Capturing the Last Welsh Witch

by J. M. Davies

  Shit, and now it had exploded in his face.

  Marcus took a deep breath to stay calm. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  He ran his hand through his unruly mop of thick, dark hair, and rubbed his chin where stubble formed a nice five o’clock shadow. In truth—and he couldn’t admit this to his boss—he didn’t know what the hell had happened. He’d been working this latest assignment for around four months working undercover as Nate Williams, the new manager at the Ultimate Perk, a local coffee shop. It was a track, observe, and when requested, extract the target. Simple. At least it should have been. Ella Masters, alias the Witch, was on the surface a young preschool teacher, with no exemplary achievements. Nothing smacked out of the ordinary. Except that she was on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. She had no priors, zip. For four months, he’d been babysitting, and all of a sudden it went berserk. He’d scoffed when he’d first been given the assignment and the overwhelming non-information in her file. When he’d questioned the insignificant details, requesting more on her background and priors—of which there was none—Jackson told him in no uncertain terms to, “Stop looking for problems and do the job you’re paid to do. Don’t balls this up.”

  Marcus rubbed his temple; his job was to investigate the truth, no matter where that might lead. His boss had serious problems, and he didn’t trust him one bit, but Marcus didn’t want to dig too deep. He just wanted to get the job done, so he could go to New York and catch real criminals. Marcus stared at the bare cream walls of his apartment and relayed the events of the night again.

  “I was watching them eat in the New Seasons restaurant. They ate and left. The professor looked uneasy and all the while Ella was distracted, fussing with her hair and not really looking at him. At one point, their voices rose and it sounded like they were arguing but they still left in a taxi together. I followed them back to Ella’s house. At first it was quiet, but it wasn’t long before it turned nasty. I did my usual perimeter check, and it was quiet. I circled round the back, but by the time I reached the front of the house, she was yelling at him. I listened, but their voices were muffled. There was interference on my listening device and the sound kept breaking up. I only managed to catch snatches of the conversation. As I watched them, the atmosphere tensed and he started shaking her. She was struggling and there was silence. The professor gripped her shoulder, and smacked her across the face. I was about to intervene, but some son-of-a-bitch knocked me out cold.”

  Jackson started to reel off a long list of complaints, and Marcus shook his head. From the moment he’d arrived back at Ella’s house, his gut told him something wasn’t right. He should have simply marched in there and taken her, there and then. Instead, Marcus took his eyes off the target and ran another sweep of the perimeter. He’d messed up big-time. Marcus’s intuition was telling him that he was being played, even though he had no proof—just his sixth sense, and he didn’t like what it was telling him one bit.

  If there was another agent there, then why wasn’t he told? If it wasn’t an agent, then who and why didn’t they help Ella?

  Marcus scratched his head.

  “Are you listening, Drayton? I’ve had enough of your incompetence…”

  Marcus stared out his long window. “Yes, sir, I understand.” He walked over to the large wooden dresser, opened a drawer and picked up a picture of Ella, staring hard at it.

  Where are you?

  His fingers traced her heart-shaped face. Her face was scrubbed free of makeup, making her look young and innocent. After being knocked unconscious, Marcus had woken to discover the professor battered to death. There was blood spatter all over. During his time as a Navy SEAL, he had seen plenty of harrowing scenes, but the thought that this petite and seemingly defenseless woman could bludgeon to death a man until he was unrecognizable was the reason he had emptied the contents of his stomach. He simply could not believe that she was responsible. The last image Marcus saw was of Ella crashing to the ground, after that bastard’s hand walloped her. There was also the fact that there were several unaccounted-for hours. The only possible explanation was that he’d been drugged. As he rubbed the whiskers on his jaw, he stared at Ella’s picture. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to keep those hours free from interruption and he intended to get to the bottom of it.

  Jackson’s voice bellowed through the phone.

  “Well, you’d better fucking sort this out and quick. Headquarters is looking for your blood. You were told to bring her in last week. I gave you the extra time, and the crazy bitch kills her lover. Jesus, I’m not going down for this. Do you hear me?” There was silence.

