Null Witch: Secondhand Magic #1

by Lori Drake

  Null Witch

  Secondhand Magic #1

  Lori Drake

  Published by Clockwork Cactus Press

  651 N US Highway 183 Ste 335 #107

  Leander, TX 78641 USA

  NULL WITCH (SECONDHAND MAGIC #1)

  Copyright © 2019 by Lori Drake

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover by Christian Bentulan

  Edited by Rebecca Hodgkins

  Line Edits by Steve Statham

  For Dad

  I may be getting older,

  but I refuse to grow up.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  I could hear the patient screaming even before the back doors of the ambulance burst open. That was never a good sign.

  “Ricardo Villareal, Hispanic male witch, age thirty-two, altered mental state,” the paramedic in the back said while his partner climbed out of the driver’s seat and jogged around to the back to help unload the patient.

  I helped the EMTs maneuver the gurney out of the back of their rig, listening carefully through the patient’s screaming as the paramedic, Andy, continued.

  “Patient collapsed at a convenience store. Clerk made the call. No one on site knew what, if anything, he was on. He presented with classic signs of opioid overdose, so we administered naloxone on the scene.”

  I winced. Naloxone was used to reverse the effects of opioids. If the patient was this agitated from withdrawal, he’d probably need to be sedated before we could do anything for him. Hell, even restrained, he could be trouble if he started throwing magic around. Not many practitioners could sling a proper spell in an altered mental state, but I kept a careful eye on him anyway—not that there was fuck all I could do about it but get out of the line of fire.

  “Get them off! Get them off!” Ricardo shrieked, writhing and straining against the restraints that held him in place for his own safety.

  I put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hi, Mr. Villareal. I’m Emily. Can you take a deep breath for me? You’re going to need to calm down before we can remove your restraints.”

  His eyes locked on me, so wide with panic I could see white all the way around his deep brown irises, “Please, señora, get them off! Serpientes! Serpientes!”

  Snakes? I glanced at the resident, Dr. Russell Carson, but he was busy checking vitals as we prepared to move the patient into the hospital proper.

  “How long has he been like this?” Russell asked.

  “The whole way back, pretty much. About ten minutes,” Michelle, the other EMT, said. “His stats improved about twenty seconds after Andy gave him the naloxone, and he was stable for maybe thirty seconds after that before he started freaking out. It took both of us to restrain him. Fortunately, we weren’t on the road yet.”

  I gave the patient’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “There aren’t any snakes, Mr. Villareal. You’re at Saint Vincent Hospital. You collapsed. Do you remember what you took?”

  He just kept howling about snakes. I made a mental note of the heart rate and blood pressure Russell rattled off to me as we wheeled the gurney into the ER. The EMTs trailed along behind us. They needed their gurney back, and protocol demanded they stay with the patient until an ER doctor or nurse signed the proper form anyway.

  “Where are we going?” Russell asked next.

  “Curtain four,” I said. “Everything’s ready.”

  As soon as the gurney was parked, I grabbed a pre-loaded syringe from the trauma cart and slapped it in Russell’s hand before he could finish asking for it. He flashed me his trademark smile, the one that regularly melted the panties off women when he wasn’t even trying. I was immune to his charms. I’d seen him with his wife, who was both disgustingly beautiful and a lovely human being to boot. But even if he hadn’t been hopelessly devoted to her—which he was—I didn’t shit where I ate.

  While the doctor administered the sedative, I beckoned Andy over so I could sign the paperwork with a sweep of my finger across the tablet.

  “Hey, Michelle and I are going out for drinks after our shift. You interested in coming along?” he asked.

  I glanced past him at his wide-eyed partner, who shook her head and made a slashing motion across her throat. Chuckling as I passed the tablet back to Andy, I shook my head. “Sorry, I can’t tonight. I’ve got a date.”

  It was true, too. Nice to not have to make up an excuse on the fly. I’m a shitty liar.

  “What about you, Russ?” Andy asked.

  Russell deposited the used syringe in the sharps container. “Can’t, sorry. Dinner with the in-laws.”

  I snickered behind a hand when I spotted Michelle sagging in relief. She’d had a thing for her partner for years, but Andy was oblivious. He was like a big dumb puppy, utterly adorable and enthusiastic about everything but as unobservant as a tree stump when it came to social cues.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I said, killing time while we waited for the sedative to take effect. “Why don’t you two make a night of it and have dinner and drinks?”

  Andy rubbed his clean-shaven jaw, then shrugged. “Might as well, I’ve got nothing better to do tonight. What about you?” He glanced at Michelle, whose expression turned cool in a hurry. I winced on her behalf. Big. Dumb. Puppy.

  “Sure, whatever,” she said, giving her dark ponytail a toss.

  Right about then, Ricardo went quiet. I glanced his way, expecting to see him snoozing peacefully, but instead found him spasming on the gurney.

