Witch Risen: A Paranormal Adventure (Bad Tom Series Book 2)

by Jill Nojack

  He pads through the woods, on the prowl, and I ride along. He has no way of knowing I'm traveling with him tonight.

  Just show me where he goes.

  I expect him to head for Gillian's, but he squeezes through a space in the stone wall I recognize as the one that surrounds the old sheep's pasture in Giles woods. He's hunting. As he moves along, barely disturbing a blade of grass as he stalks, I catch the small movements around him as he identifies his prey. The possum's eyes glow red with the small reflected light of the moon through the trees. It's a young one, smaller than Cat. He blasts toward it as it turns to run. He entraps it with his full body wrapped around it, and his teeth move in to the back of the animal's neck for the kill. How delightful to share the hunt with such a creature. But it's over too soon as he drops it and moves on. He leaves the limp body where it falls. He's not hunting because he's hungry. He's as much a sportsman as I am.

  He ends up at the small lake just outside the campsite. The campers won't be there. No swimming or boating is allowed after dark, but he sits looking out over the surface. There's a slight breeze and the ripples on the face of the water catch the reflected light of the moon, flickering on and off like tiny beacons in the dark.

  It's not possible.

  It's not possible!

  The cat's vision blackens and when it returns, the line of sight raises to a man's height. A man's eyes look down to the muddy shoreline to a man's feet picking their way toward the water. He walks into it and glides smoothly out toward the center. There can be no mistake. Tom has found a way to unbind himself and control the shift.

  I've seen enough. I release the vision and swipe with fury at the items strewn across the kitchen table from my potion-making. Jars, bowls, tins, fly off the surface and slam against the wall. I smash the ceramics on the counter. I must feel the destruction! A drawer full of tableware lands with a satisfying series of crashes when I rip it from its drawer and dash it across the room.

  A faint sound catches my attention when I stop to breathe. A regular beat, increasing in volume until it's so loud it causes these human ears pain. I'd forgotten Ba'al's box was on the table. I fall to my knees and crawl across the filth to pick up the beating heart, feeling it pulse against my hands as I place it gently back in the Ab Khr. The sound subsides.

  I know, dear heart, I know. We'll be together again soon.

  I hurriedly place the box back into the vent upstairs before I leave.

  ***

  I leave the car in the camp parking lot and hurry down the path to the lake. When I reach it, I scan the surface for a sign of him. His head skims across the surface as he swims. He's made it so easy for me.

  Cat is going to hate what happens next.

  I call out to him, laughing. "Oh Tom. Bad, bad Tom."

  He sees me now. I don't need to be riding along with him to know it. I hear his "oh hell" ripple outward as it turns from speech to yowl.

  It's been a while since I shifted involuntarily, and I've never shifted in the water. I take the cold in through my man/cat mouth, wondering if Cat will drown as I sink below the surface in a frenzy of morphing body parts, but Cat coughs it out as he finally surfaces, his legs pumping frantically toward the nearest shore to escape the water he hates. But that way leads toward capture and away from the phone I left on the lake's edge when I decided to go for a swim. I've got to get that phone. It has the names of all my friends in the contacts. I can't let her get it.

  I turn Cat away from the small spit of sandy beach where the demon Anat shakes with laughter in the moonlight. That closer shore is just a quick trip back into slavery. He fights me, but I win in the end, and he turns where I lead. I only hope he can make it out in time and give me time to shift, get that phone fixed back onto my collar, and shift again before she can get to me.

  I could face her down as a man, but I sure don't want to. What a fool to think I'd found a few minutes of peace in that moonlit lake. But no—there's no peace for me, not ever. The minute I find some, there she is, taking it away. Cat is still panicking as his legs pump furiously in the cool water, and I can barely think to plan because I am overwhelmed by his single-minded urge to leave the lake behind.

  I'm supposed to be protected. How did she find me?

