and the hair at the base of her high ponytail is damp. She’s not dressed for a run, and I hope to hell she didn’t leave the house. Some rules don’t have any slack.

“What are you doing, Az?”

“Fueling up the Tevan crystal with all the energy I took from you last night. The wards around the house need a little oomph.”

“I thought it transferring energy was as easy as breathing.”

“It is. Mostly. When I’m not distracted.”

She heaves a sigh and rolls the crystal off her toes. I grab it off the porch while she slowly rises to her feet. Below the hem of her paisley skirt, her knees shake. Holding the crystal in one hand, I wrap an arm around her waist to keep her from collapsing to the floor.

“You transferred too much to the crystal. Hurting yourself doesn’t do anyone any good.”

“Wards actually needed a lot of oomph,” she mutters. “Stupid not-Shifters. All that magic they displace is bad for the wards. Won’t crack ‘em, of course, but it makes the magic unstable.”

Which brings up something I meant to ask after the attack. “If the not-Shifters are made of magic, can you drain them to the point that they are harmless?”

“Sure,” she says. “It’d probably be easier than draining a real Shifter because the magic is forced and not natural. Wouldn’t be as fast as draining a witch because the reserves will be deeper, but it’s totally doable.”

Good. I don’t want that to be our only line of defense against the not-Shifters, but it can work as a last-ditch defense or a way for Az to defend herself. I like having a secret weapon.

She raises her head to frown at me. “Once. I can do it once, Ricky.”

Understanding crashes over me like a ton of bricks. “Because the colossal amount of magic will drive you insane.”

“Farther than I’ve ever been before.” The ends of her frown curl up into a wry smile. “Even with a growly, furry guiding light, I may not be able to find my way back.”

Okay. I know how to solve this problem. “Then you don’t drain one. Ever. Don’t put yourself at risk like that. Ever.”

“I have no intention of making a promise I can’t keep. To protect the pack I would do it.”

By the set of her jaw, I can tell this is an argument I have no shot of winning. At least not before a cup of coffee. Fine. I have time to make her see reason and ensure she’s never in a situation that requires such a sacrifice.

“C’mon, Az. Let’s put that crystal up and then see about breakfast. It’s safe to say there’ll be no running today.”

“Darn,” she manages to say with a straight face, “and I was so looking forward to the torture session.”

Under her vigilant gaze, I bury the crystal near the right rear cornerstone of the ward boundary. The house’s backyard is fully enclosed by a high stone fence. The privacy is excellent for days like today when a few members are in animal form. They can run outside without scaring the neighbors.

On the trek back to the house, Az steers us to the old, octagonal gazebo near the shed. I’ve been meaning to tear down the gazebo for years, but it’s always fallen off my priority list. The roof has more holes than substance. The floor is littered with leaves and twigs, and vines have started curling around the posts.

She uses her hand to wipe dirt and debris off the double chaise lounge in the center of the gazebo. I am tempted to leave her out here with the bugs and potential threat of roof collapse. Before I can turn around, she smiles at me and I somehow find myself sprawled on the cushion next to her. I’m starting to wonder if she isn’t capable of magic after all.

The broken lattice fence on one side of the gazebo does little to obscure the reds, pinks, and purples of the rising sun. The silence between us is comfortable. Welcome. It takes the sting out of realizing I’m in quicksand when it comes to Az. I could easily fall back asleep, but something about the soft warmth pressed against my side keeps me awake.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Az says, finally tearing her eyes off the sunrise. She rolls onto her side so that her head rests right over my heart. Cuddled against my side, she’s as comforting as any blanket.

“Yeah. Mark’s hobby is gardening. He can tell you about every plant here.” I glance around the gazebo. It’s not as bad as I originally thought. “We’ll see what Ike has to say about either fixing up this place or building a new one.”

The temporary peace is as beautiful as the sky above. There are no witches or not-Shifters trying to kill us. No pack members demanding time and attention. No specters of the past waiting to jump out of the shadows. It’s the eye of the storm, I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.

That I get to share the moment with Az doesn’t feel wrong. She’s taken the role of “maybe-friend” and transformed it into something I don’t dare define. She’s bullheaded and irritating and a danger magnet, but she fits. She may very well bring about the end of everything I know and love, but we’re barreling past the point of no return.

“I like sleeping outside. The last time it was for fun and not punishment, I was ten. I spent five months with a clan of seanchaidhthe in Maine.”

Another M state. I am not entirely sure I want to hear this story. She talks about her past as if she’s reading a news report or a cue card, but each horrific tale comes with mental images it takes me hours to shake. She’s the one who lived through the experience, yet I’m the one who has the nightmares. I suppose, in some twisted way, that’s fair.

“Doesn’t sound pleasant.”

She chuckles. Her fingers tangle with mine. “The seanchaidhthe are word weavers. They practice the oldest magic known to man. They live like gypsies. At night, everyone gathers around the fire and the Elder tells a story.”

“Sounds nice.” I suppose. When I was ten, I didn’t have the patience to sit around while some old guy told fairytales. Then again, given her history, it would be a pleasant respite.

“My favorite story is about the creation of the world. Traio and Trevin, twins, made the world but they fought a lot. They took turns one-upping each other in terms of living creatures. The only ones they agreed on were the humans. They multiplied fast and had a surprising capacity for knowledge, but the humans were weak. Fragile as paper dolls.”

I can’t hold back a laugh. Yeah, that just about covers normal humans. As fragile, empty-headed, and one-dimensional as paper dolls. She lifts her head to glare. Smoothing a hand down her back soothes her ruffled feathers.

“Anyway. Traio and Trevin turned the earth into a battlefield. After centuries of fighting and flooding the world with the craziest of creatures, they reached a compromise. They would each create one final being – someone who would eventually control the humans and therefore the rest of the world.”

