Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

Hank insists on transporting Az to the ‘dome in the back of his ambulance. Greer insists on tagging along so that everything has an official stamp of approval. Greta insists on loading every weapon we own into the back of my rental truck.

I only hope that when I insist everyone make out of this alive that they are as accommodating as I have been.

The ‘dome parking lot is packed. Only five of the pack’s ten spots are free. Hank parks the ambulance in the drop off lane near the front doors. By the time he cuts off the engine, I have the back door open and his patient in my arms. Jose, arms laden with more crap than Az could possibly need, rushes in front of me to hold open the door. Greta stays a step behind me with her hand on her Desert Eagle. Hank and Ike herd the others.

Rachael the pixie scrambles around the front desk as I stride toward her. “Mr. Sutherland regrets that there isn’t enough room in the main conference room for everyone. He’s set up the overflow in the other conference rooms. I had maintenance get the broadcast equipment online so you can speak to everyone.”

I will give the members of the Paranormal Community this: they can really get their shit together when they’re scared.

“Thanks.” I turn toward the conference room only to freeze when a tiny hand grabs my elbow. Oh, little pixie, that’s a dangerous move. “What?”

The hand moves. “Do you want me to find someone to take her?”

What? Just hand over Az to some flunkie? Hell no. That’s just about the stupidest question I’ve ever been asked.

“No, it’s all right,” Greta says, smiling tightly at Rachael. Her hand lands heavily on my bicep and squeezes twice. It’s a signal we worked out years earlier. Normally I’m the one who has to use it on her. It means: Yes, we’re surrounded by idiots, but don’t rip off any heads, please.

Greta doesn’t release my bicep until we’re out of the pixie’s earshot. “You’re going to have to put her down eventually, Rick.”

“I know that.” I do. It just doesn’t have to be right now. It’s not like Az is heavy or anything. The longer I can monitor her vitals the less jumpy I’m likely to be later.

“Kinda hard to make a bad ass entrance while you’re lugging around Little Red Sleeping Beauty, isn’t it boss man?” Ike asks, jogging to join us.

Ah, logic. My oldest nemesis. He has a point, though. I stop and shove her into Ike’s arms. “This is temporary, just so we’re clear. If anything changes, you tell me immediately.”

He shifts her so that her head is cradled on his shoulder. His face is as serious as it gets. “Understood.”

Appearances count for a lot when dealing the PC. It’s not enough to simply be the most powerful creature in the room. You have to look like the most powerful creature, too. It’s why suburban-raised Greta prefers the clichéd leather biker chick persona.

I’ve never taken the time to come up with a fancy costume. There’s no need. I pause outside the doors to the conference room for a partial Shift. Just enough fur and fangs to remind everyone who and what I am. Banging the doors open fulfills two purposes: it gets everyone inside to shut the hell up, and it makes sure that all eyes are on me.

Rachael didn’t lie about the conference room being crowded. There isn’t an available seat in the room. Two cameras are pointed toward the stage. The room smells like thirty variations of bad breath and body odor. And, of course, the don’t-believe-in-bathing ogres take up the first three rows. Wonderful.

I don’t stand behind the podium like a stuffed-shirt professor. I don’t need the microphone, either. Every eye in the room is aimed right at me. I like an attentive audience. I just wish the stench of fear wasn’t competing with ogre stink.

“Time to pull our heads out of our asses, people. We’re at war. This morning, the Patriarch of the Herd was attacked in his home. The Dowager Matriarch was killed, and the Patriarch’s heir was kidnapped. In the course of rescuing the heir, a member of my pack was grievously injured. Another attack was launched on the pack house. Those looking to take over this city – our city – aren’t going to back down. We have no choice but to put them in the ground.”

It takes a few seconds for that announcement to sink into their thick skulls. The ogres, naturally, recover first. Franx leaps to his feet and waves his sword in the air like it’s a battle flag.

“We will defeat the scourge that has invaded our city!”

Well, at least he’s optimistic. “To do that, we have to work together.” I meet Franx’s bloodthirsty stare. He’s been a thorn in my side for years, but he’s not a complete idiot. “We’re the only ones who have gone up against these guys before and survived.”

Franx tries to stare me down for a moment before bowing his head and lowering his sword. “Our blades are yours to command. We will follow your orders, General. May you lead us to victory.”

General Haskell. I sort of like the sound of that. The ogres are the largest clan of warriors in the city. If they say they’ll follow my lead, then the others will do so, too. Pity Az isn’t awake for my promotion from Alpha of the pack to General of the Paranormal Community.

Most in attendance are familiar enough with Bear Creek Park to visualize our potential battleground. No one questions how I know that’s where things are going to go boom. Not being questioned. Another concept I could definitely get used to. I hope my pack is taking notes.

Knocking out a plan of attack is surprisingly easy. Everyone remembers their training from last year’s war. The leprechauns, ogres, centaurs, succubae, and incubi immediately volunteer troops. The miscellaneous groups of creatures too small for formal representation volunteer to fill the ranks. The sprites and faeries are less enthusiastic. That’s hardly surprising. They hate witches, but they’re pacifists.

“As easy as it would be to crush them if we all went, we need people to stay here to protect the ‘dome. This could be a diversion for a real attack on the ‘dome,” I say before the crowd gets a little too involved in describing the various ways they’re going disembowel not-Shifters.

Franx assigns two units of ogres to guard duty. Half the sprites and faeries eagerly agree to stay behind while others reluctantly volunteer to accompany us to Bear Creek. When Maura turns frightened, tear-filled eyes on me, I put the sprites and faeries on the medical team with Hank and Willie. The braver ones will be scouts or messengers.

