Bad Omen: Morrighan House Witches Book Two

by Amir Lane

  “You’re going alone?” Dieter asked.

  Lindy shook her head.

  “Cari is coming with me. She’s leaving the coffee shop open, though. She said I'd be insane to visit ruins and backpack across Greece alone.”

  Alone and blind. Hadn’t Lindy promised the Messenger she would be smart from now on?

  “You would be.”

  The lines moved until he was next to her. He sat on the bed next to her suitcase and the mattress dipped with his weight.

  “I haven't really had your back the past year,” he said. “Or ever, really, but especially not the past year. You were always so… badass. I guess I never thought you would need my help.”

  Lindy hadn't wanted to admit it, but they'd been drifting apart for a while. It was just a hazard of getting older, she supposed. They weren't the same people they'd been in high school. He was the Shadow Maker, and she was… Lindy didn't know what she was. Or even who.

  “I don't want to be Bad Omen anymore.”

  “What?”

  There was surprise in Dieter’s voice. She didn't blame him. She was a little surprised at herself.

  “I was so angry in high school, you know. Bad Omen was always getting into fights and trouble. I don't want to be that person anymore.”

  “So, what are you going to be now?”

  Lindy wasn't sure if he meant personality-wise or name-wise. It didn’t matter. She had the answer to one. The other would come. She shrugged.

  “I'm going to be happy.”

  Epilogue

  Dietelinde Lindemann always thought she would like to work in a library. It would be quiet, slow enough that she could read sometimes. Plus, she would have access to all the books she wanted. It was the perfect job for her.

  Dietlinde Lindemann did not work in a library. But she did work in the next best thing.

  The bell over the door rang. Dragon, the black guide lab at her feet, barked softly but didn’t move. She hit the pause button on her laptop and the semi-robotic voice reading her The Epic of Gilgamesh stopped. It was only the two of them in the bookstore. She didn’t open for another hour.

  There were only two bookstores in town, and hers was the only one with the massive collection of old and rare occult books she’d been putting together for the past eleven years since she’d stopped being Bad Omen. Quitting the call centre had been one of the best decisions of her life. It had taken a lot of time and even more therapy, but she’d managed to let go of more anger and guilt than she even knew she’d been carrying. Everyone thought she was insane to take her savings and go from selling her collection through word of mouth to renting an empty space downtown, but she couldn’t keep watching people die. She still got visions, and she called them in when she did, but those ones were mostly gone now. She could almost completely pick and choose when she had visions and what she wanted to see. It worked out for the best. Oracle Books was the only place in the area to get the kind of magic books she carried. Every single acquisition was vetted by one of her experts: Dieter, Lenna, Yasir, Kitchener-Waterloo’s Hex Witch, not to mention herself or her assistant, Cassandra. Lindy’s visions were a decent substitute for regular sight, even if the timing was usually off, but it did help having someone who could actually, well, read on hand.

  She smiled and hung her headphones around her neck.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “You haven’t seen anyone in a while,” Dieter said, pausing at some newly acquired books on Greek mythology, including a copy of The Illiad with the original Greek names instead of Roman. It was surprisingly hard to find.

  “Cute,” she said. “What do you want?”

  It wasn’t like they weren’t close anymore. They still talked a few times a week and tried to meet for coffee at least once a month, but they were a far cry from the way they used to be. A hazard of moving out of their tiny rental home. But to be fair, since he’d taken over as principal of Mohr’s Circle after Ekkehardt’s death, he’d basically been running two jobs. It made her slightly more sympathetic to their father.

  Slightly.

  “I have a proposition for you,” Dieter said. “Well, not me. The police department does.”

  Lindy grimaced. It was hard to forget the last time she’d worked with them when the only thing she could still see was still the blue lines that identified Dieter as a Necromancer and the sparks that marked the spirits hovering. One moved close to Dragon but didn’t bug him. He was one of the few animals who didn’t react to magic in any capacity. Most animals could get fidgety around witches, but it never bothered him. It was the deciding factor in picking him as her eyes.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What the hell does the police department want? Do they not remember the trouble I got into last time they had a proposition for me?”

  “Considering they still call you the crazy bitch who took down the crooked sergeant? I’m thinking no. You should hear the new version of the story that’s been going around. Give it two weeks. I bet they’ll be claiming you rode in on a bear with a battle axe and just straight-up beheaded her.”

  She snorted, shaking her head. Wasn’t that a mental image? She wasn’t entirely sure if they meant that in a good way or a bad way but she was going to take it in a good way. Ice Breaker had died in a fire, not by battle axe beheading. She reached down to scratch Dragon’s ears. He lifted his head into her lap. He was good company.

  “Anyway,” Dieter continued, “I don’t know if you heard, but some of the bigger cities have started special crimes units for the weird shit other departments can’t handle.”

  “Witch units. Yeah, I heard of them.”

  “Apparently, our PD wants to set one up. Our population’s expanding, what with GTA housing prices getting so high.” There was a hitch in the lines that suggested a shrug. “They want you to run it.”

