by Michelle Fox
My phone rang as I approached my exit. I didn't like to drive and talk, but the screen showed the caller as Detective St. John. I pulled over, hit the hazards, and took the call.
"Hey, Detective. How's crime?" Blart planted his tongue in my ear and I shoved his head away before the Detective heard any slurping.
St. John skipped the pleasantries."There's a guy matching Thorne's description down in Medina. I'm here having dinner with my wife," at that part irritation spiked his voice, "but I thought you might want to know."
"Hell yeah. Thanks for the call." I dug in my caddy for pen and paper. I wrote down the address the detective gave me.
"Be careful. Local PD down there isn't good with supes. They're talking about bringing in the regional supe team. Don't get killed."
"I can handle it. Thanks for the heads up."
"You owe me, Orion. I covered those cops you tied up and now I'm pissing off my wife."
"Absolutely. Anything I can do to help let me know and I'm there."
"I will hold you to that. You still owe me an answer to that question."
"It was just a thought, Detective. I don't have any inside info."
He gave a harrumph. "I want to see your face when you say that."
"Sure." I rolled my eyes, which Blart took as an invitation for more tongue action.
We hung up, and I shoved Blart back to his side of the hearse with a stern "Stay!" Then I did a quick U-turn, heading back to Medina. I hoped the local law could hang on until I got there. For my bounty, a dead Thorne worked just fine, but in terms of finding the First Witch relic, my gut said I needed him alive.
***
The address in Medina turned out to be a ramshackle farmhouse surrounded by several outbuildings and knee high grass. A For Sale sign swung in the breeze and about a dozen cop cars surrounded the house's corner lot, their lights blinking and casting the whole scene in red and blue.
I drove past it and turned on an adjacent road. Once I was away from the cops, I turned off my lights and parked the car on the narrow berm.
"Stay close." I wagged a finger at Blart. "You're my excuse if I get caught."
We jogged together back toward the house. I ducked into the neighboring drive and headed for the backyard. Crossing over into the yard behind the house, I flitted from tree to tree while Blart chased his tail and rolled in the grass.
"Come on." I whistled and patted my leg.
He whined and took a big bite of grass. Or maybe it was deer poop or the carcass of some animal. I didn't exactly have night vision, but I could definitely tell he was ignoring me.
I rolled my eyes and went on without him. Fine. Whatever. I should have known better.
The police were all fanned around the front and side of the house, leaving the back wide open for some reason that probably violated police procedure, but I had no complaints. Blessed be small police forces who never saw action. They made my life much easier. I crept up to the back door and tested the knob. Unlocked. Perfect.
Pushing the door wide, I stepped inside. I left the door open just a crack so Blart could nose his way in if he chose to get with the program. The house was dingy and unkempt, with large water stains in the ceiling. If anyone lived there, they hadn't done any maintenance.
A creak sounded somewhere in the front of the house, as if someone's weight was too much for the aging floor. "Thorne? Is that you?"
I tiptoed deeper inside. The floor bowed with every step I took, as if my weight was too much to bear.
Another creak and then the distinct sound of footsteps.
"There are like a billion cops out there. If you come with me, I can get us out of here."
A growl sounded, and the footsteps had changed to the padding of paws. He'd shifted into his wolf form. I picked up the pace, striding through the house. In wolf form, he'd outrun me. I had to corner him and catch him before he escaped...again.
I found him in the dining room, peering out the window and watching the police. On tip toes, I snuck up behind him, but his right ear swiveled, catching the faint sound of my approach.
Things happened fast after that.
I lunged. He dodged, leaving me on a trajectory with empty air. I recalibrated and did a quick spin, latching onto his haunch with one hand. I dug my fingers into his fur and the muscle underneath, holding on as he tried to shake me off.
He yanked me back and forth, trying to break my grip. I fought to get out the silver handcuffs out of my back pocket. When I finally got them out, I dropped them just as Thorne stopped pulling away from me and switched to pushing me...right into the nearest wall. The house groaned, and the plaster cracked with the force of the hit, but the jacket kept the worst of it from me. It just felt like a heavy pat on the back.
