The Bound Witch

by Ivy Asher

  I lean into him, wanting to drop down into his warm words, but I can’t. We’re not safe. We might never be. I hear Elon start to explain what happened, but I tune him out. My eyes roam over Alvarez’s body as though somehow it holds the key to everything. The key to answers, to safety. I’m missing something here, I know I am, I just can’t figure out what.

  Think, Lennox, think! What’s missing here, what was the point of all of this?

  I stare at the body, willing it to tell me what the hell is going on. What was the endgame here? One Vox Witch up against a whole house of much stronger magic users. Why? Everything Tad was telling me about demons had me thinking they’re all about aligning with power and making plays for more power. That checks out so far with what I witnessed in the church, but as I look down at the corpse at my feet, I don’t see a power grab here. I see a calculated sacrifice.

  What’s even more frustrating is I had these same questions about Jamie when the same demon was using her. She was covered in so many demon marks she barely looked like a person anymore. I was horrified to think about how every single demonic brand was a contract, some kind of deal between her and the demon. But it still doesn’t track that a demon would have chosen someone like Jamie to team up with in the first place. She didn’t have an ounce of magic, not a thing other than her cankered soul to trade with. I get that she had a pretty ambitious plan, but there was no guarantee she was ever going to be successful.

  What was in it for the demon?

  Why take all that risk for someone like Jamie and now Alvarez? Was he a Jamie in the making? Was he part of the team, like Nikki Smelser was before Jamie killed her?

  I rub at my temples, a headache forming between my eyes.

  Fuck, I’m tired. It’s been such a long damn day.

  I rest my head against Rogan’s chest and sigh in an effort to purge myself from the failure I feel. The house is all lit up, and I can spot Tad and Prek watching us through the living room window. I wonder for a moment if I was wrong. Maybe it’s not safe here for Tad. I know he’d hate it, but it might be best for him to go back to the safe house. I could never forgive myself if anything—I pause mid thought as it hits me.

  Aunt Hillen’s dream.

  The message she said was for me from my Grammy Ruby. What did she say? I think back to lunch, sifting through the exhausted haze crashing over me.

  Look at the marks.

  Hurriedly I bend down and start taking Alvarez’s boot off. He’s still in his Order uniform, and I find myself doubting that was an accident. It would make sense if we were being set up. I’m not sure why they’d try to smear Rogan and Elon’s name; they did that already when they renounced them. I suppose I could be the target, but that feels wrong too. They’d be dumb to draw attention to any of us while they’re still trying to steal our secrets.

  “Lennox, Love...what are you doing?” Marx asks, a little bewildered.

  “I’m looking for his demon mark,” I grunt as the laces of Alvarez’s boot loosen and I pull it off.

  His foot turns to mush in my hands, the bones in his feet destroyed, and it takes me a second to get his sock off. I scan the top of his foot and then the bottom. I know it has to be here somewhere. My eyes land on a brand right above his heel bone, and triumph flares through me. I study the demon mark to be certain, but it looks exactly like Jamie’s marks.

  Elon bends down next to me and studies it as well. “Anything standing out to you?” he asks, and I shake my head no as I run my gaze over the circle.

  It’s made up of black shadowy swirls that twine with lines of orange and red flames. It’s a symbol I know that will haunt my nightmares for years to come. A shiver of warning threads up my spine, but I refuse to give into the gloom it wants to invite out in me.

  “I haven’t seen a ton of demon marks in my time,” I tell Elon. “But these look like Jamie’s did. No idea if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

  “I mean, it looks like we’re dealing with one demon instead of more. I’ll take that as a good thing,” he states evenly, but I hear a slight shudder in the casual declaration.

  “I’ll have Prek come look at everything. He was part of a team that had to hunt a demon when he first joined the Order. He knows more about this stuff than a lot of mancers do,” Marx offers, and then he starts jogging toward the house.

