Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

Az, still dressed in those stupid pajamas, practically skips across the uneven, blood-slicked ground. The two ogres who’d been flanking her follow a moment before dispersing into the ranks. I’ll teach them what it means to be a bodyguard, and then I’ll rip out their throats. Az heads straight for the willowy blonde witch on the edge of the battleground. The Fuglies stare at her but don’t attack. At least Olivet’s hands-off-the-blonde policy is good for something. I don’t hesitate to dash after her reckless, unprotected, thank-God-she’s-alive ass.

Before Az can reach Annabelle Vardan, lightning flashes around us. It’s a perfect fall day. The sky is cloudless. No storms predicted for the week. Lightning? A strong wave of heavy magic rolls over me and sets my teeth on edge. More magic. Of course. Az gives no indication anything out of the ordinary has happened. The battle rages on behind me. Am I the only one who can feel the magic?

A thin man in a neat, gray pinstriped suit appears at the edge of my peripheral vision. His eyes are fixed on the Vardan women. No one involved in the battle seems to notice him. Is this the real puppet master? Annabelle’s boss?

I don’t have time to figure it out. As soon as she’s within reach, Az lashes out at her mother with a fist. Greta taught her well. Annabelle careens backwards three feet before floating forward again. She presses bony fingers to her bleeding lip.

“Heal it,” Az instructs, voice wintry. She plants a hand on her cocked hip and taps a foot impatiently. Her smile is vicious. “Oh, that’s right, you can’t. Not anymore. Not after killing so many people. Sucks when karma gets you, doesn’t it?”

“Sacrifices are a necessary part of change, Starshine.”

Az flinches as if struck. The hand falls from her hip. Her spine stiffens. There’s that name again and the same stunned reaction. I should have put the pieces together earlier. She should have shared her suspicions that her mother was involved.

“Aunt Evelyn was your best friend.”

“She outlived her usefulness.”

“And all these years I thought Dad was the heartless one.”

Annabelle’s laugh is like the screech of worn brakes. I take back every horrible thing I said about Kassiopa Taylor. Annabelle Vardan has the worst laugh in all of creation.

“How else is one supposed to survive life with Leonid Vardan?” Annabelle’s pretty face transforms into a mask of bitterness. “Seven miscarriages. Five stillborn children. A daughter I couldn’t raise. Decades of playing the perfect hostess. The perfect wife. Turning a blind eye to his witches on the side. I wasted my entire life on him.”

“He’s a bastard. You won’t get any argument from me.”

Annabelle’s frown slowly curves into a welcoming smile. She reaches out both hands toward Az but doesn’t make actual contact. “I knew you would understand, my Starshine. I convinced him that sending you here was for the best. That it would finally get you out of our hair. I was trying to get you out from under his control.”

Az cocks her head. She doesn’t retreat from her mother’s hands, but she doesn’t look eager for a hug, either. “Because you need me to help you with the witches?”

“I expected you to run to St. Louis. Evie was going to keep you safe while I cleared out the Shifter infestation.” Blazing blue eyes flit to me before returning to Az’s expectant face. “The plan was perfect, too. With most of the Mages at the retreat in Budapest, I had all the time I needed to finally take control here.”

“Do you know, Mother, that for years I dreamed you would rescue me from whatever hellhole I’d been sent to?” Az asks, a heart-rending wistfulness lingering in her tone.

“I finally did, Starshine. But you,” Annabelle says as she wags her finger at Az, “couldn’t keep from cozying up to the flea-ridden mutts. You ruined Mommy’s plans. Naughty girl.”

Az’s jaw tenses, but she doesn’t debate the matter. Thanks for the support, Princess.

“So you wanted out. I get that. You wanted a territory of your own. To prove that you’re just as powerful as Dad.”

“I am as powerful as he is. I could take New Orleans from him with a flick of my fingers. I’m as powerful as any Mage!”

Az clasps her mother’s hands and drags Annabelle closer. “Would you like to know what true power really feels like?”

Annabelle screeches like a banshee. She struggles to free herself from Az’s grasp, but my void is stronger than any witch. Az drags Annabelle to the ground and hooks a heel around Annabelle’s legs. They crash to the grass. Az rolls so that she’s straddling her mother. She pins Annabelle’s arms to the grass and presses her forehead against her mother’s.

