by Martha Woods
I feel sick to my stomach as I go to the front of the room, Tariq and Vincent flanking me. My hands tremble, so I interlock them behind my back, hoping no one will notice. When I try to speak, my voice quavers, so I clear my throat as the crowd noises die down.
One big breath in, another one out, and I scan the room, trying to make eye contact with anyone I can.
“My name is Amy McCartney,” I say as loudly as my voice will carry. “I am a forensic investigator with LAPD, on leave currently while the force follows a path of futility in investigating the so-called Centerfold Murders.”
I hear a few growls and a few noises of interest as I pause.
“Little more than a year ago, I was exposed to a world I did not know existed. I had no idea that anyone on this earth was any more than human,” I say with a little huff of a laugh. “Boy was I wrong.”
This gets a few muffled laughs from the crowd. Good. I need them to relax.
“While working a case, I stumbled first upon a man I later learned was a Hunter,” I say, to a chorus of hisses and boos. The Hunters stiffen at this. I put up my hands to calm them down. “Not much later, on the same case, I met the vampire who stands before me. Because of these two men, my life changed forever. I have learned that there is so much more to this world than I knew. You are all part of a world that is hidden from humans, a world that spans lifetimes. It can be a violent world. But I have also seen and heard things that have amazed me. Sacrifice. Healing. Connection. None of you are average, but you all bear in common that you would fight for your families – whether those are your blood families or families you have chosen over many years fighting side-by-side.”
Many look to and from those that sit near them, taking stock and comfort in those they trust most. I look back at Damon and he squares his shoulders, his gaze intense. Victor nudges at my mind. You’re doing well.
“You also have in common a threat. His name is Alvin Quick. He has amassed a large group of acolytes who will not hesitate to die for the cause he proposes. He is at the center of the Centerfold Murders, where he has recruited unawakened witches and built a spell that will help their abilities emerge and mature, just enough so that he can steal their lives and their wombs as part of his plan to use that power to impregnate witches with pureblood offspring. Alvin Quick bears some of the strongest magic I have yet seen, and he would use it to bolster some great race of witches, all the while planning to commit genocide on the creatures of the world.”
A werewolf man stands up and yells, “Are you not a witch?”
“I am,” I say.
“Then how can we trust you? Perhaps this is a trap. You have so many of us in one place…” he says, looking around the room.
“I promise,” I say, “I am not here to harm any of you. You are free to leave if you wish. It is not a trap. It is, however, an opportunity for all of us to work together. If we can agree to trust each other – even only temporarily – we may be able to fight him. To fight his agenda.”
A witch I’ve never met stands, then. She says, “I don’t know this woman, but I do know there has been a big recruitment effort by Senator Quick in our communities. He has promised to cleanse bloodlines and make witches stronger. He didn’t convince everyone, but he has certainly tried. Frankly, his ideas scare me.”
“It seems to me,” a vampire says in a drawling voice, “that witches are the problem here.”
“No,” I say. “No. Alvin Quick is the problem. He has corrupted the minds of these witches to follow him. I think he has brainwashed and controlled them. He is…something other... I do not believe he is a warlock, but I am not sure what he is instead. All I know is that he is strong and he is cunning and he will stop at nothing to see his plan through to fruition. I know that you are all uneasy with each other. I know this does not feel natural, but I am asking you all to work with me, together, to fight this common threat.”
“We are uneasy with you, witch!” a werewolf female yells. “How can we trust those who seek to destroy us?”
“I am not out to destroy you – nor are the witches and warlocks in this room,” I say.
“You are untested,” someone yells. “Unknown. There is no reason to trust you.”
“That’s fair,” I answer, “But I am asking you to set that aside. This threat is real. And because my abilities are untested and not yet fully known, and because I do not yet know the extent of Quick’s extensive power, I cannot fight this on my own.”
Joseph, whom I had not noticed in the crowd of vampires, Mika and Ivanka at his side, stands up, then. He gestures to me.
