Witch's Net

by Crystal-Rain Love

  Malaika frowned as she picked up the angry tone in her mother's voice and stayed silent until she heard the front door close. “Why is Mama so mean?”

  Grandma Mahdi chuckled and gave a dismissive wave of her wrinkled, brown hand. “Your mother is full of anger, child. She'll be that way until the day she dies if she doesn't learn to accept.”

  “To accept what?” Malaika crinkled her brow in confusion, and looked at her grandmother expectantly.

  Grandma Mahdi sighed as she cracked the last almond shell and dropped the nut into the bowl. “Everything, sweetheart, everything. She must learn that the world does not always work as we want it to, and that not everyone you love is going to love you. And not everything in this world makes sense.” Grandma Mahdi glanced in her direction and smiled. “Don't you worry about your mama, baby. She can't keep you from your callin'.”

  “What is my calling?” Malaika scrunched up her face, even more confused. Her grandma was always talking about her calling, or her special gifts she would receive when the time was right. That was usually when her mother picked her up and took her home, telling her not to listen to one word her grandmother spoke. But her mother wasn't here now to pick her up and take her away. “Tell me.”

  Grandma Mahdi placed a warm hand against her small cheek and shook her head. “Not yet, angel. If I tell you too much and you tell your mother, she'll never let me watch you again.” Sadness entered the older woman's brown eyes and was met with a matching frown.

  “I can keep a secret!” Malaika bobbed her head up and down enthusiastically, eager to chase away the sadness on her grandmother's face.

  “Very good, child. You'll need to.” Grandma Mahdi smacked her hands together to brush off the fragments of almond shells left on them, and twisted her frown into a smile. “Are you ready for your favorite treat?”

  Malaika looked at the bowl of nuts and remembered the tasty treat she'd been given during her last visit. “Yes!”

  “And you remember our rule?”

  “Don't tell Mama the recipe!”

  “Correct.” Grandma Mahdi's eyes lost their sparkle for a moment, that same sadness washing over her again, but it didn't last very long. She reached out, palm up, and Malaika placed her small hand into hers. Excitement burst through her as they placed their joined hands over the bowl of almonds. “Remember the recipe?”

  Malaika nodded, and was rewarded with a loving smile.

  “Then say it with me.”

  Together, she and Grandma Mahdi said the rhyming words, and the funny words that didn't sound English at all, and Grandma Mahdi released her hand as heat grew from her palm. Malaika watched as a ray of white light shot from Grandma Mahdi's palm, into the bowl. More funny words were spoken and Grandma Mahdi flicked her wrist. When she was done, she scooted the bowl toward her.

  Malaika licked her lips as she reached into the bowl and pulled out a few warm, cinnamon-covered almonds. “You make the best roasted almonds, Grandma Mahdi.”

  “And someday you can,” her grandmother said softly as she looked at her adoringly, “and so much more than that.”

  Malaika blinked the room into focus as the memory fled. She wasn't four years old, sitting in her grandmother's kitchen. She was twenty-five and sitting in the back room of a church, being interrogated.

  “What did you remember?” Seta stood before her. A knowing smile adorned her beautiful face.

  Malaika blinked again to clear her mind, but the memory was still there, so clear it could have happened yesterday. “My grandmother. She…”

  “Yes?”

  “She could roast almonds just by saying a few words and holding her hand over a bowl of them.”

  Seta frowned. “Well, I guess there are worse ways one could waste her power.”

  “I was four years old and they were my favorite snack,” Malaika rushed to defend her grandmother as the enormity of what had just happened hit her. “How did she do that? And what did you just do to me?” She rubbed her temples. They didn't feel warm, but her head still felt… violated.

  “Your grandmother was a witch, as are you. We have the ability to harness properties of the elements.”

  Malaika soaked that information in. She'd never understood why she could form the fire balls when she felt threatened. She'd just figured it was another part of her being psychic, another thing she had to hide. “And what about the second thing I asked you?”

