The Witchkin Murders

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

The receptionist flicked a meaningful glance at several burly men and women in black pants and white shirts sporting sidearms. They stood watching the exchange, eager for the invitation to intervene.

  “Fine,” Kayla said, backing away. “I’m going.”

  She retreated outside and crossed the street to a bench where she sank down, confusion and concern rolling through her. Was Ray not here? Was she simply not allowed to see him? Maybe he didn’t want to see her? Or had Raven and Zach been wrong? Had his injuries overcome him?

  Her heart clenched, and her throat closed. No. No no no. She refused to accept the possibility. She probably just didn’t have the security clearance to see him. Or maybe he was in a ward where only family was allowed.

  She didn’t have Zach’s number to call and find out. She tried Angie, hoping to track down Zach’s number, but ended up getting voice mail.

  Well then, she’d wait. Sooner or later Zach would show up. She didn’t let herself consider that he might use a different entrance. All she knew for sure was she couldn’t go home.

  Around two in the afternoon, she lost that choice. Thunder grumbled in the near distance and the wind kicked up, blowing in the scent of rain. She looked up and around. There was no place for her to take shelter. The parking lots were guarded, and she’d watched hospital security roust several people loitering around the bus stop.

  Still she waited. Droplets plopped down on the bench and dotted her head. She held in a sigh. She could either transform and stay, or she could go home and wait it out and hope Angie got back to her. Eyeing the sky, she could tell the storm wouldn’t be a quick one, and she didn’t relish getting hit by lightning.

  Home it was.

  She just barely made it before the sky opened and dropped a deluge. She’d run the last mile, regretting her choice of footwear with every step.

  With the door shut, she contemplated what to do next. Exhaustion fell on top of her like a tree trunk. She’d been awake the better part of the last sixty hours. Stir in all the emotional angst, nearly dying, and the fight with Nietzche-cheese and his buddy and she was surprised she was still upright.

  Going upstairs to her bed took far too much energy, so she collapsed on the couch, pulling a fuzzy blanked over her. Within seconds she fell asleep.

  Chapter 25

  Ray

  GIVEN HIS LAST memories before blacking out, Ray was mighty pleased to wake up at all. Once again, he was reclining in a hospital bed with tubes running into both arms and an oxygen tube up his nose. A clip on his finger monitored his pulse and oxygen levels, an automatic blood pressure cuff circled his left bicep, and this time, bandages wrapped his arms and chest. Arcane witch markings written with a Sharpie covered them. A dusting of herbs and something else layered his chest in a light blanket. It smelled of rosemary and things he couldn’t identify.

  He looked around. Through the window on the door he could see the back of a uniformed officer. Interesting. Was he supposed to keep enemies out or keep Ray in?

  He took an inventory of himself. He had aches as if he’d worked out too hard, but no real pain. Scratch that. A thin, needle-sharp spike of pain stabbed through his lungs and traveled down his spine to his heels. It hurt so badly he could hardly breathe. Nausea burned his stomach and boiled up his throat.

  After a few seconds, the pain passed, leaving Ray panting. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he clutched the sheet with white-knuckled hands.

  What in the holy fuck was that?

  It had to do with magic, he was pretty sure. His clash with the giant beast.

  He jerked upright. Kayla!

  For the second time in a couple of days, he tore out his IVs, shoving off the oxygen tube and the pulse monitor. He swore when he fumbled at the blood pressure cuff and finally tore it free. By this time, loud alarms beeped frantically from several machines.

  Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Ray stood up, bracing himself against the bed. No dizziness, no weakness. Hells to the yeah.

  Except for his bandages, he was naked.

  The door swung open and a doctor came in. With her pixie hair and tiny figure, she looked about twelve years old.

  She cocked a brow at him, letting the door close behind her. “Just where do you think you’re going, Mr. Garza?”

  “Out of here,” he said grimly, refusing to be embarrassed by her scrutiny. Where was Kayla? Had she survived?

