Runaway Witch

by N. D. MacLaine

  “Lovely,” I said.

  She sighed. “If he hired the vampires, someone else hired him. How'd you find this out?”

  I told her about our night. She stared at me for a full minute before she spoke. “Are you out of your mind?” she asked. “Ally, a vampire baroness is not someone to trifle with. Her kindred number in the hundreds.”

  I blinked. “There were only a few there last night.”

  She rolled her eyes. “They don't all live with her. She's baroness of the region, not just Chandler.”

  Huh. I'd only dealt with one other baron, and he had lived in and ruled over an entire city but his reign hadn't extended beyond that.

  Mary saw my confusion. “A baron presides over a certain number of vampires. Some hold entire cities, but in less populated areas their territory can be far bigger. There aren't enough older, more powerful vampires to put a baron in every single town and village in the world.”

  I hadn't realized my vampire education had been so limited. Stephen was usually pretty thorough, but I guess since it hadn't come up, he'd seen no need to expand that particular lesson.

  Great.

  “You sure do like to find trouble, sweetie,” Mary added, not unkindly.

  “It finds me,” I muttered. “Well, I guess I'll deal with trouble if it comes. So, do you know where Locke lives?”

  She gave me an address. I looked at Evan, who nodded; he knew where it was. “Be careful,” Mary said. “Magically, you could take him in your sleep. But he's a snake. Treat him like one.”

  “Got it,” I said. “Take care.” I gave her a quick hug. Then we left.

  * * * * *

  The farther back from the river, the more rundown Chandler got, and Marcus Locke's house was on one of the farthest streets there was. The houses here were old and in various states of disrepair. His was gray, but was so faded that it may have been some other color entirely when it had last been painted. As we walked up to his porch, I tripped on a loose step. A mailbox hung crookedly next to the door.

  I knocked, then knocked again when there was no response. I extended my senses. “He's not home,” I said.

  Evan sighed. “So, what do we do?”

  “Ready for your first stakeout?” I asked.

  We went back to the car and began to wait. While we did, we talked. He told me about his dad's museum. It was a somewhat popular spot for school field trips and history buffs, and travelers often stopped since it was right off of an exit on I-70. It was successful enough that Mr. Grant had just finished getting a new stone facade for the front, and after several weeks of being closed, it was ready to reopen in time for the school year, complete with a new World Wars exhibit. Evan explained that he'd worked weekends there since he was fifteen and his dad had told him he wouldn't be getting an allowance anymore and if he wanted money he could either help at the museum or find a job elsewhere. (This had, not coincidentally, been the same year Evie had gone off to college and vacated the job Evan had moved to fill.)

  In turn, I told him stories about my life.

  “We're very different,” Evan said with a laugh after I'd told him about my first interaction with Faeries.

  Before we knew it, it was almost five o'clock. We'd been there several hours and Locke still hadn't come home.

  “If he doesn't show up soon,” Evan said, “I'm going to have to pick up Eva. We'll be eating at six.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “This looks like it's a bust.”

  Just as I said it, a rusty sedan pulled up and parked in front of the house. A middle-aged man got out and sauntered up to the door. As he unlocked it, he paused as though he'd heard something, then went inside.

  We waited a moment, then went back to his door and knocked.

  The door opened on its own. Parlor tricks, I remembered Mary saying. We entered into the living room, which was dimly lit, the shades drawn. The man sat in a chair. He had graying hair and a rather pronounced nose, and he vaguely reminded me of a mafioso in an old movie.

  “Marcus Locke, I presume?” I said.

  He nodded. “So, you're the witch who keeps interfering with my affairs.”

  I returned his nod. “I just keep happening to be there. So tell me, why did someone hire you to kidnap this young man?”

  He stared at me silently. A small grin had appeared on his face. He was amused. Outside, a car started and drove away. A dog barked in the distance. I returned his stare patiently.

  Finally, he blinked. “I am not generally inclined to discuss confidential business.”

  I sighed and gathered magic, ready to muscle an answer out of him. He held up a hand.

