Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

A strangled moan from the body on the chaise spurs me out of a stupor. I release Az’s hand and drop back a step to smack a palm on the big, red security alarm near the door frame. I’ve joked about the klaxon being loud enough to wake the dead; after the first few seconds of ear-splitting noise, the Patriarch tries to raise his head.

The yellow phone under the alarm button lights up and shakes in its receiver. “Stay here,” I instruct. I don’t want Az near a wounded centaur. Injured animals – even half-animals – are dangerously unpredictable.

The security guard on the other end of the line sounds scared. And young. Why can’t things ever be easy? Rather than bark orders, like I would if I was dealing with pack members, I try to keep my tone calm and even.

“This is Rick Haskell, Alpha of Pack Houstonian. Send a medical team and three guards to the Centaur Suite. Now.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement. Az is within arm’s length of the Patriarch. Never easy. “Don’t move another damn muscle!”

“S-sir?” the guard asks, voice cracking.

“Not you,” I huff, turning my attention back to the guard. “The Patriarch has been injured, but I don’t think the attack happened here. Do you have security footage of his arrival? I need footage from the cameras in the elevators and hallways, too. Who was at the desk when he signed in? Are there any other centaurs in the building?”

“Sir, I’ll dispatch the medical team and guards. Let me get my supervisor for the rest.”

Figures. While waiting for the lackey to get his supervisor, I watch Az sink to her knees beside the Patriarch. She gingerly checks the severity of his wounds. There is blood spatter on his forehead, and the fur across his chest is matted and red. Az extracts a travel-sized pack of baby wipes from her purse and proceeds to clean the Patriarch’s face. Her hands are far too close to his teeth for my peace of mind.

“I told you to stay put, Princess.”

“Do you really think I could just stand there and not do something to help him?”

I suppose it was a ridiculous expectation. Her compassion overrides her common sense. Not that she actually possesses much common sense. “What do you need?” I ask. Obviously a lack of common sense is contagious.

“Towels. More water. Alcohol or peroxide. Lavender and rosemary or calendula if you can find some.” She breaks off to coo soothingly when the Patriarch tries to jerk out of her grasp. Once he’s settled, she continues her report. “I can’t tell how deep the chest wound is. I’m afraid of digging too deep and making things worse. His left shoulder is dislocated. I only found a small bump on his forehead. There are magic burns everywhere. A witch or warlock did this.”

“Reader Stanton,” the Patriarch rasps. He inhales – a wet, sucking sound that does not bode well – and opens his eyes.

“That’s right,” Az murmurs, brushing her fingertips across his forehead. She holds a bottle of water to his lips, but he doesn’t drink. “Just take it easy. Help is coming.”

The Patriarch struggles against her. Az finally gets the hint and curls an arm around his middle to help him sit more upright. By the time they are through, his face is gray and fresh blood darkens the corner of his mouth. “Is your Alpha with you?”

Az’s chuckle is a surprisingly light sound, given the circumstances. She cups the Patriarch’s cheek to guide his head toward me. “I’m not allowed anywhere without supervision.”

“In these dark days, that is wise,” the Patriarch manages through clenched teeth. “I must speak with him.”

I’m torn between waiting for the security supervisor so I can get a jump start on getting to the bottom of this mess and complying with the Patriarch’s wishes. Screw it. The tapes will still be there in five minutes; there’s no telling how long the Patriarch will remain coherent.

I slam the phone back on the receiver and cross the room to stand behind Az. My hand lands on her shoulder; she leans back to rest her head on my thighs. “I am here, Patriarch.”

“Rick, my son.”

Huh? Is he delirious? We’re friendly. Centaurs are similar to Shifters. But ‘son’? It’s flattering, I suppose. “What did you want to tell me? Do you know who attacked you? Is the Herd under attack?”

“My son,” he insists, reaching for me. He grabs Az’s shoulders instead. “They took my son.”

Ah. Not delirious then. The clock starts ticking in the back of my head. How long has the Patriarch been bleeding on the chaise while someone has his son? “Did they look like Shifters in half-form?”

“Yes, but they weren’t right. Too much magic.” He gives Az’s shoulders a weak shake. “You have to find him.”

“Of course,” Az promises, wriggling out of his grasp. “As soon as we know you’re being taken care of, we’ll search for him.”

Impatience claws at me. Time is as big a threat as a kidnapper’s gun. I hate the suggestion I’m about to make, but I can’t sit and wait. “Stay here, Az. I’ll send Jose to pick you up.”

“What?” Az turns away from the Patriarch to glare up at me. “Not a chance. You’ll need me to read the scene. Track the magic.”

“I’ve done this without you before.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to do it now.”

The arrival of a three-person medical team and six security guards renders the argument moot. While Az directs the medi-fairies, I give the security supervisor a list of what I need. The middle-aged, bald, hook-nosed Cyclops is in charge of anything that happens in the ‘dome, but technically the attack on the Patriarch happened outside the ‘dome.

