Rebel Witch

by September Stone

  The answer comes without hesitation. “Three strands of your hair.”

  My stomach hardens into a heavy rock of dread, but it isn’t like the request is more than what I imagined. Three strands of hair is enough for someone to use to bind me, and a person like him could trade the DNA for valuable information—or simply sell it on the black market for a pretty penny.

  I nod, but my fingers don’t move to my head. “Only if I have your word you won’t do anything with it for a month.” My counter-offer is bold, and I’m really in no position to be bargaining. But what’s the point of his information if someone binds me before I can get to the Front?

  He sucks his teeth. “No can do. But for six strands, I could maybe make it a week without parting with it.”

  Six strands. I could be giving myself away for up to two years for a scrap of information. And if I do manage to tell Bryn, Taj, and Calder about Lillian’s plans, then what? Is the Front really in any position to stop her? I could be selling seven hundred and thirty days for a maybe. Is it really worth it?

  But I already know the answer. I set my mug on the bar and raise my fingers to my hair. After counting out six strands, I yank them out, the pain sending foreboding echoes through my body.

  The guy pulls a blank cream business card from the front pocket of his jacket, along with a fine point marker. He scribbles a few notes on it before holding it out to me. We relieve each other of our items at the same moment, and I start reading his information as he tucks my hair into a small plastic bag.

  “I have to warn you that my info might not be up-to-date. Like I said, the Front moves around to keep people from figuring out where they are. But if they’re not there, you’ll be able to find someone who can point you in the right direction. And there’s more than one branch. Usually there’s just one on this side of the country, but sometimes they split off and overlap. For what it’s worth, I hope your girl’s here.”

  As he slips off his stool and struts back toward the door, I can’t help echoing his sentiment. After entering the location information into my phone, I chug the rest of my coffee and follow the man’s trajectory toward the outside world. Spirits, guide me. I’ll need all the help I can get.

  Chapter Nine

  Poe

  I shake off a wave of exhaustion that threatens to knock me on my ass. It’s been a long fucking day, and it’s not over yet.

  Two yards away, Detective Trey Donovan paces as he speaks into his phone. When I found out my point person for the investigation was a psychic, I was none too pleased. Telepaths rub me the wrong way. The majority of them use their mind-reading abilities to get ahead in the business world. They’re more interested in grabbing as much money as possible than using their rivers-given abilities for the good of other people. I figured this guy would have some kind of angle, like gunning for the role of police chief for the power that comes with it. But Trey surprised me by being, well, a damn fine cop. So no matter how tired I am, I won’t bow out of our meeting until I know for sure there’s nothing more we can do today.

  We stand in the parking lot of the motel the elders are putting my team up in. For the first time all day, I’m glad to be lead on this mission: The person in charge is always given his own room. I’ve got no interest in bunking with anyone else from my team. Not that they’re not a good bunch. Most of them are actually a little too good, and would probably want to keep me up talking through plans for tomorrow. There’s no doubt the Secrecy Act was breached during the robbery at Rhapsidion Laboratories. The three noms killed in the break in were undoubtedly taken down by shifters of some kind. And although they’re not talking yet, there’s reason to believe the survivors saw something supernatural while they were escaping the building. As much as I’d like to modify memories first and ask questions later, messing with a person’s mind takes finesse and it’s easy to mess someone up badly unless the work is precise. There are plenty of details that still need to be sorted out.

  But, despite how important that is, all I want to do is collapse on my bed and get a solid eight hours of sleep.

  “Yeah, thanks. Bye.” The detective ends his calls and gives me an apologetic nod as he approaches. “Sorry about that. It was forensics. They won’t have any information about what was stolen until tomorrow at the earliest.”

