Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers
Chapter 7

I've been arrestedmore than I care to admit. Most of the time the charges are dropped due to myexcellent working relationship with the local authorities. However, I have a feelingthat breaking the jaw of Detective Dave Greer may not be met with the sameleniency.

It would be ajustified assault. Though normal as they come, Greer is head of theParanormal Incident Bureau. He knows how to act around Shifters; he knows whichtriggers to avoid at all costs. Eyeing a member of my pack like she's afive-course meal waiting to be devoured is a definite no-no. He replaceseverything she says utterly hilarious. He's fetched three cups of coffee andtwo bottles of water. He's even offered to give her a tour of the precinct.

That she's flirtingback doesn't help my blood pressure at all. Does she really have to keeptouching his hand? And what is with that smile? She has good teeth. So what? There'sno need to keep flashing them every five seconds.

"Az, we're herefor a reason." I jab her in the ribs with a finger. If my little reminderhappens to come out as a growl, well, that's just the way I talk.

She drops her fingersoff Greer's hand and swivels in her chair to glare at me. Big baby. I didn'thurt her ribs. "Of course, Ricky." She turns back to Greer. "Weneed to see Claire Eras."

I give Greer the restof the information on Claire. He normally busts my balls about interrogatingpeople after they've been arrested. All Princess has to do is bat hereyelashes to make Greer fall all over himself to set up a chat.

The woman sitting inthe interrogation room looks more like a zombie than a witch. Her skin ispractically translucent and she is just bones and flesh. It isn't until herbloodshot eyes spot Az that she shows any sign of life.

"You! You bitch!What did you do to me?" Claire jerks on the shackles tying her wrists tothe table. She tries to crawl on the table to get to Az. A fine mist of spittleaccompanies every word. The enchanted shackles glow a pale blue.

"I took awayyour access to magic," Princess says. She delicately lowers herself ontothe chair across from Claire and crosses her legs. She drums her fingers on thetable. "Don't get huffy with me. It was never yours to begin with. Youdon't own magic. That's not how it works. Whoever taught you that was adamn liar."

"My Mastercontrols magic," Claire sneers, plopping back in her seat.

"Well,duh." Az fiddles with the end of her braid. Her nonchalance only ratchetsup Claire's anger. "That's about all you can do with magic. You direct it.You can't possess it. It's not made for that."

We coulddebate magic philosophy all afternoon, but I have better things to do. I thinka root canal without anesthesia would be preferable to listening to Nutjob Oneand Nutjob Two argue about what you can and can't do with magic. Magic ismagic. As far as I'm concerned, most of what people say they know about magicis all bullshit anyway.

"My Master can-," Claire protests, rattling her shackles.

"Your master isa lying sack of shit." I plant my palms on the table and leaning forward.It works to intimidate Claire, but it comes at a cost. The stench of body odorand vomit waft off her in heavy waves. By taking short, shallow breaths I cankeep from puking all over the table.

"He isnot." Claire tilts her pointy chin up. She shakes more than a meth headcoming off a high. "He is… he is a genius."

Could she be any moreof a stupid, lovesick idiot? Spineless women like her drive me insane. Theyremind me of my mother. "He's a moron and so are you."

"He's the mostpowerful man I've ever met."

Az lets out a lowwhistle. "Geez. And I thought I led a sheltered life." Under thetable, her foot nudges mine. The tap is too deliberate, too firm, to be anaccident. "Tell me, if this master of yours is so powerful why does heneed you to steal for him?"

"He has betterthings to do than gather supplies."

"Come on, Az,why would he bother with such petty things when he has people like Claire to dohis dirty work for him?" I tap Az's foot back. Okay, Princess, if youthink you're up for it, we'll play this out.

Az shrugs, turns sothat it’s clear she’s ignoring Claire. "A list like that makes me wonderabout his magic knowledge. Not many spells use Reggata root. It tends to makethings go wonky. Betcha he didn't even have a plan for the supplies."

"Typical witch:throw a bunch of weeds in a pot and hope things turn out."

Az's eyes narrow, herlips thin into a terse line of indignation. "Typical man: jot down thefirst thought that pops in your head and expect the woman to figure it out foryou. This jerk probably has half a dozen Claires running around town doing hiserrands."

Claire flinches.She's weak, and she's not the only flunky. Good to know. I direct my questionat Az. "Are those ingredients for a love potion? A little herbal remedyfor a performance problem? Guy has that many women hanging around he's going toneed a little boost."

