Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers
Chapter 35

Thedrive from Homewood Park to the pack house is made with one hand on the wheeland the other on Az’s pulse. Daniel practically leaps out of his seat when Ithrust my phone at him, but he follows instructions well. Greta picks up afterthe second ring. I can’t go into details over the phone, not if I want to getus home in one piece, but I give her enough to know that the shit has hit thefan.

Greta,Hank, and Jose meet me on the porch. Inudge a shell-shocked Daniel toward Hank. “Check him out, Hank. Contact PerniceSutherland at the ‘dome and let him know we have the kid. We aren’t a delivery service, and this isn’t adaycare. I want them to pick the kid up now.”

Hankwrenches his eyes away from the blonde bundle in my arms. He nods and gently guidesDaniel into the house. Greta and Jose stand between me and the doorway. Not asmart place to be. Not right now.

“Move.”

Neithercomplies.

“Fuckingmove right the fuck now.”

Josereaches for the dangling end of Az’s braid. It’s only his cat reflexes thatkeep Jose from winding up with a handful of my canines. Greta steps forward toprotect her pack mate. A growl and flash of fang freeze her in her tracks.

“Getout of my way. Now.”

It’sthe last warning either of them will get. Failure to comply will be seen as achallenge and dealt with swiftly. Very swiftly.

They’resmart enough to back off. Greta moves to the living room to contain theunusually silent pack. Jose follows me like a puppy up the stairs. In thehallway, he darts in front of me to push open Az’s bedroom door. Points forbeing helpful but no.

Istep into my bedroom instead. I am not leaving Az’s side until she’s awake, andthere’s no way in hell I’m spending more than a minute in the Pepto Palace. Idon’t even let go long enough to put her on the bed. The fear that if I stoptouching her she’ll fade away is irrational. I know this. That doesn’t make itany less powerful.

Thedirt, blood, and grass coating both of us stain my sheets Just one more reasonwhy I am going to kill her, absolutely kill her, when she wakes up. She’ll berunning with Greta and me until her legs fall off. No more leisurely jogs withher pseudo-brother. No more piggy back rides.

Joseperches on the edge of the bed beside me but wisely keeps his hands to himself.Tears fill his eyes. His entire body trembles. “Is she…?”

“She’salive. Pulse is slow. Breathing is steady.”

Gradually,the heat fades from her skin. Sparks of magic stop dancing around her head. Theeye movements stop, but her pulse remains the same.

Shedoesn’t wake up.

Composinga list of punishments takes my mind off the panic clawing at my chest. She’sgoing to be responsible for Uriah and Quinn, which means she’ll attend everyteacher conference, every PTA meeting, and every extracurricular activity. She’llbe in charge of checking homework and making sure they actually go to class. I’malso going to put her in charge of the household chores schedule. Let her dealwith the whiners who don’t want to clean toilets or claim that mowing the grassbothers their allergies. I think I’ll also make her organize the three cabinetsfull of client files.

Princesshad better enjoy her naptime, because as soon as those baby blues open I’mputting her ass to work.

Idon’t realize Greta is in the room until she has her hand on Az’s shoulder. Iwrap my fingers around her wrist and squeeze. Her bones creak.

“Don’ttouch her.” Nobody touches my void.

Gretawinces, tries to retract her hand. “She needs a bath, Rick. Both of you do.”

“She’sfine.”

“She’sa mess. Let me clean her up and then have Hank look her over. If she stays out fortoo long, he’ll need to start an IV to make sure she doesn’t dehydrate.”

“No.”

Gretayanks her wrist free. Her lips curl back in a sneer. “You’re being an emotionalidiot.”

Mygrowl bounces off the walls. I’m sure it reaches all those prying ears downstairs.Jose whimpers and presses himself against the headboard. Greta recoils. Herchin falls to her chest, and she immediately drops to her knees. Okay, so Iwon’t rip out her disrespectful tongue. Yet.

“Alpha,”she starts, tone soft and low, “no one here would ever hurt Az. We won’t knowthe extent of her injuries unless we clean her off. Please, allow us help her.”

Ah,logic. Silly, deluded Greta assumes that it will work on me. My own brand oflogic trumps hers. Az is in my arms and alive. If Az is not in my arms, is shestill alive? Not a question I’m keen on getting answered.

“Please?”Jose peels himself off the headboard long enough to give me his bestkicked-kitty look. “It will only take a few minutes.”

“No.The next person who asks me will be wearing their fangs as a necklace.”

