Witch Hunter

by Shannon Curtis

  She shrugged. “You were right. I should never have gotten involved. I’m just an amateur hack when it comes to catching bad guys.”

  Dave shook his head. “No, you’re not, Sully. This guy is strong, and he’s smart.” He rose from the table, crossed to the tiny kitchenette counter and picked up a mug. “Mind if I have some tea?”

  “Yes,” she said sharply, then realized how snappy she’d sounded. “I mean, there’s none left.”

  “Oh.” He turned back to the board she’d used to chop her ingredients, and she raised the mug to her lips.

  He whirled back to face her, his arm flashing out, and an arc of power zapped from his fingers, blasting the mug from her fingers.

  “What are you doing?” she asked shrilly, jumping to her feet.

  He stepped up to her, his expression fierce. “Water hemlock? Oleander? What are you doing, Sully?”

  “Go away, Dave,” she cried, stepping away from him.

  He grabbed her arm, and for the first time, she sensed nothing from him. He glared at her.

  “Why? So you can try to kill yourself again?”

  Chapter 18

  Sully tried to pull her arm out of his grip, but Dave wouldn’t let her go.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Sully?”

  “Let me go,” she said, her curled-up fist thumping him on the chest.

  He shook his head. “I’m not letting you go, Sully.” No. He wasn’t going anywhere, he wasn’t about to leave her alone, not like this. Maybe not ever.

  “Jenny’s dead,” she hissed, and for the first time he saw a spark in her otherwise dead eyes. She thumped him again on the chest, and he met her gaze squarely. His lack of response seemed to anger her. She thumped him again. “Jack’s dead.” He remained silent. She thumped him. “Susa—Susanne’s dead,” she cried, then hit him again. And again. He stood there and let her hit him, again and again, relieved at her anger compared to the blank numbness he’d seen from her since she’d accepted that her best friend was dead.

  “They’re all dead,” she cried eventually, sagging against him. He enfolded her in his arms, felt her shuddering against him as she sobbed. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let him in,” she said.

  “Shh, it’s not your fault,” he murmured against her tangled hair.

  “I let him in,” she said, and kept repeating it as she leaned her forehead against his chest. “You shouldn’t have destroyed my tea.” Her knees bent, and he caught her.

  “Come on, sweetness,” he said, scooping her up and carrying her over to the double bed. He flicked his fingers and the coverlet folded back. He lay her down, then climbed over her to lie down next to her.

  “You should have left me alone,” she cried softly.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he told her gruffly as he pulled her back against his chest. “Hate me all you like, but I’m not leaving you. Never again.”

  “They died because I invited that evil in,” she whispered, and he levered himself up on his elbow so that he could see her face. He smoothed her mussed hair away from her face.

  “They died because a witch killed them,” he told her. “He’s killed before, Sully. Odds are, he would have gone after them, sooner or later. They just happened to be at your home when he did.”

  “I brought them there,” she wailed. “I brought them all there. I may as well have sent up a damn Bat Signal to the universe that the purebloods were at my home, come and get them.”

  He closed his eyes briefly at the devastation, the regret he heard in her voice, emotions that he was all too familiar with. “You aren’t responsible for the bad deeds of another,” he murmured, gently caressing the hair at her temple. “You were trying to help.”

  “You don’t believe that,” she said into the darkening room.

  He frowned. “Why do you think that?” He didn’t believe for one minute that she was responsible for her friends’ deaths, and he needed to make her see it, before the guilt ate its way through her.

  “You feel guilt,” she said in a low voice. “I’ve felt it. You feel responsible for those witches you kill, and you feel responsible for those they killed. You carry that guilt with you.”

  His lips parted, stunned at her insight. “Uh...”

  “You think you can take this from me?” Sully glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes dark and solemn. “You think you can carry this weight for me? Make me feel better?” She shook her head. “You can’t take this away from me. This is mine to bear. I did this. This is my darkness to carry, not yours.”

