The Witchkin Murders

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  Please God, let Ray be okay, she thought. It was the last coherent one she had before falling into the water.

  She sank. The current pushed her against the bank as she tumbled deeper. A slight wiggle of her tail, a twitch of her legs, a twist of her body. She pushed herself further out into the current, sinking down and down until she lay on the stony bed of the river.

  The current pushed at her, nudging her ahead of it. It cooled the burning flesh along her back in the bites along her limbs and throat, soothing where it touched but doing nothing for the acid chewing through her flesh and veins.

  She drifted north into the confluence of the swift Willamette River and the mighty Columbia. The vortex of fast-running water tumbled and spun her. She fetched up against a reef of silvered-black glass coral. It stretched out craggy fingers into the water creating an intricate weaving of knotted glass and motion.

  The current held her pinned. She could do nothing for herself. Her body refused to respond. She would die here, she realized vaguely.

  After a time, she felt tiny presences darting through the water around her. The water told her they were water pixies mounted on tiny transparent seahorses. They swarmed like starlings, eventually daring to land. She heard the squeaks and chirps as they spoke to one another. Normally she understood them and could even speak to them. Not today. None of it made any sense. The sounds shattered apart and crashed back together like discordant nonsense.

  Something prodded into a wound on her back. Her body spasmed in an uncontrolled reaction, shattering twigs of glass coral before dropping limp. The water pixies cried out and streamed away into the water. They halted in a cloud a dozen feet away. After a few minutes, they advanced again.

  Once again a number of them settled down onto her back. Once again something prodded into her wound. This time her body didn’t even twitch. She was entirely numb except for the throbbing in her wounds and the ribbons of acid running through her bloodstream.

  Memories danced through her mind on a spiral of stars. She grabbed at one, but it melted through her mental fingers. Everything merged into a giant glob, and nothing made sense.

  It seemed like forever had gone past, but in truth she had no idea. Something tugged. Far away she felt the vague pressure against her scales. Presences darted all around her, more now than just water pixies and their mounts. The taste of them flowed through her open mouth. Kelpies, mer-people, nayads, and more. They gathered around her in a dense cloud.

  She felt herself moving against the current, up the Willamette. The flavors of the water changed as they went further inland. Here it was bitter with minerals, there it was sweet with lush greenery. She tasted life and death and the taint of pollution. A surge of witchkin shot away from the foot of the great underwater mountain. Kayla remembered them. Vodianoi. Warriors of the deep. They rode eels with mouths full of needle-sharp teeth that could strip flesh from bone in seconds.

  They joined the collection of beings surrounding Kayla, pushing and pulling to draw her along. She had no idea where they were taking her. She couldn’t find it in herself to care. She had harmed none, that much she knew. When she hunted, she ate only fish and often brought fat tuna and halibut from the ocean for others to feast upon.

  That did not mean they were friends.

  At the foot of the mountain, they turned upward. More creatures joined them, but Kayla could no longer tell who was who or what was what. The pain from the bites and poison in her blood increased. Her heart stuttered and fell off rhythm. She convulsed, contorting up into a tight knot. She thought she heard something crack. Bones perhaps.

  The water began to turn around them. Buffeting Kayla and shoving her sideways. The current shifted and shifted again, spinning her around. She could no longer tell which way was up or down. The cloud of life around her loosened and then condensed, closing ranks as they maneuvered her through the currents.

  She continued to tumble in the churning water. Her heart raced faster and faster, a metronome on crack. Fire bloomed in her chest, an ache so fierce she screamed. Or maybe she didn’t. She couldn’t tell.

  Usually under the water, she could hear and smell and taste better than she could in her human form. Not now. Now she could see nothing. She heard only muffled tortured sounds, and the flavors had dulled to dust on her tongue.

  The churning violence of the water stopped abruptly. The current around her died. Her body broke the surface of the water. The ground beneath her turned shallow.

  Her body jolted up onto a shingle. Water washed beneath her hind end as rusty saws carved deep into her back. Air pumped feebly through her lungs and agony rippled after it. Her heart stuttered. Never in her life had she wanted to die before, but at the moment Kayla wished nothing more than to be put out of her misery. Even though she could feel nothing of her feet, legs, muscles, or face—pain scorched her nerves and drove knives through her brain.

  A buzzing slur of noise cascaded into her skull. Something touched the wounds on her back. An explosion of pain. Then nothing.

  Chapter 18

  Ray

  THE SMELL OF antiseptic filled Ray’s nose and mouth when he woke up. For a moment he had no idea where he was or what had happened. Then memories flooded back.

  Kayla.

  Frantic urgency punched through his gut.

  He thrashed, jerking himself upright. He wore a hospital gown. Needles punctured the backs of both his hands, and tubing ran to several bags of IVs, one of which contained blood. An oxygen tube thrust two prongs up into his nose, and a blood pressure cuff circled his right bicep. He started to yank it off and his arms tangled in his IV tubing and the cord of the oxygen monitor clipped to his finger. A machine whirred and air pumped through the cuff. Ray snarled annoyance and ripped it free. Shrill alarm beeps perforated the air.

