Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

A giggling Az races off, calling out something about the wards, and leaves me alone with the unconscious Sally. I follow Az as she heads toward the rune stone that anchors the wards. Jose abandons his position near the porch to stalk after her. Good ocelot.

I prod Sally’s shoulder with my foot. She groans; her eyelashes flutter open. Wary gray eyes peer up at me. “Rick? What happened? Where am I?”

Of course. Az instructed me on how to screw with Sally’s mind but didn’t stick around to help me figure out what lie to put in place of the erased memories. How typical.

“You came to tell me about that two of your witches had gone missing. You wanted to hire me to find them. Unfortunately, you stumbled in during an attack. You managed to stay out of the fracas, but someone got you in the face.” I swallow my anger. It goes down like ground glass. Sally has information that could protect my pack. “I’m sorry you were injured, Sally. We did our best to protect you.”

She brushes off my apology when I – reluctantly – offer a hand to help her up. She sways, but I don’t wrap an arm around her like I did with Az. “My head is killing me,” she moans, pressing her fingertips to her temple. “And there is something wrong with my magic. I must have my magic.”

“The attackers put some whammy on the property. It crashed my wards and must have done something to your magic.” It’s not the best lie, but I can’t very well tell her that I have a void or that said void drained her.

Sally eyes my destroyed lawn, bloody Shifters, and decimated mailbox. She stills when she spots Az. The hand pressed against her head trembles. “Who is that? She looks familiar.”

I screw my face into what I hope comes across as a look of concern. “You’ve met her before, Sally. Perhaps we should get you to the hospital.”

“No, no. It’s there… just fuzzy. Who is she?”

“Az Stanton. Ike’s sister. She’s under the pack’s protection.” And that’s all Sally needs to know.

“Is she…?”

“No. Their mother is not a Shifter.”

Sally nods. If she finds it odd that I’ve taken in a not-Shifter, she doesn’t say. “She was there during that ugly mess with Claire.”

“She’s my assistant.”

Apparently satisfied with the answer, Sally starts to walk toward the house. I steer her to her abandoned car. “You need to sit, Sally,” I say. “You were out for a while.” She doesn’t look happy with me, but she perches on the hood of her vehicle without complaint. She wraps both arms around her middle and rests her head on her knees.

Greer’s unmarked blue sedan screeches to a halt just behind Sally’s car. Great. A party just isn’t complete without uninvited guests and gate crashing cops. At least I can foist Sally off on him.

The ground beneath my feet vibrates. I don’t bother tensing. The cadence is familiar. A small, slightly swollen hand, curls around mine. Had she called Greer? If that’s her idea of being helpful, she needs to rethink the definition of the term.

“Hello, Detective,” she greets cheerfully. Giddy laughter lingers in her voice. “How kind of you to come so quickly. Your text didn’t mention that you were in the area.”

So she didn’t call him. Good. I’d hate to have to kick her ass. “Greer,” I say, inclining my head slightly. If he has info, I’m not booting him out. Yet.

“Another attack, Rick?” he asks, surveying the chaos.

“Stranglehold on the obvious you have there, Detective.” I want to say more, but Az jabs her elbow in my side. My aching, wounded, just-stopped-bleeding side. I glare down at her, but she doesn’t look chagrined. Not even a little.

“Play nice, darling,” she chides.

“What happened to your nose?” Greer demands, leaning in to get a closer look at Az’s face. He scowls at me. I scowl back. “You were involved in the attack, Ms. Stanton?”

“Of course,” she trills, as if Greer just politely informed her that the sky is blue and the Earth is indeed round. “They attacked the pack.”

“But…,” Greer starts.

Az waves her free hand dismissively. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

It’s a lie. That nose has to hurt. Points to her for trying, though. And for unintentionally ratcheting up my guilt level.

“Ricky, darling, I’ll leave you to deal with our dear detective and Ms. Caplinger,” Az says, untangling her fingers from mine.

I transfer my glare back down to her. She blinks. Smiles beatifically. “Pretty, pretty please?”

Before I can tell her that she doesn’t give me orders and that she should be the one to deal with Sally-the-drama-witch and Detective Kiss-Ass, she skips off to meet Steve’s approaching SUV. As soon as all this mess is over with, I’m going to buy a collar for that woman. And a leash and a ball gag . Or handcuffs.

Ooh… handcuffs.

Now that’s a visual I don’t need given my current company. I file it away for private contemplation.

Greer lends Sally his arm for support. Good. I didn’t want to have to touch her again. Halfway to the house, Greta waylays me. She gestures for Mark to escort the cop and the witch to the porch. He won’t take them into the house. Not without me.

