Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

One block from the Patriarch’s mansion, a dark green minivan careens around a corner and plows into the rear of my truck. The fucking minivan hits the bumper at just the right damn angle to send the truck spinning out of control. With the parked cars, mailboxes, and thick-trunked trees lining the street, it’s only a matter of time before we hit something and come to a sudden halt.

“Down!” I unlatch my seatbelt and drag Az under me. The delicate bones of her face, especially her still-healing nose, are no match for an airbag.

The sickening crunch of metal hitting metal makes my ears ring. The driver’s side airbag punches me in the hip. The passenger airbag slams into my shoulder. There’ll be bruises later, but nothing is broken.

Az pushes against my chest. It takes me a moment to sit fully upright. Okay, so the shoulder maybe more than just a little bruised. I quickly run both hands across her cheeks and ribs, but she doesn’t appear to be injured.

“Are you okay?” I ask. Just because there are no visible injuries doesn’t mean there isn’t internal damage. “Did I crush you?”

“Am I okay? Am I okay?” Her voice hits a higher octave. Hysteria. Fright brought on by the accident? Delayed reaction to seeing the Dowager Matriarch’s body?

“Are you hurt, Az?”

“Of course I’m not hurt.” Her jaw clenches and her nostrils flare. One bony finger jabs me in the sternum. “Some crazy, over-protective idiot threw himself over me like a lead blanket!”

“Ungrateful Princess.”

“Idiot Compulsive Hero.”

Traffic accidents in Houston are to be expected given the volume on the roads, but this doesn’t feel like an accident. The minivan that hit us is only a few hundred feet away. All the doors are open. There’s not a soul in sight.

We were deliberately hit. No coincidence that it happened so close to the Patriarch’s house, either. “Do you have your gun?”

Az extracts the Kahr P380 from her purse. I take from her and check the magazine before handing it back. “Seven shots. Use them well.”

“What’s going on, Rick? Do you need me to call anyone?”

Walther PPK ready, I open the door and set one foot on the road. Az scrambles across the bench seat to follow me out of the truck. “Call Greta. Leave the line open and your phone on the seat. She’ll have one of the boys track my phone.”

Six women, dressed in matching blue scrub sets, materialize from behind trees and cars to form a line in front of the minivan. The air around them crackles and smells like burnt plastic. Witches. Of course.

Az inhales sharply. “Krista Hennessy and Jessica Castillo,” she murmurs, pointing at two of the witches. “Found ‘em.”

“Stay behind me. If any get by, shoot to kill,” I instruct her as we move toward the rear of my truck. The bumper’s dented and a taillight is busted, but it’s not as bad as I expected. I don’t want to think about the front of my truck, though. “Afraid I’m going to have to file a claim with your insurance company, ladies.”

No verbal response. They blink in unison and take a step forward. It’s creepy as fuck. Their faces have that glazed-over look I usually associate with drug users or those under a vampire’s thrall.

“He’s controlling them,” Az says from beside me. Beside me. Not behind me as instructed. No surprise there. “I figured he was controlling the not-Shifters, but I didn’t think he could control his witches. I might actually be impressed.”

“Can you break the control?”

“If they get close enough, I’ll interrupt the magic.”

“How close do they need to get?”

She shrugs. “Depends on what he’s using.”

I doubt they’ll politely stand by while she licks them to check the magic. Waiting for Az to do her voodoo isn’t an option, then. If they’re as loyal as Kooky Claire, they’re not likely to surrender easily if the mind control is broken. Six witches versus the two of us. Not bad odds. A bullet through the head will kill a witch whether she’s under mind-control or not. There’s no evidence that Olivet is a necromancer.

Six arms lift toward the sky. The air grows thick like fog. Heavy. My arm jerks up and my finger squeezes the trigger. A neat hole mars the forehead of a short, plump witch. She falls, but the other witches don’t falter.

A blast of scorching magic melts my rear tire. I retreat a step when it feels like my jeans are going to catch fire. Az skirts around me to face the witch line. I hook a finger through her belt loop to drag her back. She digs in her heels. I could force her, but doing so would hurt her. Hurting her could leave her vulnerable to the witches.

“This time you stay behind me,” she says, wriggling until I have to let go of her jeans.

“Not a chance in hell, Princess.”

The glare she shoots over her shoulder is as hot as the magic fireball. “You protected me from the big, bad airbag because you can take the hit. Which one of us is more likely to survive a magic whammy?”

Using Az as a shield doesn’t feel right, but she has a point. Stupid Princess with her stupid void logic. “If they kill you, I’m going to be pissed as hell.”

“Noted.” She fidgets, rolls her shoulders. “Why aren’t they attacking again?”

