by R. J. Blain
“I think he’s trying to say unless you want your face cracked open like an egg, perhaps you should sit down and shut up,” the jock translated. “You’re a lot smarter than you look, Walker. What can we do, if anything?”
“Unless you’re a black belt or better in a combat martial art, or you’re trained with a firearm, a known entity to local police, and able to convince them you’re not just another bad guy with a gun, it’s best to let the police do their job. They know what they’re doing.”
“How un-American,” Sawsauer muttered.
The jock snorted. “I’d rather not go to the morgue with comminuted basal fractures today, thanks.”
“And what would you know about—”
“Shut up, Matt,” half the class ordered while the rest of us shook our heads at the idiocy of it all.
What began with a knife ended with gunfire in the hallway, so close the sound hammered my eardrums through the closed door. While I remained perched on my stool, the rest of the class dove beneath the lab tables. I swallowed a laugh, something that’d earn me no friends and a lot of enemies. As everything grew still and quiet, I assumed the one round had put an end to the crazed chemist and his rampage.
Retrieving my phone, I turned it back on.
My voicemail was full, my parents had sent so many texts I would need a week to clear them out, and the rest of my father’s pack had joined in. I bulk marked the messages as read and called Jeremiah, the pack’s Second and one of Dad’s favorite cops.
“One of these days, your papa is gonna get tired of your shit and lock you in his basement for the rest of your life.”
He would, too. “For the first and last time in my life, I played by the book. Active shooter down?”
Jeremiah sighed. “Active shooter down. Which classroom are you in? I’ll see about getting you the all clear.”
I glanced at the door, shivering as my witchcraft registered the presence of a cooling body beginning the initial stages of decomposition. “Judging from the sound of gunfire, I’d say he dropped in the hallway near the lab.”
“Has anyone told you you’re a pain in the ass, Dusty?”
“I’ve heard something like that before. Is the hallway clear?”
“Try not to give your father an aneurism; he’s part of the team on your floor since a certain asshole kid turned off his phone.”
“Oops.” I hung up, hopped to my feet, and began the tedious process of moving the books off the chairs so I could unlock the door and push it open.
It hit the body in the hallway, and I wrinkled my nose at having disturbed evidence. “Hasn’t anyone told the damned building designers doors should open into the rooms?”
“Dustin Walker, I’ve a mind to—” Dad cleared his throat, grunted, and sighed. I peeked out into the hallway. It’d been a long time since I’d seen him decked out in full riot gear, which made him resemble a living juggernaut out to smash the world. “Everyone all right in there?”
I took a second peek to discover at least a dozen cops in full SWAT gear clogging the hallway. “Everyone’s fine. If you could tell someone to turn that damned alarm off, that’d be great. There’s a few edgy folks in here, but nothing major. We blocked the door and waited it out.”
“Don’t pollute my crime scene, son,” Dad growled.
I sighed and looked over the body, not recognizing the dark-haired white man, not much older than me, who’d thrown his life away. A single bullet to the brain had brought his rampage to an end, and his bloodied machete promised grief and misery in the days to come.
For the victims and their families, there would be no justice. The dead couldn’t pay for their crimes. All Dad and his cops could do was gather evidence and speculate why someone would bring death and violence to others.
The truth went with the dead to his grave, leaving us with only guesses.
It took almost two hours for the investigators to finish their meticulous examination of the scene, and to keep us from mucking up the evidence, Dad sent in a pair of EMTs to confirm no one was actually hurt.
The Fenerec and witch pair gave me the evil eye the entire time while I made rude warding gestures with my middle fingers. They saved me for last, waiting until the police escorted the rest of my class out of the area and around the cloth-draped body.
“You’re going to turn into a frog if you maintain that unflattering shade of green,” Ivan muttered, and the Fenerec shook his head. “Don’t tell me the body bothered you.”
“I’ve autopsied worse.”