“I’ll take care of everything out here,” Greta assures me, hand on my shoulder and eyes on the activity behind me. “Tommy is awake, and I’ve bound the worst of his wounds. Steve and Paul will go on guard duty; Mark and Oscar will remain on the porch as back up only. As soon as we’re able, we’ll move the triage station inside.”

“It’s my pack, Greta.” I’m not entirely sure why I have to remind people of that fact. I have a feeling I know when the reminders became necessary, though.

“Yes. And you would serve it best by working with the bitch and Greer on figuring out just what the hell is going on. Az will join you when she’s able. Since many of us will have to stay Shifted to heal faster, and going to the ranch is impractical at this moment, Az is going to work with Uriah and Quinn on setting up something downstairs.”

Az must be a detrimental influence on me because all I can do is blink at my beta. “She’s going to do what now?”

“Clear all the furniture out of the living room and drag out whatever spare bedding she finds in the linen closets. It was her suggestion, though we’ve decided to tell everyone we’re working under your orders. The boys need to feel useful, but they aren’t ready to be on the front lines. She’ll order pizza, and I’ll cook for those on a more protein-based diet.”

Greta looks smug. For a moment, just a moment, I want to punch her. While I was talking with Greer and Sally, my beta and my… my… my albatross were working out a plan on how to handle my pack.

“You two have this all figured out already, don’t you?”

“Of course we do.” Greta pats my cheek. I growl at her, but she only laughs at me. “Don’t worry. We can handle this. No mutiny in the offing.”

“I sure as hell hope not.”

My face must show some of my frustration because neither Sally nor Greer say anything as I lead them through the house to the study. Sally, after regally settling on the couch, gives all the details she knows about the two missing witches. Krista Hennessy: 18, blonde, afraid of enclosed spaces, freshman at U of H. Jessica Castillo: 25, brunette, pissed off all the time, department store floor manager. Krista was abducted while walking home from a friend’s house. Jessica never made it home after she left work.

Greer shares some of what he’s learned about the ten dead witches that have popped up over the past two weeks. There are missing persons reports for six other witches. With Sally’s two, that makes eight. Eighteen witches dead because of Olivet’s need for power.

“I also have the list of stores that have sold Orrta oil, yuea root, and qax in the past week. There are only three,” Greer says, handing me a sheet of paper.

Sally peers over my shoulder at the sheet. “Orrta oil is used for protection spells,” she says. “Those are all coven-owned stores. The first one on the list is owned by the Illya coven in Pasadena.”

“Have you felt the need to stock up on protection spell ingredients?” I ask her.

She fidgets. Clasps her hands together only to shake them free and wipe her palms on her skirt. “Yes. At our weekly Matron meeting, we discussed having a multi-coven meeting to place protection spells over all in attendance.”

“Why?” Greer asks, leaning forward and pinning her in place with his steely gaze.

“Something’s coming. Something big. Can’t you feel it in the air?”

I think back to what Az said earlier. “Are you a seer, Sally?”

She starts to shake her head in denial but halts. She spreads her hands out, palms up and fingers straight. “No. My great-grandmother was a clairvoyant of some regard. My mother used to read the cards, but her accuracy wasn’t that of a master. Anything I have is latent. Inaccessible.” She snorts. “Claire was our coven’s visionary.”

Yeah. I know. Kooky Claire temporarily passed all that “talent” on to my void, and now I have four pages of babble that I have to decipher.

“Is Ms. Stanton a seer?” Greer asks.

“No.” What had the Patriarch called her? It seems like the best lie to stick with. “She’s a reader.”

Sally nods as if that means something to her. I guess it does. As long as it explains why Az can do what she does without giving away all that she can do. Good God, I’m even starting to think like her. Hell.

The object of my annoyance pops her head into the study before the conversation can resume. Her eyes dart from Sally to Greer to me. She starts to back out into the hallway without saying a word. Oh no. She doesn’t get to escape while I’m stuck playing host.

“Az! Greer has information to share with us.”

She slowly returns and perches on the edge of the arm of the couch so that she’s between Greer and me. She’s as far from Sally as possible. Smart girl.

Greer repeats his report on the dead and missing witches. When I ask for the locations where the girls went missing and where the bodies were discovered, Greer offers to email me the information. I don’t know if there’s a pattern to find, but it’s worth exploring.

“What about the…,” Az frowns at Sally before turning her face back to Greer, “other information we requested?”

