Soul Magic

by Jennifer Lyon

  Phoenix called out, “You stick needles in your chest all the time working on that big-ass dragon! Tell me that’s not sick.”

  “Did you call her ass big?” Key demanded.

  Sutton talked right over them, used to the bickering. “The rogues don’t know where Young is. He doesn’t live with any of them—too risky that someone would try to kill him to get that death dagger.”

  “Right,” Ram said. “He puts a leader in each section; LA, San Diego, San Francisco, one who answers to him.”

  “Styx might be the rogue area leader here. Young would be impressed that he can brainwash mortals,” Axel said. He turned to Sutton. “You didn’t recognize the two rogues who dragged the witches in during the vision?”

  He shook his head. “Haven’t seen them before.” The eagle shuffled uneasily in the cage of his skin, missing Carla. They both hated being away from her, but Sutton couldn’t be near her for too long.

  “Sutton, you got an incoming,” Phoenix called out.

  Straightening up, he turned, going around the partition and out into the open area of the warehouse. “Something about Styx? Or another possible match on Pam?” Did they finally have a break?

  He was racing past the pool table when Phoenix said, “Nope. Carla’s mom.”

  Her mom? Was something wrong? Practically shoving Phoenix out of his favorite rolling chair, he sat down and faced the screen. “Chandra. What’s wrong? I have a security team there.” He shifted his gaze to the cameras he had watching the safe house they were living in. He didn’t see any signs of trouble.

  “Sutton, I need you to do something for me. For Carla.”

  Ice formed in his veins. He didn’t know much about mothers, his own having bailed when she realized she’d married a man who could turn monster and had a son who could do the same. Was this the Leave my daughter alone or I’ll hex you videoconference?

  Axel kicked his chair.

  Mothers liked manners, right? Good manners meant introductions. “This is Axel, he’s the leader of the Wing Slayer Hunters.” He gestured over his left shoulder where Axel stood. “The others are Key, Phoenix, and Ram.” They each lifted a hand in greeting.

  “Hello,” Chandra said.

  He didn’t know the rules here. “They’re cool, you can talk in front of them.” Would she tell him to kiss off in front of the men?

  “I can’t get used to trusting witch hunters.”

  What was he supposed to say to that?

  Axel cleared his throat. “Carla is the best friend to my soul mirror, Darcy, Chandra. We only want to protect her, not hurt her. If there’s something she needs, we’ll get it for her. I can get Darcy if you’d be more comfortable talking to her.”

  Well, shit, Sutton could have said something like that. If he’d thought of it. His hands were sweating. Christ. He curled his fingers into fists so the other hunters didn’t notice that he was scared of Carla’s mother. He had to say something to reassure her. “Uh, yeah. What Axel said.”

  Ah hell. He didn’t have this trouble talking to Carla.

  There was shuffling from the men behind him. Dumb shits, he knew they were looking at each other and smirking behind his back.

  Enough, he had to take control. “Ma’am, is Carla all right?”

  Phoenix snickered and muttered, “He called her ma’am.”

  Chandra’s lips twitched. “Actually, Sutton, she’s not all right. She called her dad, and he refused to help her.”

  Sutton snapped up in his chair. “What kind of bastard is he?”

  “A drunk one. Carla and her dad’s relationship is complicated. Jermone loved the girls, but he used them, too. He was so desperate to prove his theories right, to prove to the scientific community that had laughed at him that magic did exist and that he could isolate the chakra gene to prove it.”

  He leaned forward. “Chandra, tell me where her father is. I’ll bring him to her. He’ll help her.” Sutton would change his mind with whatever method it took. If Carla needed her dad, then she would have him.

  “Okay.” Her face relaxed, her eyes brightening. “Do you boys like cookies?”

  “Hell, yes!” Phoenix said and slapped Sutton’s shoulder. “She’s the Cookie Witch, you idiot.”

  “Famous in San Francisco and many places outside the city, too!” Key explained.

  Ram chuckled. “We love cookies, Chandra.”

  The witch looked pleased. “I’ll give the security guy outside a few dozen.” She looked over the men again. “Several dozen,” she amended.

  Axel kicked the bottom of Sutton’s chair again. Sutton sputtered, “Uh, thanks. I need Jerome’s address.” He had more important things to think about than cookies.

