by Jane Cousins
Not talking, it was hard. Not touching Patricia, that was harder still. Long time married couples rarely touched. Rarely conversed. Cullen thought it a pity. But it was a fact. Still, he couldn’t imagine a time, in ten years, thirty, fifty, when he wouldn’t want to touch Trix, or match wits with her.
He checked his phone once more as a Christmas Carol began playing over the loud speakers. He double checked that all five suspects were in their seats in the front row. Good, he discreetly clicked on the thumbs up signal to reassure Elijah that they were good to go, let the break-ins commence.
The curtain lifted and the show began.
Two Carols in. One impressive solo by a girl of about eight. And a slightly pitchy attempt at Come All Ye Faithful by a ten strong choir of pre-pubescent boys, and abruptly there was a flurry of activity in the front row. Five shadowy heads suddenly bent forward. A tense, whispered conversation took place that had those seated around the women sending censorious looks, but this was England, no one actually voiced a complaint.
Something must have gone wrong, an alarm tripped maybe. Cullen tensed as three of the women stood up. Elena, he could pick easily from her shapely, lean silhouette, stalking off to the left. The other two, hunched over slightly, aware of those in the rows behind them, headed off to the right. Mara, he would know her anywhere and… Gwynne Partridge, he recognised her as a Christmas Float was wheeled on to the stage and the edge of the spotlight caught her profile.
Cullen waited until the duo were almost at the exit before getting to his own feet. The coven had split up, it was now or never, two against one. Crap, he sensed Patricia moving in his wake. There was no time to talk her out of joining him.
The carpeted foyer would have masked their footsteps, but there was nothing Cullen could do about the blast of trumpets and bells that followed them out as he pushed open the sturdy double doors. The two witches turned abruptly. Mara, wearing a festive red jumper and camel trousers. Gwynne, in a crushed dark green velvet dress.
Cullen had the distinct feeling that the women had rather been hoping to lure him outside. Their eyes gleamed in anticipation and the edges of Mara’s lips twisted upwards in a pleased smile.
“Cullen.” Mara’s dark gaze swept over him searchingly and then over Patricia. “I barely recognise you, so full of surprises. Just who do you have breaking into my house right now? One of those nasty Archer relatives of yours?”
Cullen fought hard not to react. Mara knew he was an Archer? She knew of his family? How?
Gwynne nudged her witch colleague, a chuckle escaping. “I do believe you have caught the Archer with his pants down, Mara.”
“If only our Russian friends had been able to do so. We could have avoided all this tiresome waiting for him to pop back up. Two years looking over my shoulder. You are a calculating bastard. But I knew you’d turn up in person eventually. It was still surprising when my magic zinged me the other evening to let me know you’d finally come out of your deep, dark hidey hole.”
Cullen lifted his chin slightly, gifting the pair with a superior look. When you had no idea what the hell was going on, always act like things were going exactly according to your plan. “This ends here.”
But Mara appeared to see through his sham. “You… you don’t have any idea of who, what I am, do you?” Real shock laced Mara’s words.
Gwynne choked slightly, as if this information was extremely unpalatable. “I told you that you were being paranoid.” She hissed under her breath.
“Shut up.” Mara hissed back. She raised her hand, bolts of lightning shooting out the tips of her fingers.
Patricia’s Enforcer training kicked in. She’d faced off against Gunther Valhalla more than once on the practise field. Lightning was merely a stream of charged particles moving at extreme velocities. Instinct had her parting her lips, whistling under her breath, sending out vibrating sound waves too low on the spectrum for the human ear to hear, chopping and disrupting the air. The lightning strikes were abruptly erased from existence.
Woo-hoo, she still had it.
“And we have an interesting new player in the mix.” Mara studied Patricia. “You’re no Archer.”
“No, she isn’t.” Gwynne Partridge’s eyes gleamed with avarice suddenly. “Keep her alive. She could come in useful.”
Interrogating the witches regarding the whereabouts of the missing children was their number one priority tonight. But that discussion couldn’t take place in the lobby of the auditorium. Cullen’s intention from the beginning was to bring at least one of the witches in alive. But Mara was shooting lightning bolts out of her hand. And Gwynne was still an unknown factor, power wise.