Gretascowls but keeps her head bowed and shoulders slumped as she slinks out of theroom. Jose stares wistfully at Az for a moment before following Greta. Finally,a little peace and quiet.

Thesilence stretches out.

Icount Az’s breaths. Calculate her pulse rate. Count the freckles across hercheeks. None of it keeps the terror at bay.

Maybeit’s a little too quiet.

“Iwon’t forgive you for this,” I tell the unconscious woman in my lap. “Not for agood, long while. There’s going to be a lot of heavy-duty groveling in yourfuture, Princess.”

Noresponse.

Idetail my punishment plans. In addition to everything on my earlier list, I’mgoing to make her my permanent liaison with the local law enforcementdepartments. She’ll be the one Greer bitches to when I solve his cases first. Shecan handle the others at the ‘dome, too. The Patriarch likes her, and I havefaith in her ability to wrap anyone around her little finger.

“I’m going to buy a chalkboard just so you canwrite ‘I will not do stupid shit’ a few thousand times.” I lean back againstthe headboard and close my burning, gritty eyes. It feels like I’ve been awakefor years. “You know, you really screwed us over by doing this. So Olivet isn’tin the picture. What about the puppet master? You think he’s just going to goaway because his little marionette had his strings cut? You can’t quit athalftime, Princess.”

Iexpect movement. I expect her to punch me in the shoulder and berate me forcalling her a quitter. Hell, I’ll settle for having her set my hair on fireagain.

Thereisn’t even a change in her respiration rate. Her pulse doesn’t skip or, thankGod, falter. Just the same nothingness.

“Iam exceedingly pissed at you.” I pull off the elastic holding the end of herbraid and rake my fingers through her warm, smooth hair. I have to comb out theoccasional twig or leaf. “It’s this kind of reckless, thoughtless behavior thatmakes me question your sanity and mine. It also makes me wonder about the oddsof a relationship actually working. You can’t do this to me again, and I can’tput your safety over that of the rest of the pack.”

I’msure she’d argue that she drained Olivet for the good of the pack. Or to saveme. And it worked. She got us out of a damn sticky situation, but that doesn’tnegate the fact that she didn’t trust me enough to come up with a plan. Shedidn’t stop to let me know what was going on in her fool head. This isn’t asolo operation. The sooner she learns that, the less likely it is that she’llgive me an ulcer.

Mylips replace her forehead. Her skin no longer scorches me. She’s soft and pliableand fits against me perfectly. My legs have gone completely numb. My backstarts to complain about the position, but I’m not moving.

I’mnot moving another muscle until her eyes open.

Thirtyminutes later, my bladder reminds me about the two cups of coffee I drankbefore our little jaunt to Homewood Park. As if jumping on the bandwagon, mystomach rumbles to let me know that it’s been hours since breakfast. My back chimesin again just for the hell of it.

“Thereare easier ways to get me to cuddle you, Princess. No need for theatrics. Nexttime just ask.”

Ishift the arm supporting her head just enough to relieve some of the strain onmy shoulder. Her head falls back exposing the long, pale line of her throat. Smallfinger-shaped fresh bruises dot the base. It’s a shame Olivet’s dead. Iwouldn’t mind putting my fist through his smarmy face a time or two.

Withoutwarning, the metallic clang of a large gong reverberates through my bedroom andthe rest of the house. The glass rattles in the windows. The entire houseshutters.

Somethingpretty fucking powerful just slammed into our wards.

Iwait for another mini-earthquake or the sound of a banshee’s howl. Either wouldmean that the wards were breached.

Nothingelse happens.

Okay,so something only sorta powerful slammed into our wards. Slammed into but notshattered. Almost worth setting Az aside and investigating.

Greta,every trace of meekness wiped from her face, appears in my doorway. Her handsare wrapped around her Desert Eagle Mark XIX .50 AE. Behind her, Ike holds up alarge jug of holy water and a pair of iron scissors.

Ironscissors? Just what the hell is outside of my house?

Ihave to do it. I can’t put Az over the rest of the pack. It hurts, actuallyphysically aches, to carefully place her on the mattress. My arms are cold andthere’s an emptiness I don’t want to contemplate.

Idrag myself away from the bed and to the large street-facing window. Greta and Ike flank me. Greta keeps her gunat her side, but Ike brandishes the scissors like they’re capable of stoppingan apocalypse.

