Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers
Chapter 1

Phone calls from theHarris County District Attorney are rarely a good thing. The probability thatI'm going to like what Matt Anders has to say diminishes exponentially onFriday nights. When the conversation starts with the words "favor"and "friend", I know my night is destined for hell.

"Whatever youwant will have to wait until tomorrow, Matt."

I'm running tenminutes behind schedule, thanks to the moron who caused the three-car pileup onthe Katy Freeway. Kassiopa Taylor is a stickler about punctuality. If I'm twoseconds late for our date, I'll miss out on what I'm told is the sexiest use oftassels on the planet. Nothing Matt could promise could make up for missingKassie's tassels.

"The Mage of NewOrleans is in town, Rick,” Matt says.

Intriguing, but thisisn't New Orleans and I'm not a member of the Mages' Council. The Council tendsto bar its fancy doors when hairy creatures with sharp fangs and short temperscome skulking around. Not that I'm bitter. I have no use for a bunch ofpansy-ass magic users who hide behind incantations and wands when things getrough.

"Sorry, Matt.Call me in the morning."

"He has a jobfor you."

"Five times mynormal rate." My rate alone is exorbitant because, yes, I am just thatgood. I don't believe that notorious miser Matt'll go for it. It's a quick wayto get him off the phone so I can get going. The last man Kassiopa sent packingleapt off his ninth-story balcony.

"Deal."

Well, hell. Ms.Taylor is a walking cure for erectile dysfunction, but there are plenty of hotredheads in the city. At five times my normal rate, even a two-hour case willmake up for the lackluster month I've had. It'll get the mortgage company offmy ass, and I can see about replenishing the pack's anorexic slush fund.

"Your office.Twenty minutes."

I hang up on Matt andconsider calling Kassiopa. Nah. Text is the way to go. She is a dream to lookat, but her voice is worse than a drunken Warsah attempting a mating call.Guess I won't need those earplugs after all.

Matt paces thesidewalk outside the Criminal Justice Center like hellhounds are nipping at hisheels. The relief that washes over his face when he spots me sends apprehensiontrickling down my spine. I should have gone for eight times my rate orinstituted the “Oh Shit” retainer clause.

"Parkinggarage," he says, hand extended but not touching me. Smart man. Touchingis a no-no. "This meeting never happened."

Of course not.Because nothing ever goes wrong when there are clandestine meetings involved."What's going on?"

"The Mage needsa bodyguard for his daughter. He said that this was something only a Shiftercould handle.”

Okay, no. I stop inthe middle of the sidewalk. A uniformed cop gives me a dirty look. I glareright back. Keep moving, bud. Plenty of concrete to go around.

I don't do bodyguardwork. It's been rule numero uno since I got my PI license. I'd rather playbutler, carry a silver tea tray, and blister the fuck out of my hands than playbabysitter for a sniveling, little rich kid. I don't have the patience for it,and I'm far too pretty for prison.

"Ten thousand aday plus expenses," Matt says.

Damn. The Mage'slittle brat must be a hellion. "What's the catch?"

"No one can knowshe's here." Matt rakes a hand through his girly hair. "I didn't evenknow he had a daughter until this afternoon. He’s worked hard to keepher out of the spotlight."

Handcuffs, evenenchanted ones, are relatively cheap. So are ball gags. For two hundred bucks,I could keep the brat locked up in one of the pack's safe houses and catch upon my reality TV. I can't cave that easy, though. If you give Matt a bit ofslack, he'll tie a noose.

"I want to meether first."

Matt flashes thatoil-slick smile that got him elected three times in a row. "Sure. She's inthe parking garage."

“Is this arecommendation you expect a cut on?”

“No.” Matt shrugssuit-clad shoulders. “He already had your name. I’ve worked with him a time ortwo. He called once he was already in Houston and asked me to set up thismeeting. He requested you. He said he’d consider it a favor from both of us. Thisis the kind of man you want to oweyou a favor”

I’ve met the Mageonce, but I’ve never worked with him or for him. I am not sure if having areputation that stretches all the way to New Orleans is a good thing or a badthing. At least I won’t have to kick Matt’s ass for setting me up for ababysitting gig.