“I know that there is vast power within this witch. Believe me when I say I have tried to exploit it to my own advantage,” he says with a chuckle. “It is there, but more importantly that having raw power, she also has a desire to protect. She is eager to protect a balance that allows us to exist peacefully in this city. I have seen her willing to sacrifice her life for the creature that stands beside her.”
“If we do not band together, at least temporarily, we will all perish,” Tariq says. “Amy and I observed the legion that follows him. We were captured and nearly killed – and the bloodlust of the crowd was real and intense. Look, I have loved a werewolf. I am still close with her adopted den here. I am a warlock, but I understand that there is an ecosystem that we are all bound to protect when it is under threat.”
“I am bonded to a vampire,” I say. “And I also love a Hunter. If we open our minds, we can see that there are reasons to care for one another. And caring can include fighting side-by-side. I do not know what Quick is, but I know he scares me. If I have to, I will face him alone, but I hope I don’t have to.”
“What proof do you have of this threat?” a vampire asks.
“I have only what I have seen with my own eyes,” I say.
“You are asking us to trust your word?” the vampire scoffs.
“Our word,” Vincent says. “Mine, and Tariq’s and Amy’s, and Damon’s. A vampire, a Hunter, a witch, and a warlock. We are working together to solve these murders and end this threat.”
“Way I see it,” a werewolf says, “witches are the threat here. Maybe that’s the threat we need to stop.”
A chorus of “yes” sounds through the space, getting louder as the werewolves all stand, menacing as they approach the small group of witches. I see some of them looking toward the exits, some closing their eyes to rally power. Alexis, I notice, is nowhere to be found.
Werewolves start shifting, growls resounding as dogs replace men and women. Maws open and bare sharp teeth, and some of the younger witches cower.
“Stop!” I yell. “We are not here to hurt each other!” I yell.
“You are no one to us,” someone yells. “You are just one witch. A cop! A threat!”
“I am not the threat!” I yell, but no one hears me, as the growling and snarling, the chorus of arguments, it all takes over, filling the space with ear-piercing noise.
A werewolf jumps and attacks a young witch, pushing her back against a wall, tearing at her face and throat. She doesn’t even have a chance to call her power, and her friends attack physically, fists and feet flying as they try to pull the beast away, forgetting that they, too, likely have abilities that could be helpful in this fight.
Young witch Tabitha moves to join the fray but her mother holds her back, shaking her head, a look of pure fear on her face as she pushes her daughter away from the melee.
The vampires mostly stay in observance, but the werewolves attack in full, cornering the witches, some attacking outright. Witches gather their abilities and I can see various manifestations – short bursts of energy, whipping wind, and even snaking vines that burst through the floor of the warehouse – taking hold and pushing back the physical might of the werewolves. Still, there are too few witches, and the werewolves are simply too lost in their fear and hatred.
Amidst the snarling and screaming, Tariq, Vincent, Damon and I run toward the escalating battle, trying to pull byst
anders back, lunging into the battle to physically separate those who fight.
There is one particularly bloody encounter between two witches and a werewolf. The werewolf has its fangs stabbed deeply into the tissue and muscle of a witch’s thigh. She screams, a keening, pained sound that carries above all of the sounds of fighting. She tries to kick with her uninjured leg but every movement seems to drain her and eventually, she just passes out cold, her eyes rolling back in her head and her face going pale as she slumps to one side. Another witch finds her and slaps her cheek. She starts and screams again at the pain as the werewolf deepens the bite, ready to tear her limb from her body. Multiple, deep, bloody wounds mar her pale skin. Her bright blue eyes are wide with fear as she reaches toward her friend, who tries desperately to pull her from the strong jaws of the beast.
Before the wolf can sever the girl’s limb, Damon is there, pushing the wolf from the girl, her friend pulling her to a dark corner, another witch bowing over her, presumably with healing ability.