“It’s not that,” Ivan’s witch said with a grim smile. “He’s overloaded. Have his daddy take him home, dump him in the pool, feed him proper, and tuck him into bed. Then, for fuck’s sake, someone call in a good water witch to teach the poor pup how to deaden his senses before he fries his brain.”
I liked Carly. She was so honest. Fire witches usually were.
They were dragons, one and all.
“Have me do what?” Dad asked, stepping into the room. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, sir. Too much stimulation, too many unique liquid signatures in here. Take him home and call in a good water witch before he snaps and floods the city because he can’t stop sensing things. Really, sir. Sending him to a chemistry lab while he’s still wet behind the ears? Have a little mercy on your pup for a change.”
I laughed so hard I dodged tears by luck alone. Dragons, indeed.
Six
Welcome to the Inquisition
Dad really needed to stop getting me into trouble. Dad needed to stop getting himself into trouble too, not that I was in any position to talk. Ever since I’d developed a serious case of witchcraft, trouble followed me around like a needy puppy wanting love.
Had I gotten Dad into trouble this time? The possibility bothered me. Despite Dad’s best efforts, word had spread in the supernatural community I was a water witch, a young one without a confirmed bond with a Fenerec.
Packs had already come calling, wanting me to help them have puppies during the mating season, which swiftly approached. A few bolder Alphas had already suggested my parents should breed a replacement or two for the sake of the species.
As a result, Reno needed a new Alpha; the old one had run away with his tail between his legs, thanks to his smart mouth and Dad’s lack of patience. The past few years, my father had climbed the Fenerec social totem pole, somehow becoming one of the top ten dogs in the country.
Huh.
Maybe my asshole father was the reason some jackass had run the SUV off the road into a ditch and bombed the vehicle with some sort of gas. I didn’t appreciate the effectiveness of the gas, which had done a damned good job of knocking me out. I pegged it as either a gas or liquid anesthetic mixed with nitrous oxide or some other compound. I’d recognized something before I’d taken one too many breaths.
While I was still wet behind the ears as a water witch, I’d learned a few new tricks since discovering my power, and I needed an asshole to test them on. Thanks to the sedative cocktail, it took me too long to dig myself out of the drug mire.
It wasn’t until I’d regained sufficient coherency to try to get a feel for my surroundings that I realized whoever had rammed us off the road knew I was a witch.
Witchbane, better known as rue to Normals, made a mess of my ability to isolate the drugs hampering me. Until the witchbane wore off, I was stuck.
When I got unstuck, someone was going to pay for trashing my dad’s new SUV and knocking me out.
I had a faint memory of Dad growling as a wolf, all vestiges of his humanity erased. Had the wolf gone totally mad, I would’ve been dead rather than contemplating what my father had done after shifting and flipping his lid. The fury in the beast’s snarls promised death to someone.
Once Dad snapped, only Mom, my uncle, or the devil himself could calm him down, and I tried to skip town whenever the devil showed his face in Vegas. Where he walked, werewolves died—and so did witches. Mercy wasn’t in the devil’s dictio
nary, but I understood why.
One and all, we were monsters, and we needed a bigger monster to remind us why we kept our existence secret from Normals. That the bigger monster often shadowed my uncle meant he came to Vegas just often enough to have wormed his way into my mother’s dubious affections.
If Dad and I didn’t get ourselves out of trouble, Mom would call Uncle, Uncle would fetch the devil, and there would be blood. If the devil and Uncle showed up, not only would there be blood, but the unfortunate investigators involved would need tweezers to gather evidence.
With my luck, Dad would suggest I help gather evidence to gain some useful experience. Dad sucked.
Even if the SUV being rammed off the road wasn’t his fault, I’d blame him anyway.
I spent a long time blaming Dad before I gathered enough of my wits to attempt to break free of whatever hellish drugs I’d breathed in. The witchbane smothered me more than the mundane sedative cocktail, and the combination disconnected me from my body, so it took a frightening amount of effort to confirm I still breathed.
Breathing was important.
Nasty wolf breath in my face helped anchor me to reality, and with a low groan, I turned my head to escape the smell.