A riotous display of scorching, multicolored magic sparks up around them. The grass near Az’s feet turns to ash. Annabelle pleads, begs, for her daughter to stop. “Just please, Starshine, stop.” Az’s lips move but I can’t quite make out what she’s saying. Behind me, something roars.

I turn just in time to watch the remaining not-Shifters turn berserker. Their attacks are uncoordinated. Sloppy. The movements of cornered, wounded animals. That would make Annabelle the puppet master, then. The rest of the battle is short and gory. Without direction from Annabelle, the not-Shifters don’t stand a chance against my army.

If Annabelle is the architect of this clusterfuck, who is our mystery observer? What threat does he pose to my pack and my city? I aim my shotgun at him just in case. Allies and enemies bleed the same.

Annabelle’s cries die down to meaningless, half-coherent babble. The magic lightshow gradually fades to a handful of random, warm sparks. All of the vegetation in a two foot radius around mother and daughter is burnt to a crisp. Expecting the worst, I carefully make my way to Az’s side. Draining Olivet put her into a coma. What did draining her mother do to her?

“I’m sorry. Mommy, I’m so, so sorry, but you threatened my family.” Az’s tear-choked voice speeds my steps. “You didn’t leave me any choice. I’m so sorry.”

Az, still pale but conscious and coherent, raises her head when I plant my boots near her head. She offers up a shaky smile. Her eyes dart past me to the gory aftermath of the battle. Her smile fades. “Oh, Ricky. You amassed an army. What happened to your poor glass heart?” She swallows. “Betcha you’d like some answers right about now. You’ll have to give me a few minutes. I need to see this through.”

She ignores the hand I hold out and climbs to her feet. She is surprisingly steady considering she just did… something… to her mother. The suited observer ambles toward us. Only Az and I seem to be aware of his presence. All the more reason to keep my gun pointed in his direction.

Az delicately steps over her mother’s unmoving body to greet the man. She executes a neat curtsy before holding out her hand. “Thank you for responding so quickly to my call, Mage Trivil.”

The Mage lingers a little too long over my void’s hand. When he finally releases her, Az surreptitiously wipes the back of her hand across the seat of her pajama bottoms. Good girl.

“How could I resist such a summons? Especially as it appears that you are not one to embellish facts.” Trivil’s dark gaze falls on Annabelle. “This is most distressing. Thank you for making the Council aware of the situation. Consort Vardan has committed treason. If this is a growing trend amongst witches, we must make an example of her.”

Treason? For wanting to get away from her jackass husband? Then again, she could have just divorced him. She didn’t have to try and take over my city or kill my people.

“I hope that the shame she has brought upon my family does not reflect poorly upon my father.”

“There will be an investigation into the involvement of Mage Vardan and Mage Shica. I find it difficult to believe that they were unaware of their wives’ arrangement.”

Because heaven forbid a Mage be as clueless as any other husband. I guarantee that Ike only knows about half of the crazy shit Greta’s pulled. The arrogance of Mages will never cease to amaze me.

“I understand.” Az follows Trivil’s gaze down to her mother. “She has been cut off from magic. Permanently. Even if I could undo it, I would never do so.”

“A fitting punishment for one who desired the power of a Mage.” Trivil’s eyes roam over Az’s placid face. “To think I believed the rumors that Mage Vardan’s daughter possessed no abilities.”

Az’s innocent smile is ninety-percent bullshit. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Trivil chuckles as he pats the top of Az’s head like a proud papa. “Will you return with me? As a reward for your service, you will have a place within the Council.”

Az retreats a half-step. “My place is here.” She swallows before tilting her chin up. “I would like to have it on record that this area is a protected territory.”

“By you?” Trivil arches a thin eyebrow.

Az pulls down the neckline of her t-shirt. I can’t see what she shows Trivil, but he glances at me for the first time in the conversation. His nod is terse.

“It will be known that this area is protected. No Council member will enter without permission. You will be bound by the same terms as our other Shifter agreements.”

“Thank you, Mage Trivil.”

“I would not be so quick to thank me, Astraea Vardan. The Alpha of the Shifter pack may have claimed this territory, but he has no authorization over its witches. You have made a declaration today. You will be bound to it.”