  Horror struck him in the gut and he bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. Tears burned in his eyes. He gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to mourn her. Not yet. Not until he saw her body,

  The doctor’s brow arched again. “You think you’re well enough for that?”

  “Right now, Doc, I don’t really give a fuck.”

  She nodded, a tiny smile quirking the corner of her lips. “I’ve got several people waiting to talk to you. Cops,” she clarified as his head jerked up in hope.

  “I don’t have time for that shit,” he said.

  She pursed her lips and then shrugged. “Not for me to say one way or another. However, I do want to bandage those holes in your arms.”

  She gathered tape, gauze, and sanitary wipes, cleaning the blood running from his IV sites.

  “You’re going to want to talk to a witch about your metaphysical wounds,” the doc said matter-of-factly. “They were the real danger to you, aside from serious dehydration and iron depletion. I’d leave the bandages on until someone with skill can take them off. If you don’t, you might do more than suffer a little bleeding.”

  “I will,” he agreed impatiently.

  “You’re checking out AMA,” she said, “so you’ll need to sign forms.”

  “Fuck that. I don’t have time.”

  Again, that tiny smile. “Yes, you do.” She produced a clipboard from a drawer and held it out with a pen. “I had a feeling,” she said when he scrawled his signature. “I read your chart from your previous visit. Getting out of here without being stopped, however, is your problem.”

  She smiled, this time with a wicked glint in her eye. She held out a hand to shake his. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks, Doctor—?”

  “Andrews. Samantha Andrews.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Andrews. Where are my clothes?”

  “They didn’t survive. You took significant burns on your torso. Your lower body didn’t take quite as much damage, but you’re lucky you came away with your genitals intact.”

  Ray tried to hide his gulp, but that quirk of her mouth told him she’d read him like a book.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have my rounds,” she said and left, stopping to speak a moment to the guard.

  He nodded as she walked away, then glanced through the window in the door. The guard’s mouth fell open, and he grabbed his radio, talking into it rapidly.

  Goddammit!

  But there was little Ray could do.

  Within a minute Captain Crice came storming through the door. By this time Ray had managed to find a hospital gown and cover himself.

  “Garza!” Crice barked. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing out of bed?”

  “What happened?” Ray shot back.

  “What happened? Damned near the apocalypse if the technomages are right.”

  Ray clenched his teeth in order to keep from swearing at his captain. “What happened?” he repeated. He didn’t want to mention Kayla if Crice didn’t already know she’d been there.

  “Lucky for you, Logan and that witch you found managed to stop those three fuckers before they wreaked havoc. Theresa Runyon was killed, and Margaret Valentine is being treated. She’ll be fine.”

  Ray dragged his fingers through his hair, trying to put the pieces together. He wished to God that Logan was here so he could get the real truth. He didn’t want the whitewash
ed version the technomage had given to Crice.

  “Apparently those two giant muscle-heads were vessels for two Aztec gods. They were after that big blond guy. Name is Grutte Pier. From Denmark or Finland or something. Born a few centuries back. Anyhow, he’d been harvesting bones from witchkin to build a magic sword to kill those things. He killed Theresa Runyon to complete the spell and then killed the two vessels. The gods themselves escaped along with two of the beasts they summoned. Technomages are hunting them now.”

  Ray blinked, his mind tumbling. Where was Kayla in all this? Surely Logan wouldn’t have kept her out of the story if she’d died. What would be the point?

  “Craziest thing was the witches. They cast some kind of spell to bury all the bodies and grow a garden on top of The Mound.” Crice shook his head. “Lotta people not happy about that. They wanted a chance to bury them proper.”

  He looked at Ray. “You need to be debriefed, and then I have to decide what to do about you.”

  “Do about me?” Ray’s chin jutted slightly, his brows rising.

  “You’re a fucking witch.”

