Spellspeaker's Prophecy

by Anna Abner

  “I need to punch something,” Roz declared, grabbing her room key and ducking out of the suite before either Connor or Ali stopped her. She rode the elevator down to the third floor and the hotel’s expansive gym. There were always hardcore runners and body builders there, regardless of the time of day or night. Roz avoided eye contact as she made a direct line for the locker room. As a VIP guest, she used her key card to access the lockers and showers.

  Quickly, she gathered a pair of hand wraps and a towel, and then headed straight for the corner where some lovely person had set up a couple heavy bags. When there wasn’t a vampire nearby to hit, Roz preferred to abuse one of them.

  After wrapping her knuckles, she danced on her toes and popped the bag. Hesitant at first. Testing the weight of each jab. Right, right, right. Then she released a strong left hook. The bag swung on its chain.

  “Stupid witches.” Jab, jab, left hook. “Fucking bratty Caitlyn.” Jab, jab, left hook. “Is the prophecy about me, or not? Why so fucking secretive?” Jab, jab, uppercut.

  Roz skipped back, enjoying the sting in both hands.

  After a couple breaths, she attacked the bag again, swinging until her hands were numb and both arms hung like weights from her shoulders.

  Exhausted, she didn’t even bother putting the wraps away, just carried them into the elevator with her.

  “Tough chick, huh?”

  Roz startled, her skin vibrating in surprise. A moment earlier, the space had been empty. Suddenly, a ghostly apparition lounged against the back wall.

  “What the fuck?” Roz exclaimed.

  The female beside her was young and confused, style-wise. Lavender dyed hair, a mouthful of braces, and a halter-top that only made Roz feel sympathy for the skinny woman-child.

  The fucking Oracle herself. “Caitlyn?” Roz guessed.

  “Hiya, slugger.” Caitlyn twirled her hair as if flattered. “Got some issues that needed punching?”

  “A few,” Roz agreed. “You were supposed to talk to Connor.” It irritated Roz that the tween had blown off her friend only to show up through a portal whenever it fucking amused her. “Is this some kind of a joke to you?” Her life wasn’t a joke, Goddamnit.

  “I find quite a few things amusing,” Caitlyn said slyly. “But I take prophecy very, very seriously.”

  “Oh, yeah?” The elevator doors opened on the fifty-first floor and Roz stepped into the hall, but she didn’t attempt to enter the suite. “What about number one thousand eight? Did you take it seriously as you posted it?” Roz couldn’t help the anger in her voice. This little shit might be nothing but a troublemaker. Maybe she fed off the chaos she created in the world and in people’s lives.

  The girl joined Roz in the hall. “You think you’re ready to be a hero?” Caitlyn queried. “Think you’re ready to take on the big girls?”

  “No,” Roz countered. “I’m here to drive Connor around on his search for vampires. I’m no hero. It’s never been about me.”

  “You’re not ready,” Caitlyn agreed. “But you will be.”

  “Don’t leave yet,” Roz blurted out, sensing the girl was already bored. “We came across a rogue shapeshifter last night. Can you tell us anything about him or his pack? Are there more here? Should we be searching for them?”

  She supposed she really wanted to know if the rage-aholic she’d met the night before could someday be an ally.

  The Oracle’s eyes unfocused. “You could always search out Michael Hull Contracting. But don’t worry about finding the shifter, slugger, he’ll find you.”

  Poof. The Oracle was gone.

  The suite’s outer door opened, and Connor poked his head out. “You okay?” he asked. “I thought I heard voices.”

  Roz didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like Caitlyn had said anything life changing or even mildly helpful. “Your buddy the Oracle ported to me, spoke nonsense, and then disappeared.”

  “Yep.” Connor chuckled. “Sounds like our girl. You feel like punching something other than a bag?”

  Roz’s eyebrows rose sharply. “Yeah. What do you have in mind?” She followed him into the suite where Ali was still on the sofa. As she did, Roz typed into her note app: Michael Hull Contracting—shifters?

  “I say we go back to St. Peter’s Hospital and start there,” Connor proposed. “Maybe I can catch their scent. Maybe you can cast a locator spell more easily at a place they lived in.”