Az swallows. One arm darts around her back. I grasp her flailing hand. If I understand their Council bullshit-speak, the territory is under my protection but Az is in charge of the witches because she made Trivil believe she has strong voodoo. I squeeze her hand in what I hope comes across as reassurance. If it means keeping the Council out of my backyard, we can handle the witches.

“I understood the ramifications of my actions before I made them,” she says, obviously lying through her pearly teeth. I doubt she’s truly weighed the ramifications of any action before doing it.

Trivil scoops Annabelle into his arms. He inclines his head ever so slightly at me before half-bowing to Az. “Should you change your mind, Astraea Vardan, I will be at your service. It would be an honor to be your mentor.”

Az squeezes my hand so tightly my fingers go cold. “I thank you for your assistance today and for your very generous offer.”

Another strong wave of magic rolls across the park. In a flash of lightning, Mage Trivil disappears. Before the magic can die away, Az slumps against me. I wrap an arm around her waist just before her knees buckle.

“Oh, sweet Merlin, I thought he’d never leave.” She leans against my chest for a long moment before wriggling free. “I think I’m okay now.”

“What the fuck was that all about? Why did you call the Mage in to protect the witch?” I don’t know if I’m more pissed over having lost my opportunity to kill the witch responsible for all this shit or having the crap scared out of me by Az’s long nap and unexpected battlefield appearance.

“Explanations. I know, I know. I just have one question.” Az waves a hand dismissively. She glances down at her clothes before peering up at me. “What on earth am I wearing?”

Her outfit? She’s worried about her outfit? I really am going to kill her. That’s just… it’s just the only way I’m going to keep my sanity.

“Oh, never mind,” she huffs. “It’s comfy and that’s all that matters.”

I growl her name. She grins like a fool. I growl again. The smile slips just a bit. If we keep this up, I might get an answer some time before Christmas.

“Fine. I don’t even get a hug. Did you even miss me?”

“You have two seconds to start explaining.”

Her mouth opens, and I swear if the words ‘or else what’ come out of her mouth, I refuse to be held responsible for what will happen next. One of our heads is going to explode.

Fortunately, for her, she just sighs. “Mage Trivil is the Mage of Richmond. He’s the only Mage I know, as in have actually met, with the ability to teleport. He’s also the most reasonable. Which isn’t really saying much, but there you have it.”

The anger I’ve been holding back boils over. She called the fucking Council in to clean up a mess in my area? To sweep it all under the rug like it never happened? To deny me the pleasure of making the witch feel every ounce of pain she caused my pack and my friends?

“You should have let me handle the witch. I don’t care if she’s your mother or not. She attacked my pack. Our pack, Astraea, or have your loyalties changed so quickly?”

The strangled sound that spills from her lips is mocking. She shakes her head and stuffs her clenched fists in the pockets of her fleece jacket. Her stare is hard, accusing.

“You think I called the Mage to protect my mother? She’s facing a Council inquisition, Ricky. She’s going to be used as an example for other witches who start thinking they’re as good as Mages.” That terrible chuckle returns. It makes my hair stand on end. “Letting you vivisect her would have been a kindness.”

“Why involve the Council at all?”

“To protect you, you thick-headed lummox. If you had killed her, it wouldn’t have mattered that she attacked you and tried to invade your city. All the Council would have cared about was that you killed a Mage’s Consort. They would have obliterated you and the pack. This,” she says, waving her hand at the bloody park, “would be a picnic compared to a full-blown Council attack.”

“This way there is no attack and the Council will recognize my authority in this area?”

“They won’t like it, but yes. They can’t risk making an enemy of you. Not now.” Az relaxes and shuffles a step closer to me. “I did to her what I did to Claire. Sorta. I didn’t drain Mom. I discharged everything I took from Olivet and a few sprites straight into her. Overloaded the circuits. Different method, same result. She’ll never use magic again.”

“What will the Council do with your mother?”

“Do you want me to draw a picture? She’s my mother,” she snaps, eyes glittering with sorrow. “I have vague memories of bedtime stories and beignets. Sips of café au lait on Sunday mornings. Learning to make amulets for the homeless shelters. She wasn’t allowed to be very involved in my life, but she tried the best she could under the circumstances.”