He had done all the calculations. Trying to get close enough to incapacitate the witches had only a slim margin of projected success if he took into account the current information he had. If he could just get Gwynne to use her magic he would be able to come up with a better approach.
Patricia huffed out a low, smooth, breathless sound. A dense wave of sound slammed into the two witches. Mara was flung backwards, hitting the wall behind her, sliding to the ground, looking dazed and slightly confused. Gwynne however had her feet planted firmly still on the plush carpet, the wave of sound hadn’t even ruffled her hair.
Damn, Trix’s magic was cool. He really should have taken the time to question her more thoroughly regarding what she could do, but he’d been hoping by not bringing it up she’d get the hint that he wanted her to stay out of the way. Thankfully, that hadn’t happened, and she was here now, fighting by his side. And he’d better factor her quickly into his next steps.
They needed to move quickly. Mara was momentarily stunned, if they could just take advantage of that, they might still emerge triumphant. Raising his arm, the mini bolt gun strapped to his wrist fired off six projectiles in quick succession.
Gwynne made no move to block the darts dipped in tranquiliser. But clearly she didn’t have to, as each one hit her upper body only to make a dull plinking sound and fall to the carpet at her feet. Cullen would have guessed she was wearing body armour but he had watched two of the darts hit the woman above the neckline of her dress where her skin was bared to the elements.
Damn. Cullen was in motion, moving fast towards Gwynne, bringing the stun gun around he jabbed it hard into her side. Bloody hell, not only did she fail to register the jolt, Gwynne brought her fists up and slammed them into Cullen’s chest. Flying backwards, it was Cullen’s turn to thump into the nearest wall and slide down it, a little dazed.
Patricia had noted the way Gwynne hadn’t just planted her feet as she faced off against their attacks, but how she seemed to be actually sinking into the carpet, the ground itself. Almost as if her density had increased ten fold. Hmm, density. Patricia stepped sideways to shield Cullen, giving him some time to shake off the effects of that massive blow he’d been dealt. Gritting her teeth she soundlessly hummed. Gwynne might suddenly be literally as sturdy as a rock, but rocks could be torn apart by vibrational sound waves. She just had to find the right frequency.
Cullen rose, shaking his head. Annoyed. Witches, bloody witches. He’d studied up on them at the Library. But they were secretive and according to his research, rare.
He’d spoken with Serena, an Earth Witch, who lived at the Sanctuary. But she’d been unable to tell him much about what kind of powers Mara and her coven might be packing and how to stop them. Only that all witches aligned themselves to a natural power source, such as the Earth, in Serena’s case. And that if the witch abused that power, it set up a snowball Karma affect that increased thrice-fold, that no sane witch would care to experience.
It looked to Cullen that either Mara and her coven had discovered some kind of bad Karma work around, or their power source was tainted to begin with. He was starting to have an inkling that they wouldn’t be finding any of those missing children alive. He prayed he was wrong.
Cullen noted that Mara had likewise gotten to her feet and was sheltering behind Gwynne, who had her fi
sts clenched and was glaring at Patricia, hate shimmering in her gaze. Her whole body appeared to be quaking. Go, Trix.
Cullen knelt down smoothly and fired off two more darts. They slammed into Mara’s legs, the only bits of her exposed. An Archer never misses. He heard her outraged cry. Straightening, Cullen watched as Mara lolled in place slightly, the tranquiliser fast acting. Excellent, any moment she’d be out of the picture and they could concentrate on defeating Gwynne.
Of course that’s when things went wrong.
Mara clamped a hand down on Gwynne’s shoulder to steady herself. Abruptly the taller woman appeared to shake off Patricia’s sound wave holding her frozen in place, raising her hand, lightning bolts shot out of her fingers. Damn, they could borrow one another’s powers. Cullen was already grabbing hold of Trix and yanking her down and to the side, as a series of bolts headed their way.
