Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

As soon as I make the final turn towards home, Az’s burner phone goes off. She laughs as she retrieves it from her purse. “It’s probably Jose. He’s as big a worrywart as you.”

She doesn’t answer it right away. When I hear an ocelot purr for a fourth time, I glance over at her. Troubled blue eyes are fixed on the screen.

“It’s not Jose, is it?”

She shakes her head. After sucking in a bracing breath, she taps the screen and raises the phone to her ear. I shut the radio off so I can hear the caller.

“Hello, Uncle Evan,” she greets gently, if not quite warmly.

“Are you still in Houston, my dear?” Mage Evan Shica’s voice carries well over the connection.

“Yes. My stay is open-ended.” Her left hand inches toward me. She plants her feet flat on the floorboard and sits up straight.

I drive by the house and pull into the parking lot of a nearby convenience store. This conversation needs to be private. I link my fingers with Az’s and give her hand a comforting squeeze.

“I would be happy to buy you a plane ticket to St. Louis,” Shica offers.

“I can’t do commercial flights. Too many people crowded in such a small place. Always at least one person with magic. I’ll freak for sure.”

“I can arrange for someone to drive you to St. Louis. Your Aunt Evelyn would be delighted to fly down there to drive you up. You two could take a road trip and stop in Natchez to tour the old homes. Your aunt is always looking for someone to go antiquing with.”

Az frowns. “That isn’t necessary.”

“You seemed eager to visit Memphis last time you were here. I could meet the two of you down there for a long weekend.”

Shica is exceptionally insistent on getting Az the hell out of Houston. Is it because he genuinely wants to spend time with her or is he trying to get her out of the crossfire? Does he know what’s going on here? Is he responsible for what’s going on here?

“That’s a really sweet offer, Uncle Evan, but I like it here. I am with people who accept me, who care for me. I want to call Houston home.”

I don’t have time to be warmed by her words. Shica curses everything from Az’s father to her stubbornness and the female sex as a whole. Az pulls the phone away from her ear as his volume grows with every venomous word.

“Mage Shica,” she interrupts firmly, coldly, “I have made my decision.”

“You are right where your father put you,” he spats. “With a pack full of Shifters. He might as well have dumped you in the garbage.”

Her grip on my hand tightens. Sharp fingernails dig furrows into the back of my hand. “There is nothing wrong with Shifters.”

“Their entire existence is abhorrent.”

“Some would say the same about me,” she counters angrily. “Some have said the same about me.”

Shica sighs. The silence thickens until it’s nearly stifling. Just when I think he’s hung up on Az, he speaks. “Is this your final decision, my dear? Do I have any chance of changing your mind?”

“Uncle Evan, I love you and Aunt Evelyn. Dearly. And I am more than grateful for all you’ve done for me. But I want to see this through. I want a life of my own – one that I choose and control.”

“You do not have to stay where your father sends you,” he says. “He has washed his hands of you. You should think about why he sent you to Houston of all places. If he truly wanted to hide you, he would not have put you so close to his own region.”

“Perhaps he wants to keep an eye on me. Things were… complicated in St. Paul.” The frown on her face makes it clear that Az doesn’t believe her own words.

The laughter that comes from Shica is pure malevolence. A growl catches in the back of my throat. St Paul – where someone broke Az’s arm as a punishment for taking a damn flashlight – is no laughing matter.

“Were that the case, my dear, he could have sent you back to Biloxi. You do seem to have an affinity for the Gulf Coast.” Shica laughs again. If he were a Shifter, I bet he’d be a hyena. “I am certain the Qigan Brotherhood would be more than happy to have you again.”

She shakes her hand free from mine, unbuckles her seatbelt, and draws her knees to her chest. Her submissive pose. Her face pales. Fear dulls her eyes to a murky blue. The stench of it quickly fills the car. I crack open a window to let in fresh air before the overwhelming odor forces me to Shift.

“We promised to never speak of Biloxi again.” Her voice is no more than a whisper. The way it cracks on ‘Biloxi’ just makes the urge to Shift harder to ignore. “I am asking – begging, if I must – for a chance to live with people who like me for who I am and don’t give a damn about what I am. Why are you so against this? I thought you would be happy for me.”

“They are not people. They are Shifters! Perversions of magic!” he shouts. “Your father gave you away to our enemy. And you’re willingly fraternizing with them. You aren’t a witch, Astraea, but I expected better from you.”

Princess goes completely still. Her eyes fall shut. She swallows, licks her lips. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned the pack. How exactly do you know I am with Shifters?”

“Think about what I said, Astraea, about your father and your choices. If you change your mind, do not hesitate to call. I will come for you.”

Shica’s words – ones that sound more like a threat than a promise – linger in the air long after he’s disconnected the call.

The phone falls from Az’s hands and bounces off the seat to disappear somewhere near the center console. There are things I want to say, questions I want answered, but I hold my tongue. How she reacts to the phone call will drive how I react to her.

No tears fall from her eyes. She doesn’t call Shica a jackass or a bastard or any of a dozen suitable epithets. She doesn’t rage or weep or cry about how unfair her life is. She just sits there with closed eyes and pursed lips.

“Princess, I think -,” I start, when the quiet grows too uncomfortable too bear.

“I would like to return home,” she interrupts primly. Her voice is tight, as if she’s holding on to her composure by a thread. “I need to go through Olivet’s things. If the room we found was his secret study, then I fear we’re going to have a problem.”

