by A C Spahn
QuothTheRaven: If you mean those born as shifters or other paranormals, their magic can be removed like any other. If you mean the heavies—Voids and enchanters—I don’t think there’s anything that can make them into normals again.
I hope you’re asking about this for a friend.
Thoughtful, I sat back and stared at the screen. I could think of a few reasons the enchantress would ask that question. One, she regretted what she’d done to people and wanted to fix it. I discarded that one, since she hadn’t tried to remove the enchantments from her victims. Two, she might be overwhelmed by her powers and want to get rid of them.
Three, she wanted to know if she could harvest magic from those already enchanted. If Kendall wasn’t in enough danger already, this post doubled my worry. Giving Kendall another enchantment might interact badly with her current one and drive her mad. Taking her powers out, stripping her of a core part of her identity from birth ... it could be fatal.
I opened the enchantress’s account profile. She had last logged on over a month ago, and had only created the account a week before that. So she changed accounts frequently, probably to stop Voids from figuring out how she hunted. That meant if I wanted to find her recent activity, I’d need to figure out what name she was using now.
The board’s stats at the bottom of the page showed over five thousand registered users. Of those, two dozen or so were currently online. With so broad a scope, I went back to the chat window.
HideandSeeker: Hi, new here. I’m trying to find a friend of mine. Is there a way to search users by when they registered?
myotherrideisaunicorn: Welcome! <3
Covfefe_the_Grey: Welcome n00b.
Frank&Stein: Yo. *raises drink to n00b*
Lest_we_forget: POTATO SALAD
Fandom_of_the_opera: Welcome HideandSeeker. I don’t think there’s a way to do that, sorry.
HideandSeeker: What about searching by location?
Fandom_of_the_opera: We mask IP addresses. Most people on here prefer to keep their location secret. What brings you to our Circle?
I bit my lip and stared at the blinking cursor in the chat box. Without a way to search for the enchantress’s new accounts, I’d need to find her through the sorts of topics she would post. If I was careful, maybe I could get some information out of these people. I started typing.
HideandSeeker: Just looking for my friend. She’s a Seeker, and I’m worried about someone taking advantage of her.
myotherrideisaunicorn: Are you para?
Paranormal, I guessed. I answered:
HideandSeeker: No, but another friend of ours is a dog shifter. My friend wants to do the same thing. I told her it’s dangerous but she won’t listen. I was wondering if enchanters come on here to recruit.
myotherrideisaunicorn: Yah theyre around. Most of us know not to talk to them.
Fandom_of_the_opera: We have a few regulars who talk in chat with the rest of us, but they’re harmless. Registered with the Voids and all that. We permaban the ones who recruit openly so the Voids don’t shut us down.
HideandSeeker: But they could recruit using private messages?
Fandom_of_the_opera: Look, I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, but it’s not something we talk about. Don’t ask, you know?
The chat window flashed, and another tab opened with a private message from myotherrideisaunicorn.
myotherrideisaunicorn: Hey. Check the hookups forum. Thats where most recruiters will hang out. The posts that mention having a magical time are usually the shady ones. You could also check the pasta salad forum cause thats where people post random crap and enchanters will sneak in there too. Hope you find your friend.
Finally I was getting somewhere. Thanks, I wrote back.
I checked the Mother Hubbard’s Pasta Salad forum out of curiosity first. There was a topic permanently pinned at the top of the board titled “The legendary potato vs. pasta salad debate.” A piece of the board’s history, apparently. Inside I found a poll with over a thousand votes. Pasta was winning by 200 points. Snickering, I voted “Potato Salad.” Gotta love a plucky underdog.
Further down I found a thread called “Respect Due an Enchanter.” This looked more promising.
The first post came from someone named SeekerAscended, claiming surefire ways to impress an enchanter and convince them to give you powers. Shifty Pete had posted in this thread, asking about the price for an enchantment and whether shifting into a bigger animal would cost more. My stomach turned the more I read. The people in this topic idolized people like me. They considered us some sort of superhumans, above mortal laws and decency. “The enchanter may look down on you. This is correct, as they are above you in the supernatural world. Be deferring.” And so on.
Finally I came across a reply that said, “You can always go out of state. There are enchanters all over the place, if you know where to look. Most of them stay in areas the V.U. can’t patrol. There are big cults in Oregon, the Dakotas, Virginia, Florida ...”
Again I jumped. Virginia. That was my cult. To see it so casually referenced made the tattoo on my chest itch. I resisted scratching it, instead taking a look around, as if fleshwriters could be watching me this very moment.
No one paid any attention to the short girl at the last computer. I clicked the username of the person listing cults and found posts in dozens of other topics, all related to enchanters, specifically fleshwriters. Heart pounding, I clicked through them, feeling momentum build. “Avoiding Voids.” “Best metal for storing magic.” “How to stop magical bleed-off from organic channels.” “Does this setup look right to you?” Even a few in the Hookups forum with the “magical time” double entendre. Each topic was buried in an otherwise normal forum, allowing the enchanters to blend in without congregating anywhere in particular. But I’d found their little sub-community, and now that I was in, I could sniff out my target.
