“Good idea,” Jon replies. “Do we have time to stop and get something to eat?” His stomach growls in the dark interior, emphasizing his need. I hold back a snort of amusement at his predicament. “What? I eat a lot. Werewolves have a high metabolism.”
I point toward a street vendor in the distance. “Stop there. We don’t want our wolf hungry and unfocused.”
The car glides to a halt, two of us piling out of the car. Rafe stays inside while the engine idles. “Get me the seasoned pork, would you?”
“You got it, hun.”
Jon and I wait in line along the sidewalk, the smells of roasted meat wafting around us, tempting me to buy one for myself. My digestive track prefers liquids with blood mixed in, so I resist the temptation, unwilling to live with stomach cramps and possible vomiting while my body tries to figure out what to do with the meat.
We’re next in line to order when a tingle of magic washes over me. I look around, the hairs on my neck raised. “Did you feel that?” I ask Jon while trying to find the source.
He casts a wary glance up and down the street as well. “Yeah, I did. What the hell could it be? Is someone casting a spell? Could it be directed toward us?” He crouches slightly, leaving the food line, backing toward a nearby shop, his instincts to survive overriding his human side.
Our senses on high alert, we scan the nearby buildings and alleys, looking for any sign of movement. A child-sized form exits from the deep shadows of the alley across the street, directly behind the food vendor.
“Do you see it?” I ask, motioning to the misshapen creature, a blur of magic distorting its outline. Its head appears large, and it’s hunched over, using an arm to assist on the ground while it walks in a shambling gait. There’s a growth of some kind near the back of its neck, looking almost like a foot, leaving no doubt this thing isn’t a small, pre-teen human out past bedtime.
“Yeah. Should we approach or follow?”
“Let’s follow. You’ll have to wait to eat.” I glance quickly to Rafe and then back to the alley, opening our telepathic connection. There’s something in that alley I’ve never seen before, and it carries an air of magic. We’re going to follow it.
Rafe follows our gaze and sees what we intend to track. Looks can be deceiving. Let me park the car and join you. He whips the car around the vendor and speeds away, searching for a place to leave the vehicle. Jon and I are already halfway across the street, keeping watch on the small, deformed shape.
“Do you think it was human at one time?” Jon whispers.
“I think we should shut up and track it.”
We trail it about fifty feet back, unwilling to get too close and reveal our presence. “It doesn’t smell like anything I’ve encountered before,” Jon says. “What do you think it is?”
I push my will out, slipping into Jon’s mind, careful to stay on his surface thoughts and not see more than I’d like. I think, Jon stumbles as my voice fills his mind, as a hunter you know better than to speak while hunting. Be quiet or I will leave you here.
In answer, the Were coughs, stifling his awkwardness. Sorry.
In another hundred feet or so, Rafe joins us, already knowing not to say a word. Why can’t all the people in my life be as smart as he is?
We follow it down a side street that runs behind the shops, as it makes its way through the city undetected. The tiny form slips into another dark alley three streets away from where it appeared. We hesitate at the opening, unsure of where it leads and whether or not we should follow, risking our discovery.
I look to both men, internally debating if I should open a mind link between the three of us. Jon opens his mouth to speak right when a gargled scream issues from the darkness. Without any time for deliberation, we rush toward the sound.
The short, humanoid form holds a bloody pipe in one gnarled fist, the stench of fresh blood and death on the air, a homeless man lying at its feet. The deformed creature looks up at us—a demented grin on its face, but its head almost looks like it’s on the wrong way—and disappears with a blink into thin air.
“What the fuck was that?” Jon screeches, no longer seeing a need to be quiet since the killer vanished. “Tell me you both saw it disappear.”
“I did,” Rafe says while I nod my head. We enter the alley, the lingering aroma of magic on the air, combined with the fresh scents of death. The bloody pipe lays on the ground near the raggedly dressed form of a dark-skinned man in his fifties.
“There’s nothing we can do for him. He’s already gone.” I turn on my heel and rush back to the street. “Search with me. Maybe whoever sent that thing is nearby.”
We spilt up, each of us scanning the buildings, alleys, and sidewalks for anyone with a scent of magic clinging to them. After twenty minutes, the body of the homeless man is discovered by others, raising an alarm, assuring us the local police will be here soon and we should flee.
Rafe waves an arm to get Jon’s attention from across the street, then the three of us high tail it to where he parked the car.
“I found nothing except the mad dwarf’s scent,” Jon says.
“Same here,” both Rafe and I say together.
“What the hell was that thing?”
“Did you see how it walked?” Rafe says. “It used two arms and one leg. I couldn’t see the second leg.”
“I think the second leg was that growth on its back,” Jon adds. “I could have sworn I saw toes. I may sound crazy, but it looked like the head was on backward, too.”
“Who the hell would create such an abomination?” My mind whirls with all the details. I’ve never heard of anything like this thing we’ve just seen. I would deny its existence if I hadn’t seen it myself. “And why?”
Rafe beeps open the car doors and we climb inside. “I think we need to visit the only person we know in the city who does magic and ask him.”
