Witches Protection Program

by Michael Phillip Cash

“They took Larry in yesterday. He didn’t say much, but they wanted to know about Bonsai Investments.”

  Bonsai was the company they’d used to buy the network.

  “What could he say? He doesn’t know anything about it.” Juliet worried her lip.

  “Just as he shouldn’t,” Bernadette assured her.

  “They asked if…if I still practiced, and would he vouch that I’m…Davina.” Juliet rose. “I knew I should have stayed with the old ways.” She got up, pacing the room.

  Bernadette walked around, placing a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Too late for that now, my dear. Who questioned you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know who they are. FBI, police, I don’t know if they even told me,” she added with horrified wonder. “They were armed, with trance lifters. I thought you couldn’t even get those anymore. This is terrible. We have to close it down.”

  “Knock offs, I’m sure. They don’t make them; they’re obsolete. Come now, Juliet. The invitations are out.”

  “What invitations?” Juliet asked, her eyes popping out of her head.

  “Figuratively speaking, the invitations to your inaugural ball, Madam President. Stop worrying. I have it all under control.”

  “You promised no one would put it together. You swore, Bernadette.”

  “I never break my word. Your reputation will be safe. No one will know. We shall announce your candidacy just as we planned. Let me handle everything. Ah, Scarlett, you’re back. Please escort Mrs. Gilroy back to her car.” She turned to Juliet. “Juliet, remember what I told you. We can’t be seen together just yet.” She wagged a finger at her. “Don’t come here again.”

  Scarlett escorted Juliet out. Bernadette spun her chair to look outside. In the window, cat’s eyes reflected back at her. She turned back to her open office door. “Where are they, Vincenza?”

  Vincenza held a large bowl filled with clear liquid in her hands. She blew on the surface gently, watching the water ripple from a tiny circle growing larger until it filled the entire bowl.

  “Vincenza!” Bernadette said sharply.

  “Patience. I see the car.” A black SUV materialized on the surface of the water. Four faces appeared.

  “Is she there?” Bernadette demanded.

  Vincenza nodded without looking up. “Yes, with an old man, the young one I bit, and…”

  “And?”

  “One of us.”

  Vincenza dipped her finger in the bowl, circling the image of the older woman. “One of us, yet not one of us. They go to Jersey.”

  “Jersey?”

  “The warehouse,” Vincenza confirmed.

  “Stop them. Bring my niece to me.”

  Vincenza placed the bowl on Bernadette’s desk, closing the door quietly behind her. Bernadette looked at the quaking water but saw nothing.

  Scarlett stood in the outer office, looking up when Vincenza entered the room.

  Vincenza smiled slyly. “You know what I want,” she told Scarlett, her eyes raking the lush body.

  “You get me what I want,” Scarlett said in a sultry whisper. “And I’ll give you what you want.”

  Vincenza gave a feral growl, her eyes blazing as she leaped toward the elevator.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  An hour later, the four found themselves in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the George Washington Bridge. Morgan and Junie sat in the rear. Alastair drove, which left Wes riding shotgun.

  “I told you we should have taken the tunnel,” Wes said sourly.

  “You saw the AP. It was backed up for miles. Besides, Secaucus is right over the bridge,” Alastair shot back.

  Alastair’s rifle lay comfortably against Wes’s leg, the heavy weight of it reassuring him. Still hazy on the details, Wes remained skeptical about the whole thing. He couldn’t wrap his head around the witch thing. Every so often, he caught a glimpse of Morgan, her worried face in shadows. She couldn’t be a witch, he thought. She didn’t look like one. He glanced over at Junie, shuddering.

  Twice, Morgan quietly asked the older woman about her mother, and the conversation was deftly turned. Junie seemed reluctant to share details, which irritated Morgan. She stared out the window sullenly.

  “I don’t like it, Alastair,” Junie grumbled. Luna arched her back, hissing. “Where?” Junie demanded, but the cat didn’t answer.

  “Look,” Morgan said quietly.

  A giant billboard was illuminated in the distance. On it, one of the most iconic women in the music industry looked out, her face glowing whitely in the night sky. “Pendragon Glow for those in the know” read the advertisement. “Available in stores worldwide Monday. Perfect for Mother’s Day!”