  “It’s a shame there wasn’t enough left behind for that witch of yours to figure it out.” That fact has been frustrating me all day. Whatever was stolen from the warehouse was taken with precision unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Trey has a junior detective at his department who can usually figure out the nature of magical elements left at a crime scene, but that kind of spellwork requires a certain amount of source material. Although it’s not a lot, we didn’t have enough today. And while there’s no guarantee the stolen pharmaceuticals had a magical component to them at all, we have to cover all of our bases since shifters were involved in the theft.

  He lifts a shoulder. “She feels shitty about it, but you know as well as I do that even magic has its limits.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone, but that’s why I’m thankful we’ve got science to fill in some of the gaps.”

  My mouth twitches. I can’t imagine what someone like Daya would say if she heard him say that. As far as the elders are concerned, there’s nothing magic can’t do.

  “There’s no use dwelling on what we don’t know,” I say, switching gears. “Still no word from the lab’s parent company?”

  Trey shakes his head. “No. And I’m willing to bet we’re not going to hear anything from them. I’ve seen it before—labs like this owned by a shell company with so many layers it’s like a damn onion. If we’re lucky, the forensic accountants can link Rhapsidion to something real—but I don’t like basing my cases on luck.”

  I nod. “So, what’s the game plan for tomorrow?”

  The detective scratches his eyebrow absently. “Interview some more witnesses, maybe? I’ve got a call in to a specialist who will be able to determine whether the survivors’ silence is due to shock or some kind of spell. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “First thing,” I agree, although I’d like nothing better than to stay in bed until noon. Unfortunately, duty calls. And I don’t want the elders getting word that I’m off my game. So far they haven’t poked too deep into what I was doing when I was supposed to be tracking down Mona Ward. But if they think I’m no longer the devoted soldier I once was, I have no doubt they’ll start scrutinizing my time away.

  As Trey walks toward his car, I spin on my heel and stride toward my motel room. My door is the last one in the row, the farthest from the main office. I’m thankful for that. At least there shouldn’t be much traffic tonight with people coming in and out. Although this place isn’t pay-by-the-hour, it’s not too far a step above. It’s definitely the kind of place where people show up at odd times of the night.

  I slip the key into the door and twist the knob. I don’t bother turning on the light as I kick it closed behind me. I just want to sleep, and there’s no need to see for that.

  A soft click cuts through the silence and the lamp on the desk along the back wall fills the room with a faint glow. The light isn’t as bright as it should be, and my sleep-deprived brain is puzzling out why that is for longer than it should when the real question is who turned on the light?

  Movement beside the lamp draws my attention. My muscles tense, ready to fight, but the silhouette isn’t threatening. I blink a few times and my eyes adjust to my surroundings.

  A sheer blue scarf has been draped over the lampshade to diffuse the light. And perched on the desk straight ahead of me is Summer, her long, tan legs crossed. Her back is arched and her tits are bare. She wears red stilettos and nothing else.

  “I was wondering when you’d get here,” she says, her voice low and sultry.

  My mind gropes to make sense of what’s happening. How the fuck long has she been sitting here? I sent my team to their rooms at least an hour ago. Has she been posing in
my dark room all this time?

  “Speechless? Don’t worry, I get that a lot.” She uncrosses her legs with an unnecessarily high kick. Planting one heel on the floor and the other on the strategically-placed desk chair, she spreads her thighs to give me an unobstructed view of her shaved pussy and glistening folds. “Come on over. I’m ready for you.”

  My brain sputters. I need to say something—do something—but it’s like that part of my faculties have shut down. My dick twitches, but Summer’s presence is a mere curiosity. Under normal circumstances, I’d be rock hard by now and her tight nipple would be in my mouth.

  But these aren’t normal circumstances. Nothing’s normal anymore.

  My tongue finally loosens in my mouth and I find my voice. “I have to pass. Early morning tomorrow. Still gotta catch the bad guy.”

  She gives an exaggerated pout, her puffy lower lip poking out to an almost comical degree. “But I know exactly how to make you sleep good.” She slips two fingers against her slit, tipping her head back and writhing. Like I need the visual to know what she’s here for.