  “Why not?” Roz agreed.

  “I’m coming too,” Ali said, sitting forward. “You two aren’t leaving me home to worry alone.”

  “I’d feel a lot safer—” Connor began.

  Ali raised her hand and shushed him despite standing half a foot shorter. “It’s non-negotiable.”

  One look at his girlfriend’s resolute stare, and Connor sighed. “Fine. Ten minutes to put your gear together, and then let’s head out.”

  Roz hurried to her bedroom to pack her wallet, cellphone, and favorite pair of handguns in a backpack when the rumpled sheets of her bed stopped her short. If she moved any closer, would the duvet still smell of the shifter? Earthy and a little dangerous? Like TNT.

  But that was silly. The shifter was gone. Best get her head in the game.

  The elevator ride into the underground parking garage was quiet, and once she climbed behind the wheel of the F-350, she rolled down the drivers’ side window and propped her arm on the sill.

  “Let’s hope all this is worth it,” Connor said as they left the hotel grounds.

  But it wasn’t.

  St. Peter’s Hospital, long ago abandoned by the city for more modern facilities across town, sat in virtual ruins. Vampires no longer squatted there. After a walkthrough, the only creatures Roz and Connor came across were rats and spiders. When Oleksander didn’t return home, Volk had apparently evacuated his newly inherited horde and relocated to a safer spot.

  “We’ll circle the hospital,” Connor suggested.

  “Maybe they’re nearby,” Roz agreed. “And we’ll get lucky.”

  In the Ford, they explored the rolling desert hills surrounding the forsaken hospital. The sun descended in the west, and still they drove. As dusk settled, Ali dozed, her head on Connor’s arm. Connor too was losing steam. His rifle drooped at his side instead of in his hands.

  In the quiet cab, Roz considered everything Caitlyn had said. He’ll find you. It had an ominous ring to it. What would he do when he did eventually find her?

  Equally pressing, would Roz receive another cease-and-desist letter from the Coven for the portal spell? Or her visit with the Oracle? How far was too far for them? Because Roz would never stop casting magic. Not until her mission with Connor was over, anyway. So long as he needed her and she was capable, Roz would be there. Fuck the Coven.

  A shot rang out.

  “It came from the west,” Connor said loudly.

  Roz drove into the setting sun, and over a hill rose a decrepit shack. By her guess, no one had lived there for a hundred years. She stopped fast several yards from the falling down structure and waited.

  The unloved and damaged hovel made her think of the shapeshifter. Connor had rolled him down a sand dune somewhere far to the east, but he must still be out there in the desert, alone and injured. What if he couldn’t walk on his cast or find his way to shade and water? Maybe they shouldn’t have let him go. Maybe they should have tried harder to talk to him.

  Two women burst through the shack’s front doorway, landing hard in the sand, a tangle of arms and legs. Another gunshot sounded, and the back of the brunette’s skull exploded. A young woman with short red curls rose, the sole survivor.

  Connor hopped out of the truck, handgun drawn. “Drop your weapon,” he shouted in a voice that brooked no refusal. “Now.”

  “Screw you,” the redhead shouted back in a total California surfer girl accent. She cocked one hip and raised an eyebrow, but wisely kept her gun pointed downward. “You rolled up on me. Drop your weapon.”

  “You just killed a person.
”

  “Correction. I killed a vampire.”

  Even in the dark, Roz saw the muscles in Connor’s shoulders tense. “I will shoot you.” There was no waver in his voice.

  “You’re gonna shoot me?” The girl looked shocked, and then pissed. Really pissed. “What gives you the right? You better be infected, talking like that, because otherwise you all are total assholes.”

  Connor didn’t say anything, but he lowered the muzzle of his rifle until it pointed at her thigh. He cocked it and the sound echoed, explosion loud.

  “You picked the wrong business to stick your nose into.” She ducked her head and widened her stance. “Blessed is my power. I call upon thee.” An invisible whirlwind burst forth at her feet and swirled her clothing around her legs. “I’m here on Coven business. Now, drop your fucking gun.”

