Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

"Play it again."

The barked order lingers in the air like smoke. Beside me, Greer nods at the tech at the computer controls. Az's lips are pinched. Censure shimmers in her eyes. I don't care if I'm being rude. I don't give a shit about the tech's feelings or Greer's authority.

Claire Eras died within seconds of Princess setting off the trap at Claire's apartment. Do you know what I'm not a big believer in? Coincidence. Not when magic's involved.

The tech finds her spine. Her fingers hover over but don't tap the keys. "As I have told you twice, sir, the feed cuts out shortly before Ms. Eras hangs herself. It is possible she was able to direct enough magic at the camera to cause a malfunction."

I arch an eyebrow at Az. Was it possible she'd left Claire enough magic to do such a thing? Princess shakes her head. No dice, then.

"She hung herself, Rick," Greer says, tone indicating that he's down to an ounce of patience. "She made it through the 72 hour pysch lockdown, but sometimes suspects do that. They wait until they're off suicide watch to off themselves."

"She didn't kill herself." There aren't many facts I can cling to in this clusterfuck of a case, but I trust my gut. I always have and I always will.

"Forensic evidence says she did."

"Human nature says she didn't." I stand, grab for Az's arm. "She was completely devoted to her puppeteer. She wouldn't have taken a piss without prior approval. Why take the initiative now?"

"To protect him," Princess chimes in, skipping to keep up with me. I hope she's not squeamish about crime scenes because we're about to enter one. "She knows she's the weak link so she killed herself to keep from giving us any more information."

It sounds reasonable, but the explanation doesn't sit right. Nothing about any of this sits right. One sharpened claw tears through the yellow crime scene tape across the front of Claire's cell like it's crepe paper. Az hesitates for only a second before following me into the cell.

"What are you doing?" Greer screeches, hands fisted at his sides. "Get out of there."

"Make me."

The good little human backs down. I'm dropping matches on bridges, but Greer has to remember who the top dog is in our little relationship. His precious tin badge won't protect him from a Shifter rampage.

I drop Az's arm. She doesn't move from my side. She just blinks up at me with impossibly wide, blue eyes.

"Stop stalling."

She blinks again. "I'm sorry, what was it you were expecting me to do?"

"Find the magic." I wave my hand around the cell just in case she's lost a dozen IQ points or so. "Find what killed Claire."

"Yeah, okay. Because I'm your personal magic bloodhound." Those pretty blue eyes narrow. Her fists settle on her hips. "I'm not entirely sure I like your opinion of my abilities or how this partnership is starting."

Sure. There's nothing pressing going on. We have all the time in the world to stroke her precious ego. It's not like anyone's been killed or anything. Growling doesn't make Az move any faster, but it sure as hell helps my rising blood pressure. "Find. The. Magic."

"I'm going to lick things."

I don't want to touch anything in this room with a gloved finger. "That's disgusting."

She manages to look both insulted and disheartened. "It's not your tongue taking a tour of holding cell hell."

With a sniff and toss of her hair, she spins around and starts with the cot. Though she'd taken offense to being treated like a bloodhound, it is exactly how she acts. She runs her fingers over everything. Takes her time. Covers every inch of space.

The blank spot of cinderblock wall opposite the sink receives the most attention. She places her palms flat on two blocks and closes her eyes as if meditating. After a moment, she leans in and licks the space between her hands.

"Why is she doing that?" Greer asks, sounding as horrified as I feel.

Actually, I have an answer for Greer. I did a bit of research while Princess was off communing with the fish or whatever she did in Galveston. "The receptors in the tongue are highly sensitive and are able to pick up even the smallest traces of magic energy."

"They're also better at discerning the type of magic. Sometimes even the origin," Az adds. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "I need to gargle with hydrofluoric acid."

I offer up an Altoid. She pops it in her mouth. Gasps at the intense flavor. Eyes watering, she moves to leave the cell. A hand on her wrist stops her.

"Claire Eras didn't kill herself. Can we go now?" she asks.