  He leaned forward so that his head touched hers. “This darkness, Sully...it will weigh you down. With me, it’s different—”

  “Why? Because the Ancestors gave it to you?” She shook her head. “That’s a cop-out.”

  He sighed, stroking her arms. “You can’t carry someone else’s sins. It doesn’t work like that.”

  “It works that way for you.”

  “But it doesn’t have to work that way for you,” he whispered into her hair.

  “They were my friends,” she whispered. “My family.”

  “And you loved them,” he said, and hugged her just a little tighter. “I understand. Believe me, Sully, I understand. But you have to let it go. The blame is not yours to hold on to.”

  There was silence for a moment, and then her body jerked, and he realized she was crying silently.

  “Sully.”

  “I can’t,” she wailed. “I can’t let it go. If I let it go, I let them go, and I can’t do that to them. I can’t dishonor them. I can’t forget. I should be dead, not them. This is so. Not. Fair.” She whispered her words harshly, forcefully.

  He closed his eyes, drawing her even closer, feeling each shuddering breath. She was so devastated, he couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear the guilt that made her want to cross over to the Other Realm. He tried to reach out to her, to draw in some of that pain, to exchange it for some comfort...

  He surrounded them with a light cover of warmth, of well-being, tucking the essence around her like a cloak. He took care, making sure he left no gaps, and was surprised when he found it. The slight crack in her shield. He gently pushed the warmth inside her. He heard her gasp, felt her stiffen in his arms and saw the splintering of those walls.

  He scooped her up close as she started to cry anew, drawing on the pain and grief. His eyes itched, and he sucked in his breath as the darkness creeped out. Into him.

  “What are you—”

  “Shh,” he whispered, concentrating on rolling the darkness into ball, feeding the light into it and gradually dispersing it. He had no clue what he was doing, but whatever it was, it felt right.

  He sensed her relaxing in his arms, and her breathing deepened. He inhaled, slowly, relaxing against her as the warmth spread over them both. He could feel her walls loosen, become more fluid, more flexible, allowing more light inside. She became still against him, so relaxed. He listened as she breathed, deep and regular.

  He smiled as he, too, allowed himself to drift off to sleep, and for what seemed his first time in years, he experienced a true sense of peace.

  * * *

  She ran down the hall, her heart thumping in her chest. It was her hall—but...not. No. Familiar, but wrong. Where...? Wait. This was her apartment in Irondell. No, not again. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes wide with fear. He was behind her, the deputy with the melting face. She ran faster, but the hall kept getting longer and longer. She looked behind her once more, and stumbled when she saw his face blend into Jack Forsyth. The older man reached for her, and his features twisted, then slid into Susanne. Susanne stared back at her, saddened and disappointed, before morphing into Jenny.

  Sully stumbled onto her knees, hands smacking against the tiled floor. She’d fallen in front of the mirror next to the door. She tried to look away, tried to turn back, to fac
e Jenny, to tell her how sorry she was, but her reflection caught her gaze, held it.

  Her mouth opened when she saw her own features start to swim, to slide down her face, and she would have screamed, only her jaw felt boneless, loose. She watched in horror as her face melded into masculine features, features she recognized and had prayed to never see again.

  Marty.

  Sully jolted awake, gasping.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” Dave said, blinking as he reached for her. “It’s just a bad dream,” he said, caressing her arm in an attempt to soothe her.

  She shook her head and sat up. “No, no, I don’t think it was,” she panted, pushing her hair back off her face. She turned to look at him. “I think I know who’s doing this.”

  Dave frowned. “What?” He sat up in bed, his biceps flexing as he braced his hands against the mattress and shifted his hips. His silver eyes still bore the shadows of sleep, and a little confusion. Adorable confusion. It took her a moment to get past the fact she’d been snuggled up against this man. And he’d kept his word. He’d stayed.

  She didn’t quite know why that was so important, but it was a fact that kept reverberating around her skull. He’d stayed.