“Easy,” the familiar voice of my uncle ordered. In his usual way, he gripped my throat with a light touch. A Normal would’ve panicked, but I’d been around Fenerec long enough to understand his intent.
He didn’t want me to move, and my uncle never did anything without a good reason.
I obeyed, and I dealt with the nasty wolf breath.
My uncle eased his grip and checked my pulse. “What’s the last thing you remember, Dusty?”
“An asshat ran Dad’s new SUV off the road. Gas bomb.” Talking strained me, and I took a moment to try to relax and will my racing heart to a saner pace. It didn’t work, but I did manage to take a few deep breaths. “Dad changed into his wolf.”
“Did you see anyone?”
I remembered to avoid shaking my head. “No. Dad?”
“It looks like they took him, as I couldn’t find any trails, human or otherwise, leading away from here. No scents, either. He’s alive, as far as we can tell. Marcy’s fit to kill, and she’s already lit Rob’s Second on fire.”
I winced. When Mom got mad, really mad, she went from a low-grade sensor to a living torch. “Is Jeremiah okay?”
“He lost an eyebrow, but he’ll live. The Inquisition sent some guards to watch over your mom. It’s your lucky day. You get me and him—and his mate.”
Him? Crap. There was one him they’d put with my uncle: the devil himself.
My uncle nodded towards the wolf beside me. “That’s Wendy. None of your smartass commentary today, pup.”
“Damn it. The devil’s here?”
Sighing, my uncle bowed his head. “You have a death wish. What hurts?”
“Let me go, and I’ll find out.”
While he hovered, I began the tedious process of checking for obvious injuries. By some miracle or another, I had dodged hurting my neck, but my right ankle hated me, and someone would need to break one of my fingers so it could be set and heal properly.
“Could be a lot worse for the situation.” My uncle helped me to my good foot.
From the roadway above, the dark-haired devil slid down the bank, paused long enough to stroke his mate’s head when she bounded over to greet him, and headed to us. “How is he, Sanders?”
I understood why the devil ignored me. I’d noticed the monster lurking under the man’s skin long before I’d become a witch, and he worried he’d frighten me.
Most feared the devil and the beast he caged.
“If I had two working feet, I’d kick you, Mr. Devil.” Sometimes, I ran my mouth to piss people off—and sometimes, I ran my mouth so the touchy wolf convinced everyone hated him would clue in I lacked enough common sense to be afraid of him.
My uncle whacked me upside the head. “You are such a brat.”
“Last time, he called me a prostitute’s leftovers, so I’m considering this progress. What did I do to annoy you this time, Dustin?”
“Well, since you asked, once Uncle gets his head out of his ass, he’ll be a good Stud Muffin for a nice lady, so I can’t call you that. Well, and you’re just not good Stud Muffin material. You’re more of the kick ass kind rather than seduce ladies out of their clothes type. You’re really too mean and badass to earn the name of Stud Muffin. That leaves you with either the devil or maybe Scum Sucker. Asshat is my current generic, so you can’t have it.”
Charles Desmond, lead enforcer of the Inquisition, took one look at me and laughed. “And what do you call your father?”
“Dad, usually. If I don’t, I get the spoon. It also keeps him from whining. Who took Dad, and can I help kill them?”
“With a broken finger and a busted foot? You’re even more headstrong than I thought. Well, since leaving you unsupervised is not an option, nor am I driving an extra hour to take you home, yes, you can.”
My uncle groaned. “Come on, Desmond. He’s bad enough without you encouraging him.”
“I’ve met your sister, Sanders. The only way you control powder kegs like her is to point her in the direction you want her to wreck things. I’m under no delusions here. Like mother, like son, and the son still smells like a witch through all that rue. When else will I get such entertainment? The boy needs to get his witchy feet wet for ops anyway. Why not let him show his father he’s not a helpless puppy anymore?”
“This is going to be a disaster,” my uncle predicted.