Good question. Their arms are extended and the atmosphere around them is teeming with latent magic. They look like their waiting. Waiting for what?

“Can Olivet see what they see?”

“Of course. It’s not very intimidating if they’re constantly walking into walls, is it?”

“He wants to know what you can do. This is a test. Olivet is waiting for you to attack.”

Without warning, Az quickly, unflinchingly pops off a shot. The witch between Jessica and Krista falls. Fresh blood joins the pool spreading around the witches’ feet. Az leans a hip against the side of the truck. The pose is deceptive. She may look relaxed, but I can see the tension in her muscles.

“It’s not worth my time, Mr. Olivet,” she says, head cocked and ankles crossed. “I’m not wasting an ounce of power on your flunkies. If you want to see what I can do, we’re going to do it face-to-face.”

Is she trying to get herself killed? I don’t even realize I’m growling until she reaches back to pat my chest. I grab her hand and fold my free one over it. Now, if I need to, I can pull her behind me.

“I thought we were beyond formalities, Astraea,” the chorus of witches says.

Freaky as fuck.

“That was before you kidnapped a child. Tell me where Daniel is, and I’ll give you a personal demonstration.”

The witches shake their heads. “I cannot do that.” Damned if they don’t actually sound regretful.

“Then this is as close as we’re going to get.” The magic builds. Laughter spills from Az’s lips. I squeeze her hand in warning, but she just laughs louder. “Is that supposed to be a threat, Joel? You won’t kill me. You can’t kill me. It’s not part of the master plan. Oh, I’m sorry, part of your master’s plan.”

On my hip, my phone buzzes. I release Az’s hand just long enough to check the text. Greta’s ETA is five minutes. Greer’s is mere seconds. Great. Now, if we get the witches to attack while Greer is watching, then I won’t have to fill out quite so much paperwork when this over. Self-defense requires fewer forms than any other type of shooting.

The witches laugh mockingly. “So impatient to meet my master, Starshine?”

Az reels as if slapped. The arm holding her gun falls to her side. “Wh-what did you call me?”

The laughter swells. A searing blast of magic rolls across the road. The pavement between Az and the witches bubbles, but by the time the magic reaches us it’s nothing more than a warm breeze. A familiar blue sedan screeches to a stop near the wrecked minivan. Greer and one of his officers exit the sedan buy stay hunched behind the open doors.

A spark of bright red magic shoots from the line of witches to take out half of the sedan’s hood. Okay. Perfect. They’ve shown that they’re on the offensive so now I can take them out without drowning in bureaucracy afterwards.

I squash a still-stunned Az against the side of the truck while aiming my Walther at the witches. Their movements are sloppier than before. Jessica and a redheaded, freckled witch turn to focus on Greer while Krista and a tall, Hispanic witch continue to fire invisible fireballs at Az and me. Olivet’s losing his concentration.

The first two rounds I fire at the witches disintegrate in midair. My third shot hits its target but does little damage to the Hispanic witch’s round face. The duo moves a step closer. The magic that hits me is warmer than before. The hair on my arms feels singed and the metal of my gun is nearly too hot to hold. The next fireball that comes at us is blue and turns the round I fire into a puddle of liquid metal. A quick spark of purple energy slams into us. Az winces but I don’t feel anything from it.

“Gotta time it right,” Az mutters, finally showing signs of life. “Can’t shoot into a fireball. Wait for the lull.”

I follow her advice. The fireball-happy witch goes down after she melts my other rear tire. Az nudges me aside and raises her gun. Krista never gets a chance to retaliate.

The road still sounds like a warzone. Greer and his officer aren’t having much luck with their witches. Though my instinct is to rush in to assist them, I glance down at an ashen, wide-eyed Az.

“Are you okay?”

She shakes her head to clear it. Faint color brushes across her cheeks, but that stunned look remains in her eyes. “Yeah. I’m good.”

She’s a liar, but there’s no time to debate the topic. I have to pray that she’s okay enough to be my back up. “Ready to take down the last two?”

“I suppose keeping one alive for questioning is out of the question.”

“No promises.” Even if we do manage to keep one alive, chances are Olivet will just kill her before the interrogation starts.

I lead the way across the street, around the cooling bodies of dead witches, to where Jessica and the other witch have the two cops cornered between the side of the sedan and a busted brick mailbox. At my signal, Az skirts the ruined front end of the car to come up behind the cops. She’ll protect them from the magic while I take out the witches.

A bullet through the brainstem takes care of the redheaded witch. Jessica is the only one left. Silence settles like a shroud. Az hurdles over the two cops to block Jessica’s body with her own. My heart leaps to my throat. I don’t trust Greer or his lackey not to accidentally put a round in my void. The young officer looks awfully shaken.