Aw, hell. Now I feel like the villain. I sling my shotgun across my back and, with both arms around her waist, haul her against me. Hot tears soak through my flannel shirt and the t-shirt beneath it.

“She got greedy. Or desperate. Or maybe living with Dad for so long just broke her. She wasn’t exaggerating. There are twelve small crosses behind the shed.” Az sniffles. Swallows. “I handed her to the Council, so whatever they do to her is on me. I have read about how they deal with witches who get too big for their cauldrons. Not light reading by any means. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not dwell on the details.”

“She attacked our pack. Killed your godmother. The hell they reign down on her is on her head. Not on yours.”

She shrugs noncommittally. “Best case scenario is Dad loses his region. If the Council buys that he was clueless, they’ll use that to say that he’s unfit to rule. He’ll probably be sent to one of the more isolated outposts.”

“And Mage Shica?”

“I don’t know. Losing Aunt Evelyn will probably work in his favor, but he’ll lose standing.” Az pulls back to scrub a hand across her face. “It’s not neat and tidy and wrapped up with a bow, but it’s done.”

“You should have let me in on your plan before you drained Olivet!”

She blinks myopically. “Plan? Who said anything about having a plan? I just wanted to save the kid. Once I woke up, I had to think fast. We’re running on improv here, Ricky.”

Oh. Joy. Kinda wish I hadn’t said anything, now. Yes, as a matter of fact, that is my ulcer screaming in anticipation of years of Az’s improv.

“What did you show Mage Trivil that finally made him acknowledge my existence?”

Az wriggles one arm free and yanks down the collar of her t-shirt. My pack’s official crest is inked in black on her fair skin. “On the way here, I realized that if we managed to defeat the big bad, whoever it was, Trivil’s bias against Shifters would mean he would try to give the region to me. I don’t want it, and that’s just not fair. You did all the heavy lifting. This seemed like the best way.”

“Is it permanent?”

She rolls her eyes, licks her thumb, and starts scrubbing at the mark. The edges of it start to blur. “Sharpie.”

I cover her hand. Oh, that’s a mark that needs to stay. Forever. “Leave it.”

“I see you managed to scrounge up an entire army. You should check in with your troops, Colonel,” she says in a tone rich with pride. If she even tries to take credit for the unification of the PC, I will have her running with Greta until she’s ready for a marathon.

“General,” I correct. “I can spare another minute.”

The truth is, I don’t want to let go just yet. I haven’t recovered from watching her attack Olivet or seeing her so lifeless. With her pressed up against me, I can feel her chest rise and fall. I can hear the thrum of her pulse. I can see that her eyes are open and aware. And ripe with mischief.

“Why’d you let me sleep so long?”

“Let you? You think I had any control over your naptime, Sleeping Beauty?”

The corners of her eyes crinkle as she laughs merrily. It’s a sound I’ll never tire of hearing. “I bet you didn’t even try to kiss me awake. What kind of Prince Charming are you?”

“The kind who likes willing, active participants.”

“Fair point. Do I even want to know why I’m dressed like a Shifter fangirl and Little Red Riding Hood?”

“Ike and Jose got their metaphors mixed.”

“Ah. No surprise there. I suppose the dairymaid braids are just the icing on the fairytale cake?”

I stroke a hand down the back of her head and across her back. “I’m really glad you’re awake.”

“Me, too.” Warm breath fans across my neck. Her lips brush across my collarbone. Her hands slip into my back pockets. “I feel like I need a shower, though. That magic Olivet was holding? Nasty, nasty stuff. Surprised he wasn’t already rotting from the inside.”

“I did miss you.”

“Of course you did,” she chirps, kissing me again. “I can’t believe I missed all the fun. A draugr! I haven’t seen one of those since my tenth birthday.”

“I think seven months is an unreasonable timeframe. We need to discuss a different way to approach this relationship.”

“That’s just because you have no impulse control. Or concept of time,” she accuses, proving that she is the pot to my kettle. “I could have told you that days ago, but you wouldn’t listen-,”

“Az!”

She stops mid-sentence and tilts her head back to stare at me with twinkling blue eyes. Her smile is as bright as August sunshine and twice as warm. “What?”

“Shut up.”

Because I know just how contrary my void can be, I make sure her lips are too busy to babble.