  Surprise flutters through me at Marx’s words, and I tuck them away to talk to Prek about later. I stare at the demon mark for a moment more and then put Alvarez’s grotesque foot down. I stand up, huffing out an irritated sigh as I scan the trees surrounding us again. I have no doubt in my mind that setting up Alvarez also meant tying up loose ends. I just wish I knew if those ends belong to the High Council or a rogue demon whose motives are still a frightening mystery.

  I know in my bones that we got lucky tonight. We killed a possible threat, but it’s clear we’re not ready for what could be coming our way. If the High Council had shown up in force tonight, I don’t know if any of us would be standing here right now. If the demon had wanted more than to taunt us, I worry we’d be just as fucked. Reality backhanded me brutally tonight, and it’s clear we need to step shit up and prepare. Ready or not, they’re coming, and no matter what happens...we can’t let them win.

  12

  I lean back against Rogan, resting my cheek against his bicep as we watch Elon work. He shifts me in front of him and wraps his arms around me in a strangely comfortable chokehold-ish cuddle. I settle against him, my back to his front, and he drops a soft kiss to the top of my head as I do. The small but sweetly intimate gesture makes me smile, and I reach up and lace my fingers with his.

  Elon types away at the kitchen island, his laptop the most high tech thing I’ve ever seen. It looks like something out of an end-of-the-world movie that a high up military member hands to the president because it is the case that holds the nuke launch codes. The rest of us are scattered around the kitchen, watching him work with bated breath, but the audience doesn’t seem to faze Elon at all.

  “We’re sure about this?” I whisper to Rogan, and I feel him shake his head and sigh against me.

  Okay, maybe this is like the hundredth time I’ve asked this question since they told me their plan, but it all feels counterintuitive, and I can’t help but be a little squirrely about it. Rogan nuzzles me, dragging his nose and scruffy face across the top of my shoulder before moving up my neck, and I can’t help but feel a little squirrely about that too.

  Moon shits, he feels good.

  He nips at the lobe of my ear and then chuckles deeply in my ear when my body betrays me and gets all shivery and goose bumpy in front of him. I had a firm plan to keep his ego in check and not get too melty with all this new contact, but apparently my inner fiend has declared mutiny and is currently making my good sense walk the plank.

  “I hear what you’re saying, Lennox, we all do, but this is the right move. We will be ready for them when they come for us, and this will buy us the time we need to get there,” Rogan reassures me for the hundredth time.

  I huff a resigned sigh and try to keep my mouth shut.

  “Just remind me one more time how does this buy us more time?” I ask, and Prek and Marx both groan.

  I flip them both the bird, and Marx pretends to excitedly catch it and put it in his pocket. I laugh at his antics, and the tension in the room drops a notch.

  “It buys us time because it forces them to focus on something else other than us for a moment. They’ll know we’re behind this—our parents will most definitely want to retaliate—but first they’ll have to do damage control,” Elon explains...again.

  “We know we’re the underdogs in this situation. We know that we’re up against a titan of power when it comes to the High Council as a collective. This will help us create a divide and help to possibly level the playing field,” Rogan adds, and I nod and try to relax in his arms again.

  “I’m just checking that the videos are looped and the bots are ready, and then we can go,”
Elon announces, and that must mean something to the others in the room, because a sense of relief fills the atmosphere.

  “So how many videos do you have?” Tad asks, and I glare at everyone when no one gets annoyed with his question.

  “I fed fifty into the program, so it will filter through those, but it will also create new content, based on what gets the most views and if other witches start posting their own claims in addition to ours,” Elon answers nonchalantly. “The marriage between the tech and the magic isn’t exact, but it will adjust as we go and should get the job done nicely,” he adds enthusiastically, pride shining in his voice.

  I can’t really blame him. If I’d created a program solely designed to rapid-fire all the evidence I’d collected over several years, documenting the corruption, lies, and downright evil behavior of the High Council, I’d be pretty damn proud too.