  And he’d...shared her pain. How—? What—? So many things were swirling around in her head, but she plucked the most pressing, the most urgent, out of the maelstrom.

  “I think—I think I know who’s doing this,” she repeated, and threw off the coverlet. She rose from the bed—whoa, headspin—and then lurched for her tote bag, her skirt slowly untangling from around her legs.

  “Sully, hold up,” Dave said.

  Sully shook her head, certainty filling her with determination. “No. I need my books. Now.” A sense of urgency sparked inside her.

  Sully made her way to the motel room door, but Dave beat her to it. His silver eyes—it took her a moment to really look at him—showed his concern, his bewilderment. “Sully, talk to me.”

  She met his gaze, still grappling with the shock. “Marty—Martin Steedbeck,” she said.

  “Who is Martin Steedbeck?” Dave asked, and opened the door for her. He stood aside to let her pass, then followed her out to the parking lot.

  “My ex.”

  “Whoa. What?”

  Dave scooted around in front of her, his hands up. “Come again?”

  “Marty Steedbeck, my ex-fiancé,” she said, and then fumbled in her bag for her keys. Dave shook his head and guided her toward his bike. “But I need my books.”

  “I’ll drive,” he said, and removed a helmet from a pannier. He placed it on her head and connected her strap when her fingers fumbled with it.

  They made it to her place in about fifteen minutes. It possibly would have been sooner, but Dave parked the bike near the turn and they ran down the street toward her home. It was past midnight, the darkest part of the night, and the stars were hidden behind clouds, disbursing a dull illumination, full of murky shadows and patches of gloom.

  Dave held up his hand, and she halted behind him as they sheltered behind the hedge. A deputy stood by her gate, smoking a cigarette, and she could see Tyler through her living room window. Her front yard was lit up like a football field on a Friday night, and a technician walked out of the front door carrying a number of brown paper evidence bags.

  “Can we go in?” Sully asked, and Dave shook his head, his fingers on his lips.

  “No, it’s a crime scene. It looks like they’re about to finish up for the night,” he murmured, eyeing the technician who placed the bags in a container in the trunk of a four-wheel drive vehicle, and then started to tug off his gloves. Dave guided her gently behind a bush, squatting down beside her. “We’ll wait until they go.”

  “I feel bad about this,” Sully said, eyeing Tyler as he nodded at another deputy, and then they started to walk toward the door. “Can’t I just go and ask Tyler to let me go grab my stuff?”

  Dave looked at her. “Do you remember talking with him yesterday afternoon?”

  Sully glanced at him. “Sort of.” A lot of yesterday afternoon was a blur. Evening, too.

  Although she did clearly remember Dave blowing the bejeebus out of her tea.

  “Your house is a murder scene, Sully. You’re not allowed in for several days. You can’t remove anything—and they still want an explanation for all those weapons.”

  “But it’s my stuff,” she protested in a low voice.

  Dave shook his head. “No, at the moment it’s evidence. So we wait.” He patted the ground next to him. “You may as well get comfy.”

  He sat down, bringing his knees up and resting his arms across his knees. She followed suit.

  He leaned closer, and she caught a whiff of his scent. That neroli did things to her, strange, wicked things. She eyed him. For once, he’d ventured out without wearing his sunglasses. His lips looked soft and relaxed, and his beard had gotten just a little longer, a little scruffier. His leather jacket was open, and his T-shirt was navy. Her brow dipped. Maybe dark gray. Perhaps black. Either way, his shoulders looked broader, and he looked tougher. His short hair and scruffy short beard made him look dangerous. Dangerously sexy.

  She looked down at her flip-flops. She shouldn’t be thinking about how sexy he looked in the dim light of the stars. Jenny flashed in her mind, sprawled on her hallway floor. She blinked. She was such a horrible person, noticing how good-looking her witch-hunting companion was the day three people had been murdered on her property.

  “Mind telling me about this ex?” Dave inquired, his tone low but casual.

  She winced. She’d hoped never to have to utter his name again, let alone discuss him in depth.