  “Now, now, there's no need for that, Ms. Barrett,” he said. I narrowed my eyes.

  He continued, “Last night, I received a call from Baroness Julianna, informing me of your visit. She monitored the conversation between you and Forrest before you...ahem...dispatched him, and my name came up. She wanted to verify my involvement and warn me that the 'meddlesome witch' would likely be paying a visit.

  “So, let me save you some effort,” he said. “I was, in fact, contacted a few days ago to perform a service. I opted to engage the assistance of others. Both of my attempts were thwarted, as you know.”

  “Who hired you?” I pushed.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Do you know, I spent the afternoon trying to find you, and you were on my street the entire time. I do wish I had known that sooner. It would have saved me quite a bit of time.”

  I'd had enough. I sent a surge of magic his way, just like a warning shot, to knock his chair, and Locke as well, to the floor. The chair did indeed fall, but he remained in exactly the same sitting position, suspended in midair. His smile widened.

  “Son of a bitch,” I muttered. “He's not here. He's a projection.” The car I'd heard driving off had been his. He'd sensed us when he got home, waited for us to come in, then slipped off, leaving the projection behind to keep us occupied.

  Locke said, “Yes, well, once I realized you wouldn't be getting in the way again, I took the opportunity to make yet another attempt at completing my task.”

  Evan snapped. “What are you talking about?! What do you want with me?!”

  Locke's eyebrows raised. “What makes you think I want you, precisely?”

  Evan's phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket. He looked at it and his eyes widened. I took the phone out of his hand and read the message there:

  No need to pick Eva up. Your uncle just came and got her. The girls had fun.

  Evan was gasping for breath. “We don't have an uncle around here.”

  I looked back at the Locke projection. His grin remained. He moved his arm out to the side, grabbing for something we couldn't see, and when he pulled it back, Eva appeared in the projection, like something entering the projection from off-screen. She looked terrified. “Who are you talking to? Let me go!”

  Locke had clearly used magic–the little he was capable of–to convince Evie's friend's parents that he was her uncle. This hadn't been about Evan–it was about his family.

  “Let her go, damn it!” Evan screamed. “Take me! Whatever you want! Eva, we'll get you out of this!”

  Locke said, “She can't hear you. But, yes, you can get her out of this. Originally, I expected your father to be the one who met Forrest and Clara. I didn't know he was out of town. You see, he has something at the museum that I've been hired to recover, but the problem is, I can't find it. I was simply going to have him locate it for me. Then you showed up instead, and the witch stepped in, and I realized that she could find it for me instead. So, it's that simple–find what I'm looking for, I'll release the girl, and everyone is happy.”

  “What is it?” I asked, barely containing my rage.

  “Meet us there, and I'll tell you.” Then the projection vanished.

  Evan was visibly shaking. “He has Eva!” He was in shock.

  I took his hands in my own. “Not for long,” I said. I pulled him out the door and back to
the car. This time, I drove, while he gave me directions to the museum. On the way, I found myself thinking back to a couple of years ago, the only other time I'd ever dealt with a kidnapping.

  THIRTEEN

  “We have a situation,” Stephen said as he walked into the room, Walker behind him. “And it's time-sensitive.”

  We all had been summoned to the large theater room in the basement, except for Bradley, who was missing. Stephen tapped on his tablet, and an image of a boy appeared on the large screen in front of the room.

  “This is David Pinkston,” he said. “Twelve years old. He comes from a particularly wealthy family, and he has some important blood. He's been kidnapped by a cult who intend to use his blood to summon a very bad demon. His family is understandably worried and would like him back. That's where we come in.

  “We've tracked them to a hotel in Chicago. Bradley is currently setting up a portal,” Stephen continued. This explained Bradley's absence. He was fantastic at portals. Stephen said, “Walker is going for recon, and I want Christopher and Alyssa as the primary team. Chloe, John, and Joseph, you'll prepare as a failsafe.” Stephen was big on contingency plans.