  I cross to my bed and sit down to pull off my shoes. “No thanks.”

  I’m pulling off my socks when the sound of her heels clip-clopping across the floor echoes through the room. She stands in front of me, one hand cocked against her hip. “What the fuck do you mean, no thanks?”

  I tip my head. “Is English not your first language? Let me try again. I’m not interested.” I wave my hand in the direction she came from. “It’s time for you to gather your clothes and saunter back to your own room. You’re trying too hard.”

  “Trying too hard?” Her voice is an octave higher than usual. “Who the fuck do you think you are? I’ve talked to all the other girls at the mansion. Is there one of them you haven’t fucked? Since when are your standards so high?”

  I don’t bother answering. There are too many things to say, and none of them would be nice. If we were at the mansion, it’d be one thing. But right now, I’m her commander. Telling her that just because she’s hot doesn’t mean every guy she encounters will want to fuck her seems like a bad move at the moment.

  One of her red-heeled feet flashes forward, knocking into my knee with so much force she spreads my legs apart. For a second, I’m convinced she’s going to try to give me head whether I want it or not, but she merely stares at my denim-covered package with curiosity.

  “Did you lose your dick on your last mission or something? Because I know for a fact you’re not gay, and any other man in your position would be hard as a fucking diamond at the sight of my pussy.”

  Summer is confident; I’ll give her that much. For a millisecond, I consider going down on her as a compromise so she’ll stop ambushing me. Fucking her outright is pretty much off the table because, as she pointed out, my cock isn’t succumbing to her wiles.

  But thinking about actually going through with the act is unappealing in a way I never thought sex could be. I doubt I’d even be able to make her come because I’m just not interested. And, brash and inappropriate as she might be, Summer deserves to be with someone who wants to be with her—if even for only a night.

  “Go to your room, Summer,” I say, my voice even. “It’s time for you to move onto number two on your list. If you show up like this again, I’ll report you to the elders.”

  She glares at me with a look of pure venom. It’s clear Summer is a woman used to getting exactly what she wants. But after a moment, she turns and snatches the scarf off the lamp, knocking it to the ground and smashing the bulb in the process. She wraps the gauzy material around her like a towel before stomping out into the night.

  As I climb into bed, the last several minutes replay on a loop in my head. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt if Summer had come to me like that a month ago, I’d be balls-deep in her now. It wouldn’t matter how tired I am; I would have fucked her all night long, until she’d had more orgasms with me than she’d had in her whole life.

  But I’m a different man than I was a month ago. Maybe that’ll change as time and space separate me from Bryn, but maybe it won’t. It’s possible this is just who I am now. I’m not sure if the pain of losing Bryn will ever fade.

  I’m not sure if I want it to.

  Chapter Ten

  Taj

  Usually, watching Bryn sleep fills me with peace. But as I watch her face twitch as she lies tucked onto the chair she insisted we move from the living room into Connie’s bedroom, it’s as if whatever plagues her in her dreams is reaching out and twisting my stomach. Although I can’t read her mind, I have a pretty good idea what ghosts are haunting her.

  Euphorium. I still can’t believe it. I was part of Mona’s organization long enough to know just how dangerous it can be. But even though the drug made up a large part of Mona’s revenue stream, she was always careful about it. She was precise about the supernaturals targeted. Hooking too many people—or the wrong people—would surely draw the ire of the elders. But finding secluded supernaturals—ones outside a large community of their peers without a support system, ones with money but little power in our world—those vulnerable ones were who she picked to have her dealers entice.

  Surely Lillian Castle is smart enough to know what kind of attention she’ll bring on herself from a stunt like this. What I can’t wrap my head around is her end game. Why hook all the supernaturals in Wisdom? The town is quaint, but not affluent. These people can’t pay her much money—not in the long term.