  Marcus knew without a doubt, had always known when push came to shove, he was on his own.

  “Yes, sir, loud and clear.” He pressed End on his cell. “Jerk.”

  Marcus had a clear picture of Ella Masters in his head. She definitely was not his type. He preferred blondes, for a start. Her mousey hair was forgettable, like all her features. He mostly thought her plain and ordinary. Her eyes were a muddy brown or hazel—it was hard to know for sure behind the thick glasses she wore. But her smile: something about her smile made you stare. It had taken weeks of small talk, and careful planning to ensure that only Marcus served her, before he glimpsed it. Her face lit up like the sun, and her cheeks flushed with a pink glow, as if she felt guilty for smiling. He was so wrapped up in her smile that he’d spilled her skinny vanilla latte all over the counter, but was rewarded by her carefree laughter. Something he suspected Ella rarely did and he wondered why.

  When he introduced himself as the new manager of the coffee shop, his cover for this assignment, Marcus remembered how the corners of her mouth lifted tentatively as he shook her hand. She was hiding something, that much was obvious—but what? In that instant, a sliver of protectiveness rose inside him. He wanted to know more about Ella, and why she was a national security threat. That smile was the reason for the delay in his bringing her in. Once, his mother told him he was gifted with knowing people. He cursed and checked his side arm before he strode for the door.

  “Damn it, Ella. What have you gotten yourself involved in?”

  What was he saying? Why should he care? This job was the last step in his plan for promotion, and he was not going to let some con artist stand in his way. He grabbed his coat and keys and headed for the only place he could think of, the Ultimate Perk, hoping against all odds, she would turn up.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The discovery of the deserted cabin was too convenient. Ella hesitated but the chance of a shower, even a cold one, was too good to pass. Before she walked inside, she channeled her energy to search the vicinity for any human presence. Using her enhanced senses this way was easy. Her nose lifted to inhale the slight breeze that floated around; she could gauge whether a human was near. Their sickly-sweet odor was distinct. Detecting other life-forms was getting harder as there were more than she ever realized. Vampires were easy. They smelled like you would expect, metallic like blood, whereas werewolves smelled damp and woodsy. Her own kind, she believed smelled of the fall, but again it could change according to their moods.

  After convincing herself there was no immediate threat, Ella touched the handle with her palm, and the door clicked open. A shower, change of clothes, and food if there was anything edible: that was the plan. She fully intended to pay the owners back and would leave a note to say so. After she charged upstairs, she quickly found the compact bathroom and searched for supplies to help restore her appearance. She opened the drawers in the large vanity, ignoring the two boxes of hair color and array of accessories. Ella grabbed two small travel-sized bottles instead and shoved the drawer closed.

  After she stripped off her little more than rags for clothes, Ella stepped into the shower. The streaming water was freezing. Normally, she would raise the temperature simply by running her hands through the spray, heating the flowing liquid, but her reserves were low after repairing her injuries. However, at least, she had the bottle of shampoo and conditioner that wou
ld tame her matted hair. The smell of coconut soothed her senses as she massaged her scalp with her fingertips and softly explored a lump at the back of her head.

  A picture of Aidan zoomed into her mind, and she winced at the memory. She was shouting, and he was trying in vain to calm her down. Suddenly, his patience evaporated, and his hand whipped across her face. Blinking, her tears intermingled with the water from the shower. Aidan’s slap was forceful enough to knock her out and send her crashing to the ground.

  It wasn’t a friendly spar.

  She let the icy-cold water cascade over her face and numb her. She stretched her thin arms out to lean against the tiled wall of the shower. The water flowed over her supple body, deadening every nerve ending, until the pain—both physical and emotional—disappeared. In its place, a blinding fury filled her, and she went into survival mode. Ella stepped out of the shower, determined, and she twisted her hair to expel all the water before she wrapped it in the small white towel from the hand rail. Standing in front of the large rectangular mirror, she touched the still vivid bruise on her cheek; her fingers gently soothed the skin. With a sucked in breath, she visualized the bruise fading and shrinking. Within seconds, the bruise did just that; in an hour, it would be completely healed. Her face would cause too many questions, questions she could ill afford.