Despite the prestigeof his position as Mage of New Orleans, Leo Vardan isn't much over fifty. Hisbrat has to be a kid. Teenager at the oldest. Probably got caught with drugs orgot involved with something way over her brainless head and has to stay out ofsight until Daddy can smooth things over. She's likely spoiled as the milk inmy fridge. A fairy princess locked up in an ivory tower. Rapunzel in the middleof teenage rebellion. Wonderful.

Giddy laughter echoesthrough the dark parking garage. The madness threaded through the tone raisesmy hackles. I instinctively move closer to Matt to protect the weaker animal."Someone get loose or something?"

“We’re almostthere." Matt's nervous now. Rat bastard. He knows more than he’s said. Oncethis is over, I'll point out how painful it is to keep things from me.

"Astraea!"Leo Vardan's voice cracks like thunder. "Remain still."

More laughter. Thelights around us flicker. Two bulbs burst. I don't have a chance to react tothe pounding of feet on the concrete before a warm, squishy freight train slamsinto me. I hit the ground flat on my back. There's a cackling anchor on mychest and absolutely no air in my lungs. Spots dance in front of my eyes. It'stoo early for fireworks.

Small, hot hands slapmy cheeks. At the first scrape of fingernails, I snatch up two thin wrists inone hand. The bones are fragile and creak with the slightest squeeze. Thecackling stops.

"Sorry."

The voice is femininebut too old for a teenager. Older than twenty. Younger than thirty. Slightsouthern drawl under the laughter. She doesn't sound sorry, either. Somethingjust out of touch with reality lingers in her tone. Hell. Just what Ineeded. Why do I always get the batshit ones?

The anchor on mychest shifts. Long, honey blonde hair obscures the woman's face. Great. A crazyCousin Itt. As if I wasn't already screwed beyond belief.

"World's onfire. A witch’s funeral pyre. Burning and screaming all around. Fall like ashesto the ground."

She sings it like anursery rhyme. I'm mostly tone deaf so her voice isn't enough to send merunning for the hills. It would be a pleasant, if fucking weird, song if notfor the fact that I can smell burning hair. Matt stomps on the ends of my dark hair,shoots me an apologetic smile. As soon as I've dealt with the pyro, I'm goingto set his pretty-boy hair on fire and see who is smiling then.

"Astraea,apologize to Aldric," Leo Vardan, the Mage of New Orleans, scolds. Scolds.His little bitch of a princess set me on fire, and he's scolding her like shejust stepped on my foot or forgot to say please.

The woman on my chestgoes still. Too still. If not for the pulse thundering under my fingers, itwould be easy to mistake her for a zombie. She bobs her head once. "Sorry,Daddy. I wanted to play with the puppy."

Yeah. Like I said: thebatshit ones. I draw them in like a magnet. If Princess tries that torch thingagain, she's going to get an up-close view of this puppy's teeth.

"Here.Now." The bastard even snaps his fingers. Given how her father treats her,no wonder she has a thing for puppies.

Princess can't move,of course. Not while I have both her scrawny wrists in my hand. She tries topull free, a half-hearted effort at best. I'm ready to turn her loose so she'llstop wriggling like a beached fish on top of me when the hair falls away fromher face.

While it would beromantic and shit to say that her beauty is what strikes me dumb, it doesn’t.The purple-and-black bruises on her cheekbone sure as shit do, though. So doesthe matching split lip. And the finger marks on her pencil-thin neck.

Fate's a ficklebitch, you see. I was all set to tell Vardan where he could shove his money andhis babysitting gig. Now I can't. I have a sinking feeling that Vardan'sfingers will match the marks on the girl’s throat. There's no way in hell I cansend her back with that monster. Protecting weaker creatures is ingrained in mybones. It’s a character flaw I see no point in correcting.