  “It’s starting,” Morgan said. “She planned a July release, but she’s doing it earlier.”

  “She senses something,” Alastair said quietly.

  “Never mind that old bat. I sense something too!” Junie leaned forward, her face between the two seats. She pointed to a commotion in front of them. “I think the world is going to rediscover witches real soon.”

  Wes bent down to peer through the windshield.

  He heard Alastair curse as he slowed to a dead stop and unbuckled his seat belt. “Get out,” he ordered.

  “We’re on a bridge. Where do you want me to go?”

  “It’s Vincenza,” Morgan stated upon seeing the dark-haired beauty circling the bridge, a broom between her leather-clad legs.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Looks like witches have come out of the closet,” Junie said.

  “Yeah,” Wes retorted. “The broom closet.”

  The bridge was a sea of red lights, horns honking. People exited their autos, holding up cell phones to record. Some were laughing. Others shouted, pointing to Vincenza, who sneered back. The moon bathed her in an eerie glow, and the sky was strangely vacant of stars.

  Alastair walked briskly to the back of the SUV, opening the hatch to reveal a veritable arsenal of Steampunk weapons. He grabbed a handful of flares, spreading them out in front of them. He lit one. The beacon painted his face red. Wes looked up and shivered, thinking he resembled something demonic.

  Junie rubbed her hands together gleefully. “Flares! Oh, how I love flares!”

  “She looks pissed off.” Morgan watched the circling besom, her pattern moving around them lazily.

  “You think?” Wes asked sarcastically.

  “In a minute, the cops are going to get here. They will have every driver exit their cars and walk back to Manhattan. Get Morgan out of here.” Alastair turned back to the truck, opening and rummaging around a huge red toolbox. Wes thought he looked worried—not necessarily a good sign.

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “You don’t have to worry about us. Oh, Alastair, an Aether Cannon.” Junie sounded orgasmic. “I always wanted to hold one of those.”

  Alastair was busy loading the toast-colored weapon, the Tesla coils lighting up with a blue phosphorous glow, the gears making a whining sound not unlike a dental drill.

  “What’s your Gamertag?” Wes asked with a laugh.

  “I-AM-WHAT-I-AM, all dashes in between,” Alastair retorted.

  “Mine’s JohnnyDepth. One word.”

  “Original.” Alastair smiled.

  “I thought so,” Wes replied, enjoying the moment.

  “Really, really? Can we cool it with the Kumbaya moment?” Morgan screamed. Vincenza swooped down, her broom creating a hot breeze as she flew past them. Some people screamed; others were laughing and pointing; several started a stampede off the bridge. The sound of multiple sirens grew louder.

  Wes calmly looked at the woman watching them with menacing intensity. “What kind of witch is that?”

  “Level-four Willa,” Alastair responded. “Sort of a soldier, trained in Europe—Italy, to
be exact.”

  “The panther?” Wes asked, his foot beginning to throb.

  “She likes snakes too,” Morgan volunteered.

  Junie whistled. “That’s a problem.” There was no time to explain. The bridge was swarming with police. Vincenza landed on a cable and hung on like a diabolical pirate in a storm. Laying her broom sideways, she swung in a circle, wrapping her legs around the thick cables. Catcalls and whistles along with raucous shouts drifted up to her. She obliged, draping herself upside down and doing an impromptu interpretation of a pole dance.

  Wes and Alastair paused, watching with the same appreciation of nineteen-year-old boys in a strip club.

  “She’s got talent,” Alastair murmured.

  “Yeah, real talent,” Morgan retorted. “You should see what she does with a feather and—”

  An officer holding a megaphone called out to Vincenza, interrupting Morgan. “Ma’am, get down from there!” Black-clad SWAT officers crept through the congested lanes.

  Vincenza laughed, the sound bouncing off the choppy waves below them.

  “Uh-oh, here it comes,” Junie offered.

  Vincenza lifted her arm as she spoke. “Take these suspension cables and make them break, give the bridge and tunnel people a slithery, slimy snake. One snake, two snakes, three snakes, four. Make them all too big to ignore!”