  Joseph spoke up, “Why not let us take lead this time and let them be backup? You hardly ever send us anymore.”

  “Maybe he's tired of you screwing up,” Chris said.

  Joseph poked Chris's shoulder and said, “Hey, if I wanted your lip, I'd pull it off my di–”

  “Enough, children,” Stephen snapped. “There's no time for this.” Chloe and the twins stormed out of the room.

  Stephen sighed. “All right, let's go. Walker knows where to take you, and he'll give you the details.”

  We went out to the front of the house, where Bradley was kneeling on the paved driveway, drawing a circle with some chalk. I could feel him channeling magic into it. He stood a moment later. “It's ready,” he said.

  Walker, Chris, and I stepped into the circle. Stephen handed me a small cloth bag with a few things in it, which I tied to a belt loop on my jeans.

  Without another word, Chris triggered the portal and the next thing we knew, we were standing in an empty lot in Chicago. On the ground was a chalked hopscotch board. This was why Bradley was so good at portals–he was an exquisite remote viewer and could locate the chalk needed for the other end of the portal. He almost always managed to find something near where we were going.

  And that was only one of his gifts.

  “We're about four blocks out,” Walker said as he began leading the way.

  As we walked, he explained that the kidnapped boy was the result of some prophecy, a descendant of some dude who did something a long time ago. I only half-listened. None of the details really mattered to me. I liked being given a task and doing it. Everything else was chatter. Stephen had lectured me about my inattentiveness more than once.

  We got to the hotel–a twelve-story building in a busy part of the city. We entered through a side door and took the stairs to the top floor. (Which sucked, by the way, because even though I'd been doing cardio for years, stairs still killed me.) At the landing, Walker shifted into a spider and crawled under the door to check out the situation on the other side, leaving Chris and me alone for a moment.

  He kissed me immediately. I returned the kiss with equal passion. We rarely got any time alone. We were too afraid to do anything in the house. Stephen had strictly forbidden relationships among us. (Though, given what I'd accidentally seen through a gap in her curtains one night when I'd been out on the balcony, Chloe and the twins certainly enjoyed each other's company.) Chris and I had struggled with our feelings for years, trying to ignore them, and had finally given in just six months earlier. In truth, I'm pretty sure we had fallen in love with each other almost from the day we'd met, despite how young we'd been.

  We stopped kissing just before Walker returned.

  I have no idea if Walker is his first or last name, or if it's even his name at all and not just a nickname based on his being descended from Native American skinwalkers. Walker always kind of maintained an air of mystery with us. He didn't live with us, wasn't an official part of “the team.” He just worked with us on a fairly regular basis.

  After shifting from spider back to human, he gave us a knowing smile. I was pretty sure he'd figured out our secret a while ago, but to his credit, he seemed to have kept it to himself since Stephen had never said anything to us.

  “All right, here's the situation. The boy is unconscious and tied to the bed. Two witches are painting runes on his chest. They have hired guards,” he said. “Two of them, dressed like freakin' motorcycle racers or something, padded leather suits and helmets.”

  “Armor,” Chris and I said in unison.

  I smiled. “Probably Kevlar-lined. Protects from Rockwell weapons without needing a magical shield.”

  “Yeah, well, they have the Legion symbol on the back of their helmets, so...” Walker said.

  Chris looked at me. “We should move. They're already mid-ritual.”

  I reached into the bag on my hip and pulled out what looked like two gumballs. I handed one to Chris. He placed his hand on the door handle and nodded three times as a countdown, then turned the handle and shouldered the door open. We burst into the hallway.

  The two guards–one male, one obviously female–stood outside one of the rooms, flanking the door. Chris and I threw our gumballs at them. Mine landed exactly on target and smacked the front of the male's helmet. Instantly it flattened and expanded, wrapping around his head like opaque Saran Wrap, blinding him. Moreover, it sealed around his neck, cutting off oxygen and making it impossible to simply remove the helmet. He began clawing at it.