Traken, the head of security, offers up only a token protest. Understandable. The head of one of the major factions in the city has been attacked. The heir to the Herd is missing. Panic’s going to set in as soon as word gets out. The head of every group will be clamoring for answers. Who wants that sort of pressure on their shoulders?

Apparently I do.

Small, soft fingers curl around mine.

And Az, of course.

Traken promises to send me all that I’ve requested. He’d better. If I have to retrieve it myself, the ‘dome will be looking for a new head of security. News about the attack on the Patriarch, but not about his son’s kidnapping, spreads faster than I expected. By the time we reach the lobby, there is a crowd gathered by the elevator bank. Az moves behind me when the mass of people surges forward.

“Rick! Rick! What is the Patriarch’s condition?” Maura Sanders, head of the Air Sprite Guild, flutters glittery wings in my face.

“Was he attacked here?” Franx, Chieftain of Ogres, muscles his way to the front of the crowd. His meaty fists are clenched. The two ogres behind him are armed with short swords. It doesn’t take much to incite ogres to war. “What do you know about this?”

That’s a little too much ogre in my face. When Franx negates the concept of personal space, I don’t snap his neck like I really, really want. Az’d never let me hear the end of it if I killed him in front of everyone. I press my Walther against Franx’s gut, thankful that his billowing tunic will keep the gun out of sight. The last thing I want to do is start a riot.

“You’re going to want to back off now,” I murmur just loud enough for Franx to hear.

Franx doesn’t move.

The click of the gun cocking sends him skedaddling back towards his minions. Ogres are bloodthirsty bastards, but they aren’t stupid. And there’s a reason Shifters are at the top of the food chain. When we’re in animal or half form, we’re undeniably deadly, but a Shifter in human form can be the stuff of nightmares.

“Are we all in danger? I’ve heard about the attacks on your pack,” says Elijah Holt, Elder of the Land Faery Association. “There is something amiss amongst the witches, as well.”

Like that’s a surprise. Before anyone else can shout questions at me, I hold up a hand. Mercifully, silence falls.

“I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know who is in danger.” I yank Az closer so that we don’t get separated when we force ourselves past the unhappy, paranoid crowd.

Az jabs me in the small of the back with a finger. She places a hand on my shoulder to balance herself when she rises on her toes. If not for my Shifter hearing, her whisper would be drowned out by the barrage of questions. “Rick, it would be in everyone’s best interest to give them more than that.”

“I don’t have time for a press conference, Az.”

“They are scared. You don’t have to coddle them, but being in the dark only makes people more frightened. That fear’ll make it easier for Olivet to destroy them.”

Fine. If it’ll get us the hell out of here faster, then I’ll play nice with the others. I hold up my hand again. It takes three seconds for the voices to die down. My control over them is fading fast.

“There is a warlock attempting to take over this region. He’s using witches and centaurs to fuel his magic. His first order of business is to take out my pack because he sees us as the biggest threat. His goons look half-Shifted. They’re vicious bastards. I don’t think they can Shift into any other form so I’ve instructed my people to remain in full human or full animal form.

“Is this Council sanctioned?” someone calls out.

I glance over my shoulder at my Council expert. She emphatically shakes her head. I don’t know how she can say so with such certainty, but I trust her. “No,” I answer. “This looks to be a rogue element.”

To my ears, I sound like a douche. They’re eating it up, though. Even Franx. Az’s suggestion had merit after all. The restlessness that had permeated the lobby is gone. The overwhelming rancid-milk tang of panic no longer fills my lungs with every breath.

“What are their chances of taking out the pack?” asks a brave soul in the rear of the crowd. What remains unsaid is that if my pack falls, the rest of the PC will undoubtedly fall, too.

I take the opportunity to look each of the assembled directly in the eye. More than a few cringe and retreat. Only the ogres hold my gaze for a few seconds.

“Let’s just say they have a better chance of ice skating on Buffalo Bayou. In August.” I don’t want to come back to bedlam, so I can’t let that be my dramatic exit. “I’ll keep y’all apprised of any developments. In the meantime, warn your people to stay safe and stay in groups. If they feel especially vulnerable, have them stay here until this threat is over.”

While they mull over my suggestion, I drag Az into the parking lot before she starts my campaign for ambassador of the Paranormal Community. It’s not that I don’t like the others, or that I’m as biased against them as humans are against Shifters. The pack tends to keep to itself. There’s less chance of someone stabbing you in the back if you never let them get close enough to prick you with the knife.

“Do you know why whoever is behind the curtain convinced Olivet to take control of the area?” Az asks as we rush to my truck.

“Because Mages are power-hungry sons-of-bitches with egos the size of the Gulf of Mexico?”

Az chuckles. “Well, yeah there’s that, but it’s not the entire reason. There’s a vacuum here. The Paranormal Community is twice as large as it is in other cities, but there is no cohesion. No one in charge.”