“No! No, wait!” She starts to grab Jessica’s shoulders but stops just shy of making contact. “I need answers. Are you still there, Joel?”

Jessica sways drunkenly. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Wha’s? Wha’s?” Her eyes fix on Az’s face. Red, lush lips curl back in a snarl. “You! You took him away from me!”

“I broke his mind control,” Az says. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Bitch!”

Az scowls and presses the barrel of her gun against Jessica’s forehead. “You called me something earlier. Where did you get that name from?”

“He calls you that when he talks to the boss. Gets real moon-eyed and shit. I don’t know why he pants over your skinny ass.” Jessica’s bloodshot eyes rake Az from head to toe. “If you’re so great, why aren’t you the head of your own coven?”

“Because I hate witches.” Az tilts her chin up. Her eyes meet mine and then dart down to Jessica’s arms. Never one to miss a hint, I close one hand around both of Jessica’s wrists. The witch bucks like a wet cat but doesn’t have a shot in hell of getting free.

“He’ll kill your pet dog, bitch. Skin him like the animal he is. The Age of the Witch is coming. Hell is coming.” Jessica surges for Az. I yank her back before she can headbutt Az. “You can’t win.”

A thin trickle of dark blood drips from Jessica’s ear onto her shoulder. Her struggles grow weaker. She continues to rant at Az, but the words start to slur.

“Age of the Witch,” Jessica repeats, slumped forward in my grasp. “Nothin’ to stop us.”

“Let her go, Ricky.” Az hastily backpedals Jessica. “She’s going to burn.”

Without my hands holding her up, Jessica collapses onto the ground. Az curls a hand around my wrist and pulls me to her side. Flames ignite on Jessica’s scalp and quickly swallow up the witch’s thin body. She doesn’t make a sound.

“Salem’s Fury.” Az leans her head on my non-bruised shoulder. “That’s not its original name, but I don’t know if anyone has called it anything else in centuries.”

“What in the hell is going on, Rick?” Greer demands, struggling to his feet. He slaps at the hand the officer extends to him. “Greta calls and then I get reports of shots fired. Whose witches were those?”

“Olivet’s. He knew we’d go to the Patriarch’s house. He was waiting for us. Six witches under his mind control. It was an ambush.”

Az peers over her shoulder at the corpses on the ground. Her shoulders curve in under the weight of her sigh. “I should go see if I can figure out what he used to control them before he eliminates our evidence.”

While she examines and licks the witches, Greer and I use our phones to photograph the scene. The officer, a distinct green tinge to his face, is tasked with scraping up the charred remains of Jessica Castillo. By the time Greta arrives, the witches have all melted into the asphalt and Greer’s started on his report. I tried to start a claim on my truck, but my insurance agent hung up on me after I texted him a picture of the rear of the vehicle. I have the sinking feeling we’re going to get dropped.

“Damn,” Greta whistles, circling the remains of my baby. “This is worse than the time you pissed off that nest of Iron Sprites off Braeswood. Do you need to Shift?”

It’s the polite way of asking if I am injured. “I’m fine. I’ve already called a tow truck. You can drop me off at the rental place. I’ve got to go with Greer to the station.”

“What about her?” Greta jerks her chin at the Princess curled on the curb. As soon as the first witch started melting, Az sat and started doodling on her arm. I haven’t tried to figure out what she’s doing. As long as she’s quiet and out of harm’s way, I’m happy.

“She’s coming with me.” I don’t know why that’s even a question. Az goes where I go.

“Quinn was looking for some help on a project he has for school. Uriah’s started three fights with Hank. Jose’s starting to get antsy. It won’t be long before the house arrest starts to wear everyone down.”

“And you want her there to because it’s all a little too domestic for you.”

Greta doesn’t cringe from my sarcasm. “Yes. She’s good at it.”

“She’ll have to fill out a report at the station. I need her help tracking down Daniel. She has a better idea of how Olivet thinks than I do.”

“You just like holding her hand.”

“How’d you like to be on babysitting duty for the next six months? The school is looking for chaperones for the next dance, and Uriah wants to join the swimming team.”

This time Greta does cringe. She bows her head and drags the toe of her boot across the ground. “I’ll figure something out until you get home. The gutters do need to be cleaned and someone needs to figure out what that funk is in the attic.”

Smart fox.

“Hey! Princess! Time to go!”

Az’s head jerks up. Her left sleeve is pushed all the way up and her entire arm is covered with blue ink. Her eyes are out of focus. I don’t know if she even realizes that I’m talking to her. When she speaks, her voice is a breathy whisper only a Shifter can hear. “Age of the Witch.”