  “He’s seizing!” I rushed over and quickly began unfastening the restraints holding him to the gurney. Russell helped me, but once Ricardo’s arms and legs were freed there wasn’t anything we could do but stand by, wait for the seizure to run its course, and make sure he didn’t fling himself off the gurney.

  Habit had made me glance at the clock when I noticed the patient seizing. I shifted my eyes between the patient and the clock while we waited, keeping track of approximately how long the seizure lasted. Just past the ninety-second mark, Ricardo lit up like a Christmas tree. Magical energy radiated from his body from head to toe, pulsing erratically.

  I grabbed Russell and shoved him away from the gurney. “Everyone out!”

  Russell stumbled a few steps before digging his heels in. “Hey!” He couldn’t see the magic. None of them could.

&nbs
p; I glanced over my shoulder. The whole gurney was vibrating under a still-spasming Ricardo, despite the fact that he was now levitating a few inches over it. Russell must’ve looked back too, because he stopped fighting me and hurried forward, spreading his arms to herd Michelle and Andy out too. Once we were clear of the curtain, I grabbed it with all intent to pull it shut. The curtains in the ER were warded with basic protection spells that kept most magic from penetrating them. It was our only line of defense against witches lashing out with magic. Tranquilizer guns would’ve been preferable, but Public Relations had ix-nayed that suggestion handily.

  My eyes caught on Ricardo as I slid the curtain on its track, stopping just short of closing it completely. He’d stopped seizing but still hovered over the gurney, pulsing with golden energy that intensified by the second. The overhead lights flickered as the intense aura of magic radiating from him interrupted the electrical current running through them.

  “Emily, close the curtain!” Russell said.

  I hesitated a moment more before crossing the threshold and closing the curtain behind me.

  “No!” Michelle shouted on the other side, but she didn’t part the curtain at my back. No one did.

  They were afraid, and rightly so. An out-of-control witch is a danger to everyone around them, but themselves most of all. I ran for the trauma cart and ripped open the top drawer, scattering supplies all over the linoleum floor in my haste to obtain another pre-loaded syringe. Syringe in hand, I hurried to Ricardo’s side, uncapping it on the way. The lights flickered again, the air so full of crackling energy that my ponytail started to stand up.

  I reached for his arm, but as soon as my fingers touched his skin, he flung them off and sat up. He looked down at me, the whites of his eyes glowing along with the rest of him. A shiver ran down my spine, and my fingers tightened on the syringe. If I couldn’t get at his arm, any big muscle would do. I didn’t like my chances of getting a needle past his faded blue jeans, however.

  “Ricardo, can you hear me? It’s Emily. I need you to calm down, buddy.”

  A sweep of his hand sent a rush of magic in my direction, the spell spinning in the air and solidifying a fraction of a second before it slammed into me. I flew backward, careening into the trauma cart and knocking over the IV stand in the process. My death grip on the syringe was the only thing that kept it in my hand. I leaped to my feet, heart racing, suppressing the urge to hold the syringe aloft in triumph like a ballplayer after a gravity-defying catch.

  Voices rose on the other side of the curtain before it parted, and Russell slipped back into the space. The movement drew Ricardo’s attention, and while he was distracted, I darted forward again—grateful for the no-squeak soles on my nursing shoes—and jabbed the needle into his shoulder and depressed the plunger. Ricardo howled in outrage, but I quickly ducked out of sight. First rule of magic: You can’t cast at what you can’t see.

  Unfortunately, Ricardo could still see the doctor. I sensed a surge in the magical energy above me, and my heart rose into my throat.

  “Duck!”

  I watched between the gurney’s metal legs as Russell hit the deck, and the curtain behind him ruffled as whatever spell Ricardo had flung dissipated harmlessly on impact. Those damn curtains never ceased to impress me. I wished, not for the first time, I could get a warded set of scrubs. I’d looked into it once, but it proved too expensive since the rigors of regular washing would make the magic wear off quickly, and sometimes I went through two or three sets of scrubs in one shift.

  Rather than getting his mundane ass back on the other side of the curtain where it belonged, Russell quickly scrambled closer, taking up a position on the opposite side of the gurney. I glared at him, hands fisting in frustration. But the gurney’s legs had ceased to vibrate, suggesting that the second dose of sedative was doing its job.

  The magical glow emanating from Ricardo gradually dimmed, and the gurney eventually creaked when his weight settled back onto it. The air lost its magical charge. I counted to thirty before poking my head up. Ricardo lay inert on the thin mattress, eyes closed. The only lingering trace of his power was the kernel of magic tucked away inside him that all witches possessed.

  All witches but me, anyway.

