Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers
Chapter 3

Princess is silentfor most of the trip to the Buffalo Bayou Coven headquarters. The trip to therenovated Victorian near Rice University isn't long, but it's enough peace andquiet to keep me calm. Enough to keep me from taping her mouth shut and tossingher in the back of the truck.

"Rick."

It takes anembarrassing amount of time to realize she's talking to me. It's the first timeshe's used my name - the one I answer to, at least - and she sounds almostreasonable. Normal.

"Yeah,Princess?"

"Can we keepthis a secret?"

Seeing as thiscould refer to anything her cracked brain could come up with, I'm not keen onjust blindly agreeing. "Keep what a secret?"

She waves a hand atherself. "Me."

"Unless you havean invisibility cloak stashed away somewhere, sweetheart, that's pretty damnunlikely."

"Are you alwaysthis dense? You should come with a foghorn."

Okay. Forget tossingher in the bed of the truck. I'm going to lock her in the toolbox. "You'regoing to have to be more specific. I'm not fluent in crazy."

"Coulda fooledme." She crosses her arms over her chest and turns her head to stare outthe passenger window. Thanks to several layers of Greta's makeup, Astraea nolonger looks like a human punching bag. I remember where every dark mark ishidden.

She falls silentagain. I would rejoice, but there's a tension in the truck that makes my skinitch. "Out with it."

"Voids are rare.Usually they're a karmic bitch slap to someone trying to mess with the rules ofmagic. People - witches - don't usually react kindly when faced with avoid." She scowls at her reflection. "Act as if all we do is suck upmagic and turn them into bitter hags. Like I want all that nasty magic boilinginside me. Oh, puh-lease. I don’t even like being able to see the future. Itmakes my eyeballs hurt."

"Won't they beable to sense you? Anders could."

"Matthias isn'ta witch," she says, as if that explains everything.

It explains exactlynothing. I don't have time to wrestle answers out of her, either. We're at thecoven headquarters, and Sally Caplinger is waiting for us on the front porch.Princess unbuckles her seatbelt with a quiet click. I want to grab her beforeshe can bolt out of the truck, but this is the calmest she's been since theprevious night. I don't want to add any magic to her already overloaded system.

"Keep your mouthshut in there. Stick to me like glue. Don't touch anything. In fact, keep yourhands in your pockets."

"I'm notthree."

"Coulda fooledme."

The glare she sendsmy way makes me fear becoming a human torch. Fortunately, the stench of burnthair doesn't fill the truck. Maybe sane-Princess has a little self-controlafter all.

Training Shifters isa lot like training dogs. You have to use a system of rewards and punishments.Training irritating voids can't be that much different. Praise good behavior,punish bad behavior, and offer up treats as incentives.

"If we make itthrough this without any random bouts of crazy, we'll stop for ice cream on theway home."

Her glareintensifies. The air in the truck is suddenly hot and stifling. Sweat beads upon my forehead but she looks cool as a freakin’ cucumber. "I'm. Not.Three."

I have to admit thatthe door slam is impressive, especially considering that her arms look likespaghetti. She stomps around to the front of the truck but doesn't go anycloser to the house. Smart girl. Sally could be considered a friend, but she'sa sly old biddy.

"Ricky,"Sally calls out, her high, clear voice at odds with her wizened appearance."I'm so glad you could come out on such short notice."

The soles of hersatin slippers don't touch the ground as she moves across the porch and ontothe walkway. Eyes the same steel-wool gray as her hair settle on the blondebeside me. "And you brought a friend."

Sally says 'friend'as if it means something more than what it should. The kind of meaning thatinvolves white dresses, monkey suits, and gold rings. If I don't correct her,will that prevent the awkward and uncomfortable groping later?

"And who areyou, dearie?" Sally stretches out bony, wrinkled fingers.

Astraea bobs just outof reach. She clutches a fistful of the back of my shirt, but doesn't touch me,either. The warmth of her cheek radiates across my shoulder. "Az,ma'am."