"Nah. Wouldn'tdo that at all,” Az says. She taps her chin. “Could be used to siphon magic offsomeone, but it's a roundabout way. There are easier ways to feed off witches.Could be that the guy's just in it for the flash. Lure them in with complicatedspells and suck them dry."

Claire slams herfists on the table. "Filth. You Shifters aren't fit to breathe the sameair as my Master. I can't wait until he wipes you off the face of the earth andhis creations roam in your place."

Jackpot. This isnormally where I walk off without saying a word. There's no need to rub in thefact that I just got everything I needed. Plus, being mysterious is just cool.

Princess, on theother hand, doesn't know the meaning of the term 'low-key'. She pops to herfeet like a deranged jack-in-the-box and grins wildly at a red-faced Claire."Thank you. You've been a tremendous help."

Claire's shouts canbe heard all the way down the hallway. Her curses are inventive. It's a goodthing she's in magic-canceling shackles and I have a void by my side. There arecertain parts of my anatomy that I am too fond of to lose to a vengeful witch.

"I want to seeClaire's apartment," Az announces before we reach my truck.

"No."

"Okay." Sheshrugs, yanks open the door. There are no words for how much I hate that shrug."I need to go shopping. Dad still hasn't dropped off my things. I doubt heever will. He probably thinks you’ve already killed me and buried my body inthe backyard."

"Greta can takeyou shopping." That's what women are for, right? They take each othershopping and gossip about whatever it is women gossip about.

"Greta's styleand mine are not necessarily the same." She glances down at her chest andscowls. "I don't have the breasts to pull off a bustier. Never saw theattraction to leather pants, either. Leather is restricting and hot."

And now I'm thinkingabout her breasts. Her just-about-a-handful, perky breasts. It's preferable tothinking about Greta's breasts, of course, but still. Not really a road I wantto travel down. She’s cute, I’ll admit that, but for all I know insanity is ascontagious as syphilis or gonorrhea. No thank you.

"Fine. We'll goto hoarding hell."

"Thankyou."

Have I mentioned thatI hate that damn smug smile as much as I hate her shrug? No? Well I do. Itgrates on every nerve ending in my body. It makes the wolf restless. Irritatesevery part of me.

The door to Claire'sthird-floor apartment is locked. Fortunately there's no one in the narrow, dimhallway so picking the lock won't be an issue. I reach for the slim set oftools I always keep in my back pocket, but it's missing. Az slips in front ofme and drops to her knees in front the door. Since it's a little too soon afterour last conversation, I take a large step backwards.

"Ooh,fancy," she mocks as she extracts a pick. "You should try this with apaperclip and a piece of Doublemint."

"We can't all beMacGyver." Not that I believe she can actually pick a lock with just apaperclip and gum. There's no need to argue about it though. It'll just give mea headache.

"Who?"

"MacGyver. Youknow, the guy who could get out of any jam with just some duct tape and adouble-A battery." Who doesn't know MacGyver?

"Could have usedhim when I was at the Monastery of Gregan. Done!" She pops to her feet andhands over my case. She nudges the door open with her foot. The combined odorsof magic and garbage waft out through the opening.

"Don't touchanything." It's a waste of breath, I know it is, but the words come outbefore I can stop them.

"M'kay."

She skips insidewithout bothering to turn on the lights. I follow and close the door. Claire'sneighbor is nosy and chatty. I'm not getting sucked into another conversationabout the best way to keep marigolds alive.

Like a magic-scentingbloodhound, she bypasses the mess in the living room and heads straight for thekitchen. She examines every inch of the cluttered countertop, muttering underher breath and clucking her tongue. "Ooh!"

"What?"What has she found that I missed? Granted, I don't have her magical expertise,but if she's found something this quickly it must have been apparent.

She holds up a blocky,grayish crystal. "Tevan crystal. Hard to replace. We need one." Thecrystal disappears into her pocket.

"We are notstealing from the crazy witch."

"Do you knowwhat Tevan crystals do?" She doesn't give me a chance to answer."They hold energy and act as a power source for low-level spells. You setone of these near the front door or near the perimeter and we won't have aproblem with your wards."

"There is noproblem with my wards."

"There will beif I move in. I drain energy all the time. I don't mean to do it. Your wardswon't last half a day, and you don't have a resident witch to replenish them. Ican direct energy back into the Tevan crystal so that your wards stay up."

I had considered theramifications of having a whackjob move into the house, but I had not fullyconsidered what having a void around would mean. If she drains my wards, whatother protection spells is she going to interrupt? There is an anti-violencespell around the safe house we use when tensions run a little high or we havenew Shifters. Do I need to make a list of the place she has to avoid?