  But it might not be money she wants. After all, when Bryn’s mom could no longer pay for the euphorium, she traded Bryn for her next fix. Is Lillian planning to take over the supernatural slave trade now that Mona is out of the game?

  Bryn twists on the armchair, breaking me from my thoughts. Although everything in me wants to go to her, to wrap her up in my arms and assure her everything will be all right, I stay fixed in my spot leaning against the frame of Connie’s bedroom door.

  Yesterday was hard for Bryn. After she realized what was happening, we knew we wouldn’t be leaving Wisdom. Instead, while Calder contacted the Front for assistance, Bryn and I—with Connie in tow—sought out the town’s leaders. Although both the mayor and deputy mayor had sampled the euphorium, the sheriff and town council were all unaffected. A few of the council members had still been in line for L’s Lemonade when they’d run out, but the sheriff and two of the councilwomen had imbibed without problem.

  Euphorium doesn’t affect humans the way it does supernaturals. Aside from feeling a little more sluggish than usual, they didn’t report any ill-effects.

  While I worked with the town leadership, Bryn insisted on staying with Connie. At first, she tried to find someone in town to look after her, but everyone had problems of their own, without adding a seven-year-old into the mix.

  Bryn blinks several times, shaking her head to rid herself of the last remnants of sleep. Her attention immediately swings to Connie, who lays curled on her side, clutching a pink penguin like a life buoy. Bryn rises to her feet and closes the distance to Connie’s bed. Her hand stretches out, but she stops short. Her fingers hover over Connie’s disheveled brown curls, but she doesn’t make contact.

  “How long have you been up?” Bryn whispers, not looking at me.

  I fight back a smile. “Not long.” It’s true—in a general sense. I’ve probably been awake for an hour, but only because Ryder sent a text that jarred me from my slumber. Although my commander had stayed at the Front’s base, he was coordinating help from there.

  Bryn squeezes her hand closed, leaving it suspended above Connie for a moment before allowing it to drop to her side. With a sigh, she turns and heads out of the room.

  I lead the way down the hall to the house’s living room. The whole place is quaint and funky, and I can definitely see Ginger’s touches in the decorations. Brightly-colored throw pillows rest on the couch. The walls are covered with abstract paintings, most of which seem to have been created by Ginger and Connie themselves.

  “Do w
e have any news?” Bryn perches on the edge of the hot pink couch, her hazel eyes wide and bright. If not for the rumpled tangle of hair bunching at her shoulders, it would be easy to think she’s been awake for hours.

  I sit on the yellow armchair across from her, debating which order to share the details in. I’ve gone over it again and again since I read Ryder’s text, and I’m still not sure I’ve nailed down the best way. Because even though her question was general, I know her well enough to be sure there’s a specific piece of information she’s hoping I’ll divulge, but she’s not going to hear it.

  “We’re pretty sure we’ve rounded up everyone affected. The Front came though, and the high school gym has enough cots for everyone. The first round of detoxes started around two this morning, and last I heard from Calder, they’re going as well as can be expected.”

  A dark cloud settles over Bryn’s face. I can’t imagine how many times she had to watch her own mother come down from euphorium. Withdrawal symptoms can begin within eight hours, and it’s not uncommon for people to become agitated and restless, to hallucinate, and to have seizures. These effects can take place even after the very first dose. It’s part of the reason euphorium is so very addictive; most people will do whatever they can to stave off the pain of coming down.

  I push forward, hoping my next bit of information will help break apart the darkness gathering in Bryn’s eyes. “So far, we’ve had enough medication to help with the worst of the detox symptoms, and more is on the way. Drugs to counter the effects of euphorium have come a long way since you were younger.” I want to say more—that these people will sleep it off and wake up with a mild hangover—but that would be a lie. Instead, I switch tacks. “And I got a text from Ryder this morning with some good news: He located Connie’s grandparents. They live in Massachusetts and they’re flying in today to watch over Connie while Ginger’s recovering.”