  “It wasn’t a healthy relationship,” she murmured.

  Dave looked at her. “Is he the reason you’re hiding in Serenity Cove?”

  “I’m not hiding,” she argued, her voice low.

  “Sully, these people you live among don’t know you’re a witch. You purposely stay where your powers are restricted, where no other witch will come near you because they’d be powerless...if that’s not hiding, it’s a damn interesting lifestyle choice that I just don’t understand.”

  “It—it may have started out that way,” she admitted, “but I stayed because I wanted to.”

  “Why?” Dave said, scooting around to face her. “What did he do to you?” His whisper was fierce.

  She shook her head. “It was more what I let him do,” she said, her eyes on her toes. She sighed. “Marty had...issues.” God, just putting into words what had happened, what a monumental failure that relationship had been and how blind, or ignorant, or self-delusional she’d been, was so damn difficult—and humiliating.

  Dave’s eyebrows rose. “Why do I get the feeling that’s an understatement of epic proportions?”

  She nodded. “A little. Marty’s father was a coven elder. His mother, though, was human. Marty’s powers weren’t very strong.” She rested her chin on her knees. “And his father never let him forget it. The only thing he could really do was skinshift, and even that he wasn’t very good at.”

  Dave leaned back to look up the street, and she followed his gaze. Tyler was now by the drive entrance, talking with the deputies. Dave turned back, and lifted his chin in a silent “go on” signal.

  “So Marty started to drink. And when the buzz was dying there, he’d do drugs.” She shook her head. She’d been engaged to a drug addict. She couldn’t remember when she first noticed the little white lies...and then chose to ignore them. “At first, I didn’t realize how much he was drinking when I wasn’t there. He was very good at playing sober.” She winced. “But the drugs made him...different.” She hugged her knees tighter as the memories surfaced. “He’d wait for me to come home, and he’d get angry over the slightest thing.”

  She hugged herself a little tighter. Maybe it was sitting behind a bush, whispering in the
dark while light blazed just a short distance away, reassuring but still hidden. Maybe it was Dave, and this sense of intimacy, of familiarity and friendship on a level that she couldn’t remember experiencing before, or the fact that her best friend had died without knowing any of this about her, but for the first time in the longest time, Sully wanted to talk. It was like getting rid of some emotional dregs she’d held in way too long. She’d carried so much darkness with her, but whatever Dave had done earlier that night, it had shone a light on that darkness...illuminated it. Shared it. For the first time since she’d been hiding the reality of her and Marty’s relationship from her family and coven, she felt ready to reveal.

  “He was in so much pain,” she said, shaking her head. “And I’m an empath. I could help him. Like, really help him,” she said, her hand moving in a smooth roll to emphasize each word. “I could take away his pain.” Her chin dipped. “And I’ll admit, in some sick way, I felt good about being able to help him.” She paused. “But then he’d have more pain, and he needed me to take that, too. I almost think that among his other addictions, my taking away that pain from him, making him feel good, became an addiction in and of itself.

  “He’d show me that he was trying, that he was doing some small measures to get better, like taking a different way home to avoid that bar, or showing me where he’d hide his stash so that I could check at any time...” The apologies, the promises...

  She shrugged. “But then, he’d stumble again, fall prey to those insecurities, and I’d have to fix him—because the last time didn’t work as good as it should have, or my fix didn’t last as long as it should have, or I should have known that this would flare up and stopped it from happening... He had me convinced that it was actually my fault. I—I started to feel...useless. He would demand more of me, and would be upset and angry about it.” She turned her head so she could look at Dave. “This sounds so pathetic, but he made me feel like I couldn’t do anything right, and that—that just wrecks me.”

  “What do you mean?” Dave asked softly.

  “I mean that I know now that he doesn’t make me feel anything, I do. So I let him do that to me. That was on me,” she said, and squeezed her eyes shut. That haunted her. That she’d fallen so low, and yes, Marty may have pushed her that far, but only because she allowed it. Which only made her feel worse.