Yeah. Because having a warlock creating not-Shifters by killing centaurs for blood and draining witches to death isn’t enough of a problem. “What kind of problem?”

“The kind where Olivet may be a pawn rather than the puppet master. He may not even realize the extent to which he’s being played.” Her eyes slowly open. She keeps her gaze fixed on the air vent in front of her. Her fingers tap out an irregular beat on her bare shins. “He had what you’d expect to find in a warlock’s house.”

“I don’t understand.”

She wriggles her nose. “Nothing there would be out of place in Sally’s home. It’s more advanced than your typical magic user would have, but there isn’t anything to suggest that Olivet has the knowledge necessary to create not-Shifters.”

It clicks. “So someone else fed him what he needs to know and is using him to take over Houston.” No, it doesn’t quite click. “But why bother with the subterfuge? Won’t the mastermind have to deal with getting Olivet out of the way?”

She turns her head and blinks at me. Silent as a sphinx, she just stares. Okay, so she wants me to figure it out.

“Because they can’t be here,” I say, feeling like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. “Being in Houston would attract attention, so they set Olivet up to take over. No one would suspect him. You said this was too sloppy to be a Mage, but if it’s sloppy then no one will suspect a Mage.”

Which leaves the Mage of St. Louis and the Mage of New Orleans as prime suspects. The father who dumped Az in the middle of this mess or the uncle who is alarmingly desperate to have her under his roof. That explains her silence, I suppose.

“My father’s territory has recently expanded into Beaumont,” she murmurs. “It would not be out of the question to believe that he has his eye on Houston.”

Good point. But it’s not the only explanation. I have another theory. “Shica has to feel threatened by Vardan’s development. Shica could be looking to cut Vardan off at the pass.”

The smile she flashes me is bittersweet. “It could be the Mage of South Beach looking for a new route for his trafficking business.”

“Likely?”

Her smile fades. “No. Mage Ramirez is quite content with his slice of Florida. The only other alternative is a new player, but…”

I pick up her train of thought – which is fucking scary by itself, let me tell you. “It takes balls to get in between Shica and Vardan. There’s no one on the horizon with big enough brass ones.”

I start the car back up and head home. Az doesn’t speak on the short drive. I don’t ask any questions until we’re in the driveway. Given how she’d reacted to Shica’s mention of it, I am hesitant to bring up Biloxi, but I have to know. I need to know what can cause that level of fear. It’s a weak spot, and it’s my job to protect her weaknesses.

“What happened in Biloxi, Az?”

She exhales shakily. The hands that reach for the door handles are trembling so hard she can’t lever it open. “We don’t speak of Biloxi.”

“What is the Qigan Brotherhood?”

A startled gasp passes through her parted lips. Her gaze flits across my face before settling on my chest. Her chest rises and falls with each rapid breath she takes. I don’t like having to put that stricken look in her eyes but this is necessary.

“They are a cult of necromancers.”

“Astraea,” I prompt. So far she hasn’t told me anything that justifies her fear of Biloxi or the Qigan Brotherhood. Necromancers are creepy bastards, but they tend to be isolationists. Though, Mississippi is an “M” state, and that could explain a great deal.

A flash of anger crosses her face. It’s better than the stricken expression she’s been wearing. Good. She needs to find her backbone. Her hands steady. She continues to stare at my chest.

“When you die, that’s supposed to be it. Game over. The energy goes off to wherever energy goes, and your body goes to the ground to rot. That’s the natural order of things.”

“I’m with you so far.”

Her lips curl back in a snarl. This is the first she’s spoken of her past with any real emotion. “Even at eleven, I knew that it took a fairly depraved level of fucked-up to mess with the natural order to the degree that the Qigan Brotherhood did. They were not content to raise the recently dead. They said it was too pedestrian. Unfortunately for them, going against nature to such an extent makes the magic unstable. Scary unstable. To them, I was the answer to a prayer.”

“You acted as their safety valve in the event the magic got out of control.”

“My acquiescence was not required.”

I hold up a hand when it looks like she’s going to tell me more. I can’t know more. Not without Shifting. “I swear that you will never have to tell this story again. Nor will you ever go anywhere near the fucking Qigan Brotherhood.”

“Thank you.”

We need a time out from each other. I need a breather so that I can look at her and see Az – our Az - rather than the young, frightened girl damned necromancers used as their kill switch. She needs time to fully compose herself and get over the wounds inflicted during her conversation with Shica.

“See what Jose needs help with. I’m going to go through the RoW and make up that list of recently covenless witches.”

“While he’s checking for dead centaurs, Greer should look for reports of missing witches,” Az suggests.

It’s a good idea. If we can establish a pattern for the missing witches, we can narrow down Olivet’s hunting ground. I gesture for her to go on ahead. Jose is waiting near the garage door. He’s been pacing like an expectant father for five minutes.

Balancing both boxes from Olivet’s room of doom is easy. Maintaining that balance when I catch a whiff of not-Shifter just behind me? Not quite as easy.

The boxes tumble from my arms as I spin around to face the threat. Az stops halfway between the SUV and a snarling Jose. Broken glass and piles of herbs coat the ground around me. I Shift without giving instructions to Az or Jose.

I’ve never laughed when Shifted, and the sound that comes from my throat is more of a roar than a chuckle. How did Olivet know I needed an outlet for my rage? The four not-Shifters on the edge of the wards retreat a step. One of them looks like he’s ready to bolt. In mid-Shift form, they are the ugliest damn things I have ever seen.

I can’t wait to make them uglier.