  They’ve put together their own smear campaign, only this one is nothing but truth and filled with bombs I still don’t know how to process. Rogan and Elon are both counting on the fact that the High Council likes to keep secrets even from the other members of the High Council. So, when some of those secrets are revealed, the goal is to help them start to implode from the inside out. They’re also hoping that the public outcry these videos will hopefully stoke, will help the crumbling of things by putting a lot of pressure from the outside for justice and reforms.

  As nervous as I am to pick this fight after what happened with the demon earlier, I can see their point. I can even enjoy the fact that their parents taught them all about how brutal it can be to be judged in the court of public opinion. This fight is personal, but I also am starting to understand that it also needs to be political and most importantly public. Well, not the part about us and the real reason Rogan and Elon were renounced. But with the shit I learned in the handful of videos I watched, they don’t need to spill their own secrets to get a reaction; the mancer population will be frothing for blood and retribution in no time.

  Elon taps away for another minute, and then all at once, he closes the laptop and slowly gets up. I watch as he blows out a deep tension-filled breath and looks over to Rogan with a look I can’t decipher.

  “It’s done. Cohen’s going to track the program for a bit, make sure everything is filtering to every possible channel and page it can. By this time tomorrow, every mancer who has access to the internet or a TV will know the same things we do about the leaders of our race,” he declares, and I offer him a warm supportive smile.

  I know this can’t be easy on them. They’ve been preparing for this eventuality for a long time, but planning for something and actually doing it are very different things. I can feel that Rogan is relieved but also anxious. He’s resigned to win at all costs, but all of this is taking a toll. He and Elon have worked so hard to get where they are now, and in a way, they’re destroying all of that in order to take this stand against their parents. It’s hard to say what will be left of the life they’ve fought to build when the rubble of this war is cleared away and the dust finally settles.

  Rogan unwraps his hands from around me, squeezing my shoulders once. “I’ll go grab my shoes then,” he announces, and I step to the side to let him past me. He and Elon head upstairs, clearly wanting to talk about something, and I lean back against the counter and try not to care about what it might be.

  “Hey, Lemon Drop,” Tad greets as he sidles up next to me.

  I snort out a laugh and try not to smile. I worry about his safety, but I have to admit I’m glad he’s here.

  “Heading out to talk to Prek’s demon guy?” he confirms, and I nod, not sure what to expect from today’s excursion. “What’s the deal with him anyway? I thought he was an Order soldier through and through. I’m surprised you’re trusting him after the whole car accident thing and then getting demon-napped right under his nose. None of that seems worrisome to you?” he presses, dropping his voice so no one else can hear us.

  “Do you have a weird vibe about him or something?” I ask, curious.

  I know what I think, but I don’t want to dismiss anyone else’s instincts around me, mostly because I have no idea what I’m doing. Winging it doesn’t even begin to cover how I’m rolling these days.

  “No, he seems fine. I just want to make sure you’ve got your eyes open just in case.”

  I give Tad a side hug and sneak a glance at Prek and Marx.

  “I thought Prek was the same way too. It was little things I saw when I was with him and his team in Chicago that started to make me wonder,” I explain, and Tad leans down to better hear my whisper. “His boss gave him orders to not let me have a phone unless I was being supervised. He didn’t follow them, choosing to trust me instead. It was clear he did not like Rogan, but I heard him lecturing his team once about being respectful and keeping any thoughts they had about his presence to themselves. I discreetly asked around about him, and what I got back was that he was good at his job but would never advance the way he deserved because he wasn’t enough of a company man, if you catch my drift.”

  Tad nods thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on mine.

  “The High Council fed him and his family some bullshit story about what happened to his aunt, but Prek wasn’t buying it. He wouldn’t stop looking into it, no matter how many dead ends he hit. Rogan told me that, and then when I was digging around the Order because I didn’t have anything else to do, I heard the same thing. He didn’t trust the High Council. He didn’t believe what he was told. It made me think he actually might have a good head on his shoulders.”

  “I mean, he definitely has that going for him among other things,” Tad teases, waggling his eyebrows.

  I chuckle and shake my head at him. Leave it to Tad to take the conversation there. I look over at Prek again and shrug.