I'd lost my hold on Thorne with the impact of the hit, though. He streaked out of the room and bounded through the house toward the back door.
Swearing, I scooped up the cuffs and raced after him. Because I'd left the door cracked, Thorne didn't need to worry about turning the doorknob, he'd just used his nose. Within seconds he was gone, a blur of movement through the yard that disappeared into the dark horizon of night.
"Hands up," yelled a loud voice behind me.
I jerked my hands up. Somehow the cops had breached the house while I was busy with Thorne. "I'm a bounty hunter, officer. License is in my back pocket."
"Stay still," the officer said to me. To someone else he said, "Cover me."
A hand reached into my back pocket and fished out my license and ID. "What are you doing here, Sylvie Orion?"
"Looking for my dog. He jumped the window of my...." I cut off what I'd been about to say. Hearses just made me sound strange to cops, and that wasn't good when they were the ones pointing the guns. "My car when I turned the corner. Probably saw a deer or something."
"Your dog?" Skepticism sharpened his voice. "What are you doing here with your dog?"
"I'm looking for a client that jumped bail. My dog tracks for me."
"This house is under surveillance. You're not supposed to be here."
"Oh? Sorry. I had no idea."
"You didn't see all the cop cars?"
"I thought that was a street thing. I didn't know you were watching the house." I lied through my teeth with a friendly smile.
"Was anyone in here?"
I shook my head. "Just a stray dog. I tried to catch him, but he ran off."
The officers conferred for a few minutes, rattling off call numbers to each other on their radios. I waited, keeping my hands in the air. At least they hadn't flipped about the supernatural thing.
"Okay. You can go," said the officer who'd been talking to me.
"Can I put my arms down?"
"Yeah. Go ahead."
I lowered my arms and turned to face them. "Sorry if I caused any trouble." I kept my expression blank and wide-eyed. "If you see my dog, give me a call. He's big and white and he'll lick you anywhere."
"Sure." The cop chuckled and waved for me to go.
I took the back door and headed for my car, a slow smile spreading across my face as I walked. Thorne may have gotten away, but not for long. Sticking my hand in my jacket pocket, I clenched my fist around the hair he'd left behind. That final throw into the wall, had twisted my wrist just enough to rip out a good-sized clump of fur before I'd been forced to let go. I could do a tracking charm now.
Duck, yeah. Something had gone right for once.
Blart came bouncing out of the cornfield that ran along the road where I'd parked. "I could have used some help, you know." I gave him a hard look, but he just smiled at me.
I sighed and opened the hearse door for him. He jumped in with a happy woof and greeted me on the driver's side with a slobbery tongue swipe on my cheek. I shoved him back into the passenger seat, dried my face with my sleeve and headed for home.
Thorne could run, but he couldn't hide. Not anymore.
Chapter Eight
Back in my attic turned office, I popped open an
iced coffee laced with a charm that worked better than caffeine. I sucked the coffee down and turned on the stove. I hadn't dumped my earlier pot of water, so that was one less thing I had to do.
Blart slurped some water from his bowl and then climbed up on the bed, collapsing into snore-filled sleep within seconds.
"I want to be you the next time I'm reincarnated," I said to him.
He answered with a long, rumbling snore.
Finishing my drink, I prepared Thorne's hair and the herbs I needed for the charm. I lit the candles and invoked the circle around my work area. A quiet magic hummed around me. At least I could cast a decent circle. The Goddess had given me that much.
Using a mortar and pestle, I ground the dried herb mix into a powder and added olive oil to make a paste. Pricking my thumb with a diabetic testing kit, I added my blood to the mixture to bond me to Thorne.
All of that went into the pot to boil. It took a while, but eventually the water evaporated, leaving an unattractive sludge at the bottom of the pot. That was my cue to pour a glass of apple juice and set it to the side. Standing over the pot and inhaling the steam, I murmured the incantation. My magic flickered in and out like a flame under attack from the wind.