  “No way…”

  The chick was a witch. A real one. An actual spellspeaker. Roz was overcome with both wonder at seeing an authentic witch and a bit of shame at being a lesser creature. Her rejection by the Coven had been one of the most humiliating and degrading experiences of her life. Here was a witch with credentials.

  “Power down, honey,” Connor said, lowering his muzzle and relaxing the muscles in his chest and arms. “We’re not here to hurt you. Are there any other infecteds in the area?”

  “Who are you people?” the young woman asked, her power dying around her.

  “Freaks like you, sister.” Connor grabbed his rifle and passed the girl to scope out the house.

  “You’re a witch?” Roz asked, taking a hesitant step nearer. “With the Coven?”

  “Of course. What kind of freak are you?”

  “Witch.”

  “How come I didn’t know you were in the area? Who’s your mentor?”

  “I, uh.” Roz hesitated to say she didn’t have a Coven mentor showing her the ropes. She wasn’t a member of the Coven at all. “Who’s your mentor?” she asked to distract the girl until she determined a less embarrassing answer.

  The girl clammed up.

  The only other witch Roz knew of was Marta Karloff. When Roz had applied to join the Coven, Marta had denied her with a kiss off, a fuck you, loser letter.

  The other witch’s power faded to nothing. “I spotted a group of infecteds and followed them out here looking for captives, but they split up. I took care of these two. I don’t know where the other four—”

  Quick, heavy footsteps and a faint growling sounded before four vampires seemed to materialize out of the sagebrush. Smart fighters, they all focused on Connor, their biggest threat. Connor threw off the first combatant, but the next three smashed into him as one, and they all crashed to the ground.

  “Connor!” Ali jumped from the truck with her gun drawn.

  Roz, too, aimed her weapon at the dog pile, but it was impossible to pinpoint one figure from another. She didn’t shoot for fear of hitting her friend.

  She nearly called her power, but she hesitated. She’d never called her power in front of another witch. Maybe she was doing it wrong. Maybe the other woman would laugh.

  But the second witch had no such qualms. She cast confusion spells on the vampires. It was a good idea. Roz wished she’d thought of it first. Unfortunately, the lady didn’t know Connor was infected too, and he was losing his equilibrium just as quickly as the other vampires.

  “That’s enough,” Roz yelled at the witch. “Cut the magic. It’s not helping.”

  The redhead curled her upper lip at Roz and kept right on speaking her spell.

  Roz cocked her gun and stepped close enough to recognize a teal shirt that was definitely not Connor’s. She shot it until it ceased struggling.

  One down.

  Taking Roz’s cue, Ali fired into the fracas, but it was hard to say who or what she’d hit.

  The fourth vampire, the one Roz had forgotten about—rookie mistake—raced straight for her. She fired once, twice. The creature didn’t even flinch.

  And then a whir of flesh and clothes ran by so fast, Roz couldn’t distinguish whether it was man or woman, human or supernatural, just felt the wind blow over her. The vampire pursuing her was lifted into the air and dropped onto the newcomer’s knee. Snap, crack. The vampire fell like a pile of dirty laundry to the ground.

  The shapeshifter. The really angry, really strong one they’d drugged, tied up, and left in the desert.

  But the beast who’d just saved her life spun, gave her a dark scowl, and then leapt into the fray. He grabbed one infected by the throat and broke his neck with a twist of his wrist. The third suffered a similar fate. The fourth moaned on the ground when her savior stomped his back hard enough to crush his ribcage.

  “See?” the shapeshifter announced, offering Connor a hand up. “I told you I wasn’t the threat you should be worried about.”

  #

  Lukas glared at the three so-called hunters from under his brow, breathing hard through his nose. These people were ridiculous. He’d followed them out of Vegas and into the desert and was beginning to think they were three idiots who’d somehow, without any foresight, overpowered him in his debilitated state. Killing them would be too easy and hardly worth the effort. He was about to turn around and forget about them, despite his anger at being chained like a dog, when he’d heard a gunshot. He’d had to run on his cast, and he’d almost been too late. The witch had nearly lost her throat to a vampire bite.

  “You followed us?” Connor accused, swatting Lukas’ proffered hand away and standing on his own. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Saving your asses,” Lukas snapped. What an ungrateful piece of shit. Connor sure had a short memory.