Vardan digs his fingersinto her shoulder. She screeches as if he’s ramming a hot poker through herside. The sound makes me long for those earplugs or a long conversation withKassie.

"Don't touchme," she begs, flinching away from him and closer to me. "Oh please,please, don't touch me. It’s too much."

Vardan doesn't backdown. His daughter is pleading with him, honest-to-god tears in her eyes, andthe bastard keeps grabbing for her. That's it. I can’t ignore my instincts anylonger. Vardan retreats when I surge to my feet. I keep my hands on thedaughter’s wrists - she's got sharp little nails - and move her out of Vardan’sgrasp.

"Fifty thousandbuys you five days of peace and quiet."

Vardan's smile makesMatt's look downright angelic. "Three hundred thousand, and I'll forgetshe ever existed."

"Daddy?"Princess - Astraea - shuffles closer. I don't want to have to hurt her, but Idon't want her near her father. If he lays one hand on her, there's noguarantee I'll be able to control myself. I spent too many years watching loserboyfriend after loser boyfriend use my momma as a punching bag. I can’t stomachthat sort of violence.

"The grownupsare talking, Astraea," he snaps.

She stiffens. Throwsher head back and straightens her shoulders. Yeah, she still looks like thelosing half of a boxing match but regal, too. Not hard to imagine she's theMage's daughter.

"Your empirewill fall," she proclaims. There's no trace of insanity in herdeclaration. No emotion at all in her voice, just an icy certainty."Crumble around you like a castle made of sand, and I'll be the wave thatsends it crashing to the ground."

"Astraea."Vardan tries to interrupt. She holds up a hand and, by some miracle, he fallssilent.

"Your greedinesshas already cost you your heir. The next payment required will be yoursoul." Astraea's lips curl back in a snarl that would make any Shifterproud. "Black and oily and dark as midnight. I'll slurp it with astraw."

Okay. That's creepy.Apparently Vardan believes so, too, because he takes a small step backward. Threeburly men dressed in dark suits emerge from the shadows to close ranks aroundhim.

"I can begenerous. Four hundred thousand. I may or may not have someone deliver a box ofher belongings." Vardan doesn't look at his child. "Kill her if you'dlike. Her mother already believes she's dead."

"Four hundredthousand," I agree. What I don't mention is that if I'm forced to say inthe garage for one more second, it won't be the pretty princess I kill.

Vardan snaps hisfingers. Goon number one stalks forward and shoves a briefcase at me. I knowI'm going to regret it, but I release Astraea’s wrists. She doesn't attack me.It's progress, I suppose.

The briefcase is fullof cash. I can't count it all right then and there, but it looks right. I'm notgoing to quibble over a couple thousand dollars.

Not another word isspoken until Vardan's scent has dissipated. Briefcase in hand, I spin around toglare at Matt. The bloodsucker has a hell of a lot of explaining to do. He'sthe reason I don't trust vampires. Or lawyers. I should have known better thanto answer his call.

Astraea, the newestmember of my pack of strays, is plopped on the floor like a kid ready to play jacks.Matt crouches next to her, eyeing her as if she's an exotic animal in a zoo. Heghosts a hand along her hair. She flinches away from the touch but, thank God,doesn't start screeching again.

"She's avoid."

I'm not hip to allthe magic lingo. Most witches I've met are whiny barnacles. It took bribing awarlock into performing a repellent spell to lose the last one I made themistake of taking home. That was the first and only time I let myself getfooled by magical breast enhancement. Once the illusion fades, so do a lot ofother things. I’ll work with them for the money, but I don’t associate withthem for fun.

"What's avoid?"

Astraea fixesbloodshot, but lucid, blue eyes on me. Her smile is more mischief than malice.I hope that means she won't set my hair on fire again. "Sometimes, when amommy and a daddy love each other very much, they…"

My growl shuts her upnicely.

Her smile turns toacid. "Sometimes when the most powerful Mage in the South tries to make ababy with the most powerful witch in the area, things go kablooey."

"Kablooey?"Not the most technical term I've ever heard.