Damon fights with the werewolf, mostly deflecting, rather than trying to wound. He looks at me once, then again. I know what he is asking and I shake my head. No, we cannot kill here. If we do, our tenuous credibility will be gone.
Still, the werewolf continues his assault. He means to shed blood, no matter who’s it is. One of Damon’s Hunter brethren runs into the fray, a silver-tipped blade in one hand, a wooden stake in the other. I do not recognize this Hunter, but he is baby-faced and ruddy-cheeked. He can’t be much more than twenty.
Two vampires actually pull the woman with the leg injury from the chaos, setting her against a wall. With the tang of blood heavy in the space it amazes me that any of the vampires can manage the self-control necessary to save people rather than succumb to the bloodlust that is obvious when I see their extended fangs and dark eyes.
I run to help a witch with a long set of claw marks down one arm. She sobs, her words barely decipherable as she tells me she never should have come.
“No, we all came because we knew we needed to,” I say. “If we did not feel the threat, we would not have felt compelled to come. This is just fear talking.”
Vincent fights a large werewolf, undoubtedly an alpha for one of the dens. They scrap at each other, Vincent’s sharp teeth bared as he tells the animal, “Stand down. This is not the fight for you. Use this fear and energy to fight the real threat.”
I try to get between the two of them, asking the werewolf to see reason. He growls and twists to lunge at me. Vincent is there instantly, moving like lightning to toss the werewolf at least ten feet away from me. The werewolf, enraged, lunges again, leaping through the air at the two vampire males. Vincent, muscle-bound, and Joseph, more slightly built, stand side-by-side as the attacker sails through the air.
I feel like I am watching this in slow-motion. In my gut, I feel it. The bond is tugging at me, ratcheting up my anxiety level. I open my mouth to scream, to warn them. He’s shifting. He’s shifting as he leaps, and where a paw once was, there is now a hand, a hand that thrusts out to take the wooden stake right from the hand of the nearby, baby-faced Hunter. I can see it unfolding, and I see two witches – one is the girl Tabitha from the night before – close their eyes. Their lips move, some kind of spell work afoot as they, too, sense where this fight is headed.
I scream in warning as he rolls as he hits the ground again, a gorgeous display of athleticism and training. It is my scream that unnerves Vincent, who looks back at me just as the werewolf man’s now weapon-filled hand juts out, it shoves that wooden tool straight into Vincent’s abdomen.
His eyes go wide. The bond rips at me, my whole body shuddering as pain worse than anything I have ever felt before shoots through every cell, every nerve. It forces me to my knees, stealing my breath and all I can do is watch.
Joseph catches Vincent as he falls but the moment he has him, Vincent disappears. He’s just…gone.
Chapter 17
Somehow, this thing that happened pushes everyone into the fray. The entire place is chaos. Werewolves fight vampires and witches. Hunters fight werewolves. There are several dead among each group now, and the coppery tang of blood fills the room, the vampires now dark-eyed and lustful, hungry as they sink their fangs into the throats of the werewolves who have not turned, ripping chunks of flesh away as their victims scream.
“Amy!” Tariq breathes, relieved to have found me, still on my knees, the weight of this spectacular failure keeping me down. “Amy, get up.”
He grabs me by the armpits and drags me to my feet. “Did you…where is Vincent?” I ask, dazed, the mark at my finger burning, fading. “Is he dead?”
“You would know if he was,” Tariq says. “What I need you to do is focus. These creatures are about to do Quick’s bidding for him. They will wipe each other out.”
As I look around, my hearing is reduced only to a high-pitched squeal, my vision to blurs of color and light. Everything falls away as I feel the build of power inside of me.
There is nothing but the sound of my own breath, the feel of blood racing through my veins as my heart pumps. Power burns in there, burns through my veins. It breaks me and reknits me into something new.
