Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers
Chapter 14

Mycrappy day doesn’t end with the couch and a movie like it does for ninetypercent of my pack. Fortunately, it doesn’t end with a fashion show up in thepretty pink palace, either. It ends around one in the morning after all thebills have been paid and my reports updated. I don’t like leaving paperworkundone. Clients, especially law enforcement agencies, are sticklers for redtape and redundant, checkbox-laden forms.

Myfinal round through the house involve shutting off the DVD player and thetelevision, checking the locks on all the windows and doors downstairs, andpeeking in every room to make sure the room’s owner is inside. Princess’s dooris wide open. The lights are off, and the bed is neatly made. Of course. Mymistake for thinking she’d be tucked up in bed like a good girl.

Intuitiontakes me to Jose’s door. It opens without a creak. Jose, still in cat form, issprawled out across the bed. He’ssnoring. Thank god the rooms are soundproofed. He snores louder than he purrs. Duringcamping trips, Greta forces him to wear a custom made apparatus that protectsthe eardrums of everyone within a ten-mile radius.

Azis stretched out against his back with Jose’s tail curled across her abdomen. Abooklight’s soft glow illuminates the pages of a book larger than her head. Idon’t know how she can stand to be so close to the snore machine.

“Hey,Princess.”

Shelooks up. “Hey, Ricky.”

“Getsome sleep.”

“Idon’t need much,” she says, eyes still on her book. “It’s the only perk ofbeing the devourer of magic.”

“Still.We don’t need a sleep-deprived nutjob on our hands. Get some sleep.” She won’tlisten. It’s a waste of breath, but I say it anyway. She nods inacknowledgement if not necessarily agreement. It’ll have to do.

Imanage to stay upright just long enough to strip off my jeans and shirt beforecollapsing face-first on the bed. With my pack secure under my roof, sleepcomes easily.

Itdoesn’t last long enough. I wake before the alarm goes off and manage to slapthe off button before the damn thing can ruin what could be a decent day. Thatit doesn’t break is a small tick in the “good day” box.

I’mnot alone in the room. Every muscle in my body tenses, ready for action, whilemy brain rushes to catch up with my instincts. There is no one on the bed. Thereis something large on the normally bare nightstand on the other side of thebed. The faint aroma of magnolias fills my lungs with every breath.

“Az,”I groan, rolling over onto my side.

Thelamp on that side of the room clicks on. Az is cross-legged on the squarenightstand. It’s a damn good thing I don’t buy rickety furniture or else herscrawny ass would be on the floor.

“Whatare you doing here?”

Shetosses the heavy book on the bed and stretches her arms up over her head. Whenshe speaks, her tone is frosty. “Josesleep licks.”

“Yeah,he does.” Now that I can see her properly, I note that her hair has thatdistinct just-groomed-by-a-cat look to it.

Hereyes narrow. “Someone could havewarned me.”

“Yeah,someone probably could have. Why are you in here, Az?”

Sheaverts her gaze. Color spreads across her cheeks. “You’re peaceful. You spendso much time protecting other people, that maybe I think you need someone towatch over you.” She chuckles softly, twists her fingers together. “I likeyou.”

“Youshouldn’t.”

Herhead snaps up. Irritation flashes across her face. “Why not?”

“I’ma Shifter.” Most normal people don’tlike Shifters. Witches, warlocks, Mages and other magic users downright hateus. We’re a little too close to wild animals for anyone’s peace of mind. Sheshouldn’t be comfortable around me.

“You’rea good person. You care for your pack. You help people.” Az rakes her fingersthrough her hair. “You took in someone you had every right to walk away from. Especiallysince, to you, I’m like a witch.”

“Oh,Princess, you are unlike any witch I’ve ever met.” I like her, too – hertenacity and her resilience and the way she genuinely cares for my people. Shedoesn’t cower when I growl, which may or may not be a good thing, and she has agood head for investigative work. I’m notsure either of us is ready for this sort of conversation, though.

Whiteteeth flash in the dark. “That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said tome.”

Well,that’s my good deed for the day. And now I’m awake. So much for kicking Az outand snoozing.

Shedoesn’t follow me to the bathroom. Small miracles. She’s prone on the bed whenI return – square in the middle of my warm spot. Her nose is, once again,buried in the book.

“Rick,I recognized three of the names on the list Uncle Evan gave us.”

Okay.She gets to keep the warm spot. For now. “Excellent. Which ones and what, inparticular, do you remember?”

“ShaneTerrigan. The family used to be wealthy. Now they’re broke. Their bloodline’sbeen diluted so many times that nostalgia is the only thing keeping theirpatriarch on the Council. I doubt Shane has the power necessary to use theRite.” She pauses to turn a page. “Peter Smith. Dull. His whole family’s dull. Dull,dull, dull, dullsville. Decent magical ability. Ultra-conservative. Sticklerfor the rules. Not on the suspect list for all those reasons.”

Shestops and doesn’t pick the conversation back up. I hurriedly tug on cleansweatpants and a t-shirt. So much for a decent morning. Evasion is never good. “Yousaid three names, Az.”