Sally stands completelystill. Not a single hair stirs on her head despite the brisk fall breeze. Afterseveral long moments, she tilts her head back to sniff the air. Her head snapsback down a second later. Her pupils are so dilated only a thin circle of graycan be seen.

"Daughter ofMage Vardan and his Witch-Consort," Sally murmurs. I half expect her tocurtsy or prostrate herself at Astraea's feet. Houston doesn't have its ownMage, so witches here owe their allegiance to the Mage of New Orleans.

Astraea tugs on moreof my shirt. "Like I said, I'm Az." When Sally continues to stare ather in awe and speculation, Astraea lifts her head and straightens hershoulders. She keeps her hands fisted in my shirt. "Undoubtedly you’veheard the rumors, exaggerated as they are. I am not here in any officialcapacity. I am visiting friends and indulging in a moment of respite."

"You are alwayswelcome to rest in the bosom of this coven."

I have to givePrincess credit for keeping that damn serene smile on her face. "Thankyou, ma'am. I will keep your generous offer in mind."

Yeah. I'm sure Sallywould consider it an honor to have the Mage's daughter under her roof. Right upuntil she realizes that said daughter is a devourer of magic and an entireasylum of crazy disguised as a twentysomething-year-old woman.

"You areassisting Ricky, dearie?"

"Yesma'am."

"Come, then. Wehave much to discuss." Imperious as a queen, Sally turns on her heel andfloats up to the house.

My temporary lackeyand I have no choice but to follow. Good. I need a little illumination on a fewpoints. "She knows who you are."

"Yes, she's metmy father. Can't wash blood clean, no matter how much of it you lose." Hersmile is a shade shy of sane. "Could have disguised it some, but therehasn't been time. No one else to blend with, either."

Oh-kay. That's clearas mud. Not the most pressing question, though, so it will have to wait."She knows who you are, but she doesn't know what you are?"

"Do you reallythink Daddy would announce that his baby girl isn't the perfect little witch heexpected?" She rolls her eyes up at me. "When I was six, it was clearthat I was the exact opposite of what he wanted. After that it was boardingschools, private institutions, and many rather interesting alternatives. Theyusually weren't too bad. Holidays at home were the worst."

"Minnesota."With Missy of the pink casts and threats of broken bones.

"Was thelatest." She nudges my ribs with her bony elbow. "Cheer up, Ricky.Don't want Sally to think we're quarreling. She might think a good butt pinchis the best way to cheer you up."

"Shut up."

My growl only makesher laugh. "That's better," she chirps before skipping off afterSally.

Eight of the Coven'switches, plus Sally, are gathered in the house's formal living room. Sallygestures toward two delicate-looking chairs. I gingerly settle down on one,praying the spindly legs aren't as fragile as they seem. Princess chooses tohover at my side.

"Nolicking," I murmur, when I catch the gleam in her eye.

She winks. Fuckingwinks. I'm going to kill her. That's all there is to it.

One of the witches, apretty brunette just the wrong side of jailbait, pushes a wooden cart into thecenter of the room. There are photographs and empty glass jars covering everyinch of the cart. Jailbait hands me a typed list.

"That iseverything that has been stolen from us," Sally says from her positionnear the fireplace. "As you can tell, it is a rather eclectic list ofherbs and charms."

It looks like somekid's made up shopping list to me. Everroot. Wort-of-Opian. Thistle. Bram'sDraught. I have never heard of most of the items on the list. I know how tomake rudimentary protection charms and reinforce basic wards, but that's aboutit. "What else has been stolen?"

"A coppercauldron," says one of the witches near Sally.

Copper? Now that'sodd. Most cauldrons are silver or steel. Steel is generic and cheap. The brewsthat come out of silver cauldrons are twice as potent for Shifters, vampires,and fey folk. Copper is a neutral metal, though, and is generally used forvolatile spells.

"A copper ladle,as well," Sally adds.

