Bad Witch: A Snarky Paranormal Detective Story (A Cat McKenzie Novel Book 2)

by Lauren Dawes

  “She says she is in danger and needs your help.”

  Blowing out a breath, I reined in the need to scream. Why was it that supes were always coming to me for help? I didn’t want to make friends that badly. Was it too much to ask to be left alone?

  “Help with what?”

  “There is a witch hunting her kin. My mistress has seen it happen. She fears she is next.”

  “Well, if I were her, I’d get the fuck out of town.”

  Grindylow shook his head. “She cannot. She must stay. It has been forbidden.”

  “Forbidden? By who? Whom? Whatever!” Gah, I hated these supes with their cryptic way of speaking. Although… “Are you a type of fae?” I blurted.

  Grindylow nodded slowly, smiling a little. Well, I could’ve done without that image in my head. Although his mouth was small, it was filled with hundreds of razor-sharp little teeth.

  Like a mini-Jaws.

  “I am one of the oldest fae in existence.”

  “Yet, you serve a mistress?”

  He shot me a look that made the water in my body quake. “Be of care, Cat McKenzie. I may serve another, but that is because she controls me with her power. I am still very old, and I can make your life hell.”

  “Well, no need to do that,” I said dryly. “I’m already living in it, thanks.”

  He hissed at me. “You need to take heed of my warning. More is coming. Death. Destruction. Deceit.”

  “I can’t wait. They’re three of my favorite ‘D’ words, and when they’re used all in the same sentence, you can bet I’m getting excited.”

  Grindylow’s eyes narrowed on me. “Are you always this way?”

  “What way?” I shot back. I was getting defensive, but that was because I was scared and maybe a little embarrassed that I was having a conversation with a miniature ancient Alien-kraken-like creature that crawled up out of the shower drain.

  Plus, I was naked.

  Sooo naked.

  “This mouthy.”

  I smiled. “Aww. You say the sweetest things.”

  I turned toward the door when Sawyer knocked and called out, “Cat, are you okay?”

  “Fine.” Returning my attention to Grindylow, I said quickly, “Who is your mistress?”

  Sawyer barked, “Cat! Who are you talking to?” He started jiggling the door handle, trying to break the lock.

  Grindylow narrowed his eyes on the door. “Rose Sanchez,” he hissed then escaped back down the drain, his tentacles slithering after him.

  “Cat? Answer me!” Sawyer called out in a growl, slamming his fist into the door.

  “No one.” Jesus, I felt ridiculous yelling through a bathroom door. Marching over to it, I yanked the door open and stumbled back a step when Sawyer’s dark eyes dropped to my naked body.

  Reaching out blindly for a towel, I wrapped it around my body. “I just had a visitor.”

  His brows rose, but there was tension that bracketed his mouth. “I didn’t see anyone come in.”

  “Well, I guess you wouldn’t since the bastard came up through the drain. Try to keep up, Sawyer.”

  He gave me one of his impatient looks, and I smiled. “So why don’t you tell me what was said and by whom.”

  “All right, so I was minding my own business, having a shower when some fae called Grindylow popped up out of the drain and told me his mistress sent him with a warning.”

  Sawyer blinked. “A Grindylow came to see you?”

  “He just called himself Grindylow, but yeah. Why? And don’t tell me they’re some kind of bad-ass fae that I should steer clear of because that ship has fucking sailed.”

  “Grindylows are notorious for drowning people, especially children.”

  “Wow, another filicidal supe. Just what I always wanted.”

  Either Sawyer was getting used to my amazing dry humor, or he was ignoring me because I got no reaction out of him. “The thing is, Grindylows don’t serve anyone but themselves and their queen.”

  “So maybe his mistress is the queen?” I hedged.

  “Maybe,” he muttered. “I’ve not heard a whisper about Grindylows in a long time. Not since before I became a cop and moved to America.”

  “Where were you before coming here?”

  “Wales.”

  Noted.

  “Anyway, Grindylows? Do you think this message has come from the queen?”

