Blood and Magick

by James R. Tuck

  Longyard just turned and walked away.

  10

  I felt better. I had been able to go to my car and get a shirt. It was a black T-shirt with the words GOT BULLETS? printed in white across the front. It didn’t match my slacks, but it was better than being the only shirtless person at a crime scene. That’s always awkward.

  I walked back over to Heck. He was still by the same car. The first responders were still working. Now we had clean-cut men and women in blue windbreakers with three-letter abbreviations in big yellow block letters on the back. FBI, GBI, ATF; there were even some DEAs and SWATs scattered in there. They scurried about, swarming the scene like ants in abbreviations. Longyard and the uniforms were in a ring around the yellow tape perimeter. A crowd had gathered, buzzing around the line of officers, holding up cell phones to take pictures and videos.

  Civilians.

  All the body bags were gone. They had been hustled into a white box van with the Medical Examiner’s seal painted on the door. I had to admit that Special Agent Heck had been good to his word so far. It still rankled me to be put in the situation, but he was the authority on-scene. There was a wide berth between him and the activity around him. He simply stood by the police cruiser, one hand in his pocket and one holding an attaché case.

  He held it out to me. “This is yours.”

  I took it. It was heavy. I set it on the hood of the cruiser and flipped the latches. The lid raised to reveal my guns.

  Hell to the yes.

  I began slipping them on, immediately feeling more comfortable with their weight hanging from my shoulders. My fingers snapped the loops of the shoulder holster around my belt. I shrugged to settle the straps in place.

  “You know, Heck, we might get along okay.”

  He moved over to the laptop that was still open on the cruiser hood. I was still on the screen looking like a crazyeyed killer. His fingers clicked and clacked. “You’ll see your people soon, Mr. Chalk, but I have things we need to discuss first.”

  The screen flashed away from me and brought up a still of the warlock. Heck’s finger tapped a button on the keyboard, zooming in. The dark wizard’s face filled the screen, framed on each side by tangles of dark hair.

  “The Wrath of Baphomet has been a low-key organization up until now. Other than the name of the coven, we know almost nothing about them. They have shown up here and there throughout history, but this is the first time that they have ever done anything to directly endanger the natural world in the modern age. This one is a new member, only a part for the last three hundred years or so. He replaced another man who disappeared.”

  I had known the witches were ancient before Heck confirmed it, but damn. That was a long time to be gathering witchcraft and sorcery. The first thing folks who dabble in magick do is bargain for more life. It’s a thing. Why deal with dangerous, demonic shit and not ask for a longer life? Plus, new practitioners would not have anywhere near the level of power I had seen tonight. That takes years, decades of incantations, spellcasting, and bargaining to achieve.

  I nodded at the screenshot of the warlock. “His name is Ahriman. Not sure of the spelling. He’s a necromancer. I don’t know what else he can do, but that’s what he did tonight. He used a potion.”

  Witches store magick in things—potions, talismans, fetishes, and tools. They imbue them with sorcery and use them like batteries for spell casting. Like the Energizer Bunny, but demonic and evil.

  “How do you know his name?”

  “The head witch used it.”

  “How about what his type of magick is?”

  “I felt it.” He gave me a look. I shrugged, pulling the stitches in my shoulder. “That’s the best I can do for an explanation. Trust me, he’s a necromancer.” I didn’t want to get into how my power works. Maybe we were going to work together, but he hadn’t earned that. Not by a long shot. That level of sharing requires a bigger earn in. You got to ante up big time for that and that doesn’t happen on your first hand of the game.

  Special Agent Heck nodded and typed in the information I had given. Fingers on the keyboard, he spoke over his shoulder. “Anything else?”

  “He was pretty upset at the loss of zombies he had just made. I don’t know if there’s anything with that.”

  “He raised zombies tonight?”

  “Yeah, you have the movie of me putting them down.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  My eyes narrowed. “You didn’t think I was shooting humans who were alive, did you?”

  “I didn’t give it a high likelihood.”