"What? Just like that?" Greer demands. "You know just like that?"

"Yes."

Az tries to tug her arm out of my grasp. I'm afraid to tighten my hold for fear of leaving bruises and incurring Greta's wrath, but I don't want her to leave the room yet. Not until Detective Impatient and I get our answers.

"Can we have this discussion somewhere that is not here?" She cranes her neck to stare at the bit of wall she'd licked. Beneath my fingers, her pulse thunders. Faint tinges of panic waft off her. If she were a dog or a wolf, her tail would be between her legs.

"What's wrong with here?" Detective Oblivious asks, moving to block our exit. Never a good move. I don't like cages, and given her past I highly doubt that Az will take kindly to being held captive.

The glare she sends him is hot enough to melt iron. "Because here is where someone got past your pathetic excuse for a protection ward and killed a woman. With magic."

"He got into her head and made her do it? The chick was a little cracked. Kept going on and on about her master."

Az shakes her head so that her braid bounces off my shoulder. Her hair smells of smoke and singed ends. "Nope." She even pops the 'p'. "He's not the type to leave anything to chance. Control freak. He wrapped the sheet around her neck and strung her up like a chicken. With magic."

Greer moves out of the way. Smart man. I don't release Az's arm until we're in the hallway. She sticks to my side, making sure that Greer and I are between her and the cell. I've seen her face down her father, take on a crazed witch, and sass the head of a coven. Whatever happened in that cell has to be some weird, dangerous shit.

"How did he do it?" Greer asks. He whips his tablet out of his jacket pocket and taps the screen.

Az hesitates for just a moment. Cold, delicate fingers dance across my wrist. "I couldn't tell you the exact spell."

"How close was he? Would he be on our security cameras?"

"I don't know." Her sigh is rich with frustration. "I don't – maybe. I've never seen magic like this. I need to talk to an expert."

Greer's gaze narrows suspiciously. "I thought you were an expert."

I expect her to straighten and blast him. Possibly even set his hair on fire. It sure would make my day. Naturally, she doesn't meet my expectations. She sags against me and hangs her head. Just what did she lick in that damn cell?

"I can detect magic. I don't know every spell. And there are many that are so similar. I would hate to give you wrong information and waste the police department's valuable time." Her eyelashes flutter when she peers back up at the detective. Ah. Okay. I get it.

Greer buys her act. His glare softens. He reaches for her. She whimpers and presses against me. If anything, that makes her appear even more pathetic.

"You'll let me know as soon as you hear from your expert?"

"Of course, Detective Greer," she promises fervently. "I'll contact him right away. I'll make sure he understands that this is urgent."

Greer walks us up to the lobby. Princess manages to rebuff his dinner invitation without hurting the poor baby's feelings. I'm glad she's displaying tact. I just want to get to the truck and get the two of us as far from here as possible.

She keeps up the fragile flower act until we reach the parking garage. With Greer nowhere around, she drops my arm and skips ahead. Naive little void. The garage is dark and open and we have no idea if Claire's master is in the area. She's a skipping, humming target.

"He's not here," she mutters, slowing down so that I can catch up. "He was far away when he killed Claire. Safe and comfortable in his fortress of evil."

"Where?"

She rolls her eyes at me. "Do I look like a GPS system to you?"

"I don't know what you are." The bit of honesty comes out harsher than I intended. I should apologize for it, but I am not sure anything else I say will sound any better.

Fortunately, she doesn't take offense. She flashes a tired smile that is far older than someone her age should wear. It matches the ancient light that fills her eyes at the oddest times.

"Neither do I." She winks and suddenly she's young again. "It'll be fun finding out, won't it?"

"Hell no."

"Spoilsport."

"You're going to drive me insane, Princess."

"Well," she says, shrugging. "That'll be fun, too."

I don't breathe easy until we are on the freeway heading for the pack house. I glance over at the woman fiddling with the burner phone Greta bought her. "Hold up. No phone calls without my permission. "

Her ability to look both exasperated and amused is infuriating. "I'm texting Jose."