Cullen zagged them left. Catching a glimpse of Gwynne raising her other hand. More lightning? No. Movement out the corner of his eye. Five bricks tore out of the wall to their right and whipped towards them. Patricia instinctively slammed a thick wall of sound between them and the masonry. Just in time too, as they hit the invisible wall of sound and exploded into dust.
“Can… only hold one shield in place… at a time.” Patricia panted. Throwing up a new shield to block yet more lightning. Matching Gwynne as best she could. Producing yet another shield off to their left as more bricks were yanked from the walls. Damn, if only everything was coming from one direction she could hold one shield steady… for pretty much ever. But producing shield after shield, Patricia could feel her power levels waning.
First one brick slammed through a gap, Cullen turning just in time to take the hit on his back, biting his lips to keep from crying out. And then a second brick hit the edge of Patricia’s shield, a large chunk ricocheting, hitting Patricia on the thigh. Ouch. That was going to bruise.
Bloody hell, there was no time to fire off any new projectiles. Not with a relentless Gwynne throwing a mix of lightning and mortar their way in a constant barrage. And he couldn’t ask Trix to drop the shields she was still somehow managing to produce. There was no point in even pulling the gun Cullen had strapped to his ankle. Fuck. He hated to say it, but retreat appeared to be their only option.
He’d witnessed how little the witches valued innocent bystanders, so there was no point in ducking back into the auditorium and trying to get lost in the crowd.
“The Transportal.” Cullen yanked Patricia to the left just in time to avoid a piece of cornice and a stone angel that had been clinging to the ceiling just moments ago. If they stayed put Gwynne appeared ready and willing to bring the entire building down on their heads. As they shifted further left to avoid a barrage of lightning bolts, Patricia’s shield only just came up in time to block them. And even then a few charged particles made it through. Cullen felt it sizzle across his skin and his hair begin to lift. Trix was over stretched and weakening.
He grabbed Patricia by the elbow and started pulling her along, allowing her to keep her attention upon blocking Gwynne’s on-going attacks whilst he led the way to the Transportal that Elijah had set up for them in a utility closet some twenty feet away.
“Duck.” Patricia had never been so grateful that Cullen was short, as Gwynne sent a large brick heading their way. The witch doubling down by placing an extra whammy on it, hitting it with a bolt of lightning mid-air, as if she were skeet shooting. The spray of broken brick was like buckshot, too widespread for Patricia to block it all. Wincing as chips of mortar stung her raised hands and face.
She had hoped, as Mara finally crumpled, thanks to the tranquiliser, that it would break the contact between the two women. But Gwynne caught Mara with one hand, awkwardly hugging her in close. The Head of the Parents’ Committee might now have only one hand free to fight with but she maintained two different powers at her beck and call. And Gwynne had just discovered that exploding bricks in mid-air was proving to be the most successful method of inflicting damage. As Patricia couldn’t manoeuvre her sound shields fast enough to block the wide spread spraying brick shrapnel.
Problem number two, Patricia noted, as Cullen continued to pull her backwards towards the Transportal, Gwynne had been yanking so many bricks out of the wall that in some places the masonry was beginning to crumble and sag. Crown moulding dropping away in chunks. More fodder for Gwynne to use as ammunition. Lightning sizzling through the air as yet more bricks and masonry exploded, spraying the large foyer.
“Get ready.” Cullen clenched his teeth, something sharp ripping across his shoulder blade as he slammed his palm against the utility door, picturing their destination, safety, sanctuary, just as a large clod of cement tapped him hard on the temple. Instantly he saw bright bursts of light. Shit, he fumbled for the door handle, half blind. Yanking it open, he dragged Patricia in behind him. The door slamming shut in their wake.
One point seven seconds could be an eternity when you were under attack and waiting for the Transportal magic to kick in. A thunderous sound had the closed door vibrating in its frame, bricks smashing hard against it.