Hands clenching into fists, I repeated the incantation. This time the thread of my power stayed constant. Weak, but constant.
Digging my nails into my hands, I said it a third time. My power flared stronger now, surging over my skin and into the air around me. Taking a spoon, I scooped up the hot goop and quickly shoved it in my mouth. I chased it with a long draught of apple juice.
Then more goop followed by more juice. I alternated between the concoction I'd made and the juice until the pot was clean. I'd literally taken Thorne into my body, and he tasted just as bad as I'd imagined.
I drank another glass of apple juice and then whistled to Blart, who jumped off the bed and chased his tail until he tripped over his own feet.
"Come on, you oversized puppy. Time to get this done." Once again we left the house and hopped into the hearse. I backed into the street and drove aimlessly as I waited for the charm to kick in.
I filled the gas tank and got another charmed coffee. Then hit the drive-thru for a couple burgers and fries. My stomach had realized I was up way past my bedtime and demanded carby calories accordingly.
The magic sparked a few times only to fizzle before I got an idea of direction. Annoyed, I parked at a twenty-four-hour pharmacy and pulled out the list of names. I entered each name into the web browser on my phone and scanned what came up, which was a whole lot of nothing.
Council members had basic bios online, and the news covered the Council meetings. The last resolution they'd passed had been a charm limit to prevent mass production of charms for sale.
The ones who weren't on the Witch Council were friends with those who were. They were all friends online and had married into each other's families. My mother would kill to run with this crowd. She was right on the fringe of it, but our family line hadn't married into the current power players. Part of her push for the Witch's Ball was to use me to change that.
It wasn't until I entered the last name on the list, Penny Haughmund that something interesting popped up. Penny was dead. Murdered, to be precise. Just last night. The maid—the witches on the list all had serious money—had found her in the foyer. There was a picture of her and then her massive house with police cars in the driveway.
Cause of death had yet to be announced, but there'd been bruising on her throat and someone had taken a big bite out of her thigh. No sign of forced entry. She'd known whoever had killed her. Or they'd snuck in, which would take big magic since every witch warded her home. Not that I did the wards for where I lived. My mom handled them.
Out of nowhere, the tracker spell hit me like a hammer, going from nothing to blinding pain in a matter of seconds. I squinted past the throbbing in my head, and put the hearse in drive, following the charm's pull.
I left my respectable but not wealthy neighborhood and trawled in and out of side streets in such an erratic pattern that made me think the spell might be a dud. I stuck with it, though. There was nothing else I could do. Eventually the houses changed to mansions, and then to large estates with houses set back from the streets. This was the neighborhood the witches on Thorne's list lived in.
Oh goddess. What if Thorne had killed Penny? What if he was targeting someone else tonight? For the first time I might have to pull my gun and mean it. I didn't relish the thought.
The house I ended up at had crime scene tape everywhere. I drove slowly around the cul-de-sac, scoping out the place and then parked on the street.
I checked my phone and the article I'd been reading about Penny's murder popped up. The picture showed the same house, a boxy mansion with a brick wall all the way around. There was no way being on Thorne's list was a coincidence. And assuming my tracking charm was accurate, why had he come back?
I went up to the metal gate blocking access to the driveway and tested it. Locked. Stepping back, I gauged the wall. Judging it to be about five feet tall, I decided to chance it. I'd never been particularly sporty, but I was flexible and my legs were long.
After a few tries, I was able to jump up, kick out one leg and hook my heel on top of the wall. Using my other foot, I heaved myself up and grabbed the top with both hands. Straddling the brick like a gymnast on the balance beam, I swung my legs over and nimbly jumped to the ground on the other side.
The charm continued to batter the inside of my skull, and the pull to get into Penny's house was as strong as the riptide that had once swept me out to sea on a family vacation. "Yeah, yeah. Chill. I'm here," I muttered.