  Padding barefoot into the pale green and minimally decorated bedroom, she opened the heavy closet doors and checked through the few items of clothing left hanging, discarding each one until she pulled out a pair of skinny black velour pants and a matching jacket. With a grimace, she wiggled her long, lean legs into the pants. When she looked in the full-length mirror, she observed how they clung to her curves around her slender hips and bottom. Finding shoes that would fit was a problem. Eventually, she settled for a pair of plain black flip-flops that would just have to do. After she closed the doors to the closet, she swiveled around and left the room.

  Ella raced down the stairs as her stomach growled for attention. She needed food. Spying the large white fridge, she walked and opened the door but apart from some condiments, it was empty. Disappointed, she turned to search the cupboards. As each door opened, she stared at the meager choice: either a can of tomatoes or creamy chicken soup. Ella grabbed the soup and pulled all the drawers open until she found what she was looking for, and lifted up a can opener. Pouring the liquid into a cup to drink, she inserted her finger, twirled it around in the contents until she was happy with the temperature; she removed her finger and licked the dripping broth. Making the soup a warm temperature was about as much as she could muster at the moment. As she checked around the room, Ella homed in on the radio and automatically reached over to switch it on to gain some sense of the day and maybe her location. The ticking clock on the wall read ten thirty, but she couldn’t be sure of the day. With the cup held between her hands, she listened as the music changed for a news report. She sipped the warm liquid and relished its comforting taste.

  The newscaster was reporting live at the scene of a vicious crime, a murder in Andover, the town where she lived. She froze, unable to take another sip, listening instead to the report. Her heart raced and missed beats as details of the savage attack was relayed over the radio. The victim’s name was mentioned. The cup of soup slipped through Ella’s hands and smashed on the tiled ground. The radio continued and all she could do was listen. It couldn’t be.

  “Professor Aidan O’Connor was well-known for his work in retrieving ancient artifacts and worked at the Museum of Archeology in Andover. He also taught at Boston College. His body was discovered in the early hours of Saturday morning in what can only be described as a frenzied and gruesome attack. His girlfriend, Ella Masters, is currently a person of interest. Any information about her whereabouts or indeed, anything to do with this case…”

  The soup she had just enjoyed rose back in her mouth as her stomach heaved, and before she was sick where she stood, she dashed toward the sink to vomit in the bowl. Her head reeled as the news sank in and tears sprung from her eyes.

  Aidan was dead! Remember, damn you! Remember.

  She slid to the ground, her head cradled in her hands, and sat there for some time as she listened to the rest of the report. Ella learned that it was, in fact, now Saturday afternoon, almost twenty-four hours after that fateful evening. Learning that, panic set in, and she jumped up, needing to move and fast, because if history repeated itself, like usual, then the Elusti would be coming for her. The Elusti were an old religious sect comprised of influential humans that throughout history had hunted her kind, soul-shifters, down. Over the centuries, they had done exactly that, leaving her in the belief she was the last of her kind—except for her soul mate. Instinctively, if he was dead, she would know but she couldn’t be sure. Anyway, Aidan’s death couldn’t be an accident and that meant they were involved and would be hot on her trail, if they weren’t already.

  Ella knew the drill—stay alive and disappear—but first she needed to figure out where she was. Her gaze flickered over the kitchen countertops, searching for mail, newspapers, anything that would give her location. Nothing. She raced to the front door, remembering she’d stepped on some magazines on the floor as she walked in. There on the carpet lay several pieces of junk mail and a Lands’ End catalog. Ella flipped it over and there in typed letters was a name and address. She was in Lincoln, New Hampshire. About two hours away from her home. For some insane reason, she and Aidan had been fighting, and now he was dead and she was in New Hampshire.

  Was it possible that she had killed him?