  “Yeah, and I’ve been one since Magicfall. You haven’t had a problem with me in all that time.”

  “Maybe not, but now everybody knows, and it isn’t sitting well.”

  “Then fire me.”

  Crice practically growled at him. “You’re my best detective. You going to quit?”

  “Not a chance. It’s time we got over the witchkin bias and started protecting everybody, not to mention taking advantage of their talents and skills. Some shifters on the force wouldn’t be a bad idea to start with. Neither would more witches.”

  His captain smiled with a smug triumph that made Ray more than a little nervous.

  “Glad to hear you say so. I’m planning to start a new investigative division investigating magical crimes and hiring witchkin. Pitching it to the brass next week. You’re going to head it up, though don’t think it’s going to be administrative. You’re going to lead from the field.”

  Ray stared. He had not seen this coming.

  “You know that’s going to go over like a lead balloon?”

  Crice shrugged. “People are going to have to deal. World’s changed, and we’ve got to change with it. This business last night cut it too close. We can’t have that sort of thing again. We might have headed it off if we’d been paying attention to the witchkin deaths and if we had more witchkin on our side.”

  Murders. Ray didn’t correct him. Crice had made strides. No point in antagonizing him by pointing out his bias. It wasn’t like Ray didn’t have a long way to go himself.

  A grumble of thunder called his attention to the window. Droplets spattered the glass. Hopefully the storm would keep Kayla home until he got there, which couldn’t happen fast enough. If she was home. But first he had to get rid of his boss.

  “What about staff? Hiring? I get free rein?”

  Crice gave a ready nod. “Within reason. I’ll need to sign off.”

  “I want Logan assigned to the team. Permanently.”

  “I can do that.”

  “I don’t want to be the redheaded stepchild. If I do this, we’d better be funded with adequate manpower and financial resources.”

  “You’ll have it.” Crice gave a terrifying little smile. “You’ll have plenty. He doesn’t know it yet, but Alistair Runyon is going to start a memorial fund in his mother’s name to get the division going and make sure it never runs short.”

  Ray couldn’t help his answering grin. Crice was a lot of things, but being devious might be his best quality. He didn’t doubt that his boss would make it happen, either. Runyon didn’t want it out that witchcraft ran in his family. He’d pay a lot to keep it a secret.

  “Now, I want to hear what happened, starting with what you found at the Runyon house,” Crice said, settling into an uncomfortable-looking chair.

  Ray hesitated.

  “Faster you talk, faster you get out of here. But to be clear—you aren’t leaving until I say you can. Unless you want to quit?”

  He was tempted to just to be able to go check on Kayla, but instead Ray started talking in quick, terse sentences, leaving out any references to Kayla’s identity, calling her his confidential informant.

  “Who is that?” Crice asked.

  “Can’t say.”

  “Gotta register all CIs with the department.”

  “Not this one.” His jaw jutted.

  The captain eyed him from beneath lowered brows. Apparently he realized that it wasn’t negotiable. Ray’d quit before he gave up Kayla.

  Crice nodded. “Okay. What next?”

  Ray continued all the way up to when he got blasted by one of the Aztec gods, again without mentioning Kayla’s role.

  “Then I woke up here.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t telling the whole story?” Crice asked, rubbing his hand over his jaw.

  “Because you aren’t stupid,” Ray said without missing a beat. “But if you want to keep me around, then you won’t push it.”

  The captain eyed him for several long moments. “All right. Two things. I don’t want to find out shit from the papers. If it goes public, I’d better know first. And second, this better not come back and bite me in the ass or I will bury you.”

  He leaned forward, pointing a blunt finger. “I mean it, Garza. I’m giving you rope here, but I’d better not end up with my head in a noose. I’ll make sure you regret it if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Despite the captain’s gruff threats, Ray felt gratified Crice trusted him enough not to force the issue. Or maybe it was a case of don’t ask, don’t tell. Either way, he’d take it.