This user’s profile had been active for almost a decade, so it couldn’t belong to the enchantress. But I followed its posts to a thread titled “Best Place For a Magical Lair.” Users posted photos of caves, attics, hollow trees, and other locations, asking for opinions. None of the places had enough detail to make them identifiable, not unless you had already seen the interior pictured.
On page fifteen, I froze on a familiar sight. Falling stone walls. Rotting wooden tables. Crevices in the stone, forming makeshift shelves. Moonlight peeping through a rotted wooden doorway. It was the cellar from the ranch, the one where Shifty Pete had attacked us and where Kendall had picked up a bracelet.
People’s reactions to the cellar were positive, saying it looked like a well-hidden and usable space. The photo was posted under the username Tim. I didn’t get it until I remembered the Monty Python movie with an enchanter. Yet another pun. I glanced at the date on the post. One week ago, at one am. Holding my breath, I clicked Tim’s profile.
Jackpot. Her current status was offline, but her most recent post was from yesterday. This was the enchantress’s current hunting profile. I supposed she might use another profile for innocuous discussions and create throwaway accounts like this one to post anything that could identify her, but even her puppet account would be enough if she had made mistakes. Posting a picture of her lair was a big one. I just hoped there was another.
Her Tim profile had been active, more so than her 248ToilAndTrouble one. She hadn’t been caught yet, so she was getting sloppy. Further down in the thread about magical lairs, someone named WhichWitch mentioned abandoned buildings as potential hideouts. The enchantress commented, It only works if they’re out in the countryside. Inner city ones attract druggies and criminals.
Score. I could rule out searching every boarded-up warehouse and rotting home in the city. Someone else mentioned creepy landmarks, and again the enchantress said there would be too many tourists. Rule out Alcatraz, then. She replied to another comment about having a backup lair with “definitely.” So I felt assured sh
e did in fact have a second lair where she’d go to ground. That was where I would find Kendall.
The enchantress didn’t post again in that topic, but I followed her activity. She bounced through multiple posts about enchantment, asking questions about how to choose channels and foci, how many enchantments could be put on one object, how enchantment layering works and whether it was safe to store multiple enchanted objects near one another. The more I read her posts, the more impressed I became. She’d figured out many of the basics on her own, and her questions showed a keen grasp of the tempestuous nature of magic. She was sharp. Sharp as the knife that kills you before you feel it enter.
She also made a few posts in mundane topics. Things like favorite flavors of ice cream (butter pecan) and weirdest family stories. One post gave me a flicker of emotion: It’s rough when your family falls apart. Believe me, I know. The sentiment felt too familiar, too close to home. I stifled the burst of sympathy. No matter what her background, it didn’t excuse what she’d been doing.
Next I found her in an innocuous post about summertime activities. I love hiking. The mountains are the best place to be alone with your thoughts. It sucks when there aren’t any good ones near your city.
My skin prickled. I’d thought the enchantress might live in the suburbs, because she’d chosen the farm as a base. This implied she was in the city proper. Her last post confirmed it, in another mundane thread about traffic: I hate when the person behind you starts to go at a light, like they’re gonna rear-end you. It’s worst on the big hills near my house where you roll backwards a little every time you take your foot off the brake. You always feel like you’re a second away from a crash.
I sat back, staring at the screen. I had her.
The bit about hills cinched it. She lived in San Francisco, and had driven her blue-maybe-black-or-dark-green sedan out to the ranch she used as her hideout. She’d probably tried putting a lair in the city proper before concluding she was too likely to be found. She liked mountains and solitude, so her backup lair was probably somewhere in the wilderness. She wouldn’t need much space, just enough storage for some enchanting supplies and maybe a prisoner or two. The closest real mountain was over an hour away, but I dismissed it as an option. Based on her posts on the message board, she wouldn’t transport a kidnapping victim that far. She’d be somewhere close to the city.
There were a number of large parks near downtown San Francisco. The Presidio charged for parking, and Golden Gate Park probably had too many visitors for the enchantress to feel comfortable camping out there. But a swath of green parks, lakes, and recreation areas ran from San Mateo County up to Marin County. She would be somewhere in there. I just had to figure out which spot offered the most secrecy.
Or which one had the most magic.
I was about to re-read the enchantress’s posts, looking for missed clues, when the chat window flashed. You have a new private message.
Frowning, I opened the new tab.
LifeInShadow: I notice you’re browsing a lot of topics about enchanters.
Startled, I clicked to my own user profile. HideandSeeker is currently viewing their own profile, it said.
The chat window flashed with a new message.
LifeInShadow: If you’re interested in enchanters, I can answer your questions. I’m with a group in Virginia, way outside Void territory, so you won’t get in trouble.
A scream tried to claw its way out of my throat. My vision swam. I clicked the mouse, trying to find the logout button, but nothing happened. Those words kept leering at me, red on black. Can answer your questions. Group in Virginia ...
In desperation I punched the power button on the computer tower. The machine shut down with a whirring sigh. The monitor went blank. I sat there, shaking before the black screen.