Not wanting to mess with the yellow crime scene tape on the front door, I went round to the back of the house. All the sliding glass doors were locked, but someone had missed a window in the living room. I forced it open, popped out the screen and climbed in. The charm switched from bludgeoning my brain to ringing like alarm bells.
I searched the first floor, which was full of antiques and expensive leather furniture but held no trace of Thorne. The second floor was nice as a fancy resort, with every bed perfectly made, but also empty. That left the basement. I tip toed down the steps, leaving the lights off so as not to alert Thorne if he was down there.
Spoiler: He wasn't there.
The basement held regular basement stuff. A washer, dryer, and mountain of unfolded laundry on a table stood to my left—even magic couldn't defeat laundry. In the back, fresh herbs hung on the wall and a mosaic of beautiful tile made up a permanent sacred circle.
"He's not here," I said to myself, confused. The charm had kicked in, which meant Thorne should be here. I wasn't the valedictorian of magic (that had been Lydia Pettie, may she rot in prison), but this didn't strike me as a failure in my casting technique. If my tracker charms activated, they worked.
I made my way back to the first floor, mentally reviewing everything I'd done to make the tracker. Nothing stood out as a mistake.
I let myself out via one of the sliding doors, and darted to the end of the driveway, my eyes and ears straining to catch any sign of Thorne. At the gate, I found a key hanging on the post and used it to open the gate and exit the estate. I didn't have another 'breaking and entering' gymnast vault in me. Chucking the keys into the grass of the front yard, I turned in the direction of the hearse and froze.
Someone was in my car.
***
"What the hell?" This wasn't the neighborhood for car theft. My gut said the person in my car was Thorne. I pulled my gun and sidled along the passenger side. Putting my free hand on the door handle, I prepared to confront him.
Taking a deep breath, I yanked the door open and aimed my gun at the driver's seat. A man turned his head and I was relieved to see it was Thorne. I'd finally found him.
"What are you doing in my car?"
"This," came the gruff answer as the engine roared to life. The wires hanging under the steering wheel showed wha
t he'd been up to, namely hotwiring the car. He put the car in drive and as his foot pressed on the accelerator, I had a split second to decide what to do. Let him go or jump in and stick with him?
I jumped.
He lobbed a fist at me.
I smacked it away. "Hey. I have a gun. You keep your hands to yourself, furball."
That didn't seem to impress him. Whipping the hearse around the cul-de-sac, he tried to punch me again. I ducked and pulled out the taser. He spun the car into a hard left which threw me to the right. Snatching the taser out of my hand, he zapped me with it.
My brain went blank. Then pain filtered through like millions of little needles. Needles that turned into fiery licks of agony as every muscle in my body spasmed.
Thorne tased me again, and it seemed like the world of pain I'd been cast into would never end. I knew nothing for I didn't know how long. It wasn't that I lost consciousness. I didn't faint. More like everything just stopped cold. I couldn't see, think, or move. The only thing I registered was pain. Neverending pain that seized me like a poltergeist and then threw me into a black void.
When I finally came back to my body, I was tied up with duct tape in the back of the hearse, right where the coffins usually sat. Suddenly I had a deeper appreciation for anyone who'd ever been a little perturbed by my choice of vehicle. "Hey," I called up front. "That wasn't your tape."
He didn't answer.
I looked around and registered that something was missing. Or rather, someone. "Where's Blart?"
"Who's Blart?"
"My familiar."
"You meant that hairy mess I found in the hearse?"
"Well, you'd know about hairy messes, but yes, that was my familiar."
"I kicked him out."
Worry hit my stomach, and I bit my lip hard to keep from saying something I might regret. This wouldn't be the first time Blart went off on his own and he always came home. Always. Probably my mother charmed him and didn't tell me. At least, I decided that had to be the truth.
I took a deep breath and tried a different approach. Keep your eye on the prize, Sylvie. You don't have the fifty Gs to cover this furbrain's bond. "How'd you break my charm, Thorne?"