  “I doubt it. The last queen died over a decade ago, and another one hasn’t been born to replace it. Their hierarchy is a lot like those of bees. There’s one queen and thousands of workers, which would explain why he called himself Grindylow. There’s no individuality among them. They have a hive-mind mentality. The queen gives birth to one other female who takes over after her death, but the previous queen never did achieve that. As far as I know, the Grindylow is now a dying species.”

  “He gave me the name Rose Sanchez. Said it was his mis—”

  His phone started to ring, and my eyes darted to his pants pocket. I watched him as he answered the call, his replies curt and efficient. When he hung up, he said, “There’s been another body found.”

  A quarter of an hour later, we walked into the 21st Street subway station and made our way down the stairs. The place was crawling with Buxton PD, but they were all hanging back like they were afraid to go much further than the ticketing booths. I glanced around, seeing if there was a friendly face anywhere. All I found was a roomful of scorn and derisive looks. In other words, it was a Tuesday.

  “Jesus, you’d think they could send someone competent to come down here.” Smith’s retort echoed around the underground space, and I turned in the direction his voice had come from. The bastard stepped forward from his group of buddies, his cruel eyes shifting down my body.

  “Aww, Smith, you really shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.” I blew him a kiss.

  “Fuck you, McKenzie,” he roared, silencing any conversation that hadn’t thinned out at our arrival.

  “Is that all you got, Smith?” I laughed. “No wonder you’re still a fucking beat cop.”

  He lunged for me, and I readied myself, feeling Reaver shimmer into existence, warm against my palm. Smith skidded to a stop, his eyes sliding down to the blade as he clearly second-guessed his plan to attack me.

  “Look,” I reasoned. “I don’t know what your fucking problem is with me—”

  “My problem?” he hissed. A couple of the other cops moved closer, one even putting his arm over Smith’s shoulder and getting a grip on his chest. “My fucking problem is that you’d rather swan around with the fucking supes than work with your own kind.”

  “My own kind? Oh, you mean you and the other bunch of dicks in the department who wanted nothing to do with me after my partner was killed. Is that who you’re talking about?”

  Sawyer placed his hand on my shoulder—whether it was warning or support, I didn’t know.

  Smith glared at me, and I saw everything that was running through his head. His hate. His fear. His jealousy. “You’re a fucking traitor,” he muttered, shrugging out of the hold of his colleagues. “A monster playing with monsters.” He walked up the stairs and out of the subway.

  “Come on, pussy cat,” Sawyer said softly.

  Descending the stairs into the subway and ducking under the tape strung across the bottom, I let my gaze roam over the scene. I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary—it just looked like the subway to me.

  “The body was found during a routine inspection of the tracks this morning,” someone said behind me. I turned. It was a detective from the department. I didn’t know his name, but he looked familiar. “Nobody has touched it since then.”

  It. Like it was an object rather than a human being.

  “What else do you know?”

  “Nothing. I was just here babysitting the stiff until PIG got here.” He shuffled off with a shrug, ducking under the police tape at the base of the stairs and making his way above ground.

  “Come on.” Sawyer motioned for me to
ward the tracks. He climbed down the maintenance ladder, and I followed him, wobbling on the track ballasts as he led the way to the victim about halfway down the length of the platform.

  I studied the rocks beneath my feet, cursing the way they see-sawed and shifted under my weight. How in the hell did our witch get down here with a body, or was our victim lured here somehow? Given how busy the subway system was, the murder had to have occurred sometime between midnight and six o’clock when the trains stopped running. Otherwise, the body would’ve been discovered earlier than this morning.

  “Cat, you’ll want to take a look at this,” Sawyer called, and I hustled to catch up with him. Crouching down at his side, I took in the scene.

  “Same injuries as the other victims.”

  Sliding on some gloves, he got a little closer to the body. The woman was dressed in an expensive white suede coat and coral pantsuit, her hair and makeup untouched. Her jacket had been torn open along with her white blouse, the same markings as the other women carved into her body.

  Sliding his finger up under the edge of her jacket, Sawyer lifted the fabric a little more, revealing symbols that looked as if they’d been carved more deeply.