Princess snaps thelist out of my hand. Blood wells from a tiny paper cut on the web of skinbetween my thumb and forefinger. She swipes that from me, too. Crazy bitch.

With Sally and herminions watching, Princess circles the cart like a bloodhound. She ignores thephotographs and concentrates on the jars. After running a hand over every jar,she picks up a hefty apothecary jar and brings it to her mouth.

I bury my head in myhands. I can't watch. I've never been laughed at by a houseful of witches, butI suppose there's a first time for everything. There's a stretch of land nearwhere my momma used to live that would be perfect for hiding a body. The onlyroad to and from the area is an unpaved one-lane path. No one ventures outthere unless they're looking to hide something. They’ll never replace Ms. AstraeaVardan’s corpse.

"Ahem,"Princess coughs with all the subtlety of an elephant doing the can-can in a neonpink tutu.

I reluctantly raisemy head. She's still holding the jar near her lips and is tapping her footimpatiently. Is she asking for permission? If I refuse, what are the oddsshe'll actually obey?

"Knock yourselfout."

She flashes a beamingsmile before dragging her tongue along the inside of the jar. To complete thepicture of a total nutjob, she smacks her tongue against the roof of her mouth.Loudly. She somehow manages to set the jar back down without breaking it.

"You leftsomething off your list," she says, waving the sheet of paper in Sally'sface. "Aconitum. Planted in sacred soil on a full moon. Wateredwith a virgin's tears. Pruned with silver shears."

A startled gasp risesfrom the collective of witches. I have to admit that I'm pretty impressed, too.Astraea's tongue is better than any commercially available magic detector.

"I'm justkidding," she laughs, manic grin on her face. Her announcement elicitsnervous titters from the witchy audience. Astraea’s grin disappears as quicklyas it appeared. "Except for the part about the wolfsbane. Aconitumnapellus, to be exact. Grown in the Coven's backyard, if I'm reading thealkaloids correctly. You didn't have it on your list."

Because it's illegalto grow or sell wolfsbane within twenty miles of an established pack of Shifters.Sally has a hell of a lot of explaining to do. It takes balls to call me in fora case that involves stolen Shifter poison.

If that's the way shewants to treat a long, mutually beneficial business relationship, then that'sthe way we'll play. No more kid gloves. Never trust a witch. I should haveknown better. "From your tone on the phone, Sally, you believe the thiefis a member of your coven, right?"

More gasps. Lessstartled and more outraged this time. Good. When a coven sticks together, youdon't stand a shot in hell of getting through the Sisterhood. If they'refighting, you can turn them against each other without a bit of trouble. Thebonds of Sisterhood don't hold a candle to the hunger for power.

"When did thefirst theft occur?"

"Three weeksago. Thursday night. We had called a special meeting to discuss an importantissue," Jailbait says. "When I got home, the backdoor was open and myEverroot was missing."

"Who was missingfrom the meeting?" I ask.

No one speaks for amoment. I can be patient when it suits me. They'll break on their own. I'vedone all the prodding I need to do.

"Cathy."

"Mark was sick.He had the chickenpox."

"Eva."

"She was inDallas visiting her sister."

"Claire!"

Nine heads turn towarda pale woman with washed out red hair. Her brown eyes are bloodshot. Her thinlips curl back in a sneer. "I got better things to do than hang out withyou harpies on a Thursday night."

"You missed themeeting when my house was broken into, too," a pudgy blonde witch accuses.

"She was therewhen my cauldron was stolen, though."

Claire nods her headat one of the witches. "Thank you, Mary."

The witch who'dspoken up in Claire's defense fidgets. "But you left before we had tea. Iremember because you and I usually share a slice of carrot cake, but you were goneso I ate the whole thing."

"And promptlystuck your finger down your throat as soon as you got home," Clairescoffs. "Stupid cow."

I'd like nothing morethan to escort Astraea out of the house before the situation deteriorates intoa catfight. Fights between witches involve a fair bit more than hair pullingand scratching. Just my luck, though, Princess is inching closer to Claire.Who, now that I think about it, is a lot closer to me than she'd been a momentearlier.