“So far we’ve only had four reported – not including the two this morning and the two at Dora’s Box,” he says, displaying more tact than I would have given him credit for.

I know what he’s not saying. Centaurs don’t report murders or missing persons the way that witches do. Centaurs don’t trust the police. I don’t blame them. I’ll call the Patriarch to see if he is willing to work with me.

“Have either Krista or Jessica seemed off lately?” Az asks Sally. “Not full-goose nutso like Claire, but distant? Exhausted?”

“Krista has been distracted, but the transition to college has been difficult for her.” Sally twists her fingers together. “Jessica has been unsettled during coven meetings. I intended to ask her about it, but there was never a good time.”

It doesn’t look like there’s going to be a good time. If these girls have been taken in by Olivet, there’s a very good bet we won’t find them until it’s too late. I don’t look at the pictures she passes Greer. Given that it’s likely I’ll see these girls once they’ve been drained and barbecued, I don’t really want to see a “before” picture.

“What about boys?” Az stretches out her feet so that her ankles are crossed over mine. She starts to slide off the couch. I plant a hand on her hip to keep her in place. She leans into the touch so that I wind up supporting all of her weight.

“Neither was in a relationship that I know of, but the younger ones don’t tell me anything,” Sally answers.

“Neither mentioned any dates? Mystery men? Blind dates? New friends?” Az pushes when Sally hedges.

“No.” Sally’s lips twist into a frown. “What’s going on?”

“Claire was seeing a man named Joel Olivet,” I lie. It’s easier than telling Sally that her witch was a pawn to a power-hungry warlock. “He is the reason she went off the deep-end. We fear she’s not the first or last witch he’s done this to.”

“And you think he got my Krista and my Jessica.”

“And the others,” Greer says. “Have you ever met Mr. Olivet?”

Sally shakes her head sorrowfully. “The name doesn’t sound familiar.”

The faint, foul odor of deception rises from her skin. I hear Sally’s heart rate increase. Her breathing goes from slow and steady to quick and shallow. She’s lying. The fucking wolfsbane-growing witch has the balls to sit in my fucking study and lie to my face. This is it. She and I are through.

Az’s feet twitch. I don’t know if it’s a reaction to Sally’s lie or to my anger. Before I can rip Sally apart for lying, Az straightens and plants her feet flat on the floor. She squeezes my hand briefly before focusing all her attention on the witch.

“Are you sure, Sally?” she croons, sliding forward on the couch so that she’s only inches away from the deceitful bitch. “Are you sure you haven’t met him? You haven’t run into any cute younger men? Maybe he bumped into you at a magic store or at a coffee shop near where the Matrons meet. Started up a conversation about magic and power and hierarchy. Asked if you were happy with the status quo?”

“No.” Sally’s voice cracks and her stern façade falters.

“C’mon, Sal,” Az ghosts her hand across Sally’s cheek. She keeps up the light, cajoling tone. “You were flattered by the attention. Maybe let slip a little more than you should have about your frustration with being beholden to Mages hundreds of miles away. Gave him info on your coven. Invited him to one of your teas. Gave him your phone number.”

Sally’s going to break soon. I can see it in the way her eyes refuse to fix on any one object for more than a few seconds. She’s shaking so hard it’s a wonder her teeth aren’t chattering. Lying bitch. I’d like to shake each tooth out of her arrogant skull.

“Did he show you a few flashy tricks, Sally, to prove that he has power? What was it? The Writ of Sangal? Pretty but useless. How about Erthaine’s Bewitching? Did he conjure an aphrodisiac for you? What about the Rite of Quta? That’s always a charmer. Hard to resist, I’m told.”

Sally jerks as if shot. “The Rite of Quta is forbidden.”

And it’s obvious that’s the one Olivet used to impress Sally Caplinger. Az’s smug grin is so wide it nearly cracks her face. God, that nose has to hurt. I’m not thrilled with Az jumping in to take on Sally, but I can’t argue with her results. My way would have done wonders for my blood pressure but would have only caused Sally to clam up and prompted Greer to escort her out of claw range.

I speak up before Az can continue her interrogation. This tag-team thing is growing on me. It’s easier to play bad cop when you have a good cop you can trust. “What happened, Sally? He didn’t call, did he? How many days did you sit by the phone and wait?”

“He came to tea!” she protests.

Bingo. “And were Claire, Krista and Jessica at this tea?”

“Yes.” Sally’s indignation crumbles. Her lips tremble and tears shine in her eyes. “He used me.”

“Better used than burned up like a car battery,” Az muses quietly. Sally gives no indication that she hears Az. That’s probably for the best.