"Wait. Back upthe boat. You drain energy all the time?"

"Yes. Magic ifit's available. Pure energy if there is no magic. Trace amounts."

"So you'll befeeding off my Shifters constantly."

"Yes." Shehas the grace to look chagrined. She should. This is something that should havebeen disclosed a long, long time ago. "But not a lot. Like I said,trace amounts. You won't even notice. Shifters are made of magic. It pumpsthrough your veins. You can replenish what I take with a few beats of yourheart. I’ll take from the strongest source in the vicinity."

"Anything else Ishould know about? Full disclosure time, Princess."

"You will needsomeone to create anti-memory spell talismans for your people to carry. I canwrite out instructions. Greta or Ike should be able to do it. No magic isnecessary. "

"Why?" Idon't think I want to know the answer. I can feel my blood pressure climbing.

"Dad likes toship me off, but he doesn't trust the people he ships me off to. No one I'vestayed with remembers me staying there before. He can't let it get out that hisonly child is a void. Not good for the reputation, you know."

Mind wiping isillegal in all fifty states. Not that it's easy to detect or prove. If you can'tremember being wiped, how do you even know that you have been wiped? I'm notsurprised the Mage of New Orleans resorts to such tactics. I don't put anythingpast members of the Council.

Pacing the length ofthe kitchen does little to dispel the anger roiling inside. My hands itch withthe need to flex my claws. I can feel the fur sprouting on my arms. Why is itthat being around Astraea Vardan negates decades of self-control?

"I don't likethis. I don't like threats against my pack. I don't like things I can'tcontrol. I don't like any of this, Astraea. I didn't ask for it. I sure as helldidn't go looking for it."

"Iunderstand." Az’s shoulders slump. She stuffs her hands in her pocket,bobs her head once. I've seen kicked puppies look less pathetic. "Is thealternative offer still open? I don't need much money, but a new identity wouldbe helpful. The Vardan name can be a bit of an albatross."

Growling at Princesswas a good tension-reliever, but now I feel like an ass. I hate being the badguy. Especially when I'm not the bad guy.

"I said you weregoing to be pack. You're going to be pack. You don't turn your back on a packmate, even if you're pretty sure she's going to sink her teeth into yourhindquarters." Besides, I don't think I can handle another week of Jose'smoping.

"Thankyou." She smiles, and this one doesn't feel like fingernails on achalkboard. It is warm and clean as sunshine.

God, now she'sturning me into a sap. Insanity has to be contagious.

"Finish up.Quick."

She snaps off asalute and turns back to the counter. After a little searching, and a lot ofwishing for a pair of latex gloves, I replace a mostly empty cardboard box. Sincethe floor is already covered with a layer or two of crap, I dump out the booksin the box.

"Pack upanything you think needs to come with us. We can examine this shit athome."

She tosses crystalsand herb packets and pieces of paper into the box as if they are nothing. Ittakes every ounce of control I have not to snap at her. To me, magic isvolatile as a hand grenade and should be treated with the same care. I can onlyhope she knows what she's doing.

Click.

"Oops."

Shit. Princess hasher hand on something near the microwave. The expression on her face clearlystates that the fecal matter has hit the fan. Lovely. Because my day wasn'tcomplicated enough.

"What did youdo?"

"It's possiblethat the apartment is booby trapped."

"Claire boobytrapped her own apartment?" Given the clutter, I don't know why anyonewould think that's a good idea. It's an excellent way to wind up a story on theten o'clock news.

"I doubt she didit. It's a mixture of magic, which I've drained, and explosive material, whichI can't do anything about. Witches like Claire tend to rely solely on magic.They're lazy like that."

Now that she mentionsit, I smell gasoline and phosphorous. I tuck the box under one arm and drive myshoulder into Az's middle. She folds like a tent over my shoulder.

Click. Crackle. Whoosh.

Heat licks up myspine as I race for the door. The door shatters with one kick. Two feet fromthe stairwell is a fire alarm. Az slams her fist into it as we run by. The wailof the siren replaces the crackle and pop of the fire.

I don't stop runninguntil we're back at the truck. Az and the box get dumped in the bed of thetruck. I do a quick visual inspection to make sure neither is crispy. The endsof Az's hair are a little singed but the box looks fine.

"What the fuckwas that?”

"Boobytrap."

"Yeah, I gotthat. Thanks." Before I can start the long and painful process of dragginganswers out of my intermittently-chatty void, my phone rings. It's Greer. Hekeeps the conversation short, but the bit of news he drops in my lap is enoughto completely ruin my day.

Claire Eras is dead.