  “I’ll send it in an e-mail. And Sutton, thank you.”

  His vocal cords froze, but he managed to croak out, “Sure.”

  The picture faded.

  “Sure?” Phoenix hit Sutton’s shoulder again then doubled over laughing.

  “Ma’am?” Key shouted as he dissolved into fits of laughter.

  “He’s afraid of Carla’s mother!” Phoenix bellowed, holding his stomach. “Ice-for-blood Sutton is afraid of a mother!”

  Ram started to laugh.

  Sutton surged to his feet. “Shut the fuck up! I’m not afraid!” He was terrified, that’s what he was. “Assholes,” he snarled.

  Key wiped tears from his eyes. “Dude, I thought you were going to swallow your tongue.”

  “Enough,” Axel said.

  Sutton looked over at him with gratitude until he saw that Axel was fighting a grin. That was it. He stormed toward the rear door. He’d go find Carla’s dad and explain to the man how much he wanted to help his daughter. He hit the door so hard, it slammed into the outside of the building and almost rebounded into Ram.

  Ram agilely dodged the door and raced after him. “Sutton.”

  “Fuck off.”

  Ram paced by his side. “I printed all the information about Doctor Jerome Wagner that Chandra sent.”

  Sutton never lost control. Ever.

  Until now.

  Until the witch doctor and her mother, the Cookie Witch. He’d never heard of the Cookie Witch. How was he supposed to know this stuff? It was probably some kind of grave insult that he hadn’t known. What exactly was a Cookie Witch?

  Ram held out the sheet of printer paper.

  “Thanks.” He took the paper, but just stood there ten feet from his truck, staring at the dank exterior of the warehouse. “They’re right.”

  “You’re afraid of Chandra?”

  “I don’t know shit about mothers.” Made him feel like the biggest loser ever.

  Ram nodded without any sign of a smirk.

  “My mother booked when I was three. Her mother tried to kill me with cooking utensils the first time she saw me. Woman has an arm on her.”

  Ram’s mouth twitched, but he kept his eyes blank.

  “I’m not good enough for Carla. Her mother has to know that. Carla’s smart. She’s a doctor!”

  “You’re a computer wizard,” Ram said.

  He snorted. “Big deal. Taught myself all that shit. I went through sixth grade before I was homeschooled. That doctor she works with, he’s smart like her. He loves her.” Except he’d hurt her, and Sutton had an urge to knock him on his ass for that. What was happening to him? He was cold and logical, not this … crazed mass of insecurity, desperation, and this thick choking need to be the man who kept Carla safe and happy.

  “I had a mom.”

  Sutton’s wild, spinning thoughts slowed. “Yeah?” Ram rarely talked about himself.

  “Military mom. When I couldn’t go with her, I stayed with her retired military dad.”

  A military backround made sense. Ram had a buzz cut and pressed, perfect clothes. Even his workout clothes tended to be precise. “So the rumors are true? You were a kid once?”

  Ram allowed himself a measured half smile. “My mom expected a hell of a lot from me. I was raised on duty, discipline, a
nd denial.”

  His own confusion took a large step back. “Yeah?”

  “My mom and her parents refused to acknowledge that I was not a regular mortal kid. I had no idea, no …” He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin, pulling his military posture back into line. “My mom wanted the best for me. Insisted on it. I don’t think Carla’s mom would be so different. She wants her daughter safe and happy. She’s not going to care about degrees as much as character.”

  The man had his reasons for keeping his past to himself. But Ram had broken rank, this one time, to reassure him. Friends like that made getting through the days possible. “Yeah, okay. Got you. Uh, what exactly is a cookie witch?”

  Ram shook his head. “It’s a famous bakery in San Francisco. Mortals have no idea Chandra really is a witch, but they love her cookies.”

  Sutton raised his brow. “A weakness, Ram? Cookies?”

  The man shrugged. “First you taste her cookies, then tell me they aren’t a necessity, not a weakness.”

  He felt better. More in control again. The fact that he had something to do, some action to take, helped. But the tat on his back started fretting, which reminded him. “While I’m gone …”

  Ram cut him off. “Goes without saying that we’ll watch out for your witch and her mom.”