Twolong, patience-testing pages later, she finally deigns to answer. “EdwardHarrington. His father’s skeevy. He’s skeevy, too. His grandfather’s the Mageof London. The Harringtons are one of the oldest families. Not sure why Eddie’sslumming it in Houston.”

I’mnot going to react to the slight against my hometown. I have bigger,void-shaped fish to fry. “Why didn’t you want to mention him?”

“It’llmake you all growly.”

“Youdon’t get to make decisions like that, Az. You tell me everything. Every time.”

“Hadthings been different – had I not been, well, me – I would, at this moment, beAstraea Harrington.”

Wait.Say what now? Why does she do this to me when my blood-caffeine level is low? Ifthis is going to be an everyday occurrence, I’m swiping the Keurig from Tommy’sroom. “You wanna run that by me again, Az? This time with a little moredetail.”

“BeforeEddie and I could form words or even hold up our own heads, our fathersarranged our marriage. It’s done a lot in the older families.” She sets thebook aside and sits upright. She shrugs one shoulder then meets my eyes. “Iwasn’t always a disappointment to Dad. The math was right. I should have beenbrilliant. Better than brilliant. Radiant.”

Shesmiles and, for a moment, she is utterly radiant. The smile fades before I cancommit it to memory. “Offers from schools poured in,” she continues. “But whenit became clear that I was never going to be anything other than an aberration,he spread the rumor that I was emotionally fragile. Unstable. No one wants anunstable witch around. Not after Regina the Mad killed sixty people in the1890s. The offers dried up. Everyone understood why Dad wanted to keep hisdaughter out of the spotlight. Harrington was eager to rip up the marriagecontract.”

SayingI’m sorry doesn’t feel quite right, but the lost look on her face compels me tosay something. There’s no love lost between father and daughter, but somethingis bothering her. “Sounds like you got a stay of execution, Princess.”

Thesmile returns. “I did. Eddie’s a total perv.” She scrambles off the bed, feettangling in the sheets. She rights herself before she can hit the floor. “Can Irun with you and Greta this morning?”

Whatshe’s really asking is if I’ll carry her around like a damn monkey while I run with Greta. Not a chance in hell,sweetheart. My back still aches. “No. You’re jogging with Ike.”

“Bummer.”

Hardly.More like it’s my turn for a stay of execution. Or at least an hour of peace. Greta and I opt to the take the long route. Ineed to work out frustration that absolutely does not take the shape of EdwardHarrington, and she’s always up for a run. By the time we return, Ike’s groupshould be showered and breakfast should be on the table. It’s all about timing.

Fourmiles from the pack house, on our return trip home, my phone rings. I don’twant to answer it. With my luck, it’s Greer or Anders or a new client. Hell,it’s probably Az with another of her questions or bombshells.

Ican’t ignore the ringing phone while separated from my pack. Greta hangs backand jogs in place while I retrieve my phone. Greer. Just as I figured. If he’scalling for an update, it’s going to be a short conversation.

“What?”

“Attackat Dora’s Box. It’s messy.”

Dora’sBox is the unoriginally named Montrose club that caters to the PC. I’ve beenthere a dozen or so times. It’s a little loud for my tastes, and the crowd istoo young. It’s too early for it to be open for business, though. Also soundslike it’s not my case. “Sounds like a police matter.”

“Thereare seven dead. Three of them are centaurs. The Patriarch of the Herd won’tspeak to anyone but you.”

Doubletrouble for Greer because the Herd owns Dora’s Box, and centaurs don’t trustlaw enforcement. The only paranormal on Greer’s team is a half-imp forensictechnician. It’s not the first time I’ve been called in to mediate. At leastI’ll get paid for the consultation.

“I’llbe there in twenty minutes.” That’ll give me just enough time to shower, grabsomething for breakfast, and get to Montrose. The Patriarch of the Herd is apatient man under normal circumstances, but he tends to act like a Shifter whenhis Herd is threatened.

“Bringyour expert,” Greer instructs.

TakeAz to a club teeming with magic and energy? Hell no. I like my voids on thesane side of the spectrum. “No. She’s unavailable.” I hang up before Greer hasthe chance to make any further demands.

“Heis not wrong,” Greta pants as we race back to the house. On our normal runs, wetry to pace ourselves so that we get a workout but don’t freak out any humansthat happen to watch. If anyone were tosee us now, they would definitely freak out. The trees and houses we pass arejust a blur.

“Youwant me to take her in to a situation where she could absorb enough magic tomake her engineer of the crazy train? Do you want to make me the conductorwhile we’re at it?”

Shelaughs. Bitch. “No, but if there’s magic involved she’ll point you in the rightdirection or keep you away from nasty surprises.”

“Whileshe loses every one of her marbles.” And compromises mine. There’s somethingoff about the glint in Greta’s eyes. “You just don’t want to have to babysither.”