Someone from the Inquisition would come tow away the wreckage of Dad’s new SUV, and the devil put in an order for a replacement to keep my father from blowing a gasket when he was recovered.
Fenerec had issues with their vehicles. I had issues too, although my issues involved needing a new one, period.
I hadn’t gotten a chance to replace mine after a Vegas monsoon had gotten a hold of it and reduced it to scrap.
I questioned leaving the wreckage, but I kept my questions to myself and limped to the truck. I questioned the truck too. Why a truck? Most in the Inquisition favored SUVs. When I hesitated, the devil growled an order for me to get into the cab with Wendy, who used my good foot as a pillow and took a nap.
My uncle rode shotgun and handled info gathering while the devil drove.
“You may as well break the bad news to the kid. If we piss him off enough, he might burn off the witchbane faster,” the devil said.
Wendy turned her ears back and sighed, betraying she wasn’t actually asleep.
“He’s going to flood out the truck if he loses control,” my uncle warned. “Not a good idea, Desmond.”
“You say that like the pup has any control over his witchcraft to begin with. He doesn’t. Look, Dustin. I’m on call if you screw up, so let’s get your screwups out of the way while Wendy and I are here to help—and evaluate who might be a good match for teaching you what you need to know. So, we’re going to push every last one of your witchy buttons until you’re ready to blow, and then I’m going to point you in the direction of your father’s kidnappers. I’m expecting a very dramatic display of witchcraft, so don’t disappoint me.”
Huh. The Inquisition had called the devil in to deal with me? “Cool. So, can I exsanguinate my father’s kidnappers?”
“You score extra points if you do so without leaving any evidence. I dislike having to clean up evidence. It’s so hard to preserve my excellent track record of creating unsolved mysteries for Normals to muse over for decades.”
“So, let me get this straight. You’re going to piss me off so I snap and use my witchcraft, but right before you finish making me snap, you’re going to take me to Dad’s kidnappers, and then you’re going to make me deal with them with my witchcraft mid-snap?”
“Let? No, kid. I’m not letting you. I’m ordering you to. Making you pissed off enough to snap is to help make the job a little easier for you to bear down the road. By the time
you get to them, you’ll know they deserve what you’re about to do to them, and you’ll be angry enough you won’t overthink the job. It’s your responsibility to make certain they are unable to act like this again. Welcome to the Inquisition. It’s time for you to understand why our rules are as they are, and that there are those who are willing to die to change what they shouldn’t. The world isn’t ready for us. Not yet. Now it’s time you learned why.”
I clacked my teeth together so I wouldn’t inform the Inquisition’s enforcer that I already had a good idea of why, but it had been three Normal men who’d taught me the unpleasant lesson on the nature of monsters.
In the wrong hands, any sort of weapon could kill, and Fenerec and witches alike were living forces of destruction, carefully constrained by rules meant to protect everyone, even other supernaturals.
“You all right back there, Dustin?” my uncle asked, twisting around in his seat. “You’re disturbingly quiet.”
“I was attempting to formulate a diplomatic response to a few elements of reality I had already comprehended without an intervention.”
“Just tell him, Dusty. I’m sure he can handle anything you might say without losing his temper. Despite appearances, he’s reasonable within the restrictions of his responsibilities. Anyway, Wendy’s cuddling with you. You’re safe unless you threaten Wendy.”
“What makes you think I don’t already know? At least we’re honest monsters, Mr. Desmond. It’s the ones who are able to hide in their human clothes without scent or magic betraying them who are the real monsters. I’ve met them before. Without them, I might’ve been a wolf rather than a witch.”
My uncle sighed, as did the Inquisition’s enforcer.
“You warned me, Sanders.”
With a laugh, my uncle reached back and held out his phone. “Yeah, I expected you’d say as much, Dusty. I, for one, agree with you, but the rules are as they are. Go through the next five pictures on my camera roll, troublemaker. I need to know if you know any of these men. The next two pictures are of women, and I’ll need to know if you know them too.”