  The eagle settled down. “Later.”

  Less than five hours later, Sutton drove into San Francisco, and went straight to the address that Chandra had e-mailed him. The tall, thin two-story had a faded front door, peeling cream-colored paint, and a dirty front window covered by yellowed blinds. Sutton pounded on the door.

  “G’way,” a voice muttered from inside.

  It took an effort not to kick the door in. Instead he tried the doorknob, found it unlocked, and walked in.

  A man deep into his fifties sat on a couch covered in an avalanche of books and yellow tablets. There were two laptops on the scarred wood coffee table, along with a couple of booze bottles. Gin. The room stank of stale breath and old food.

  “Who’re you?”

  Sutton sized up the man. He had bleary brown eyes, blond hair that had grown to a shaggy bowl cut, and a ragged beard. He wore a dingy white T-shirt and old sweats. “Sutton. I’m taking you to Glassbreakers to see Carla. You got ten minutes to clean up.”

  He frowned. “Not going. Get out.” He reached for a mug filled with gin.

  Sutton whipped out his knife and threw it, knocking the cup out of Jerome’s hand. The cup crashed down on the table, spilling out its contents. The knife embedded itself in the couch. “Nine minutes, Doctor.” Sutton was trying to hold on to his temper. Frankly, he didn’t see how this drunk could be any help.

  Jerome’s gaze sharpened. “You’re not a mortal.”

  Sutton hid his surprise. He stepped closer to the couch, looming over the man. “Carla needs you. She needs your help, and you’re going to give it to her. Clear?”

  His eyes grew wider. “I can’t help her. I’m done with magic.” He waved his hand around the mess of books and papers. “I’m debunking my own discoveries in a new book. Going to tell the world magic doesn’t exist.”

  Sutton narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

  “It’s all I have left to give them. Keep them safe in case anyone’s looking for them.” His slack face tightened. “I failed, and Keri’s dead. Carla said something about a rogue on the phone. No way am I going to be a part of something that might get her killed by one.”

  Sutton reached out and hauled Jerome to his feet by the front of his shirt. “Your plans just changed.” He’d never let that happen. Unless he was the rogue, an ugly voice in his head said.

  Jerome’s shoulders sagged and he looked away. “I don’t want to see her.”

  There was no fear in this man. All Sutton smelled was booze and regret. “She wants you, you’re going.”

  Jerome shifted his gaze back to Sutton, opening his mouth—

  Sutton locked his stare onto the man’s eyes, following the optic nerve, and sent the message that he had to clean up and go see Carla. He let go of the man.

  Jerome’s eyes turned cunning. He demanded, “You’re a witch hunter. Let me see your palm.”

  Surprised, Sutton held his hand out, palm up.

  Jerome studied his lifelines. “Not rogue.”

  In spite of the alcohol and decay, Sutton saw two things clearly: where Carla got her intellect, and that this man cared about Carla in spite of trying very hard not to. “Six minutes, Doctor.”

  Carla opened her fifth chakra and went to the astral plane to try to bring Pam back, but all she saw was blue static.

  Interference.

  “Keri, what are you doing?” Carla begged her sister.

  Keri was somehow dragging down her powers, or interrupting them. She’d latched on to Carla’s chakras enough to do that, but she couldn’t show herself.

  “Keri, are you mad? Because of Sutton? Is he yours?” Carla reached for her sister with everything she had.

  Nothing but static. Reminding herself why she was on the astral plane, Carla said, “Pam, it’s Carla. How are you doing, Pam?” She focused as much of her thoughts on the mortal woman as she could summon.

  The static crackled like a TV station that had gone off the air.

  She was tired, emotionally charged up, and bordering on desperate. Carla closed off her communication chakra and slipped back into her physical body. The room was lit by candles in the falling night. Pam’s closed eyes appeared sunken into her face. Her skin was taking on an unhealthy waxiness. Setting Pam’s hand on the bed, she tucked the covers around her and quietly left the room.

  Crossing the family room, she rubbed her pounding temples, and went into her small office. Dropping into her chair, she touched her mouse to wake up her computer. There were several messages on the Circle Witches’ links.