  “Is that all?”

  “Where you going in such an all-fired hurry?”

  “See my girl.” The words slipped out before Ray knew he was going to say them, but he did know he meant them. Now he just had to bring Kayla around to the idea.

  Crice’s brows rose in mocking disbelief. “Didn’t think you were the relationship type.”

  “Wasn’t.”

  “But you are now? Maybe you should stay in the hospital. Looks like you’ve got a head injury.” Crice snickered.

  “My head’s just fine. In fact, it’s finally on straight. So, if we’re done here, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Wearing that?”

  Ray looked down at himself. The hospital gown hadn’t miraculously turned into street clothes. “Shit.”

  “Well, guess I’ll get out of your way.” Crice stood. “Take a couple days off. Stay off the radar, and stay the hell out of the papers. Email your report by tonight, and Garza, don’t do anything stupid.”

  He stomped out leaving Ray wondering what stupidity Crice thought he’d be committing.

  He managed to collect clothes from the lost and found. A Ducks sweatshirt and a pair of khaki trousers. He borrowed a pair of flipflops from an orderly, as his shoes had been considered a bio-hazard after his tromp to The Mound.

  Tempted as he was to head straight for Kayla’s, he wanted to clean up first. Right now he looked like a hobo. Better to look cool and collected if he was going to tempt her into a relationship.

  Sure, Garza, he mocked himself. Get a grip. You’d better show up looking like Chris Hemsworth if you want to tempt her. Better to figure out how to bribe her into going out with you, or plan on getting her seriously drunk.

  He didn’t know when he’d decided he was done pretending he could stick to just friendship with Kayla. Or maybe he’d decided to stop being a coward and take a chance on being happy. Of coming home to her every night, fixing breakfast for her every morning, and having her in his bed.

  The last birthed a flurry of erotic ideas. All the things he’d like to do to her; all the ways he’d touch her, pl
easure her. He squeezed is eyes shut. Jesus Christ Almighty. He’d never been so hard in his entire life. His dick throbbed, and walking had become an exercise in torture. Maybe the rain would chill his fever.

  When he reached his apartment, he tore off his borrowed clothes, swearing as he remembered the bandages. Much as he wanted to tear them off, he knew better. Digging in his kitchen drawers, he found a roll of plastic wrap. He rolled it around his chest tightly, covering the bandages. Hopefully water wouldn’t get underneath.

  After his shower, he dressed in black jeans, boots, and a soft blue shirt that hugged his torso. He snorted as he checked himself in the mirror. You’d think he was sixteen on his first date. But damn if it didn’t feel just like that. Nerves made him smooth his hair.

  When he arrived at Kayla’s, he knocked. The rain had lightened, pattering lightly on his rain jacket. His stomach took a dive when she didn’t answer. Fuck. Where was she?

  He tested the door, startled when it opened. He reached for his gun on his hip, holding it ready as he stepped inside. When he saw Kayla asleep on the couch, the relief nearly put him on the floor. He holstered his gun and went to sit beside her on the coffee table.

  She lay under a blanket with her shoulders and arms exposed. Small bruises, red marks, and scratches ran over her exposed skin. She had a bruise on her left cheek and dark circles beneath her eyes. Her face was too pale and too thin.

  Ray reached out a finger and lightly brushed her hair from her eyes, smoothing back over her ear. “Kayla?”

  Her eyes opened. Her head turned, and she saw him. Her brow furrowed. “Ray? What are you doing here?”

  “I was worried about you.”

  “But—you were in the hospital.”

  His brows rose. That stung. And punctured his balloon of hope. She knew he was in the hospital and hadn’t come to check how he was? She’d chosen to take a nap? Shit.

  She scrutinized him. “You’re really okay? I came to the hospital, and they made me leave. I didn’t have Zach’s number and had to leave a message for Angie. I waited outside, but then it started raining and I had to come home.”