“And you think that you should be the one in charge? Az, you just moved here. Don’t you think that’s a little ambitious?”

“Not me! Who’d listen to me? I don’t even listen to me,” she protests with a laugh.

Oh no. No, no, no. Hell no. I don’t like where this conversation is going. “I’m not going to be in charge of the Paranormal Community. If the Patriarch survives this, make him the leader. He likes that sort of shit.”

“He could do it,” she agrees easily. Too easily. “But you’d do a better job. You love this city, and you don’t want to be the supreme ruler over the PC. You’d allow them a measure of independence, but you wouldn’t put up with petty bullshit. You wouldn’t let the city or county push you around, either.”

Her resolute faith in me is flattering but likely misplaced. With Az in my corner nudging me along, I probably could unify the Paranormal Community. I’d do a hell of a job, too.

“Don’t push me, Az. Try to force the issue, and you won’t like the consequences. I guess I should be thankful that you didn’t openly defy or contradict me in public. This is new to you. I get that. I’ve given you an unprecedented amount of leeway, but in front of others you have to respect my position. Or at least pretend to respect it.”

She pauses near the passenger door. Her hand slips from mine to hang at her side. The corners of her lips curl down into a frown. At least we’re away from the prying eyes inside the ‘dome. “I respect your position.”

“Which is why you disobeyed an explicit order by going to the Patriarch.”

She cringes. Regret flashes across her face. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t leave him like that.”

“As soon as we have time to breathe, Greta is going to work with you on learning how to fit in with the pack. Some of this forces you to go against your instincts, but you have to trust that when I give an order it’s for your own good. If you don’t trust me, this isn’t going to work.”

“I trust you.”

“I don’t know that I believe you.”

“So you’re kicking me out?” Az staggers back against the side truck. Her face goes white and she presses a trembling hand to her lips. “I know I’m probably out of second and third chances, but I….” She swallows, blinks rapidly as if fighting off tears. “I don’t know. I think I’d rather you just break my arm or something.”

She’d rather have me break her arm than kick her out of the pack. I’d like to break every bone in her father’s body and then systematically rampage through every location she’s been. It’s a little insulting, really, that she thinks so little of my commitment. Didn’t I promise to wait seven long, celibate months for her to figure out what she really needs?

“Jumping to conclusions is a good way to fall flat on your face, Princess.”

“Splat?”

“Oh yeah.” I tuck my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her. As reassuring as a hug would be – for both of us – I don’t want to detract from the importance of the conversation. “You have to actually listen to what I say, Az. I didn’t say it had to be all or nothing right now. We’ll find a way for this to work out.”

She grins and it’s like the sun coming out after a storm. “Thank you. I promise I’ll be the best student Greta ever had. Whatever it takes to stay with you and the pack.”

Evicting her hasn’t occurred to me since I invited her to join the pack. The thought of not having her around is enough to incite a panic attack. Telling her that, though, puts more power in her hands. That’s not something I need right now. Still, something has to be said.

“You’ll always have a home with me.” The words come out before I can stop them. Great. Not what I had planned on saying. I can’t call them back now. Not when they’re sincere. Honest.

“Thank you.”

She’s standing so close I can feel the warmth of her skin and smell her perfume. I can practically taste the peppermint of her lip gloss. Every cell in my body aches with the need to gather her in my arms and never let go. To sink into the sweetness of her kiss. Screw the seven month plan.

I retreat a step. I won’t stop at one kiss. One minute of holding her against me won’t satisfy this craving. Pushing things is too risky. Especially for something as fragile as this us we’re building.

Also, there’s a kidnapped seven-year-old centaur we have to find.

“We need to find the Patriarch’s son. His name is Daniel and he’s seven. Small for a centaur, if I remember correctly.”

Az straightens. In a flash, she goes from smiling siren to serious assistant. “Where do you want to start?”

“The Patriarch’s house. Since he couldn’t give us a rundown on what happened, we’ll have to retrace his steps as best we can.”

Before I can move to the front of the truck, small, strong hands clamp onto my forearms. The slight weight of her body resting against mine sends my nerve endings screaming into awareness. I brace myself for a kiss. Disappointment curls in my chest when Az’s lips merely brush across my cheek on their way to my ear.

“Just so you know, I’m pretty sure I’m way beyond the liking you phase. Way. Beyond.”

When she starts to withdraw, I wrap an arm around her waist to keep her in place. Oh, no. She doesn’t get to have the last word, or kiss, this time.

“Glad you finally caught up, Princess.”

Her gasp of indignation gets lost in a kiss that sets fire to my blood. Her fingers slide through my hair and cradle the back of my skull. I was right: one kiss isn’t enough. The taste and feel of her are intoxicating. This isn’t the time or the place, but I am completely surrounded by Az and it is the most potent feeling I’ve ever had. Better than a drink. Better than sex. Better than Shifting.

And that is the realization that scares the piss out of me.