She waves a hand ather chest. "Kablooey."

"From whatlittle I’ve read, I would say that magic doesn't work on her or around her. Shelikely has very little ability of her own," Matt clarifies. "I'venever seen a void before. I thought they were a myth. In theory, she should beable to absorb magic through her skin and redirect the energy."

"She's sittingright here," Astraea snidely reminds the vampire. Good girl.

Matt brushes the tipof his index finger across her bruised cheek. There's a moment of blessedsilence, and then she screams. And screams. Just as I'm about to knock her outbefore the cops come running and make my night even more of a crapfest, she launchesherself in my arms and wraps herself around me like a chimpanzee.

"Sleep withdevils, Matthias DuPont Anders, and you'll wake with hellfire in yourveins." The manic laughter is back. "Crosses to bear, and oh, thebears you’ll cross."

"Why is she doingthis?" I ask, not expecting an answer. Matt's not real good aboutanswering direct questions. He says it's the lawyer in him. It's more likelythe asshole in him.

"I ate a seeronce. Gave me hallucinations for a week."

"She's not avampire." The undead make me tingle – and not in a pleasant way. Thisgirl's only giving me a headache. And a backache.

"No, but thesame principle applies. She absorbs magic. Witches spend decades training,learning how to handle the magic. She may be able to process the energy, but ifher system isn't designed to process the magic."

"Kablooey. Witha side of clairvoyance." Of course. Just my luck. Astraea's heels are digginginto the small of my back. It's almost as bad as the elbows digging into myshoulders. She's a bony little hellion. "Come on, Princess. Let's get thehell out of here."

Every attempt to puther on her feet only results in her digging those heels even deeper into myspine and squeezing my windpipe. All right. She's not heavy, and I did skipweightlifting this morning. Matt offers to take the briefcase. Yeah, right. Itrust vampires as much as I trust lawyers. Lucky Matt gets the wrong end ofboth sticks.

"Hank ate amouse again," Astraea informs me solemnly. She pulls back just enoughpress her nose against mine. My eyes cross for a moment before she shifts torest her ear over my heart. "He left the cheese in your bed. Traps tossedall willy-nilly, you never know what you're going to catch."

Hank, a bobcat-were,is one of only two feline Shifters in my pack. There are too few Shifters inthe area to warrant separate packs. After a month solid of challenges, I unitedthe dozen Shifters residing in the Houston-metro area.

I'm not worried abouttaking a non-Shifter into a house filled with Shifters. Members of my pack arewell-trained. Discipline is the first lesson learned. Besides, I'll make itclear that messing with her is the same as messing with me. No one dares messwith me.

"Jose wants to makelitters of kittens, but he likes bows in his tail. Big, pink bows with lots oflace and polka-dots. Confused kitties are silly."

No. They're pains inthe ass. Just like chatty voids. "Think you can shut up for a while,Princess?"

Her smile widens.Pink lips curl into something soft and seductive. It's almost enough to maskthe bead of blood that wells from the cut on her bottom lip. Her eyelids droopto half-mast. "You know, if you want me to stop talking you couldalways…." She shakes her head swiftly. The siren smile is gone andmischief once again dances in her eyes. "Oops. Sorry. Not supposed to knowthat yet. It's a secret. Hate clairvoyants. They make everything swirly."

We make it to mytruck without incident. I have no problem calling it a miracle. The suitcase ofcash fits nicely beneath her feet once she's buckled into the passenger seat.As long as she doesn't set the damn thing on fire, we're golden.

"Aldric?" she asks, emphasizing thefirst half of a name I hate.

"Yeah?"

"Daddy didn'tleave my suitcase."

Crappity-crap-crap.Our female Shifter is twice Astraea's size and proprietary as hell about herclothes. I don't mind a little light shopping, but I don't relish having to doso with a whacko at my side. There's no telling what she'll do if left alone.With a sigh, I pull into the nearest Wal-Mart parking lot.

"The big bluebox houses many frustrations,” she murmurs, face pressed against the window.

Truer words havenever been spoken.