  Seta shrugged. “I didn't do much to you. I attempted to pull a memory from you, but as a witch, you have a natural armor against such intrusions. All I could do was stir up a memory in your own mind.”

  “You can't see in my mind?” Relief flooded Malaika's chest. If she could, she would see that she'd been following Craig's presence to the murder scenes. She'd know what Craig had done, and then Jonah would know that her man had left her for some nasty skank that… Jonah. He'd just left her in here, not knowing what this woman could do to her. That slimy little—

  “Why are you concerned?” Seta's eyes narrowed as she sat on the edge of the table. “Do you have something to hide?”

  “No,” Malaika snapped quickly. “I'm just trying to understand all this. Maybe my grandmother was a witch. Now that I remember, she did seem to have some sort of magical ability. It's why my mother kept me from her. But if I'm a witch, and what you're saying is true, I should have come into my power at adolescence, correct?”

  Seta nodded.

  “Then why didn't I? I have visions. That's part of being psychic. I don't have any witchy powers.”

  “You hurled power balls at Jacob Porter, and you've managed to work a strong sleeping spell on your daughter. You have power. You just haven't been taught how to use it. ”

  Malaika glanced over to where Deja lay sleeping. “I didn't put a spell on my daughter. I just …”

  “You just what, dear?”

  Malaika struggled to find the right words to explain how she'd convinced her daughter to sleep through everything. “I just kind of sent a thought to her, I hoped she would sleep through everything until I got her to safety.”

  “An influence spell.”

  “But I never said any spell! I don't even know any spells.” Malaika shook her head in emphasis and flung an arm out, surprised to find she could move her arms again.

  “The witch's net has worn off, which brings us back to Jacob Porter. Why did you attack him?”

  “I did not—”

  Seta raised a hand, palm out, to cut her off. “You tried to fry him with power balls. Whether you meant to or not, you attacked him. Why? What made you think you had to go to that extreme?”

  Malaika took in a breath, thinking back to the moment she'd entered the church. She'd been scared, but not because Jonah had told her a vampire ran the church. She hadn't believed him. She'd sensed something… and seconds before Jacob Porter had aimed his gun on her, she'd felt a chill run the length of her spine. She'd instinctively known he was a danger to her. Of course, she'd sensed darkness in people before, but this… This was so much stronger. She looked up to see Seta smiling knowingly at her.

  “You sensed what he was, and that he was a danger to you.”

  Malaika shook her head, confused. “I sensed danger, yes, but I don't understand what you're referring to. What is he besides a man with a gun?”

  “A slayer.”

  Goosebumps prickled along Malaika's flesh as warning bells sounded in her mind. The word sent a shiver of fear through her body and sparked anger inside her chest. Her palms tingled, aching to form mounds of protective power. “He's a murderer.”

  “He's a slayer,” Seta clarified. “He can sense witches, vampires, demons, and every other kind of not-purely-human. And, yes, he kills them. It's in his genetic makeup to seek us and destroy us.”

  “Then why do you help him?”

  “Because unlike every other slayer, he has a conscience. If he didn't, you would have been dead before you ever got the chance to throw a single ball of power his way.”

&
nbsp; Malaika felt her eyes go wide in surprise. “But I was holding my daughter. He—”

  “Never do that again when you are faced with a slayer,” Seta snapped, and her eyes darkened with anger. “A slayer will kill the offspring of their prey without a second thought. You're damned lucky Jacob Porter was the first one you came across.”

  Malaika gasped as tears filled her eyes. She tried to speak, but her throat was clogged. Deja could have been shot because of her! She looked at her child, so small and defenseless, and a tremor wracked her body.

  “Now you realize why you must be trained. Whether you are fully willing to embrace it or not, you are a witch, and even if you don't want to accept it, there are others out there who will accept it. Unfortunately, their version of accepting it means they'll also accept their impulse to kill you.”

  “But why?” Tears fell down Malaika's face as she hitched in a shaky breath. “Even if I am a witch, I haven't done anything to deserve being hunted like an animal.”