  The air stilled, the crowd restive but now silent. Thunder boomed; the air turned static. Wes could feel his hair rise from the top of his scalp. The atmosphere felt thick with anticipation; sounds were muted, as if they were wrapped in cotton batting.

  Four of the twenty khaki-colored suspension cables writhed with a loud creaking sound, startling the onlookers. They stretched, then recoiled, finally detaching with a hissing sound and rocking the bridge, so it bounced as if in an earthquake. The thick cables moved sensuously, their surfaces transforming to a shiny, spotted green. The cables rose, dangling over the cars, now with giant, shovel-like heads, forked tongues dancing from their sinister faces. People screamed with fear, some racing, leaving cars abandoned. Others stood in frozen horror, watching in mute shock as the snakes made their way to the canted surface of the bridge. Four sets of beady, bright-yellow eyes scanned the screaming crowd. They slithered down. The bridge groaned, leaning to one side. Cars smashed into one another, setting off multiple alarms. Luna screeched, jumping onto the roof of the truck, then took off leaping car to car across the bridge toward Jersey.

  “What are you going to do?” Wes yelled over the din.

  Alastair shoved a bystander out of the way, positioning the cannon on the rear of the person’s car. “I told you to get out of here before it’s too late.”

  A driver hung down from the door of his semi. He eyed the strange weaponry in front of Alastair. “You ain’t gonna do nuthin’ with that lil’ toy gun.” He reached into his cab, taking out a twelve-gauge.

  The snakes moved closer, their spitting and hissing drowning out the cries of the mob scene below. One reptile was on the blacktop, ducking under cars in its attempt to reach the SUV. Junie ran forward, stopping in a wide stance to aim her gun.. A gelatinous globe exploded from the muzzle. The recoil rocked her arms so that they shook with strain. She fired off four shots, driving the crowd into a frenzy of fear. “You have to get them between the eyes,” she called out helpfully. One snake’s head evaporated in a shower of blood and bone. The crowd was incoherent.

  “Nice shooting!” the truck driver yelled. Turning, he laughed, good-naturedly blasting away at the second snake threatening them from the cables to the left.

  “Follow Luna,” Junie advised Wes. “Here she goes again.”

  More shots were fired. Vincenza ignored them, cackling with malice. She observed the fleeing people, fighting the stream of SWAT members forcing their way toward her. Glancing to where the blond man held Morgan’s hand, with the older white-haired man, she eyed the cars on the bridge, looking for something to slow them up. She spied an abandoned oil tanker on the other side of the divider.

  “Toil, toil, bubble, and boil. Give me a stream of dark, slick oil.” The tanker burst open as if a bomb had exploded, its deluge of black oil pushing back advancing police. She made eye contact with Alastair and pointed to him. Then, her two fingers gestured at her eyes as if to acknowledge she was watching him.

  Alastair saw her motioning to him but avoided her gaze. He watched the pandemonium, muttering, “Shit, that’s already got to be on Twitter.”

  Junie aimed her pistol at the enemy, firing blasts of the goopy pellets that fell short only to splatter on cars, dipping down like melting cake icing. Vincenza grabbed her broom and straddled it, ignoring the crowd. Alastair saw her eyes were on Morgan. He crouched down, taking aim.

  “Look, if I miss my shot, she’s going to grab Morgan. I mean it, get out of here.”

  Wes pulled Morgan’s hand and began sprinting through the crowd, toward the other side of the bridge.

  Two helicopters, one on each side of the bridge, moved closer, the rotors buffeting against the wind. A sharpshooter leaned out, pointing a rifle at the witch. Wes could feel the vibration of the blades, the sound drowned by the booming thunder shaking the sky. Lightning scored the horizon, turning the sea into a churning mess. The loudspeaker broke through the noise again, asking the woman to turn herself in. Vincenza sneered and flew a loop around them, causing the helicopters to follow her. She spiraled downward then pulled up, veering away after a near collision of the two choppers. Below them in the water, police boats aimed high-powered beams upward, bathing the air show in bright light. Rain started to fall, dazzling the lights and painting everything silver. Vincenza moved in an upward arc; one chopper followed, then stalled. It hovered for an instant before plummeting into the water, landing with a crash and looking like a smashed mosquito.