  He yanked off the oxygen tube and pushed it over his head, knocking the clip off his index finger. More beeping. He twisted and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. His knees turned to taffy and he sagged. Only his hold on the bed kept him upright.

  Logan appeared in the doorway at that moment and swore. He rushed in, grabbing Ray under the arm. Angie followed just behind. After her came a tall, willowy woman with long brown hair.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Logan demanded as he hoisted Ray upright and turned him around to sit back down on the bed.

  It wasn’t until then that he realized the wounds that the creatures had given him didn’t hurt. He struggled against Logan’s hold, but it quickly became obvious his feeble efforts had no chance against the other man. He felt weak as a newborn baby.

  “What happened? Where’s Kayla?”

  “We don’t know,” Angie said from behind him.

  Ray twisted to look at her. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  This time Logan answered. “Once we got clear, I called in an emergency. In less than ten minutes we had a dozen technomages on site. We went in, but the creatures had escaped and Kayla was nowhere to be found. Witnesses saw her—” he broke off, exchanging an uncomfortable look with Angie.

  “Saw her?”

  Logan’s brows furrowed as he turned his attention back to Ray. “Do you remember anything?”

  Ray wanted to say he remembered everything, but how the hell would he know what he remembered and didn’t remember? But then he realized just what Logan was getting at. “I know about her,” he said, meeting the technomage’s gaze with defiant fury. “What of it?”

  Logan looked surprised, but there was approval in his nod. “Witnesses saw her heading for the river. She was bleeding from wounds on her back and throat and legs. She seemed to be drunk—staggering and running into things. We traced her to the river where she jumped in, and no one has seen anything of her since.”

  Ray ignored the jackhammer driving into his heart. She wasn’t dead. Sh
e couldn’t be dead. Once again he struggled to stand up. Logan pushed him down with one hand on Ray’s shoulder.

  “How long?” he demanded. “How long has it been since she disappeared?”

  “We brought you in about five hours ago,” Angie said. “It was a close thing. You almost died. Thanks to Sarah here, you didn’t.” She gestured at the other woman. “She’s a witch,” Angie added, with a warning look at Ray that told him he’d better not act like a bigoted asshole with the witch, or Angie would rip his skin off.

  He had no intention of it.

  “Thank you,” he said with deep gratitude.

  “You’re welcome,” she said in a huskier voice than he expected. It reminded him of an alto sax—warm, rich, and mellow. She smiled surprise, as if she’d expected a much different reaction from him. Two days ago, she’d have gotten it, too.

  Ray remembered the other witch, the one who’d thrown up the shield to protect them from the creatures in the morgue. “How is the other witch?” he asked, even as everything in him demanded that he get up off his ass and go searching for Kayla. “The one from the lab? Is she going to make it?”

  “It was touch and go, but we got to her in time,” said Logan with a grim look. “She’ll be a little while recovering, though.”

  One small ray of good news, anyway. “Where are my clothes?” He was leaving whether they liked it or not. Kayla was out there and she needed help.

  “You lost a lot of blood,” Angie said. “The bite of those creatures is poisonous. Magic poison. Zach and Sarah were able to counter it before it caused too much damage. We’re trying to get some blood into you, but even so, you’ll be weak for a while.”

  “I can live with weak.” But he couldn’t live without Kayla. Four years had been too damned long, and a lifetime? His mind veered from the thought. Not going to happen.

  Ray looked at Logan. “Who’s looking for her? Divers? Search and rescue?”

  Logan shook his head. “She’s witchkin. You know policy. No wasting resources on the inhuman.” His lip curled. Clearly he didn’t think much of that policy.

  Ray’s own thinking had undergone a sea change. That policy was fucked up, and not just because of Kayla, but because the witchkin were citizens too, and deserved equal protection under the law. If having a war with somebody meant treating them like second-class citizens forever, then nobody in the US would be treated well, starting with people from the UK, Germans, Vietnamese, Italians, and pretty much everybody else.

  “Witchkin are looking for her,” Sarah volunteered.

  Logan, Angie, and Ray all looked at her.

  She gave a little shrug. “We look out for each other. Besides, we need her. So do you. We all thrive here because she’s here.”

  “What do you mean?” Logan asked.

  Sarah looked at each one of them as if debating whether or not she should speak.

  Ray bit back his impatience, curling one hand into a fist around the sheet. “Please,” he said.

  The witch sighed. “She is of the divine,” she said finally.

  Her three listeners just stared.

  “Divine?” Logan choked out. “Like God and angels and Jesus?”

  Sarah smiled and shook her head and then shrugged again. “There are and have been many divine beings in this world. Some are small gods, some are powerful deities.”

  “And Kayla?” Ray asked, his mind reeling. Kayla was a god? She couldn’t possibly know it. Could she? “The Guardian of the River,” he said, the puzzle pieces clicking into place.

  Sarah nodded. “We believe she is an aspect of a river god. Her very existence here lends fertility to the land, the water, the air, and all who live here. Because of her, this place thrives. The bites and poison from the creatures should not have hurt her.” She frowned, clearly troubled. “Those creatures were summoned to kill a god. They can have no other purpose.”