"Tell me,"Astraea starts conversationally, as if we aren't seconds from a nuclearexplosion, "is your heart as black as your soul?"

To everyone'ssurprise, Claire throws her head back and laughs. She strokes a finger acrossAstraea's cheek. "You're precious."

"And you'redemented."

Claire leans forwardas if sharing a secret with Astraea. "Takes one to know one." Shejerks her head towards me. Disgust is written across every inch of her paleface. "Hanging out with that. Half-human. Half-animal. Weak.Worthless."

Astraea cups thecheek Claire touched. "C'mon, don't do this. Please. I just cleared outall the cotton candy."

Looks like we haveour thief. Judging by Sally's expression, she'll be more than happy to let metake the witch off her hands. The enhanced cuffs jangle when I retrieve themfrom my pocket. Not only are they immune to magic, but they tighten the moreyou try to wiggle out of them.

"Turn around andput your hands behind your back. We're going to take a little ride to yourhouse to retrieve everything you stole, and then we're going to take a tripdowntown."

Slick as a greasedpig, Claire slips out of my grasp. "You think you can stop me? You'renothing. Fodder for the cannons."

"Don't dothis," Astraea pleads, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "It'sgoing to be messy, and this is my new favorite shirt."

"Filth. Youaren't fit to lick my master's feet. When he is through, his army will-."

"Put a sock init." I snap a circlet around one wrist. She wrenches free and rakes herfingernails across my cheek. So much for Mr. Nice Guy. I hate bringing inbanged up suspects - the paperwork pile is twice as high - but sometimes itcan't be avoided.

"Maybe I'll justkill you now. Your carcass will make a nice rug for his floor." Sparks ofmagic dance across her fingertips. I take two steps backwards. There's notelling what kind of mojo this chick is working. My hand slides around to mygun. Sally'll be pissed over having to clean blood off the floor, but at leastI'll be alive for her to be pissed at.

"You couldn’thave gone with the easy way?" Astraea sighs.

Without warning, sheleaps onto Claire's back and slaps her palms onto the witch's cheeks."Playtime's over, freakshow." The quip loses some of its intensitywhen she starts cackling like a hyena. Her eyes go wide and glazed, but shekeeps her legs around Claire's waist and her hands on the older woman's face.

"Soon there willbe a new race of Shifters," Claire grits out between clenched teeth andbloodless lips. The madness in her eyes is more frightening than the deadlycertainty I've seen in Astraea's gaze.

No one rushes forwardto help Claire or Astraea. Short of tossing witches around like dolls, I can'tpush my way through the crowd to reach my ward. Claire bucks like a wildbronco. No matter how hard she tries, she can't dislodge Astraea. Painedhowling pours out of her open mouth. She twists, digs her fingers intoAstraea's bare ankles. Blood runs in rivulets down Claire's hand and onto thefloor.

Astraea's gripdoesn't loosen. Both women are panting and obviously weakening, but neither isready to give in. In desperation, Claire twists wildly, loses her footing.Astraea's a featherweight and Claire is skin and bones, but their combinedweight is enough to shatter a glass-topped coffee table.

The sound of thecrash is sickening. Broken glass scatters like diamonds across the floor. Thesilence that follows is enough to drive a sane person around the bend. It onlytakes a few well-placed shoves to clear the witches out of my way.

There is a heap ofhair - blonde and red - and pale, skinny limbs in the center of the table.Blood is smeared across the wooden frame. Neither woman seems to be breathing.Magic crackles over them like lightning. Someone groans.

The soft, breathlesssound kicks me out of my stunned stupor. I turn and focus on Sally. "Calla healer. Get someone to clean up this glass. We need clean water and towels.Bandages."

The pile of witch andvoid moves. Bloody hands clamp onto the sides of the table, driving straypieces of glass even further into thin skin. One shaky, dazed woman stands. Theother remains crumpled in a motionless heap.