  Alastair watched Vincenza spin to attack the remaining chopper. He closed one eye, making sure the witch was in his crosshairs. She bounced, as if ready to follow. Alastair pressed the lever, letting go a blast of white foam. It reached the straw of her broom, igniting it so that it flared in the dark sky. Vincenza reached behind, batting it with her hand, the helicopter forgotten.

  Some of the fluid dripped onto the asphalt, sizzling as if it were acid. Junie touched it with the tip of her finger, then grimaced when it burned her fingertip. “What is that stuff?” She wiped her abused finger on her skirt.

  Alastair didn’t answer. Vincenza had turned, her face white with rage. She threw back her head, calling to the heavens to give them more, and the sky roiled with heavy, dark clouds. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed, splitting the black night. The heavens opened; torrents of rain flooded the bridge. She turned, aiming the point of her broomstick downward, a trail of white smoke following from her damaged broom. She screamed, directing the rain to flood the bridge.

  Alastair ignored the splashing rain running down his face. He shot directly at her, but she weaved between the missiles as they flew harmlessly past her, falling into the water with a hiss.

  Alastair cursed loudly. The cannon jammed, overheating and dripping white fluid on the back of the car, burning the paint off. Everything sizzled as if it were acid rain. A haze of smoke rose from the steaming pavement. He looked up to see Vincenza heading right for him. Something tugged at his foot.

  Junie called out, “Look out, Alastair!” Her face frozen with fear, her eyes were glued to the snake that had him by the ankle. She struggled with two policemen, her arms imprisoned. The officer snatched her gun.

  A snake inched up Alastair’s leg. It hissed against his calf. Its cold tongue flickered against his skin, sending goosebumps down his spine. He could feel the reptile squeeze gently, building pressure until his leg went numb. Police were now shooting, their bullets useless against the Willa. Vincenza screamed as she descended, her eyes dark pits of hell, her mouth pulled back in a grimace of hatred. She was heading directly for Alast
air.

  Rain slashed against them, creating great pools of black water. The bridge swayed dangerously.

  Morgan slipped on oil, bringing both she and Wes down in a tangle. Wes pulled her up, their clothes clinging to their slick bodies. He heard Vincenza’s ear-splitting howl and realized she was on a collision course for Alastair, who seemed frozen. He opened a car door, shoved Morgan in, then climbed onto the car’s top, leaping onto a Mack truck’s cab. Gasping for air, he dashed a hand in front of his wet eyes, brushing the away the driving rain.

  Standing with his feet planted on the slippery roof of the cab, he aimed the awkward handgun on the witch’s back, waiting for the perfect shot. Swallowing hard, he pressed the trigger with steady hands, not really sure what to expect. Small pulses reverberated up his arms, causing them to shake. He looked incredulously for bullets, seeing nothing but a disturbance in the air. The rain appeared to waver, but he saw no discharge. A delayed blast shook the listing bridge. The powerful burst of energy hit the witch squarely in the back. She fell forward, losing speed and careening into a red van. Stunned, her leg took the brunt of the impact, her knuckles holding the stick of her broom tightly. She growled, kicking out and lifting off again.

  “What kind of gun is this?” he shouted.

  “It’s sort of a cosmic super soaker. Hit the bitch again!” Morgan yelled. She was standing on the roof of the next car. She jumped across, slipping. Wes grabbed her under the arm so that they stood close together.

  “Get inside!” he screamed at her.

  Morgan was ready to argue but saw Vincenza had turned and was heading toward them at an astonishing speed.

  The witch’s face snarling, she gathered speed as she raced toward Wes. Wes pushed Morgan behind him. Engaging in his firing stance, he held his arms out, waiting for the perfect shot. Vincenza cackled with ugly glee, speed making her twisted smile stretch as if she were looking in a funhouse mirror. The rain plastered his shirt against his body. His feet began to slide on the wet surface of the vehicle.

  “Don’t look at her eyes,” Morgan advised him.