She stops. Closes her eyes. Stays silent so long I fear she’s fallen asleep on me. “Trevin created the Mages. Gave them the ability to control the magic that filled the air. With unlimited magic at their disposal, he reasoned, they would be unstoppable. Traio created Shifters. She made them of the magic and energy. Wove it into every cell of their bodies. With such strength and unending life support, she reasoned, they would be indestructible.”

“So Mages and Shifters are destined to be at war.” It’s a fancy way of saying what I’ve figured all along.

“Can I finish?” she huffs.

“Sure, go ahead. Tell me the moral of this story.”

“Trevin didn’t want his Mages to be sympathetic to the humans or to the creatures his sister created. He wanted hardened soldiers. So he turned their hearts to stone.” Az presses her lips to my chest. Even through the layers of fabric between us, the heat of the kiss is like fire in my veins. “Traio knew the power of compassion. She wanted her Shifters to fight for the humans out of love and not out of duty. She replaced their hearts with a ball of fire encased in glass.”

Wait. What? Okay, I get that Mages have hearts of stone. It explains a lot, actually. But a ball of fire encased in glass? What’s the point of that shit?

“The more your heart breaks, the more it burns.” She kisses my chest again. “Every heartache makes you fight harder.”

“You sure heard some fucked up bedtime stories, Princess.” It’s a deflection. I know it. She knows it. That she doesn’t call me on it means she gets the gold star for the day. It is way too early in the morning for heavy thinking.

“I’m just saying that this bastard seriously screwed up by attacking the pack. He just made you more determined to stop him. Anyway, do you think you could make French toast for breakfast? It’s been ages since I had any.”

She natters on about breakfast on the way to the house. I don’t care how much she likes French toast. Since I’m the only one up, she’s going to get eggs and regular toast. If she’s lucky, I’ll drink coffee before I make the eggs and they won’t turn to rubber.

“Why were you distracted when you were filling up the crystal?” I ask once the coffee machine has started making liquid perfection.

She hops onto the counter and shrugs a shoulder. Yeah. Not a good sign. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She holds up a hand to stop me when I open my mouth. “Yet. I don’t want to talk about it yet. I need to work it through in my head first.”

“Will whatever this is cause a problem for the pack?” I’m all for giving her time to make things less confusing for those of us not well-versed in voidspeak. I am not as comfortable with things that have the potential to hurt my people.

“No. Yes. Maybe.” She scrubs a hand across her face. “I don’t think you have any witch contacts, and I don’t have access to the Council’s genealogical records. Hacking is not a good idea unless you want to find yourself on the receiving end of an old-school Inquisition. I could ask Uncle Evan, but that’ll mean another favor we’ll – I’ll – owe him. I love him, I do, but I don’t want that hanging over my head. And, there’s a good possibility he’ll just lie to me anyway.”

The pan falls from my hand and lands on the stove with a clatter loud enough to wake the dead. Or at least the entire house. We won’t have much time for a private conversation.

“Your uncle will lie to you.”

She nods hesitantly. Guilt is splashed across her reddened cheeks. “This is why I wanted to get my thoughts together. Stupid, Az. Just go and blurt everything out like a big ol’ blabbermouth.” She smacks her forehead. “Sorry.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re sorry. Let’s get back to the part where you think your uncle – whom you have stated that you trust – will lie to you.”

She doesn’t want to answer. That much is clear by the way her fingers are twisted together and how her gaze are fixed on the microwave. God, it’s too early for so much drama.

“Az. Answer the question.”

“You didn’t pose your request in the form of a question.”

Seriously? Sass? Before my first cup of coffee? After our little moment, or whatever it was, in the gazebo? She’s going to give me a stroke, I just know it.

“Princess.”

Her eyes dart across my face before landing on the dropped pan. “You call me that, but I can’t tell if it’s a term of affection or if you think of me like a pet.”

I’ve never really given it much thought, actually. It’s how I first started thinking of her, and the name just stuck. “Neither, I guess. I mean, it was my first impression and then it just seemed to fit. You’re like a fairy tale princess sometimes – not quite in this reality and too good to be true. Pink and pretty. Nice to everyone. There should be freakin’ bluebirds circling your damn head. You remind me of a Disney character.”

“I’m not the damsel in distress waiting to be saved.”

“Never said you were, Az. Now that I know you better, I’d say you’re more like the talkative, irritating, compassionate sidekick that drives the hero insane yet somehow manages to help save the day.”

“That’s not a particularly flattering description. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll just pretend you’re calling me Princess Adora.” She rolls her eyes when I stare dumbly at her. “She-Ra.”

“Now, see, I don’t get it. You had no clue who MacGyver was but She-Ra you know.”

“It’s all about priorities, Rick.”

For as often as she goes off on tangents, it’s no wonder she likes math. Fortunately, for me, I’m not easily diverted. “You’re the Princess of Digression. And you’re not off the hook. What is the problem with Shica?”

“I don’t recognize the Olivet name. It’s not… if it’s a big name in the magical community then I must have been out of touch longer than I thought. Which I haven’t been.” Az shakes her head sharply. “Okay. The point. Forget about the Olivets. His mother was a Dubois. That name I recognize. It’s old. Like, Charlemagne old. And there are branches of it that don’t have the power than the main line holds. I get that. I do. But still, even an off-shoot of the family holds more power than the average warlock or witch. And it doesn’t make sense for Uncle Evan to not have mentioned it on his list.”

It’s my job to play devil’s advocate. “Maybe he just didn’t know about Olivet living in Houston or about Olivet’s Dubois connection.”

Az’s arms drop to her sides. Her shoulders slump and her hair falls across her face. “That sort of stretches things beyond the point of belief. I want to trust him, but you see, Uncle Evan married a Dubois.”