  “Are you saying someone brought them here to kill Kayla?” Angie asked.

  Ray could barely wrap his brain around it.

  The witch shook her head. “If she were their prey, then they’d have stayed and fought until she was dead or they were.”

  “Kayla isn’t the only god in town.” The word sounded completely ridiculous coming from Ray’s mouth, but Sarah’s nod confirmed his logic.

  “How many gods are in Portland?” Angie asked, startling to look unsettled.

  Ray supposed it wasn’t every day you found out you’d been hanging out with the divine.

  “I couldn’t say,” Sarah said, and Ray wondered if she couldn’t because she didn’t know, or she couldn’t because it would betray the magical community. “Witchkin of all stripes will be drawn here because of the River Guardian. Gods are no exception. Humans will come, too.”

  She frowned as if searching for words to explain and finding it difficult. “She’s a protector. A being of justice and a preserver of life. She’s like the sun or water. She is powerful in her way, but it’s her existence that allows others to thrive and grow into power, rather than something she consciously does. Losing her would cripple this place, starve it of the light and life only she brings.”

  “You are saying that she can’t do magic, is that right?” Logan asked.

  She gave a little shrug. “Gods don’t do magic in the way that witches or other creatures do. Theirs is a divine power and . . . it’s different. We don’t know a lot more than that. Most of what we know about her is from watching her.”

  Before she finished speaking, Ray slid off the bed, yanking the IVs out of his left hand and then his right. Blood dribbled down across his fingers and dripped on the floor. He ignored it, concentrating on keeping his feet. He didn’t particularly care about the finer points of god magic versus witch magic, and he sure as hell didn’t care what Kayla could or couldn’t do. All that was important was that she had been attacked by creatures whose specific nature was the hunting of gods, and she needed help.

  “I’m going to find her,” he declared when Angie started to chastise him.

  “You can’t help her,” Sarah said baldly. “You haven’t the skills.”

  “I don’t give a shit. She’s alone and she’s hurt, maybe dying,” he said, the last word sticking in his throat, and squeezing his heart in a metal fist. “I’m not giving up on her. I made the mistake once of not following her when I should have. I won’t do it again.”

  “You’re an idiot,” Angie said, grabbing a roll of gauze and medical tape and wrapping both his hands tightly to stanch the bleeding. “You can barely walk.”

  “Which is why I’m here,” announced Sharon Dix from the doorway behind Sarah. She pushed in, her gaze running up and down Ray in his hospital gown. “I’m taking over the Runyon case,” she said smugly.

  “The hell you are,” Ray snarled.

  “Take it up with the captain. He wants me to take point until you’re back on your feet.”

  “I am on my feet.” For Kayla’s sake and Landon’s, Ray wanted this case. Dix wore blinders when it came to witchkin. Not that he could blame her. He’d just managed to get rid of his own blinders.

  Anyway, she probably didn’t even know all the facts. He doubted Crice had told her that Theresa Runyon and Margaret Valentine were witches. That was a secret Alistair Runyon would kill to keep a tight lid on, and Crice wouldn’t want to be in the line of fire when Runyon decided to go on a rampage.

  All the same, the captain had to be seen driving hard on the case if he wanted to keep his pension and his office. With Ray in the hospital, he needed another face to trot out in front of the news cameras and point to in order to demonstrate his commitment to solving the case. That and putting all the department’s resources behind the investigation would play well on the news. So would Dix. Cameras liked her, and she had a decent record on solving cases. What she didn’t
have was enough experience, or gut instinct, and with magic and gods involved—she wouldn’t get far.

  “I came so you can bring me up to speed on the case,” she said. “And I need your notes and files.”

  Like hell. Ray didn’t have time to waste arguing with her. Kayla needed him, which meant getting out of here fast. A plan popped into his head and he instantly put it into play

  Ray abruptly swayed, clutching Logan and the side of the bed before lurching forward to sprawl across the mattress and sliding to the floor like he could no longer stand.

  “Shit!” Logan said as he dropped down beside Ray. “Follow me and sell it hard,” he murmured with a wink. “We’ll keep her busy.”

  A worried Angie squeezed in beside Logan, leaning down to check Ray’s pulse.

  “Is he going to make it?” Logan demanded, staring hard at Angie and waggling his eyebrows.

  Her eyes widened as she caught on to the ruse. “He’s going into tachycardia,” she said urgently. “Get a nurse and a crash cart. Code blue! Go now!”

  Zach leaped to his feet and hollered for help. Angie looked at Ray, rolled her eyes, and gave a fake shake of her head. “Drama queen,” she mouthed.

  The tiny room quickly filled as a nurse shoved in a crash cart and two others followed after. Zach and Sarah pushed Dix out into the corridor to make space in the hospital room.

  “Help me get him onto the bed.” Angie snapped out the order as she kicked the door shut.

  The instant it closed, Ray sprang to his feet, much to the shock of the nurses.

  “Get his gown off,” Angie said loudly as she pointed Ray toward the bathroom, twirling her fingers at the nurses to tell them to keep up the charade.

  They exchanged startled glances and then grinned as they started clattering around and shouting out orders to one another, and generally putting on a show for Dix.