  When Cat hits the shore, he shakes his head and limbs furiously, causing droplets to fling out in all directions. I hear the Cassie-thing bearing down on us and get him moving to where I entered the water. I don't give him time to dry himself. I shift and snatch the phone, clamp it back to my collar, and then shift again after giving it a good tug to make sure it's secure. Two shifts in such a short snip of time is agony. But there's only one choice, and that's to run. Normally a cat would have an advantage in the dark woods, but all bets are off now, because that's no human chasing me.

  I can't head for safety at Robert's. That would just endanger the people I care about. I'm truly on my own now. I urge Cat on with every mental prod I can muster into a dense part of the woods where a human-size body will have difficulty following.

  Despite this, I hear her crashing through the brush after me. She must be artificially animating Cassie's body now. A human wouldn't have the stamina she shows. But she has to tire soon. Hopefully before she tears up Cassie's body any more on the thorns and branches that must tug at her as she pushes through to follow me.

  Cat is tiring and can't keep up the pace much longer. We need to keep an eye out for a place to hide. At the end of these woods, there's a cluster of cabins. I'm certain I know the woods better than Eunice did, even though she'd been renting out the cabins for the fifty years since her first husband died and left them to her.

  Behind the third cabin, there's an old drainage pipe. It leads away back toward the lake, depositing runoff from the roofs and gutters of the cabins into it. If I can disappear there, she won't be able to follow unless she's taken up shape-shifting, too.

  It's pitch black inside, but Cat has been through this way before. He's a curious explorer, particularly when the scent of prey wafts so temptingly from the tube so often. The ready supply of pooled water makes it a draw for the small, tasty things of the forest.

  Cat can no longer move as fast as I'd hoped, and if my tracker knows which way I'm heading, this journey will end in despair. But she can't have me in sight yet because she's still crashing through the undergrowth.

  I break out of the woods and race through the yard between two of the cabins and urge Cat to pour on the steam toward the entrance to the drain. He squeezes between the bars that prevent larger animals and children from entering.

  Cat's a fighter not a hider, but he hunkers down in the tube as I try to keep him calm and slow his breathing. We sit in total darkness now, ten feet into the drain, well below ground. Cat doesn't like the wet rivulet that runs down the center of the pipe when he sinks to his haunches to rest. He backs up one side of the pipe at an angle.

  I hope it works, that I've escaped, but in the dark like this in the narrow drain, I have no way of knowing what's going on outside. I can't shift to make a call, but I won't give into the sense of helplessness that monster pushed into my heart when she called out from the shore.

  I wait and I wait and I wait. I'm sure it's been hours. Cat's chilled out now, it's time for a nap. But I'm too tense to give in to it. I have to do something, but if I pop my head out, and she's waiting for me…

  What about? I bat at the phone, trying to activate it. It doesn't work at first, but now that Cat has a toy, he persists. It takes forever, but finally, I activate the redial. Robert's voice answers, "Hello? Tom?"

  I let Cat get in one good yowl before I force him into silence. I hope that it's enough.

  I follow the sounds of Tom's feline body traveling through the woods and enhance the girl's vision with a simple spell that allows me to detect his movements more quickly. It isn't hard to follow. He chose a path that wouldn't allow him silence. If he doubles back or veers off, I'll know just by standing completely still for a few moments and listening.
I concentrate on the direction he's heading despite the branches that lash and cut.

  Human flesh is so limiting, even when pressed on with magical strength. It slows me down.

  I need Tom's body for my plans, but I also need to know which witch has undone my magic. None of the witches in Giles should have been able to follow the threads of my spell. They're laughingly weak compared to the sorceresses of my day.

  I duck below a branch and raise my arm against another as it rushes toward my face. It wouldn't do to lose an eye or two. When I catch Tom, he'll suffer before his soul disappears forever, and then I'll find and punish his witch as well. How dare anyone undo my handiwork? I'll enjoy watching their pain. Yes, the eyes need to be protected.

  Finally. A clearing. I scan it quickly. Nothing moves in front of me. There are no sounds of the chase that I can follow. He must be hiding now, sure he's safe.