Of course she is. At this rate, I will have lost all control of my pack within a week. She'll have them all wrapped around her magic-sucking finger. Nothing I say will rate so much as a 'yes sir.' It will be as futile as talking to the wall.

"What expert do you plan on contacting? You're supposed to stay off your father's radar, remember?" I don't want Council representatives in my area. Mages just piss me off and warlocks are like tits on a bull. It’s better for everyone if I don’t have to think about their damn lawyers.

"Well," she drags the word out to four syllables. Impressive. And annoying. "Does having a conversation with myself constitute contacting an expert?"

"No." Wait. She's practically a split-personality. There's crazy hopped-up-on-magic Princess and there's crazy magic-detecting Princess. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between the two, but it has to count for something. "Yes."

"Okay."

She turns her head to stare out the window. The fingers of her left hand tap her knee. Her lips move but there's no sound.

"Care to share with the class, Az?"

"Could be astral projection, but I couldn't taste any mistletoe. There was iron in the cell, too." The tapping speeds up. "He wouldn't have sent anyone in. No, no. He'd need to do it himself. Feel the life drain out of her. Lap it up like spilled champagne." She laughs. The frosty, brittle sound sends a chill down my spine. "Well, given Claire had no magic at the end it was more like a puddle of dirty tap water."

"It was a smart idea, that act you put on for Greer. I would like to limit the number of people who know about your abilities," I say, hoping to break her out of whatever daze she's in. She's starting to sound a little too much like crazy hopped-up-on-magic Princess.

"Of course. Can't have the good detective knowing what I can do. Loose lips, and all. He's eager to please his bosses. Wants out of the freak unit," she responds, still tapping her leg.

Yeah. I like Greer – sometimes – but it's clear that he sees his current position as penance for something. A punishment. He understands but doesn't like those who aren't fully human. He doesn't respect magic, either. That's a dangerous mistake to make.

"I won't be their lapdog. No beck and call. I'll help you because you -," she breaks off with a sigh. The tapping stops as she massages her temples. She murmurs something that sounds like dreams and visions and future. "Because you're pack. And pack is everything."

"Pack is everything," I echo. It is. I'm glad she's learned that lesson, at least. It's usually the hardest to teach.

She nods. Snaps her fingers. "He had to use the Rite of Yulaga."

Yeah. Like that means anything to me. "Princess…"

"Sorry. It's like astral projection but not."

"Not helping."

She sighs, presses her face against the window. "The Rite of Yulaga splits off a part of you. It creates an avatar. One you can control just like you control your body. You send it out to do your dirty work. It can remain invisible. You can change the solidness – make it go through a wall and then use it to commit murder."

"How common is this Rite?"

"It's draining. Prohibitively so. It was banned by the Mages' Council in 1745. Anyone caught using it will be punished to the fullest extent of Council law."

Being banned doesn't mean it's not used. There are plenty of banned spells witches use. Hell, a damn Matron was growing wolfsbane knowing full well it was illegal.

Az jerks away from the window and flops back against the seat. She's paler than she was before. Uneasy. "It's only in a few books. Those should all be locked up in the vaults. I know there are copies in St. Louis, New Orleans, Madrid, Cork, and Venice. There might be one in Cairo."

"Who would teach it to this Master?"

"Only someone willing to risk being burned at the stake." She pales even more. "Or very, very sure they won't be caught. There had to be trust. Security."

Meaning someone with a Council in. Lovely. "How far would someone have to be to perform the rite?"

"Depends on how much magic they have at their disposal. The average witch or warlock wouldn't have enough energy to perform it. Someone like Sally would only have a range of five miles or so."

That's a relief. Maybe Greer can get something off the security cameras in the area. There are sensors that are supposed to detect magic spikes. If we're lucky, one of them picked up something.

She starts tapping again. "If he's draining his lackeys like we think he is, he could have a range of a hundred miles."

Well, shit.