“Ikeand I have plans for the day. Plans that don’t involve his new sister.” Shewaggles her eyebrows for emphasis. “Take her. She’s never had purpose before. Ithink she really enjoys working with you. Besides, she needs to interact withpeople who aren’t trying to hurt her or keep her locked away.”

Oh,I’m sure Az enjoys the hell out of our field trips. That doesn’t mean it’s atwo-way street or that she should always get what she wants. It may be that inthis instance it is worth the headache to drag her along. Greer didn’t say thatmagic was involved in the attack, but how could an attack on Dora’s Box notinclude magic?

Ike’sgroup is just jogging up the driveway when Greta and I skid to a stop on thegrass. A quick visual inspection reassures me that they’re all fine. Tired andsweaty, but fine.

“Princess!”

Az’sshining head appears from around Jose’s back. “Here!”

“Youhave fifteen minutes to shower, dress, and meet me downstairs. We’re going tothe scene of a murder.”

Sheblinks, frowns for a moment. She slips out from behind Jose and skips up to me.“You take me to the nicest places, Ricky.”

“Fourteenminutes and counting. I’ll drag you dripping and in a towel if I have to.” Oh. Now that’s a visual. Such a pity,too. I finally get to take a shower before the rest of the pack, and I won’tget to enjoy the supply of hot water.

“Well,that sounds like it’ll be fun for one of us,” she laughs as she scurries intothe house.

Twelveminutes later, a blonde in a gray-and-black pattered dress, black cardigan, andlace-embellished Keds dashes into the kitchen. The hair pulled back in a braidis still damp, and she’s carrying one of the dozen purses she and Jose squealedover the previous morning. The only thing missing is a wide-brimmed hat and apair of satin gloves. Driving Miss Crazy, indeed.

“Isaid crime scene, Az, not a picnic.”

Sheholds out one foot and shakes it. “They’re black. If there’s blood, I’m good.” Hergaze narrows suspiciously. “Unless you’re going to make me lick it.”

I’mnot going to lie to her or sugarcoat things. “It’s a possibility.”

Shegrabs two bottles of water out of the fridge and dumps them in her purse. Anapple and a banana follow. “Can we stop for breakfast on the way?”

Itoss a chocolate-almond protein bar at her. It’s not the best flavor, but it’sthe least offensive. It’s also the least likely to make me gag when sheupchucks at the scene. “There’s your breakfast. Let’s go.”

I don’t explain the situation to Az on the wayto Dora’s Box. I don’t want to color her perception of the scene. She surprisesme by not asking a dozen questions. She just stares out the window and eats herprotein bar.

“Spill,Az.”

“Nothingto spill, Ricky.” Her eyes dart to mine briefly before sliding back to thepassing scenery. Oh yeah, that’s notguilty at all.

“Spillit.”

Shesighs as if she’s carrying the weight of the world. “I would like to go one daywithout exposing myself to dangerous amounts of magic or energy. This sucks.”

Asentiment I can completely understand. I’m not particularly keen on theprospect of having the crazy version of Az on my hands. Having her lose it inpublic is not an option. We are not exposing a weakness to Greer or anyone elseat the crime scene.

“Stickas close to me as you need to,” I instruct. “Before it gets to be too much, letme know and we’ll get the hell out of there. Don’t push it like you did withClaire.”

Shestiffens as if insulted. “I had no choice.”

“Yesyou did. Water under the bridge now. Let’s just try to avoid a repeat.”

“Yessir.”

I’dsay we were making progress, but the sarcasm in her tone wouldn’t fly with anyother Shifter. She’s lucky I’m feeling generous. “Thank you.”

Auniformed officer guides me into a parking spot between two patrol cars. Thebaby-faced rookie nearly trips over his own feet rushing to open Az’s door. Shesmiles at him, and I swear he nearly loses it in his pants. Damn kid. Damnvoid.

“Az.”I stop myself from snapping my fingers. She’s new to the pack, I remind myself.She doesn’t understand all the intricacies. “Let’s not keep Detective Greerwaiting.”

“Ofcourse not, Ricky.” She hooks her elbow around mine and tries to dazzle me withthat smile. Sorry, Princess, it’s not going to work.

Notcompletely, at least.

“Anti-violencewards,” she says, sniffing the air near the open front door. “Is that standardpractice for crime scenes?”

Itis. I tell her as much. They’ve saved my ass a time or two. Emotion oftenoverrides common sense, which is not a good thing when magic is involved.

Shefreezes just inside the club. Wide, blue eyes are fixed on the Patriarch of theHerd. “Centaurs?” Her nose wrinkles and her lips curl down in a scowl. “I hatecentaurs. They kick and bite. Don’t getme started on the smell. It’s like rotten eggs and… no. No.” She shakes herhead sharply. “No, that’s satyrs. Goat-men. Creepy. We’re good here.”

Well,that’s a load off my mind. I can only hope that the Patriarch of the Herddidn’t hear any of that. Judging by the pained smile on his face, I’m willingto bet that he caught at least some of her craziness. Joy. Just what thismorning needs.