  “She’s changing her MO,” I said, putting my face closer to the wounds. Yup, definitely deeper. Gesturing to one particularly gruesome mark, I said, “See how extensive this one is? On Sharyn’s body, they were almost superficial wounds, but here they’ve gone down deeper. There’s certainly more blood.” I glanced around. “No raven this time either.”

  “Maybe she needs more blood for the spell to work?”

  “Or maybe we have a copycat on our hands.” God, I hoped I was wrong. I stood up and started looking around for a purse. Spotting something hidden in the shadows of the platform, I clambered over the rocks, being careful not to disturb too much of the scene.

  “Heads up,” Sawyer said, throwing me a spare set of nitrile gloves.

  Sliding them on, I picked up the coral leather satchel and popped open the clasp. Inside, I found her wallet, a packet of mints, a can of pepper spray, and a Sig Sauer P938 Scorpion.

  I showed the gun to Sawyer. “Clearly, she didn’t get a chance to use this.”

  Her wallet was nothing more than a cardholder—her black AMEX sitting in pride of place. Pulling out her ID, I read her name.

  “Rose Sanchez…” I paused. Sanchez. “She’s the woman Grindylow told me about.” I looked down at the body. “I guess we’re too late.”

  He nodded and stood, gesturing for the ID. “This is odd. It says she was born over seventy years ago.” He peered at Rose’s face, then back at the piece of plastic in his hand. “She doesn’t look a day over thirty.”

  He handed the ID back to me. I slid it into the wallet and closed the billfold. When I glanced up, I saw him staring into the mouth of the tunnel seventy yards away.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “What is it? Sawyer?”

  “I don’t know. Something’s coming.”

  “Something like a train?” I asked in a whisper. “Because that’s not cool.” The services were supposed to terminate at the stations on either side of the 21st Street.

  “I don’t know,” he repeated, but I sensed the tension in his body.

  I stepped a little closer—looked a little harder—but all I could see was the black maw that regularly swallowed trains and commuters.

  Then I felt it…

  … a faint wind whispered out of the darkness, gently tousling my hair. Beneath my feet, a weak vibration grew along with the strength of the wind. My hair started to lash at my cheeks, the hum hammered more violently through my body.

  I inhaled deeply and frowned. In the air was the scent of brine—brine and the unmistakable odor of stagnant water.

  “Sawyer?” I gripped his arm.

  “Run.” He turned me around and shoved me in the back toward the maintenance steps. “Run!”

  I clambered up the rungs as fast as I could. When I reached the top, I offered Sawyer my hand and hauled him up too. Behind him, the track ballasts as well as the tracks themselves began to visibly vibrate, the railroad spikes working their way out of the base plate. The low-level hum grew in frequency until it became an all-out roar. For half a second, I wondered what else the supernatural world was going to throw at me.

  Bracing myself, I peered into the darkness to find out what was going to come out of the shadows. A troll? Some kind of uber-fae I’d never heard of before? The Balrog? No, couldn’t be one of them. They were fictional.

  Yeah, just like you thought gremlins were, my brain helpfully reminded me.

  Sawyer grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked. “Run!”

  My feet got moving even though my curiosity demanded to know what was coming. I glanced over my shoulder to see a solid wall of water spewing out of the mouth of the tunnel, the sound of all that water intensifying until I thought my ears were going to bleed.

  “Rose’s body!” I yelled over the ear-splitting noise.

  “She’s already dead!” Sawyer gasped in reply. “And if we don’t move, we will be too.”

  Like a dam release, a violent deluge of water came toward us. Sawyer placed his hand on the base of my spine, urging me forward—toward the stairs that would lead us to the concourse and the ticketing booths. I took them two at a time, until I reached the top where I slammed into the concertina gate they used when the subway shut down in the wee hours of the morning.

  It was locked.

  I rattled the damn thing, tugging at it, praying it would budge.

  Sawyer shoved me out of the way. “God… dammit!”