When the leaders of individual groups start naming unit leaders, I step aside so that Greta can direct the conversation. She’s better at the details. I prefer to look at the big picture. Besides, there’s one very important order I need to give.

I gesture for those remaining at the ‘dome to follow me out of the conference room. Ike, still holding his adopted sister, nudges Jose. I lead my noisy procession to the hospital ward. The two centaurs posted outside the ward doors stand aside as I approach.

Only two beds in the ward are occupied. After a brief survey, I head to the most easily defensible bed in the ward. Away from the windows. Along an interior wall. Not too close to the door. Perfect.

The Patriarch, drugged but awake, nods at me when I pass by. Daniel attempts to scramble off his bed but stops at a look from his father. Tiny centaur hands reach for Az.

Ike, smart man that he is, gently transfers Az into my arms. Though I’d like to hold her long enough to ease the anxiety clawing at me, I can’t do that with an audience. Jose drops his bags to pull back the bed’s thin woven blanket. Az’s face is as white as the bedding. I tuck the sheet up under her chin before turning to my flock of avid watchers.

“This is Az. She is a member of my pack. She is…,” a hundred adjectives rush through my brain but only one makes it to the tip of my tongue, “mine.”

Murmurs swell up around us. It’s not a romantic, spectacular declaration, but in our community it means something. I make eye contact with every person in the room. I commit their faces to memory.

“I am holding each one of you personally responsible for her safety and security.” I gently stroke a finger across her swollen nose. “I ripped out the still-beating heart of the creature that gave her this. If anything happens to her, if she so much as gets a goosebump, you’ll pray I’m that merciful with you.”

One of the ogres slams his fist against his chest and bobs his head. “We will protect your female, General.”

“I am to be notified immediately if there is any change in her condition.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Everyone but the Patriarch and Daniel clear the room.”

Jose is the last to leave. Ike has to yank him out into the hallway. I swear I can hear him whimper through the thick doors.

The bed dips under my weight. Az rolls toward me, but her eyelids don’t flutter. There is no difference in her respiration rate. No increase in her pulse. Just the same damned stillness.

“You should be with me for this,” I tell her. I straighten one of her ridiculous bows and smooth the wisps of hair curling against her forehead. “I don’t know if we’re up against a Mage or a warlock with dreams of world domination. Hell, it could just be a witch with a helluva case of PMS.”

No response. I brush a kiss across her unbruised cheek. “This is your only free pass, Princess. You don’t get to skip out when things get rough. Where’s your follow through?”

Her lips are cool. Only the slightest spark of magic leaps up to greet me when I kiss her. “Wish me luck, sweetheart.”

I pause half a second, heart in my throat, praying she’ll open those eyes or squeeze my hand. Nothing. Nothing at all.

I feel as if I’ve aged a decade as I rise to my feet. I linger over Az, adjusting her pillow and straightening the sheet, as long as I can. There’s no putting off the inevitable, though. I have to leave her, even if that means she could slip away while I’m gone.

The sound of centaur hooves on the tile floor drags me out of my increasingly dismal thoughts. Daniel skirts the end of the bed so that he’s on the other side of Az. He cradles one of her limp hands between his smaller ones. “I will watch her for you, Mr. Rick.”

Looks like Az has a new admirer. “Thank you, Daniel.”

Dozens of vehicles, a modified SWAT APC, two police cruisers, and an ambulance parade to Bear Creek Park. The centaurs take an alternate, hoof-friendly path to the park and arrive only seconds after the last vehicle parks. While Greer and his partner rush to clear civilians out of the park, I start the arduous task of dispersing duties.

Six separate flanks spread out along the park. The park is unnaturally quiet. No chirping birds. No rustle of leaves or wildlife. The acrid tang of magic burns the back of my throat. I have to work to ignore the smell of magic and focus on the scent of not-Shifters. The scent moves. Chasing it feels a little like chasing a ghost until we reach a picnic area. The shadows shift and sunlight glints off sharp white fangs. Bingo.

Five snarling not-Shifters. Hardly the army I was envisioning. Before I can give the order to attack, one not-Shifter throws his head back and howls. The sound grates on my every nerve ending. Sentries, then.

All it takes is the wave of my hand to send my writhing mass of murderous allies racing toward the sentries. Greta, Mark, and the teens drag one sentry to the ground while Ike and his group tear another into five pieces. I want to Shift with the rest my pack, but I can’t lead if I can’t speak. I can’t even half-Shift or risk being shot by friendly fire. At least I have my favorite shotgun.

The scent of not-Shifter leads me toward a line of trees near the creek. Those not busy dismembering sentries follow on my heels. The ogres are on my left, the centaurs at my back, and the leprechauns on my right. Never trust a leprechaun to have your back unless being stabbed is your kink.

A variety of other creatures make up the rest of my soldiers. I’m half certain that the succubae are going to make a move on the incubi when things get messy. If I’m lucky, they’ll wipe each other out, and I won’t have to deal with them.

“There,” Franx says, pointing his blood-stained blade at a clearing just on the other side of the trees.

Adrenaline rushes down my spine. Fur sprouts along my arms and my nails lengthen into claws. The fangs that extend without warning split my lip.

Two dozen not-Shifters snarl and paw the ground like they’re just waiting to be let off their leash. Behind them, a fair-haired goddess hovering a good foot off the ground whistles. Behind me, my army bristles in anticipation.

Showtime.