  “I don’t kill humans. I hunt monsters.”

  “The footage was damaged. It left the situation open to speculation.”

  “Fuck you and your speculation, Special Agent Heck.”

  He nodded and clicked keys. The screen popped with a picture of the wild-child witch. She looked crazy on-screen, frozen in a half-spoken word. Her eyes were too wide, too much white showing around the iris. “This one is a shapeshifter of some kind?”

  “Yep, but not a lycanthrope.” I looked over at him. “You do know about lycanthropes, right?”

  “Yes, the O.C.I.D. is aware of the existence of lycanthropes.”

  “Just checking. Her name is Athame. Shifts into a devil form with a sword.” I remembered the dunk back into the acid bath of memories of my family. Anger smouldered under my breastbone. “The sword may or may not act like a real one, but it does hella psychic damage.”

  “She lost her enhanced form when Miss Bramble struck her with an ax.”

  “She only went back to human when her talisman was knocked off.”

  He typed. The screen changed again and was filled with a face that was severe despite being rounded and soft. The color of the eyes didn’t show in the black-and-white video footage, but they would be electric absinthe green.

  “Selene. I think her and Athame are mother and daughter.”

  He typed. “Any idea of her power level?”

  “Off the fucking charts.”

  He stopped and looked up at me. “Can you be more specific?”

  “No.” I shrugged my shoulders, stitches pulling, snagging just a little on the cotton of my sleeve. “Look, we need to have a discussion.”

  Special Agent Heck turned from the laptop. Selene’s severe, chubby face glared out at me from it. Heck leaned against the squad car and crossed his arms. “Go ahead, Mr. Chalk.”

  That was aggravating. “Call me Deacon.” He nodded, so I continued. “What’s the plan with these Wrath of Baphomet folks?”

  “I don’t understand what you are asking.”

  I spoke slower. “What do you plan on doing with them once we catch them? Are you going to arrest them?”

  “Can you think of a jail that could hold them?”

  No, I couldn’t, and that was my point. If Heck planned on bringing them in and putting them away, then I wanted no part of it. These three had proved they were too powerful. They could easily do what they did to the restaurant to any prison cell. There was only one way to stop them.

  “So that we are on the same page, you and I are going to hunt these witches down and stop them. Permanently.”

  Thin fingers pulled the dark glasses off his face. Folding them closed, he deliberately placed them inside his jacket. The eyes that stared at me were emotionless. “The Wrath of Baphomet killed thirty-two American citizens tonight and injured an additional thirty-nine. I am authorized to resolve this investigation with extreme prejudice.”

  I looked deep at him, weighing him out. I don’t get any joy out of killing, but to protect innocent lives, I will do it and I will not regret it. Not once. If what I do, no matter how horrible or bloody it is, will save a family like the one I lost, then it is worth it. I will walk that road. That’s what life has handed me, shitty as it is, and I will step up until the day I die.

  Special Agent Heck may not have the same calling, but I saw nothing in him that would hold me back when the time came to pull the tr
igger.

  It would have to do.

  “Now that we have that cleared up, you need to understand something else. I don’t take orders. You want my help, then we do this my way or you can kiss my ass and we part company right now.”

  “Mr. Chalk, one of the things I am very good at is utilizing outside resources to get the job done. I am not going to stand in your way while you do what it is that you do best.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Before my dad left this shitty old world, he used to say to never trust a man with all the right answers.”

  “He sounds like a wise man.” He stood up from the car. Both of his hands rose, palms up. “Mr. Chalk, I chose you because not only are you already involved in this case, but you are the only qualified individual other than myself to handle a situation of this magnitude. The Wrath of Baphomet doesn’t make moves like this. They are quiet, staying to the supernatural, never stepping out of the shadows. Tonight they made a big, public demonstration of power. They crossed the line into our world. This has to be the beginning of something bigger. The O.C.I.D. wants them stopped without any further loss of human life.” His finger stabbed at me. “You are the man most suited to facilitate that.” His finger turned toward himself. “I am only here to make sure you do not fail.”