Patricia watched as the door fractured in several places under the stress of the heavy assault. Come on, hold. She was exhausted. Panting. Feeling like she’d run a marathon. It had been years since she’d had to draw on her magic for such a lengthy amount of time. But they were here now, safe… she’d barely thought the word when she heard an ominous creaking sound overhead, the ceiling, just as the Transportal magic clicked in. She only had a bare split second to pull Cullen in close, straining for the last dregs of her magic at the same time, wrapping an arm around him as the ceiling came crashing down on their heads. The world went black… and then nothing.
Chapter Seventeen
Cullen came awake to stinging pain. His body in motion. His powers kicking in, assessing everything. On auto-pilot he grabbed his attacker, lifting and slamming them back down, covering them with his own body.
Patricia gasped in surprise, finding herself flat on her back, Cullen on top of her, his hands wrapped around her throat. She eyed him warily. Watching as his jade green gaze processed the scene in which he had awoken.
“We good?” Her voice was a little husky.
“Sorry.” He noted the location in his peripheral vision. The library at his family’s mansion located in the wilds of Wales. A fire was burning in the massive stone fireplace, and candles flickered, making the Christmas decorations sparkle. Icy sleet was hitting the french doors that led out to the formal side gardens. “How did we end up here?”
“I’m guessing with the Transportal under attack, the ceiling coming down and everything, the locations somehow got muddled. This is your parent’s place, isn’t it? There are photos of you on the desk. More in the hallway.”
“Yes. I take it no one is here?”
“Doesn’t seem to be. We made a lot of noise stumbling around. The power is out. This was the closest room I could find to drag you to. How’s your head?”
Cullen frowned, noticing a certain fuzziness, but he appeared capable of pushing it aside if he concentrated. Which set up a low level throb in his temporal lobe. Not concussion, but a damn hard hit. “A little sore. But I’ll live.”
“If that’s the case, would you mind getting off of me?”
He did mind. But he carefully sat up and shifted away from Trix. Aware as he moved of several bruises, scrapes and that low level throbbing in his head. Sighing, he sank gratefully back onto the velvet sofa.
“Here.” Patricia leaned forward, grabbing a waiting glass of water and some painkillers that she had found in her quick search of the kitchen while Cullen had been unconscious.
Cullen swallowed two tablets. Watching as Patricia searched on the carpet for something she must have dropped when he’d attacked her. Ah, a tube of antiseptic, explaining the stinging that had awaken him. “Are you alright?” He watched as she began to dab the ointment on several knicks on the palms of her hands.
�
��You bore the brunt of the attack. I only have a few minor cuts, some bruises.”
“Did we hear from Elijah? My Uncle Stewart?”
Patricia pointed at Cullen’s mobile, which was lying on the coffee table. He leant forward, biting back a groan as several muscle groups protested. Ignoring them he switched the phone on, noting the cracked screen. “Damn. I can only text.” He read through several updates. “Shit, the women are in the wind. Elena ditched her trail the moment she left the school. And the witches used the crowd at intermission to slip out somehow.”
Patricia winced as she pulled up the sleeve of her sweater and applied antiseptic to one long shallow cut. “What about the missing children? Any sign of them?”
“No. Nothing at any of their residences. Elijah is putting a tail on Mara and Gwynne’s husbands. But neither is acting concerned that their wife has just up and disappeared. There has to be another place they gather. Elijah is looking into it.”
“Drink?”
“What?” Cullen noted that Patricia was pointing at a bottle of whiskey and two glasses sitting next to the first aid kit. “Oh, yes, please.” He watched as she leaned forward to lift up the bottle, his eye instantly caught by the large slice down the back of her sweater, and the blood staining the purple fabric. “You’re hurt.”
Patricia glanced back over her shoulder. “I don’t think it’s a big deal.” She concentrated on uncapping the bottle and pouring out two healthy measures. Gasping softly as her sweater was abruptly tugged upwards and cold hands trailed up over her spine. “Hey.” She flinched away.
“See. You are hurt.”
“No.” She struggled to bat him away. “Your hands are freezing. Here.” She passed him a glass and tried to move away but Cullen had her trapped. One of his hands still pressing firmly against the bare skin of her back.
“I can’t see. Can you shift over?” Cullen was already moving her sideways so the fire could cast better light.