  I remove the cap from the bottle I'd stowed in a pocket before leaving the shop. I drink and my vision goes black. Not dead. Not the dim reddish-gray canvas of closed eyes. Cat's eyes are open to deep darkness. I have no way to tell where he's gone unless he starts moving in the light again. And I've used the last of the potion. Its effects are already starting to fade, and I haven't got a fresh piece of him to make more.

  He's escaped me again. Damn him.

  I want to take a chance and pop my head out, but I have no idea how patient this Anat thing is. She could be sitting right outside the entrance to the drain, waiting to ensnare me. I urge Cat back toward the entrance, and he slinks along on his belly because his night vision doesn't work in this kind of blackness. After a few feet, a swath of moonlight appears ahead. We're getting closer to the drain. I prick my ears up, listening for any tell-tale sound from above. There's a leafy scuffling sound. I freeze.

  And then my phone rings. That's the end of me if the demon is still out there.

  The tiny light dims and the silence is replaced by the sound of Gillian's voice. "All clear, Tom. You can come out now."

  I hunch away from the sound. What if it's Eunice, mimicking Gillian as a lure? I won't follow a siren call.

  "Tom? You can come out. It's safe."

  I want out of here, and Cat wants away from the wet. But I'm still not sure.

  "Tom? Are you afraid it's a trick? I see Cassie's tennis shoe prints all over the place out here in the mud. I recognize that tread. She's worn the same brand since grade school. So we know Anat was here. But it's not a trick. It really is me. Do you remember what you said in London? Do you remember why I followed you here when you wanted me to move to the colonies? You said I was the only one who could save you from yourself. I've never told anyone that. Maybe because I failed so spectacularly. I bet you haven't, either. But I'll always save you if I can. You know I will."

  I'm convinced. Gillian would never have told Eunice that. I move through the tunnel as quickly as the darkness allows. When the black gives way to dim slats of gray light, I slip through the bars and look out into early dawn. The first blush of sunrise peeks across the tops of the trees in the east.

  A bag comes down over Cat's head, placing me immediately back in darkness. I freeze. I'm caught. I get ready to tear the bag apart with my claws and fight for my life.

  Then, Gillian's voice soothes, "Don't freak out, but we need to keep you under wraps until we figure out how Anat found you. So, please don't let Cat scratch and bite. It's for your own good."

  She picks me up and cradles me to her shoulder inside the sack. I recognize Gillian's smell of patchouli and sandalwood. I decide not to tear at the bag right away. She says, "Just sit tight for a little bit longer. Natalie has the motor running."

  She calls off toward the cabins, "Robert, I've got him."

  I hear another set of footsteps fall in with us as I ride atop her ample bosom, her hand still holding me firmly to her shoulder. Just from the shape of her, I know it really is Gilly. Her softness and warmth is comforting after a night spent tensed for action in the cold and wet.

  ***

  "Find him?" I hear Nat ask after we've trekked a while. "Good."

  "Nat has a theory about how Eunice found you, Tom. We know no one could cast a working location spell, so it had to be something else. So, I'm going to set you down, but just stay put for a minute while she checks you out." She sets me down and only the tip of my tail betrays my annoyance with not getting as far away from where I last saw Eunice as possible. It flicks slowly up and down. But no one can see that through the bag.

  I hear someone circling around me, breathing heavily. Who knows what Natalie's doing out there. I envision a tribal dance combined with a series of cheerleader jumps at the finale. She has her red purse with her, of course. In my version of the events, it flings out at odd angles as she gyrates.

  When Nat finishes her assessment, which was probably much less fun to watch than what I imagine to amuse myself, she tells the others. "It has the distinct feel of a remote ride-along. Novice stuff. You know, faux warg. She didn't locate him so much as just figure out where he was from what Cat was seeing." The sound of her voice turns to me then. "Tom, I've got something that should prevent her from pulling the same trick again. So, I need to back you out of the bag but keep your head inside for just a while longer."

  A tiny slit of daylight appears overhead until a set of hands comes down and lifts me up, backside first, and the bag's drawstring tightens around my neck. Under different circumstances, I'm sure Cat would be having a blast with the opportunity to get himself all tied up in knots getting into and back out of a big cloth bag. But this isn't one of those circumstances. The hands set me down on the dampish grass.