  The water was rapidly climbing the stairs now, the spray sitting heavily in the air, soaking my face, hair, and clothes. “What is it?”

  “It’s chained. Padlocked. I can’t break either.” I followed his gaze to the steel links wrapped between the diamond-shaped crosspieces of the gate.

  “Why not? You’re a supe. You’re strong.”

  “I just can’t!” he snarled, and I blinked at him.

  Did he look gaunt?

  I shook my head.

  We were locked in here.

  Someone had locked us in.

  My mind raced. The combination of roaring water, soaking clothes, impending death, and irrational anger at being locked down in the subway to drown coalesced in one word. “Fuck!”

  “Maybe I can break it,” he muttered. “We have to try something.”

  I turned around and stared at the water. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe once the water reached us, it would just flow through the gate—unless there was so much water it would drown us first before continuing its journey up and out of the…

  What the hell was that?

  “Sawyer?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

  “What is it?” he snapped, still trying to break through the chain and padlock. The gate shuddered with each slam of his body against it, although he seemed to be growing weaker by the second.

  I blinked some water from my eyes. “You need to see this.”

  “See what?”

  “Just look.”

  He turned, and his arms fell limply at his side.

  “Do you see it, too?” I asked in a whisper.

  The wall of water that was creeping up the stairs—that’s right, literally creeping—had a face. It was our witch, her watery hair curling and falling in front of her piggish eyes. The liquified witch opened her mouth, the roar coming out of it loud enough to make me throw my hands over my ears. Then the water surged, coming at us like a fucking freight train.

  Sawyer grabbed my hand a second before the water hit.

  My whole body sang with pain, the force knocking some much-needed air from my lungs. I forced my eyes to stay open under the water as I looked at where Sawyer had his hand wrapped around the gate, keeping us in one place. He stared at me with desperate eyes, a desperation I never wanted to see again. If Sawyer was panicking, we were fucked, and I needed him to be confident we’d get o
ut of here.

  The water swirled around us like a stationary tempest, a flood only meant for us. Sawyer pulled me up with him, our faces finally breaking the surface.

  “The water has hit a barrier of some kind. It’s not flowing through the gate,” Sawyer gasped. “Once she figures out there’s an air pocket up here, she’ll shut it down.”

  I nodded. Kicking wildly, I tried to stay up, to keep my face in the air pocket, but something was dragging me down. I kicked again, trying to dislodge what was on my leg, and I looked down through the water to find Grindylow clinging to my ankle.

  It pointed frantically at something on the step at the far end of the stairs. Bobbing up for another breath, I said to Sawyer, “Reaver is here.”

  He nodded, and I disappeared back into the black water. Debris clung to my body as I pushed against the tide. Grindylow grabbed my hand, trying to pull me down, and I was stunned by how strong he was. Then I remembered what Sawyer had said––that these little fuckers liked to drown children. I sure hoped that wasn’t what was happening right now.

  Pushing through the water felt like pushing through cement. Every movement was slow—every attempt to push forward like breathing through sludge. Grindylow kept pulling me, though, dragging me closer and closer until finally, I reached Reaver. The sword hummed its approval at my touch, and I lifted it. Grindylow nodded at me and darted away, swimming so fast it was just a blur.

  Kicking my legs frantically, I broke the surface of the water. There was less than an inch of space, so I sucked in a gulp of air and ducked back under. Sawyer was back to struggling with the lock, but he backed away when I returned. I shoved Reaver through the gate and touched a link. There was a fizz and a pop of light, and what was left was a hole in the chain, the two sides falling away.

  Sawyer gestured to the lock, and we switched places. When I touched the blade to the padlock, I got the same light show. After taking another gulp of air, I touched Reaver to the chain until enough links had melted away for Sawyer to shove the gate back.

  Desperate to escape, we swam out like the water would follow us, but it fell to the ground in a wet heap on the other side. It was completely dry on the concourse level. I glanced back at the wall of water, frowning when our witch’s face appeared again. Her giant mouth opened in one final roar before disappearing, taking the flood with her. Water rushed down the stairs as it receded back into the tunnel.