  Ella let the magazine drop to the ground. Aidan was a good seventy pounds heavier than her and athletically strong. They had sparred many times, and he never gave an inch because she was a woman. There was no way she could have overpowered him, but what if she was given no choice? Rubbing her temples didn’t make the events any clearer. The last memory she had was of Aidan hitting her and blacking out. There was a void where her memory should be. Whatever had happened, Aidan didn’t deserve to die, and she was as certain as she could be at this point that she wasn’t to blame.

  “Aidan, what did you do?”

  Spinning around, she fled back up the stairs and took them two at a time. She needed to transform her looks in some way if she headed back to the scene of the crime. Fiddling with her colored contacts as she tried to remove them, a sudden burst of laughter made fresh tears appear.

  “I love you, Ella. I’ve tried hard not to, believe me, but I can’t help it. I love you. I need to tell you something, but not here.” His eyes were pleading, and he looked nervous. Aidan was never nervous. From the first moment they’d met, he’d literally swept her off her feet, refusing to give up no matter the countless times that she told him to leave her alone. He pursued her ruthlessly.

  “I have a secret I need to tell you, but it could kill us both. Will you just listen to me, before you launch in, and please try to understand?”

  As painful memories rained down in her mind, she frantically pulled open the drawer in the bathroom, to find exactly what she wanted and lifted up the pair of scissors. She stared at her reflection as she hacked her long tresses short, as quickly as possible. Clumps of hair fell into the sink as she chopped crudely over her shoulders and when she was satisfied, she grabbed the box of hair color she’d seen earlier and lifted out the plastic gloves.

  Tears fell as she saw them shouting at each other back at her house. He grabbed her arm and was trying to explain something, but she wouldn’t listen. That’s when his hand struck. Her hand wiped the tears away from her cheek. The next picture chilled her blood to ice. Memories flooded her mind, horrible snatches of last night.

  She sat strapped in a wooden chair. Aidan was there. He paced back and forth across her room, his hands behind his back as if he was giving a lecture. His face was composed and waiting. When his eyes met hers, he moved swiftly to her side. However, he didn’t release her.

  “ I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve given me no c
hoice. They told me if I took a sample of your blood, they would leave us in peace, so I agreed. We can move away, go anywhere, and they’ll leave us alone. Damn it, Ella. Keep still. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.” Aidan pulled out a sterile packet, ripped it open, and then held up what looked like a butterfly with a silver needle at the end. Ella ignored his words and tugged against the arms of the chair. She tried to kick out, but duct tape secured her limbs.

  “How could you!” She spat the words out. Her heart galloped like a wild stallion and she wriggled to loosen her ties. He inched closer with the needle, and she screamed as loud as she could, only to feel the sting once again from his hand.

  “Ella, please, you’re making me do this. I don’t want to hurt you or your lovely body, but if you don’t comply, they will kill us both. When things settle, you will understand. You see, I know who you are, Ella Masters. You’re a soul-shifter, born into the clan of Ariana. Most people would think you’re a freak but not me. I think you’re fascinating.”

  His eyes bulged like a toad, and she blinked to rid herself of the repulsive image. Aidan seized that moment to stab the needle into her vein. Stunned by the shocking turn of events, she sat there, unable to react. This slimy man had earlier been declaring his love. Revulsion rose inside her, and she wanted to kill him but her body went limp. She couldn’t fight anymore. He wiped where the needle punctured the skin, covered it with a Band-Aid and dropped her arm.

  Aidan shook the glass vial that contained her blood, and then placed it into a small black case. A holler from the other room sounded out, and he turned and stared at the doorway. A bulldozer of a man filled the doorway. His face was covered in acne, and his surly brown eyes stared lasciviously at Ella as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She started to turn her head away, but caught sight of a large triangular tattoo with an eye in the center on the man’s wrist. Her gaze traveled once more upward to study his face. She’d never set eyes on him before, but remembering every detail would be important, later. Once more, she tried in vain to move, pushing her body forward, which made the chair pivot and scrape against the wooden floor, but it was no use. Instead, she concentrated on imagining flames consuming the building. The flicker of orange sparks danced to life. She shut her eyes to close off the world, and called to the forces of nature. She called out to her fire elements but it was too late. Her eyes flew open as panic swamped her veins. Her time ran out.