Within moments we’re driving the opposite direction, far away from the food vendors.
Jon’s stomach growls in the silence of the car. “And maybe if I’m lucky he’ll have food at his place, too.”
Justin opens the door, a guarded look on his face. “What are you guys doing back here so soon? I haven’t been back to the Tribunal yet, so there’s nothing new I can tell you. Rolando wasn’t in when I called, either. No way I can set up a meeting.”
I push past him, not waiting for an invitation, Rafe and Jon follow.
“Geez, just come right in, why don’t you.” The wizard shakes his head at our rudeness and shuts the door. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Unwilling to waste any more time, I reach out a hand, resting it on his wrist, while pushing the image of the creature into his mind. “Tell us what you know of this thing.”
Justin jerks, trying to rip his arm away from my clinging clasp. His eyes widen with recognition and shock covers his face. “Holy shit. Where did you see that?”
I let go and step back. “Over in Centro, quite a few blocks from here.”
“Why did you come here to ask me? You don’t think I had something to do with it, do you?”
Jon stalks closer, his expression menacing. “Why don’t you tell us, wizard for hire?”
“Back off, asshole.” He moves into the small living room and plops into a chair, looking stunned. “I might be a wizard for hire, but I’d never have an invunche working for me.”
I focus on the unknown name. “An invunche? What is it?”
“I’ve never seen one in real life. Just a drawing in an old spell book. Didn’t know for sure if they really existed. Centuries ago, it’s believed magic practitioners used them to guard their caves. And you know it was a long time ago because no one would voluntarily work in a cave these days.”
“Could someone summon one to kill a target?” I ask. “Or perhaps use it as a personal hit man?”
“You mean like a magical conjuring? I suppose that could be a possibility. A hit man?” He shakes his head. “I doubt it. Like I said, these deformed dwarves were used as g
uards. Why?”
Jon prowls back and forth in an angry pace from the hall to the living room and back. “Because we just saw it bludgeon a homeless man to death.”
“What the hell? No way! I don’t know anyone in the city who would do such a thing.”
“Do you have food?” Jon growls. “I’m really getting hungry.”
“Jesus! Is that a threat you’re going to eat me?”
Rafe’s deep tones wash over the room, doing for them what he often does for me. “Calm down, gentlemen. Justin, he’s hungry for food, not you. Care if he raids your kitchen? He’s got a high metabolism.” At Justin’s nod of approval the disgruntled wolf lopes down the hall looking for the kitchen. Within seconds we hear him rifling through cabinets and opening a fridge door.
“The first death this week was a young witch over on Belgrano.” I say. “According to the M.E.’s report, she bled out due to multiple head contusions. And we just saw this thing beat a man to death with a pipe.”
“You’re thinking this thing could be what’s committing the murders? But what about the man who was attacked by an animal? The invunche doesn’t have claws—and the wounds would be lower due to its height. The latest news cast tonight reported the claw marks may be that of a large cat.” He raises his voice so Jon can hear him over the clanging of plates. “That means werewolves are off the hook.”
Jon grunts from the next room and Rafe replies with another question. “Argentina doesn’t have any large predator cats, does it?”
“Deep in the jungles you can find jaguars and their black cousins, but they wouldn’t come into the city. What about a werejaguar?”
Familiar with the Weres he’s asking about, I answer. “I’ve met werejaguars before, it’s the wrong scent. Doesn’t match what I smelled at George’s death.”
“George who?” the wizard asks.
“He was a sentry at the Tribunal.”
“You don’t mean G.J. Marko, the really big, soft-spoken guy?”
“The one and the same,” Rafe says.
“What happened? I really liked him. He was a stand-up guy for a vampire.”
A sigh spills out of me over the useless death. “We found him tonight. Throat and heart ripped out. Long slashes, made by claws from a hand if I had to guess.”
The young wizard pales. “Holy shit.” We’re quiet for a moment, allowing the shocking news to sink in. “And you say it wasn’t a werejaguar? And you’re sure it’s not a werewolf but a cat of some kind?”
I nod.
“The only other thing I can think of that could make large cat-like slashes would be something I read about a long time ago. An hombre gato, which literally means a ‘man-cat.’ But those are old legends and fairy tales—they aren’t real.”
“You’re a wizard—you’ve got a vampire in your living room and a werewolf in your kitchen, and yet you don’t think fairy tales could be real?”
“Come on, there’s a difference. Almost every culture has old stories centered on people who can shape shift into wolves, or other scary stories about blood drinking creatures of the night. And magic?” He shakes his head, looking rather arrogant in his surety. “You can’t look at any ancient society where magic didn’t have some sway in everyday life. It may have gone by a different name, but magic has always been with us.”
“Okay, fine,” Rafe says. “If you can believe those things, why is thinking an invunche or hombre gato so impossible? Aren’t they local lore? Seems to me local beliefs would remain strong no matter the time that’s passed.”
Jon joins us, a big plate of food balanced in one hand. “You’ll need to do some shopping, man. ‘Fraid I cleaned you out of most edibles.”
The wizard throws his hands up. “Why don’t you guys just move in?” At Jon’s speculative look he hastily adds, “I was kidding! Eat and leave. That’s what I’d prefer.”