  “But you could, and you could do it easily.” Seta fixed a hard stare on her. “Some of our kind abuse their power. They use it to hurt humankind instead of to help. They are the ones who blacken our name and bring hunters down upon us. Not just slayers. Those are born to hunt us. These evil beings do so much blatant evil, they cause regular humans to hunt us down. Like in the Salem Witch Trials.”

  Malaika cringed as an image of sinking under water flashed through her mind. For the first time in her life, she made the connection. “That has something to do with my fear of water, doesn't it?”

  Seta's eyes widened briefly before she nodded her dark head. “Quite a few modern day witches fear water. It's due to drowning during the trials in a previous life.”

  “Do you fear water, too?”

  “No.” Seta shook her head slowly, her dark eyes narrowed. “I have no phobias.”

  Malaika swallowed hard, suddenly uneasy. There was something threatening in the vampire-witch's tone. “So you weren't drowned during the trials?”

  “No.” Seta shrugged. “But not all witches were drowned in past lives. And not all witches lived in the places those sort of things happened. During this life I came from Spain, and I believe I may have in my past lives as well.”

  “So I was just lucky, I guess.”

  “Yes, you were lucky. You could have been burned alive or worse.” Seta stood straight and placed her hands on her hips, ignoring Malaika's sharp intake of air. “We've established that you can do influence spells and detect slayers. Both will serve you well, as will the visions, once we fine tune your ability.”

  “You can do that?”

  “We can do that. You must open your mind fully and embrace the entirety of what you are.” She narrowed her eyes. “If I am to be your teacher, there can be no secrets between us. I need to know everything, starting with these visions you've had of the were-hyenas.”

  Malaika wiped a sweaty palm against her jeans-clad leg, remembering the discussion Jonah had earlier with the vampires and his brother. “Were you guys serious about that?”

  Seta grinned slightly, just a barely visible upturn of her lips. “If witches and vampires exist, why can't shape-shifters?”

  Malaika's stomach rolled, and she bent forward, suddenly light-headed. If she was sensing Craig at the crime scenes and shape-shifters were there… What had Craig gotten himself into? And could whatever he was messing around with find her and Deja through him?”

  “What is it, Malaika?”

  She glanced up at the woman standing before her, the vampire-witch who oozed power. The woman who looked at her through accusing eyes and despite her power, could not hide her suspicion. She recalled how Seta had promised to drain her of information and report back to Jacob Porter, the slayer. She would allow this woman to teach her how to use her abilities, but she wouldn't trust her. She couldn't. And she couldn't trust the man who'd left her and her child alone with a vampire-witch either. The man who'd jumped out of the way to allow his brother a clear shot at her.

  With anger coursing through her veins, she met the vampire-witch's eyes. “Nothing. I'm just overwhelmed by all this stuff I'd always believed was fairytale nonsense.”

  Seta peered at her, seeming to study her over before shrugging her shoulders dismissively. “It helps to not pay attention to anything you may have seen in a movie or television show, or might have read in a book. You'll find that real paranormal beings are different in various ways.”

  “So I've realized. I always thought witches had green skin and warts.”

  “Only the ugly ones,” Seta quipped with a smile that didn't reach her suspicious eyes. “I'm concerned about your visions.”

  Malaika tried not to squirm in her seat. “Why is that?”

  “You haven't been trained, and until today, were not aware of what you are. You should only be having visions of matters pertaining to you or someone you know.” The vampire-witch crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side. “Who is killing these people?”

  Malaika tried to swallow but found her mouth had went bone dry. “I don't know. I can't see any faces.” And that was the truth, despite her sensing Craig's presence. And no matter what Craig's faults, he was not responsible for killing anyone. He'd been killed himself… No. According to Grandma Mahdi's spirit, Craig had survived his attack.