  She chose the one from Darcy first. There will be no more discussion of censoring or banishing Dr. Carla Fisk. What happened was an accident, not an abuse of power. There was no witch-karma punishment, and we will not abandon a sister-witch. Anyone who disagrees may leave the Circle Witches.

  Carla smiled. She didn’t have to read the other messages to know Silver was inciting rebellion. Before Darcy came along—gaining extraordinary power, a familiar in the form of a soul mirror and the ability to talk to the Ancestors—Silver had pretty much run the Circle Witches.

  She didn’t like change, didn’t like Darcy being so powerful, didn’t trust witch hunters, and hated being made irrelevant.

  Carla clicked on Silver’s response. Witches have a long and valued history, Darcy. We will not be treated like the subjects of a Supreme Goddess. Our mission is to heal and care for mortals while learning as much as we can in each lifetime. We do that by working together, making decisions together, not by blindly following a witch who claims to have seen the Ancestors while screwing a witch hunter. We know your spell to heal the child failed.

  “That bitch,” Carla muttered. Darcy had tried desperately to heal Axel’s four-year-old sister, Hannah, from a demon witch’s death curse. She had managed to push the curse back, but not break it entirely. Silver was mischaracterizing what had happened to fuel a growing fracture in the Circle Witches.

  Pushing back her headache, Carla focused and used her powers to summon Darcy through her computer.

  Darcy appeared on the screen, her brown eyes filled with dark fury. “They will not banish you.”

  Carla grinned. Leave it to Darcy to be worked up over the insults to Carla but not those to herself. “Silver is playing politics to wrest control back from you.”

  Darcy shoved her hair off her face. “Lovely, witch politics.”

  “Yeah. Well, there’s a solution. You could try the Moon Witch Advisor Ceremony.”

  Darcy dropped her hands. “What’s that?”

  “You call down the moon, call up the power of the ley lines, and cut yourself. If your blood heals into a silver scar in the shape of the moon, that makes you the chosen Moon
Witch Advisor.”

  “Chosen by whom?”

  Carla laughed at the disgruntled look on her friend’s face. Darcy didn’t play politics well. “Ancestors. Even Silver can’t argue with that.”

  “What makes you think I’d be this Moon Witch? And what is she exactly?”

  “Silver is right that we don’t have a Supreme Goddess. Witches are each on their own journey, and we don’t do well being told how to live. We are supposed to find the right paths for ourselves.”

  “Tell Silver that. She’s the one—”

  “Darcy,” Carla admonished.

  She settled back into her seat and took a breath. “Fine. I’m listening. Why do you think I’d be this Moon Witch?”

  Darcy’s outrage on her behalf was part of their deep friendship. It felt like a burst of stunning moonlight on a dark night. “She serves as an advisor in times of serious trouble. I’d say we’re in that kind of trouble, what with the curse and the rogues. I think you might fill the role because the Moon Witch must be able to open her seventh chakra. I don’t know of any other witch who can.”

  Her dark eyes took on gold lights. “Hmm.”

  It was a little scary to watch Darcy thinking; the results were often a surprise. She could be devious and clever when the situation called for it.

  “There’s a downside, though. If you attempt the ceremony and fail, Silver will marginalize you. That’s why I haven’t suggested it before.”

  “Because I failed with Hannah.”

  “You didn’t fail!” Carla had been there, she’d felt the incredible power from Darcy. “You didn’t have everything you needed.”

  Darcy rolled her eyes. “I know that and you know that. Silver doesn’t. She’s only able to cause this much dissension because the witches are scared and they feel powerless. The curse severely limited their powers. Witch karma prevented them from effectively using what powers remained for defense. And the witch hunters, the men created to protect us, are turning rogue and killing us. That fear is what gives Silver her power. So you and I, we have to be very careful not to let her feed their fears anymore. A public failure on my part would give her more cachet.”

  “You’ll know when the time is right, Darcy. It’s something to consider. Of course, you’d have to have two witch witnesses, and witches try not to gather in public like that. Too big a target.” Witches always had to be careful. While the threat of rogues was probably the worst, witch hunts over the centuries had conditioned witches to a natural secrecy. Especially since the mortals were killing mortals, not witches. It made them all feel guilty and responsible for the deaths of mortals they were supposed to protect.