Greer awkwardly pats Sally’s shoulder. “Do you think you could talk to the other Matrons and see if they’ve also met Mr. Olivet?”

Sally nods. She takes two tissues from the box Az snatched off the desk. She delicately dabs at her eyes. “It’s my fault that Claire is dead and my other girls are missing, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Az says, much to my surprise. Her entire demeanor is cold. I’d expected her usual compassion. “You knew the Rite of Quta was forbidden, but you let a warlock who used it – in front of someone he’d just met – into the sanctity of your coven. You missed the big ol’ warning flag, Sally. Remember that.”

Maybe not such a surprise after all. As much as she dislikes witches and warlocks and Mages, she has a healthy respect for magic. A fondness for the thing that has made her an outcast in her family and community.

Sally nods again. She digs through her purse and extracts a balled-up adhesive note. Fingers trembling, she hands it to Az. “He gave this to me. You may be able to read the magic on it and try to find him.”

“Thank you.” Az stands. I am only a step behind her. She slips the note into the front pocket of my jeans. “I can’t guarantee the condition they’ll be in, but we’ll find your witches.”

What? I don’t like making promises I can’t keep. What does Princess think she’s doing by raising Sally’s hopes?

“We will try,” I correct, nudging Az in the ribs. “In the meantime, Sally, any information you run across comes straight to me. Without delay. Are we clear?”

Greer starts to object, but everyone ignores him. He huffs but doesn’t leave the study. Maybe he finally realizes he’s in over his head.

I push Az behind me and stand in front of Sally. The witch tries to stand, but I press my legs against her knees so that she has to stay seated. She bows her head in an act of submission. At least someone around here recognizes that I’m still Alpha.

“One more thing, Ms. Caplinger,” I say, my tone dropping the temperature in the room by several degrees. “I let you off with a warning for the wolfsbane.”

Her eyes dart to Greer before returning to me. She licks her lips and opens her mouth to speak but just nods instead. Good. Anything she says is likely to break the tenuous control I have over my temper.

“You failed to control a member of your coven while I was a guest in your home. A member of your coven attacked a member of my pack. And now you have the audacity to lie to me while under my roof? After asking me to search for your missing witches?” I plant a hand on the back of the couch on either side of her head. I lean in so close I can see the blue veins underneath her thin, wrinkled skin. “We don’t hunt witches. Mostly because you taste like shit, but partly because of our peace agreement. An agreement I now consider void. Once we find your witches, I don’t want to see you again. Ever.”

No one argues. No one protests. Sweet, blessed silence. Now this is how it should be when an Alpha speaks.

I follow behind as Greer ushers Sally off my property. Az skips alongside me and gaily waves them off like a happy hostess seeing off dinner guests. Once their taillights have disappeared, I place a finger under her chin to tilt her head back. Her nose is swollen but hasn’t bled as much as expected.

“Are you having a hard time breathing?”

“Only when you’re close,” she teases.

“Seriously, Az. I need to know if you need a hospital.”

She shrugs. “I can breathe.” Her gaze drops to her toes. “It still hurts. A lot.”

I figured. “Looks like it’s broken, but it’s not serious. No surgery required. I can straighten it in the house. We’ll get you an ice pack and a few Tylenol.” I release her chin and cup the back of her head. Her hair feels like silk, but I can’t allow myself to concentrate on that right now. I gently run my fingers across her scalp. There’s a lump on the left side that causes her to wince.

“Seeing spots?” I ask. “Any ringing in your ears? Dizziness?”

“Yes, but I discharged the magic I got from Sally into the wards. Everything’s a little floaty, but it’s getting better.”

Possible concussion, though it’s hard to tell because of the magic ingestion. Great. I was going to Shift with the others so that my side heals fully, but someone needs to keep an eye on her. “You’ll tell me if it gets worse, right?”

“Of course,” she says brightly.

I don’t believe her. Not even a little.

Her fingers invade my front pocket. Her warm, not-at-all-shy, distracting fingers that linger far longer than necessary to retrieve a slip of paper. While the blood slowly returns to my brain, she scans the paper Sally gave us. Her smile broadens. “Oh, this is going to be very helpful.”

I try to snatch it out of her hands, but she dances out of reach. I take one step. She laughs and dashes to the porch. Ignoring Greta’s snicker, I stalk my giggling void – visions of handcuffs dancing in my head - until she’s cornered between the desk and the wall in the study. Her cell phone is out and pressed against her ear.

“What was on the paper, Az?”

“Olivet’s phone number.” She extends a hand to draw me forward. “It’s ringing.”