  Natalie walks another set of circuits around me and mumbles under her breath while I feel light grains of something hitting my fur.

  I catch the scent of herbs and spice. It would make a nice sachet, but I'm not thrilled about wearing it around for any period of time. I smell like my mother's underwear drawer.

  Natalie says, "Done," and Gillian pulls the bag off my head. Man, am I glad to see her. Cat winds around her legs, rubbing his head against her in gratitude. When she says, "Let me just throw this blanket over you so you can shift now that that's taken care of," I am more than happy to say my magic words beneath it.

  When the shift is over, I scramble up from beneath the blanket, managing to affix it around my waist without flashing everyone.

  I look around at them. Natalie is close at hand with her red purse. She's not wearing either a tribal ensemble or a cheerleader sweater, just a fitted pantsuit, her usual attire. Too bad.

  Robert leans against the side of his SUV only a few feet away. "If everyone's ready to go?" he says, inclining his head toward the car.

  We all pile in.

  Once I'm situated alone on the farthest seat in the back, I ask, "How did you find me if you couldn't do a location spell?"

  Robert calls back over his shoulder as he starts the car. "That part was easy. I called down to the station and had them ping your cell. There are definite advantages to being mayor. Gave us a good indication of where you'd be. No magic needed."

  Gillian adds, "Since we couldn't find you in the open, we started looking for all the hiding places. I almost moved on, but then I got the idea to give you a call even if you couldn't answer."

  Yes. That's Gilly. She never gives up on anybody.

  ***

  When we get back to Robert's, he has a message from his Egyptologist friend. "You might as well all be in on this call," he says, as he dials and then puts it on speaker while we settle in together on the comfortable leather sofa and chairs in the study.

  "Robert?" comes a voice on the other end of the line. "Those pictures you sent me? Fascinating. I can't stop studying them. Can you arrange for me to see the artifact? I desperately want to see it in person."

  "I can ask, Doug. But I don't know if the owner is open to viewings yet. I'll certainly do my best."

  "Perfect—yes. They've found a truly unique item. One that, as far
as I can tell, until now, was only a rumor with the intact heart and all. Fascinating stories behind this—"

  Nat leans forward abruptly and cuts him off. "No need to be a showboat. Tell us what the symbols on the box mean."

  There's a pause on the other end of the line. Robert gives Nat a cautioning look and says, "Sorry about that, Doug. The owner is here this morning and asked to sit in silently. You're on speaker."

  "Of course, of course. My excitement over the find is running away with me."

  Robert picks up the phone then, giving Nat a pointed look. "My client, while a dear friend, is elderly and can sometimes be abrasive. We can continue without an audience. She's absolutely contrite now. Speaker's off…" He walks to the corner of the large room and leans against one of the dark wood shelves as he talks.

  We hear the rest of the conversation one-sided. Way to go, Nat. There are lots of yesses and hmmmms and notes jotted down on the lined yellow paper Robert took with him and balances on a shelf. By the time he's done, I'm ready to tell Doug to get on with it myself.

  Finally, Robert presses the off button on the phone after saying, "Thanks, Doug. Yes, it's all invaluable information. I can't thank you enough. I'll see what I can do about that viewing."

  He doesn't even have the phone back in the cradle before Nat says, "Well? Details!"

  "Nat!" I say. "Give the man time to arrange his thoughts." But it better not take more than 6.3 seconds.

  Robert raises his eyebrows slightly in acknowledgement. "Doug managed to interpret all of the symbols inside the box, and as we expected, its purpose is as a vessel for Anat's soul. Now, understand that he's fascinated by this as a historian because he has no idea that anything supernatural exists. He views it as mythology, ancient religious practice. I've never told him I'm a warlock. That tends to be a relationship killer the farther you get away from Salem and Giles. His interpretation is going to be colored by academic interest in what he believes is an antiquity. And obviously, he'd really like to get his hands on it for further study."