  Chris's aim was off, and the female dodged it. It hit the wall and began expanding aimlessly–and harmlessly. Chris moved in close for hand-to-hand.

  I felt a surge of magic from the male as he started to eat through the bespelled wrap. I moved for the door to the room, avoiding the fight between Chris and the female–and ignoring my instinct to help him when I knew he didn't need it.

  I felt the magic of the ritual that was happening in the room, relieved that it hadn't reached a crescendo yet. They were still in the early stages. I gathered magic of my own and prepared to slam through the door.

  A hand grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked me away from the door. I hit the opposite wall and collapsed to the floor, facedown. I reshaped the intent of the spell I'd been preparing and, as the hand reached to turn me over, let it fly. It struck my attacker–the male, who had managed to corrode through the gumball wrapping–and staggered him but didn't send him flying back like I'd expected it to. Somehow, he'd negated most of the force before it hit him.

  He moved to straddle me with the intent of hammering me with punches. He was clearly a decent witch, but he seemed to prefer physical violence over magic. I automatically covered my face with my arms as he brought his fists down. I blocked his first blows, then maneuvered so that I could bring my knee into contact with his–let's say groin, to be polite. It wasn't as hard a hit as I would've preferred, but it got his attention. The armor couldn't protect against that. Then I got ahold of his wrists and twisted, like Stephen had taught me, and he struggled against the painful grip.

  I couldn't see through his facemask, but if I could, we would've had direct eye contact. Suddenly, he stopped fighting and just looked at me. I blinked in confusion, then used the moment to my advantage. I rolled and managed to twist until he was on his knees and I was behind him. I slammed his head into the wall, hard, several times. Even the helmet couldn't dampen all the blows, and his body sagged and he fell, if not unconscious, at least dazed.

  Chris wrapped up his fight with the female around the same time, and she, too, lay on the floor. He caught my eyes, gave me a smile, then we forced our way into the room.

  The boy was unconscious on the bed, shirtless, and he had several marks on his chest and stomach. Two older women stood over him, working their magic. They turned to face us as we ent
ered, panic in their expressions.

  “We're taking him,” I said authoritatively.

  One of the women shook her head. “No, you don't understand! We must complete this!”

  Chris frowned. He looked at me and nodded toward the witches. I extended my senses and saw what had him confused. These were not superpowerful witches. We could take them easily, and they must have known it. Yet they were ready to stand against us.

  “Ladies,” Chris said, “don't make this harder than it has to be.”

  I felt their meager gathering of magic and sighed. With one quick glance at each other, Chris and I agreed on a course of action. I reached out and nullified their magic, while he sent a sleeping spell at them. On any reasonably Talented witch, it would've had no effect. On these two, it worked perfectly, and they collapsed to the floor.

  Chris and I went to the boy, untied him, and took his arms. We lifted him and got him out of the room. The two Legion guards were just beginning to stir, and we moved quickly to the stairwell. Walker took the boy in his arms–despite being so slim, he was quite strong–and carried him down the stairs.

  Outside, Chris threw a veil over us. He was incredibly good at them, and no one saw us as we made our way back to the portal. We took it back home.

  Stephen greeted us and asked Walker to take the boy up to his room. “Why the looks?” he asked us when he saw our faces.

  Chris said, “Something just felt weird. There were only two guards, and the witches themselves couldn't even put up a fight. We subdued them with a sleep spell.”

  Stephen nodded sadly. “They were weak, and some people can't handle that. They felt helpless, and they were going to use the Pinkston boy to summon a demon who could give them more power. That's why we do what we do. We keep everyone safe.”

  He led us inside. Chloe and the twins were waiting. Stephen leaned in and whispered something to his daughter. She nodded and gestured to John and Joseph. The three of them went outside. Probably erasing the portal, I figured.

  Stephen turned back to Chris and me. “You did great, as usual. I'm going to inform the Pinkstons that their son is alive and safe. Then I'm going to deactivate the power in his blood so that they never have to worry about this again.” Stephen went upstairs.