  “I had it taken care of.”

  Lukas laughed meanly. “You don’t have to thank me, but don’t insult me, either. She,” he pointed at the witch, “almost died.”

  Connor looked a little sheepish for a moment before brushing it off. “It’s been fun meeting you and all, but it’s time for you to go.”

  “Connor?” The little blonde lady from the hotel approached, laying a tiny white hand on Connor’s arm. “Maybe we should hear him out.”

  Finally, someone with common sense. Glancing at the witch and shifting his weight off his bad leg, Lukas said, “I want to kill vampires.”

  The dark-haired witch and Connor shared a nervous, angsty look between them Lukas didn’t like, but he held his tongue.

  “What do you have against the infected?” Connor asked, breaking eye contact with the witch.

  “I have to have a reason to hate them?”

  A petite redhead appeared carrying a blood-speckled revolver in one hand, her eyes laser-like on him and no one else. “What are you?” she demanded.

  Lukas had just about had it with the third degree. “I’m a guy who wants to wipe vampires off the face of the earth.” He narrowed his eyes. “And you’re a witch.”

  “Yeah?” the redhead argued back. “And?”

  “I don’t like witches,” he grumbled, slanting a look at the dark-haired spellspeaker. She was not happy. In fact, she appeared majorly shaken. His brows creased in concern before he remembered she could take care of herself.

  “No, really,” the redhead pressed. “What are you?” When Lukas refused to answer, she asked in a hiss, “Are you a shifter?”

  He grunted a noncommittal reply, and the redhead started to talk a hundred miles a minute, so fast he didn’t catch every word.

  Connor stepped around Lukas and said to the redhead, “We could use a witch like you on our team. Your confusion spell was, uh, very effective.”

  “What team do you have? I’m Sara, by the way. Nice to meet you all.” They took turns introducing themselves. Ali. Connor. Roz. Lukas. Sara.

  “We hunt the horde,” Connor said. “A month ago we killed Oleksander the Destroyer. Now, we’re on the trail of Maksim Volk, who we think is the new leader of the horde.”

  “Speaking of Volk—if he hears about this…” Ali glanced worriedly at Connor.

&nb
sp; “I don’t care what Volk hears,” Connor snapped. “I don’t care what he thinks. If he wants to come and chat, he knows how to find me.”

  “Who’s Volk?” Lukas asked.

  Connor and Ali ignored him, but Roz caught his eye. “Maksim Volk, the new king of the vampires.”

  His eyebrows popped up. “And you’re on intimate terms with him?”

  “We sort of know each other,” Roz agreed, but he got the feeling it was more than that. Jesus, had he fallen into a pile of shit and come out smelling like a rose, or what? These people, despite not being particularly adept at tracking vampires, or skilled at killing them, were practically frenemies with the top dog infected.

  While Connor and Sara blabbered on, Lukas watched the dark-haired witch. Roz.

  She certainly had sex appeal to spare. Sexy, fit little body. Long hair. Sharp brown eyes that looked black as onyx in this light. In fact, if she toned down her attitude, she’d be downright beautiful.

  The more cerebral part of him, though, understood creatures like her reveled in controlling others, casting curses, and pushing their magical weight around. The resurfacing pain in his ribs was proof of that.

  “Holy shit,” Sara exclaimed, obviously impressed with Connor’s spiel. “Yeah, I’m on board.”

  “We have a suite on the Strip,” Connor continued, taking out his phone and typing a message. “I’ll text you.”

  Sara rattled off her phone number, but Lukas glared at the dark-haired witch who’d haunted his fever dreams and messed with his equilibrium. She had yet to regain her composure. The fight must have really scared her. Maybe it was her first one.

  “Text me the next time you go out,” Sara said. “I’ll meet you. I live in the city too.” She eyed Lukas. “Will the shifter be there?”

  “Try to keep me away,” Lukas grumbled.

  “We should pile these vamps in the shack and light the whole thing,” Connor announced like a battleground general with a stick up his ass. Sara and Ali immediately followed orders, but Lukas was more interested in Roz, who remained behind.