  I took in what he was saying. It sounded good to me. “All right, then.”

  Special Agent Heck nodded. He moved toward the laptop again.

  I flashed my hand up at him. “Stop.” He did. “I’ve looked at enough film for the time being. I want to see my people before we go any further.”

  He looked at me and his lips twitched into a humorless smile. “All of them? Or Miss Bramble in particular?” Yep, nobody likes a smartass.

  11

  Special Agent Heck led me over to a big square transport vehicle. It sat on the edge of the parking lot like a block of used soap. Diesel exhaust coughed from it with a burnt chemical smell. Two agents in blue windbreakers stood outside. They were cut from the same cloth, or cloned from the same pod. Medium-built twins wearing cheap suits off the same rack. Both of them straightened, snapping to attention as we walked up.

  The one on the left unclasped meaty hands and let them fall to his side. He stepped forward, making it clear that he was in charge. I was underimpressed. “Can we help you?”

  Special Agent Heck flashed his badge at them. “Release Miss Westman and Miss Bramble from holding.”

  “We’re not done questioning them.”

  He flipped his badge closed and put it his jacket pocket. “Yes, you are.”

  I had to give it to Agent Heck. He had style.

  The agent on the left stood for a moment, glowering at both of us. I gave him my best blank stare, feeling nothing. I don’t have a problem with cops or agents, or the military. In fact, I have a lot of respect for them, but they have rules they have to hold to. In my world, those rules will get you killed.

  Or worse.

  So I don’t have much to do with them. I work around them, playing the edges, staying on the fringe. Cops protect people from other people. I protect people from monsters.

  It’s the difference between day and nightmare.

  After a moment of pretending like he had a choice, Lefty turned and knocked on the back of the transport. The door opened immediately. He spoke to the agent inside, who looked at us over his head, nodded, and stepped back in, closing the door.

  Lefty stepped back to us. “They’ll be out in a minute.” He took up his position again, making a point not to look at us.

  I checked my watch. There was a crack across the crystal that happened at some point during the explosion or the fight. The hands still moved, second arm sweeping around. There’s a reason I wear cheap-ass Timex watches. They really do take a licking and keep on ticking.

  It had been roughly two hours since the attack. I must have been out longer than it felt like. We needed to get moving. Supernatural shit moves fast. It was still early in the night, but waiting was only going to give the witches more time to gain power.

  The door swept open.

  Tiff stepped down. She was filthy, dirt and dust smudging her skin. Her hair had gone from tousled to tangled and sat knotted up around her head. Her dress was intact, dirty but whole. Dozens of bandages spotted her exposed skin, and I could see bruises that would darken as the night went on.

  She was absolutely gorgeous.

  I moved, stepping through the two agents between us. My shoulder twinged as it struck Lefty and knocked him aside. He said something that I completely ignored. Tiff stepped into my arms, slipping in close. My hands slid around her trim waist moving around to her back. The dress ended and my fingers touched smooth, supple skin. Her slender arms went up and around my neck, and I swept her up, warm girl weight filling my arms.

  Some hard place inside of me loosened: a fist of stress I didn’t know I had been holding inside my chest.

  My face pressed near her neck. I burrowed in, lips against the soft skin of her throat. Breathing deep, I drank in the warm honeysuckle scent that was Tiff. Her arms tightened around my shoulders, cheek warm against mine. Carefully, I put her down.

  Special Agent Heck, Lefty, and his partner were staring at us when I looked around. I had gotten lost in Tiff for a moment. It happens. To hell with them, they were just jealous.

  Tiff looked up at me, a smile pulling up one side of her mouth. “I’m glad to see you.”

  “Right back atcha, kiddo.”

  A line appeared between her brows. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. You?” My hand came up. Softly, my fingers touched the fall of chestnut hair over her eye. Before I could brush it aside, she ducked her head, moving just a touch, keeping it over her eye patch.