  Unease clawed at Malaika's gut. Why hadn't he come home? Shame could have kept him away. She didn't know what happened after the end of her vision. He might have stayed with the woman who lured him to that building. Maybe she belonged to some weird cult and had sucked him in. Maybe the murders were part of some sick ritual. It would explain his presence there, but Craig wouldn't be a part of anything that involved murder. He was a bastard. A liar, and a cheat, definitely. But a killer? No.

  But why would he have not visited Deja? He could leave her without a problem, but his own daughter? No. Despite his faults, Craig would not just abandon his child like that. There had to be something—or someone—preventing him from seeing her.

  “Are you sure there isn't anything you're not telling us about these visions?”

  Malaika looked into Seta's eyes and shook her head. Her newly-found witchy sense warned her that the woman before her was dangerous, the type who exacted justice on her own terms. Her witchy sense was also telling her Craig was directly tied in with all that had been happening, and until she knew just how, she was better off keeping it a secret. Or else Deja's daddy would be dead for sure, and a portion of his blood would be on her hands. She might want the jerk castrated, but not killed. “I don't know why I'm having the visions. I don't know any of the victims, and I can't see the killer.”

  Seta studied her silently for a long moment, then sighed. “I need to see what you're seeing.”

  “How can you do that? You said you can't extract another witch's memory.”

  “Seta gave her the same grin she imagined a cat would give a trapped mouse. “You can share it with me.”

  “H-how?”

  Seta closed her eyes briefly and snapped her fingers. Malaika's chair turned sideways and the chair Jonah had been sitting in earlier vanished, instantly reappearing in front of hers. Seta stepped over to the vacant chair and sat, facing Malaika. “Let me in.”

  The vampire-witch held out her right hand, palm up, and waited.

  Malaika took a deep breath and glanced behind her, where her daughter lay. She looked peaceful and unbothered, her small chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

  “Your daughter is fine, Malaika.”

  Yeah, until she finds out her daddy is… What? The thought niggled at her, grinding away at her exposed nerves. Something dark was going on with Craig. She knew it. And if she let this powerful witch inside her head, she'd know it too. She and her friends would kill Craig. They'd kill Deja's father. And she'd be the one who led them to him. How could she do that to her baby girl?

  “Do you wish to hide something from me?”

  “No!” Malaika responded too quic
kly as she whipped her head back around to face the witch in front of her, and Seta's eyes narrowed. “I … I'm just not sure I can do whatever it is you expect me to be able to do. This is all new to me.”

  Seta's frown wavered for a moment before she straightened in her seat and held her hand out firmer. “This is part of your training, and you need to be trained if you want to make sure you never kill an innocent by accident.”

  Malaika blinked, ran Seta's words back through her head. Could she possibly do such a thing? Seta nodded as if reading her mind and made a come here gesture with her hand before straightening it again.

  Malaika took a breath, cleared her mind the best she could and slowly, cautiously, placed her hand on Seta's, palm to palm. The sensation of warmth coming from Seta's hand surprised her, and she struggled to keep from running. She could feel the witch drawing something out of her, and the sense grew stronger as the fingertips of the witch's left hand were pressed against her temple.

  “With your free hand, touch your fingertips to my temple,” Seta instructed.

  Reluctantly, Malaika did as she was told. Heat enveloped her body, an electric currant pulsated between the points where she connected to Seta. As heat filtered into her body, images rolled through her mind. She could feel them being pulled away, and transferred into Seta's mind. Her information was being shared, much like the way information could be shared on a computer.

  Malaika held Seta's gaze, determined not to let the witch see her unease. The vampire-witch filtered through her memories, much like sifting through files, and located her visions. Malaika could no longer see Seta as images from her visions flashed through her mind, seemingly right before her eyes. The vampire-witch was draining her of every vision she'd ever had, even silly little pointless ones that made no sense. It was a complete invasion.

  Malaika tried to pull away, but couldn't move her body. She was frozen in place by the currant streaming through her body. But she recalled Seta's earlier statement. A witch could not invade another witch's mind. If she chose what to show and what to conceal …