  She raised an eyebrow. She couldn’t believe what Dieter was suggesting. Except, yeah, he was totally serious. Dieter was actually telling her that they wanted her running the witch department. It was too ridiculous. Lindy Lindemann, authority figure. Hah! Which part was she supposed to make fun of first?

  “I’m not even a cop. I haven’t worked with cops in years.”

  Seemed like a good a place as any to start.

  “Don’t look at me, I’m just the messenger.”

  Speaking of which…

  “Why are you the messenger? Seems like the kind of thing a badge should be talking to me about, not a physicist.”

  He shrugged again, and the lines travelled up his neck. His shoulder sparked as a spirit brushed it.

  “I guess they figured you’d be less likely to turn it down if the offer came from me. One of the guys putting this together is a friend of Selima’s. I know you haven’t punched a cop in a while, but you don’t exactly have a reputation for respecting authority.”

  That was pretty hard to argue. She’d mellowed out over the years — therapy was a fucking blessing, it really was — but she did still have some lingering issues. Working with cops again… There wasn’t much she missed about her dispatch days, and even less she missed about her go-to-work-with-a-homicidal-spirit day. Yeah, there were some days where she felt like she was wasting her powers. Her visions had been an asset in her former line of work, but she had to remind herself that she was still doing good work. She let teenage girls come in and read everything she had on what school still wouldn’t teach them, she helped immigrants find dictionaries and English guides, she always had a recommendation for people looking for new skills. There was an old laptop next to the desk that doubled as a cash register for anyone who needed to print off a resume but couldn’t make it to the library. That wasn’t even touching the witches who had no idea what they were doing, who needed a place to start.

  But maybe it wouldn’t be like working a homicide. Maybe it would, or could, be more like being an operator. If she could do more of this, that would be okay. She jabbed a finger at the blue lines.

  “Am I pointing at you
?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I will think about it. But only if it can be part time. Cassandra is great but she does not have my skill for finding these books. I found The Epic of Gilgamesh in its original Sumerian. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been trying to find that for?”

  “Since sixth grade?”

  “Since sixth grade! I will consult. I will liaise between you idiots and those idiots. That’s it. Got it?”

  “I got it. You start Monday, Tiresias.”

  If you enjoyed reading Bad Omen much as I enjoyed writing it, consider rating and/or leaving a review.

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  Also by Amir Lane

  Morrighan House Witches

  Rise (Coming Soon)

  Shadow Maker

  Bad Omen

  Panthera Onca (Coming Soon)

  Short Stories

  Cold

  Scrap Metal and Circuitry

  The Violinist

  About the Author

  Amir Lane is a supernatural and urban fantasy writer from Sudbury, Ontario. Engineer and programmer by trade, they spend most of their writing time in a small home office on the cargo pants of desks, or in front of the TV watching every cop procedural or cooking competition on Netflix. They live in a world where magic is an every day occurrence, and they strive to bring that world to paper. Their short story, Scrap Metal and Circuitry, was published by Indestructible magazine in April 2016.

  When not trying to figure out what kind of day job an incubus would have or what a Necromancer would go to school for, Amir enjoys visiting the nearest Dairy Queen, getting killed in video games, absorbing the contents of comic books, and freaking out over how fluffy the neighbour's dog is.

  Amir loves to connect with readers online. They can be found in their Facebook group, on their Facebook page, and at their website where you can find out more about their work.

  For more information about Amir, check out:

  www.amirlane.com

  contact@amirlane.com

  Acknowledgments

  When I was in grade 12, my mom met my English teacher at the time, Mr. Cockburn. My parents were never big on my writing, especially not fantasy. The first thing she did was make fun of me for reading vampire books, which is ridiculous. At that point, I was writing vampire books. Anyway, Cockburn, who was pretty cool from day one, just made a face and said, “So?” The next day, he came to class and the first words out of his mouth to me were, “Your mom is kind of controlling, isn’t she?” I just laughed, because I had no idea what else to do. Then he said, “You’re decent with words. Write what you want.” I doubt he remembers this conversation, it was almost 7 years ago, and I doubt I’ll ever send him a copy of this book, but I just wanted everybody to know how much that meant to me.

  Massive thank you to Danny, who helped me stumble through all the hurdles I had with this. I never could have finished it without you. How you aren’t sick of reading the same book over and over again is beyond me but I won’t complain.

  And to my friends and beta readers who gave me invaluable feedback and didn’t even flinch when I asked for an opinion. Special thanks to my author friends who had my back, held my hand, and were a shoulder to whine on when I needed it. I can’t even start to list you all.

  Thank you to my production team. Again, my fantastic beta readers. Kendra Moll, literally the fastest proofreader in the world who catches everything my tiny chipmunk brain missed. Natasha Snow, who must be some kind of mind reader. Four for you.

  Special shout-out to The Sun and The Messenger, because why risk it. After all, I did call one of them a dick.

  And last but not least, to you for deciding to pick this book up, literally or figuratively, and reading to the end. This book is for you and I'm glad we both stuck it out to the end.