  “I’m okay. Sore, but good to go.” She stepped back, fingernails trailing across my back and side. A delicious thrill chased across my skin, running along the path they took. “Do we have a plan of some kind yet?”

  Pride swept up in me. Tiff had joined my life almost a year ago, forcing her way in to stand by my side. She had played by my rules, done what I said, and proved herself to be capable and reliable. But after losing her eye, she had doubled down on her training, driving herself at a punishing rate. She had burned away all the girlishness and replaced it with iron. She was still just human but had become a hell of a hunter in her own right.

  I grinned down at her. “Find the bad guys and kick their ass.”

  “So, same plan as usual?”

  “Pretty much.”

  The door to the transport vehicle banged open, bouncing off the outside and swinging quickly back. Kat pushed through. She was barefoot, midnight blue evening gown dragging the ground, too long without heels. A man chased right behind her.

  He was short, wearing a white coat pulled tight across a paunchy stomach. Thin, graying hair spiderwebbed over a shiny scalp. He held a clipboard in his hand.

  “Miss Westman, wait . . .” He was breathing hard. “I need to talk to you about your—”

  Kat wheeled on him, thick blond hair cutting through the air like a whip. Her voice was tight, each word pushed through clenched teeth. “I’m. Fine. I. Understand.” Her finger pointed at his birdlike chest. “We are done talking, so leave me alone.” Spinning back around, she dismissed him. He reached out to touch her shoulder.

  My hand clamped on his scrawny arm, jerking him up before he could touch her. He goggled at me, eyes rolling behind Coke-bottle glasses. Shaking him, I growled. “What the hell is your problem? The lady said to leave her alone.”

  “I . . . I . . . I . . . ah . . .” He dropped his clipboard as he stammered.

  I shoved him away. He stumbled, caught himself, and stood. I pointed to the way he had come. “Piss. Off.”

  He straightened his coat, picked up his clipboard, and left. Turning, I saw Lefty glaring at me again. His fists were clenched and so were his teeth. I might like cops, but I damn sure didn’t like him. Whatever. He could piss off, too, for all I cared.

 
Tiff was next to Kat. I stepped over. “What was that about? You okay?”

  “I’m fine. I don’t know what his problem was.” She looked around me. “Where’s Larson?”

  Special Agent Heck spoke up for the first time.

  “There’s something you should all see before we talk to Mr. Larson.”

  12

  “More video?”

  Special Agent Heck looked up at me. “Be patient, Mr.

  Chalk. This is the most important piece of footage so far.” We were gathered together outside of a huge tent that had been set up. Blue windbreakers moved in and out of it like worker ants, carrying bags and boxes of evidence inside to be processed. They all swung wide of us after Heck flashed his badge around. Maybe I should get a badge. It sure seemed to make things easier.

  Nah, I would make a lousy cop.

  The screen on Heck’s laptop booted up to the same footage we had watched earlier. He had jumped it ahead to the point where I had the ax and was talking to Selene. We watched as the two of us talked, mouths too small to read what was said. The film flashed white, then crackled down to somewhat normal resolution. Lines cut through the footage, but you could still see what was happening. The only people on film who were still standing were the witches.

  Movie-me was sprawled on my back three or four feet from where I had stood before the flash. Tiff lay next to me, almost parallel. Kat and Larson were on the ground, Larson’s body thrown over hers in a protective motion. Heck clicked the keys. The screen expanded and moved over to focus on them. “This is the important part.” Larson and Kat lay on the screen, unmoving. Selene stepped into the edge of the shot. She squatted next to them, full skirts mushrooming around her. Her hands opened the small purse that hung on her chubby little arm.

  Special Agent Heck clicked a key on the board, zooming in. There was tiny flash as the witch took something out of the purse. She fumbled with Larson’s arm, pulling it into her lap. As I watched, his sleeve was pushed up and the shiny thing in her hand was pressed against the white skin in the hollow of his elbow. Blood welled up, black in the film. It ran in thin streams across his skin as she tucked the knife back in her purse and took out a small jar. None of us spoke, watching her fill it with Larson’s blood.