Who was LifeinShadow? Chances were I knew them. Was it Nolan, the good-looking IT professional who liked to enchant girls into sleeping with him? Was it Harriet, the bookstore owner who put tracking enchantments on her products, then sold her customers’ addresses to advertisers? Was it Geralt himself, looking for new recruits?
Was it my mom? Was it my dad?
My arms wrapped around my chest. I huddled in the wooden chair for what felt like hours, trying to silence the strings of terror vibrating in my heart.
Chapter 23
I COULDN’T BRING MYSELF to turn the computer back on. Before leaving, I checked with a librarian who said the web browser would automatically log off of all sites visited. My account on Ye Olde Circle would disconnect itself. And I would never make use of it again.
If I hadn’t believed Bane Harrow about my cult still being active, I’d just found my own proof. They were very much still there, and still recruiting new members and subjects. It didn’t seem too much of a leap that they would still be searching for me, too. Suddenly Harrow’s offer of Void protection seemed warm and inviting. I pushed the thought aside. I couldn’t afford to obligate myself to the Voids. At least not out of fear like this.
I’d mostly recovered by the time I returned to my car. I sat in thought for a while. If I wanted to drive through the various parks, feeling for powerful loci of magic, I’d need to go prepared. It wouldn’t help Kendall if I wound up insane from magic bombarding me during the search, or if I stumbled upon the enchantress and wasn’t ready for a fight. I needed my enchanted gear, but more than that, I needed my craft supplies. The Voids might be watching Crafter’s Haven, but I had to risk a trip.
Instead of pulling into the lot, I parked on a residential street a few blocks away and walked to the store’s back entrance. A long, narrow alley led up to the metal door, abutted on one side by loading bays for the shops and on the other by an ivy-covered chain-link fence marking off residential backyards. A covered concrete loading bay lay before the store’s rear door, the space Desmond used for woodworking. A large shed where he kept his tools stood padlocked on one side of the door and a big broom leaned on the other. Sawdust covered everything. A half-finished cabinet squatted in the middle of the bay, and a few other projects lay where the sun could dry the varnish on their wood. I watched the bay for several minutes, but saw no sign of movement. I darted from the cover of the ivy fence and rushed to unlock the door with my key.
Once inside, I quieted my breathing. Crafter’s Haven looked exactly as I had left it. Empty bathroom and employee breakroom/store office in the back. My shop in one front corner, two checkout lanes in the other. Aisles stuffed with art supplies marched from front to back, and lively abstract murals decorated the walls above the outer shelves. Brown shades covered the front windows, turning the light that bled through a warm nutty color. There was no shade on the glass front door, so I hugged the exterior walls as I made my way to my counter. While there didn’t seem to be any Voids around, I also didn’t want any irate customers to catch sight of me and demand to be let in. We were in the middle of posted business hours, after all.
I hopped the counter into my workspace, then ducked to rummage in my tool chests and boxes of supplies. From the box of enchanted jewelry, I pulled a ring of lightning, a bracelet of agility, a necklace to enhance my physical strength, and earrings that would make my skin more resistant to wounds. Added to my conjured knife bracelet and shield ring, they would form my arsenal. I also had my sensory ring in my purse, and I added a sound dampening anklet and a bracelet that would provide minor camouflage in case I needed to sneak around.
For my craft supplies, I was far less picky. Everything I thought I might need went into a big canvas shopping bag, one I’d painted with flowers and planned to sell in my shop. Ribbon, lace, leather, wire, string, rubber bands. Balsa wood, dowels, felt. Scissors, box cutter, paperclips. And on and on and on, opening each drawer of my supplies and adding to the bag.
I was on the second to last drawer of the second to last chest when a hand closed on my shoulder. I screamed, whirling and rising in one movement, slashing at my attacker with the gnarled stick that happened to be in my hand.
Desmond jumped back, hands raised. “Whoa! Calm down, it’s me.”
Heart thundering, I clutched my crafting table for support. “Sorry. I thought ... I thought you were ...”
“I know who you thought I was.” Desmond’s tone was dark. “I barely got away from them myself. Axel couldn’t prove I knew you were in the stable, and he wouldn’t just arrest me for no reason. Even if he wanted to, there were too many other Voids present who would see. He took my phone so I couldn’t call you, but I snuck off the first chance I had.”
“You shouldn’t have come after me, Desmond. It’s not safe.”
“But I had to tell you. I learned something after you ran. Maribel—”
A sour taste filled my mouth. “She showed up, did she?”
“No. I finally asked one of the Union Hunters where she was. Adrienne—Maribel has been missing since last night.”
The world spun around me, tilting out of balance. Thoughts and facts came together, dizzying me with the speed of their collision. If I hadn’t already been leaning on the table, I might have fallen.
“Dios mío,” I whispered. “It’s her.”
Desmond looked ashen. “I know it’s a big leap to make.”
“No. It’s not. I found Shifty Pete, asked him what he remembered about the enchantress. He didn’t have a lot, but he remembered that she had blonde hair. Then he told me the website where he found her. She had posted about her family falling apart. Now Kendall has been taken by the enchantress, and Maribel doesn’t show up to work. And she’s a shifter, not a Void. She’s not immune to magic. It all fits, Desmond. Maribel is the enchantress!”