“As if you have a choice,” Jon says between bites.
Justin delivers a scathing death stare to the Were shoveling food into his mouth like a prisoner afraid someone else will take it before he finishes. He shakes his head and then looks back to Rafe and me. “Are you guys suggesting we have someone ‘calling’ these creatures from local myths and legends into reality to somehow… what? Kill people for a hidden agenda?”
“Well, that’s the first idea we’ve been able to come up with,” my husband says. “Can you think of anything else?”
Before Justin can reply, I jump in with another train of thought, the one we were originally headed here to discuss. “Right before George’s attack, there was a breach in the Tribunal’s territory wards tonight. Did you sense it?”
Justin nods. “Yeah, I wrote down the time in a log and called them with a warning, but they already knew—thanks to an alarm I installed that’s associated with the spell.”
“Can you tell us the time? Did any other details come through with the breach, like who or what may have triggered it?”
The wizard checks his phone. “It was at ten thirty. And that’s all I know—oh, and that the person who triggered it was not human and not a vampire tuned to the spell, meaning an active member of the vampire community in the city.”
“That’s the extent your ward can register?”
“Think of it as an early detection system for possible threats. It’s not foolproof and not as advantageous as a closed circuit camera system. But those can be tampered with and a spell can’t.” The young man shrugs. “It’s got its uses.”
“Agreed,” Rafe says. “Especially if you only need a warning and can send out sentries to investigate.”
“Which is what their protocols called for. I did my job,” he says, a touch of defensiveness in his tone.
“Justin,” I say, deciding to go with my gut. “What can you tell us about the magical imbalance that’s created when a wizard does magic?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rafe
A cagey look crosses Justin’s face. “Where’d you hear about that?”
“We have a witch who lives on our property in Alaska,” Dria continues. “She told Jon a little of the basics that define witch magic versus wizard magic.”
“The difference is slight, no matter what the witches would have you believe. They were born with a gift, we were smart enough to harness it even without their advantage. The imbalance you mention—it doesn’t exist if you perform the ritual directions correctly with an acceptable offset.
“We like to think of it as paying tribute to the magic. For every spell, there is a price to even out the natural imbalance the use of the magic leaves behind. The best ‘payment,’ if you will, is the wizard’s own blood.
“Witches act like the use of our blood as payment makes our magic dark or evil, but that’s not the case—and I’ve seen a few witchy hypocrites using their own blood on a spell, too.
“Magic is inherent in the world around us—it’s not defined as good or evil. It just is. How someone uses it is what defines the magic as safe or dangerous.”
Dria’s brow furrows in thought. “Do all wizards use their own blood in spells? Or can they use someone else’s?”
“I know of a few practitioners who use animal blood—from a butcher, not an animal sacrifice,” he hastily adds. “I haven’t heard of any imbalance issues with the substitution. The wizard usually infuses the blood offering with herbs and other additions to make it a more ‘worthy’ payment. But I— and I learned this from the wizard I trained under—stick to using my own blood. It’s always on hand, and I never run out.” He adds the last with a grin.
“These other wizards you mention, who use animal blood, could they be attempting more powerful spells that require a higher payment—and the animal blood isn’t enough?”
Justin shakes his head. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. I haven’t heard of any wizard who created an imbalance they didn’t fix. It’s been drilled into us so much I doubt anyone would make the slip.”
“You said ‘they didn’t fix,’” Dria says. “Wh
at does that imply? They could feel the imbalance?”
“Well, yeah, unless they’ve been knocked out or something. I don’t know how they could not feel it.”
I think back to the tingling sensation Dria and I have both felt in the presence of a spell activating. I wonder if that’s what he means or if it’s something greater.
“Have you ever sensed an imbalance after a spell?” I ask.
“Nope. Never.”
“Then how do you know it can be easily felt?”
Justin shakes his head, his shoulders slumping. “That’s a very good point. If I haven’t felt it, I have no idea how subtle or powerful the sensation is. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“Can you give us the names of the wizards who use animal blood? Maybe we can start there with asking if they’ve had any issues with spells lately.”
Jon sets his plate aside, the ceramic clean. “How many wizards in the city are for hire? I never would have thought there’d be so many we’d need to make a list.”
Justin puffs up, pride for his craft showing. “Hey, magic is big for protecting what you want to keep safe. All the supes in the city hire us. We don’t have a guild or anything like that, but we each have specialties and refer business out to others if it’s a field we’re not as experienced with. Like me—I work primarily for specialized client needs. The vamps. Not really a magical specialty, per se, but they are a persnickety bunch. I’m not the only one they hire, especially with all the vamps here in the Seat of Darkness. But others work for weres, shifters, the occasional human, even witches.”
“Why would a witch hire you?” Dria asks. “Can’t they do it on their own?”
That arrogant grin is back again. “Not every witch can master every aspect of elemental magic. And some of the really old ones refuse to teach a witch not born with their same affinity, like if they specialize in earth magic they might not teach what they know to another witch who is better with fire. On the whole, they can be a catty bunch.
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