Vaguely, I hear my name. It gets louder each time and when I open my eyes, Tariq is there. He gasps, wide-eyed and steps back. I open my mouth and nothing human comes out. Instead, a howl of rage that accompanies a burst of power tenfold what I did the night before in the alley. The ripple buckles the floor and as attention comes my way, everyone is stuck in place. They are caught mid-punch, mid-kick, mid-leap. Stuck. Frozen.
“You are giving him what he wants,” I say when I can finally find my voice. “He wants you to kill each other. And those who live, he will kill later. He wants you to fight each other because it makes his work easier. Alvin Quick is something we have not seen before. At least not in my lifetime. He has a plan. He has an army. And all we have is this. Fighting. Judgment. Hatred. Mistrust. And it will ensure that we all meet our ends very soon. I am here to help you, and now you feel my power. I don’t want to be your leader, your owner, your boss. I just want to help us all survive this. I require you to stop fighting, to perform the rites of a blood treaty. I require you to turn your hatred and anger on a bigger threat – Alvin Quick.”
I feel the power waning, and I let it go. Free to move, I expect them to come after me, but they don’t. They just…stop. They stop fighting and find their loved ones. They talk in hushed, small groups first. Then, the species band together to talk some more.
I feel the blood work as it begins. The promises they make to me are branded on my soul, a part of me. They are signing an allegiance, and while I am glad, I also feel a great deal of responsibility. I do not know what I will do, how I will help them work together as one unit, but I know that this is what is required if we all want to survive this.
“I will call on you all soon. Be ready,” I say as they make their way out of the various exits, carrying away their dead, leaving only the stains and smell of blood behind.
Joseph, Mika and Ivanka look pointedly at me before they leave. Joseph actually looks sad, worried. It is not at all like the bravado he usually shows and I know that he feels Vincent’s loss, no matter what the state of their relationship was.
Only a few remain when the use of that much power takes its toll and I crumple to the ground. I sob and sob, the scene with Vincent playing in my head on an endless loop as my head hits the floor.
Moments later, I find myself in Damon’s arms.
“Come on,” he says softly, “Let’s get you home.”
I must sleep because when I open my eyes again, the battle vivid and ongoing in my mind, I find morning light pouring in through my bedroom window. I stand, woozy, and shuffle out to the kitchen, where Damon sits with the young witch Tabitha and Tariq. They all look up sharply as I approach.
“Amy!” Damon yelps as he jumps up to help me to a chair. “You should be in bed.”
“I’m fine,” I say, peerin
g at the clock. “I have ten hours and I need to go see Rick.”
“Of all the things…” Tariq says. “You’re worried about the police right now?”
“She’s always worried about the police,” Damon says. “She is one of them.”
I look around the room, my eyes focusing on the window where Vincent last stood. I can’t look at anyone as I ask. “Is he dead?”
“Look at your finger,” Tariq says.
I look down and the intricate mark is still there. It is lighter, more like a scar than a tattoo, but it is there. I look to Tariq, questioning.
“It would go away if he were dead. The bond is weak, but he is not gone.”
“No,” Tabitha says. “He’s not gone. Close, but we caught him in time.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means he would have faced true death. The stake was well-placed, but we drew him to the Abyss to shelter him.”
“The Abyss?” I ask feeling tension and worry all over my face, in my temples. “What is that?”
“Remember how I said I can portal to other locations?” she asks. “Well, the advanced part of that is that I can also send other creatures through, sometimes to other planes of existence.”
“There are…other planes of existence?” I ask.
“Many,” Tariq says. “Demon planes, Fairy planes…”
Damon must not have known this either because he sits back in his chair with a low whistle. “Holy shit.”
“And Vincent is…where?” I ask.
“He is in the Abyss,” Tabitha says. “It is a sort of purgatory plane. For those who are dead but not dead. In between. It is not a nice place, but the magic there will heal him.”
“What’s the point of being healed if you’re stuck in purgatory?” I ask, probably too sharply. I take a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “I’m sorry. I should thank you for trying to help him. But how do we get him out?”
“We have to go get him,” Damon answers for her. “Right?”