  Chapter 2

  My heroics didn’t earn me Employee of the Month, but at least I didn’t get canned. After a full-bore ass-chewing about flouting protocols and endangering myself and others, my supervisor sent me back to work with a stern warning to keep my nose clean—and the bonus implication that if not for the fact one of my colleagues was on maternity leave, I would’ve been suspended.

  At least she didn’t reassign me to psych.

  Truth be told, I probably did deserve some sort of disciplinary action for administering a sedative to a patient without being ordered to by a doctor, but Russell covered my ass on that one. I made a mental note to send him a fruit basket, or maybe a tongue depressor bouquet. Whatever one sends to hot doctors as a thank you that couldn’t be misinterpreted as anything else.

  The ER was slow enough that I managed to stay out of trouble for a few hours by sticking to inventory-related tasks, though I did check in on Ricardo the Ticking Time Bomb on my break to make sure he hadn’t gone supernova again. He’d been admitted for observation and was still sleeping off the double dose of midazolam.

  “Emily, with me.”

  I looked up from the drawer full of compression wraps I’d been dutifully counting, completely losing count and blinking as I struggled to reconcile the terse voice with the familiar doctor striding briskly toward a nearby curtain.

  Bob was an older gentleman, one of the nicest doctors in the ER—if not the world. The embroidered script on his white lab coat read “Dr. Robert Jenkins, M.D.” but everyone called him Dr. Bob. He was great with kids. His brusque tone was, therefore, concerning. I caught a colleague’s eye and shot him a questioning look. He just shrugged. I abandoned my task and hurried off after the doctor.

  In the ER, you never know what’s going to be on the other side of the curtain. The fact that it was a full moon shift made it even dicier. Strange shit happens on the full moon. Grandmothers decide to swallow the family jewels. Teenagers get the bright idea to superglue their genitals together.

  Seriously. Strange shit.

  This time, all that lay behind the curtain was a gurney with a young woman on it. No blood, no guts, no gore. In fact, there was a complete lack of the hysterics that so often accompany trips to the ER. The woman lay there quietly with her hands at her sides, her chestnut hair a riot of curls in stark contrast to the smooth white pillowcase beneath her head. Her pale green eyes were open, but she didn’t react to either Dr. Bob’s arrival or my own. She simply lay there, staring blankly at nothing. The lights were on, but no one was home.

  There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I could swear I’d seen her before, but where?

  “Caucasian female without ID, found on a plaza bench in an unresponsive state.” Dr. Bob read aloud for my benefit, his normally paternal voice stiff and wooden. At least, until he turned his attention fully to the patient. “Miss? I’m Dr. Jenkins. Do you know where you are?” He leaned over to shine a penlight in her eyes and check her pupillary response.

  I went through the motions, grabbing a blood pressure cuff while I tried to figure out where it was I’d seen the patient before. It’s not like Santa Fe is a big city, but I lived in my little bubble just like everyone else. The market? My favorite Chinese place? The bank?

  The cafe!

  It struck me suddenly, and I must have made a noise because Dr. Bob cast a glance in my direction. Clearing my throat, I busied myself with slipping the blood pressure cuff on the unresponsive woman’s arm. She didn’t even blink. A shiver ran down my spine, even as I reeled from my sudden revelation.

  The doctor made a few notes on his tablet, then slipped it into his white coat’s big pocket. All business again, he turned to me. “Take her vitals and get
her into a gown. Let me know when it’s done, and if there’s any indication we need to do a pelvic.”

  His uncharacteristic demeanor finally started to make sense. He was concerned that she might be a rape victim, and if memory served he had a granddaughter about Jane Doe’s age. While it was entirely possible, given what I’d realized about our patient, I doubted it.

  You see, Jane Doe was a regular at my favorite cafe. The petite, vivacious twenty-something met friends there often, and they’d always stood out to me even though no one else paid them any particular mind. Why? They were practitioners.

  I wish I could say I could tell because of their body language, witchy manner of dress, or some other tell. Sherlock Holmes-style deductive reasoning. But I’ve always been able to tell the difference between witches and mundanes. A curse of my witchy heritage, I suppose. Even though I didn’t have a scrap of magic to my prestigious Davenport name—to my mother’s eternal embarrassment—I could still sense it around me and see it in others whether I wanted to or not. It’s like the universe got a kick out of taunting me. Laughing at me. I tried not to take it personally, but it could be distracting.

  But the magic that had once made Jane Doe shine like a beacon to me… There was no trace of it now. Its absence told me all I needed to know about Jane Doe’s mysterious condition. She’d burned herself out.

  I’d only ever encountered one burned-out witch before, a distant cousin who had overextended himself trying to heal his dying father. Healing magic is powerful, extremely difficult, and very few witches actually have any talent for it. Even those who do can overreach easily enough. His father died despite his best efforts, and for all intents and purposes, my cousin did too. He spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair, attended by a full-time nurse because he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—even urinate without assistance.