  “He’s good-looking,” I agree, my tone casual and unaffected.

  “Awwww, you’re so booed up it’s nauseating,” Tad taunts, bumping his shoulder with mine.

  “Excuse me, weren’t you the one insisting I ride that dick for posterity’s sake?” I remind him. “You cannot be disgruntled when you were pushing for this from the get-go.”

  “Fine, fair enough. I’m just jealous anyway. You two have the thing, and I want the thing,” he declares wistfully. “But for real, if he fucks with you again, I’ve already scouted out some excellent places where we can bury him without ever having to worry about him being found. I support your ability to forgive, I am on board too, but I will snatch his soul if things go sideways,” he states matter-of-factly.

  I laugh and reach up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I love you. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Tad hugs me tightly and then moves to the fridge to inspect its contents. “What time do you think you’ll be back? Does your man have a crockpot? I’m thinking something hardy and warm is in store for dinner. Especially if you’re going to spend the day learning about demons.”

  “I have no idea, but I give you full permission to go through all the cupboards in search of one,” I offer with a cheeky smile and a shrug. “You don’t have to cook though; I honestly have no idea what time we’ll be back.”

  He waves me off. “It’s fine, I don’t have a lot of other things to do around here if you all are gone. Besides, I’m not picking up any interested vibes from this clan of hotties you now run with, so I figure it’s time to show off some skills and see if I can reel anything in.”

  “Got it. So, you want me to text you when we’re half an hour away so you can be doing bendy yoga stuff when we get back?” I ask evenly.

  He high-fives me. “And this is why you’re my people.”

  “I got you, fam,” I announce with a wide grin.

  “Spot Conlon is missing out,” Tad declares, like the fictional character from my favorite childhood movie is real.

  “Damn straight,” I agree without missing a beat. “Rogan will do though,” I add, as though it’s a hardship I’m willing to shoulder.

  “True, wish he was hotter though,�
�� Tad counters, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

  “We all make sacrifices,” I agree solemnly.

  “Who’s Spot Conlon?” Rogan asks, his broad, well-muscled chest brushing my back as he walks up behind me.

  I swallow down the surprised squeak in my chest, and a blush crawls up my neck as I shoot Tad my don’t you dare eyes. My romantic obsession with a counterfeit Newsie stays between me and Tad.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I chirp a little too airily, and Rogan narrows his eyes at me. “You ready to go?” I ask sweetly, refusing to succumb to the demand for answers I see brewing in his gorgeous green eyes. “Let’s do this,” I call out to the rest of the kitchen, clapping my hands like I’m some overzealous sports coach.

  “Totally threw him off the hunt,” Tad chuckles under his breath.

  “Nailed it,” I sing-song back, tossing him a wink for good measure.

  And then I scramble away from Rogan as fast as I can, ignoring all the things I feel in our tether that he wants to do to me to get me talking. Such a filthy slew of emotions that man has.

  Yum.

  Prek presses a button on a brass panel, and a buzzing sound fills the late afternoon air. I bounce on my heels, trying to rein in my excitement over the fact that we just rode a ley line to freakin’ Scotland.

  Scotland!

  There’s a cool drizzle that can’t quite make up its mind about whether it wants to be rain or not, sprinkling down on us, and even though I know my hair is going to reject the level of moisture hanging about in the air, I’m so excited I could scream.

  We apparated into a line behind something called Tesco. I got from the size of it and the loading docks at the back that it might be a grocery store, but Rogan wouldn’t let me go confirm my suspicions. No, instead we walked a short ways away to Fenella Street where we’re now standing outside of a stone building, waiting to see if Mr. Muda is going to let us in.

  Sadly, I spotted zero kilts on our way here, and I stood next to a group of men talking while we waited at a crosswalk and legitimately thought they were speaking another language until I was able to pick up an English word here and there. To my utter shock, I realized that they were in fact speaking the same language as me, but with a brogue so thick and foreign that I could barely recognize more than three words of what they were saying. Something about a bird, a fanny, and a pint.