Atall, voluptuous middle-aged woman hovers in mid-air near the edge of thewards. Her arms are raised as if she’s calling down the heavens. Long, darkhair streams behind her like a banner. Faint blue sparks cover her fingertips.

Eh.Not that impressive. Dressed in khaki capris and a pastel blue twinset, shelooks like she’s head of the PTA or something. Does she squeeze demon-summoningin between bake sales and soccer games?

It’swhat’s standing next to the witch that holds my attention.

Olivet.

Orwhat used to be Olivet.

Theshould-be-dead warlock is severely bloated and easily twice his originalheight. His puffy cheeks have a black tinge and his eyes are milky white. Zombie?No. Not quite right.

Thewindow creaks when I open it. The overwhelming stench of decaying flesh iscarried on the breeze. Greta gags. Ike slaps a hand over his mouth. Iconcentrate on breathing through my mouth.

Draugr,then. Mildly impressive. Unlike zombies, draugar keep their magical abilities. Theyaren’t entirely mindless, either, though they are more susceptible to control.

Isthis the puppet master? God, I hope not. That would mean we’ve been kickedaround by a soccer mom. I bet she even drives a minivan. I’ll never be able toshow my face in public again. If she is the puppet master, though, why isn’tshe surrounded by not-Shifter bodyguards? Is she so sure of her power thatshe’ll challenge my entire pack by herself?

“Giveme the girl!” the witch shouts, fingers curling into fists. Dark clouds gatherbehind her. The wind picks up and pulls even more rot-scented air into mybedroom.

“Comeand get her.” If she manages to break through my wards, I’m more than ready fora fight. I’m tired of being batted around like a cat toy.

Thewitch doesn’t strike my wards. She doesn’t send the draugr on a rampage,either. She cocks her head as if listening to something on the wind. Plush pinklips twist into something ugly and angry. “I must have the girl!”

“Isthat desperation I hear? You’re not the one in charge, are you?” I raise aneyebrow when she spits out a string of curses that merely bounce off the wards.“Didn’t think so. Tell you what, you bring your boss here and I’ll think aboutletting him peek at Az.”

Thedraugr bashes fat, gray fists against the invisible wards. The house shiversbut the wards remain intact. He throws back his head and wails. All the dogs ina three block radius start howling and yipping. Great. Just what I need: theHOA on my ass for creating a disturbance.

“She’snothing but a burden,” the witch says. “You don’t need her. Can’t possibly wanther. She belongs to her family.”

I’veseen photos of pretty, polished Annabelle Vardan. Let’s just say that it’s easyto see where Az got the fairy princess genes. The witch trying her damndest tobreak through my wards is not Annabelle Vardan, and she sure as hell isn’t LeoVardan. That narrows down the list of ‘family’ considerably.

“EvelynDubois Shica?” I ask. It makes sense. The witch could capitalize on the Duboisconnection to get to Olivet. Az and I are going to have to have anotherdiscussion about full disclosure, too. It would have been nice to know that hergodmother raises draugar.

Thebitch neither confirms nor denies her identity. Not that it really matters. She’sthreatening my pack and my void. I don’t have to know her name to kill her.

“Doyou know what she is?” the witch taunts, rising a few feet in the air so that thesoles of her flats are near the draugr’s waist.

“Allaround know-it-all and pain-in-the-ass?” I shrug with feigned nonchalance. “Trouble?”

“She’sa weapon! One you aren’t capable of wielding. Give her to me!”

It’sprobably a good thing Az is locked in dreamland right about now. She wouldn’tlike being called a weapon. Then again, my response to the witch likely wouldhave gotten me smacked.

God,I wish Az would smack me.

“Nota chance in hell,” I say. If anyone wants Az, they’ll have to pry her out of mycold, dead, probably furry hands. “You have two seconds to get off my streetbefore I give you a third eye.”

Thewitch tosses her hands in the air and cackles. The draugr tries to laugh but itcomes out as an asthmatic snort-and-wheeze combination. Okay. Not quite thereaction I was going for.

Asoft, pained whimper underscores the laughter. It doesn’t come from beside mebut from behind me. I spin around just in time to catch the figure on the bed,the one that’s been doing its best statue impression, writhe like a snake.

Allit takes is a pointed look to keep Greta and Ike at the window while I raceback to the bed. Sweat beads across Az’s forehead. Her legs kick wildly. One ofher bony elbows catches me in the solar plexus. Before I can catch my breath, she jerksupright and swings her feet over the side of the bed.

Hereyes are still closed. I press two fingers over the pulse in her neck. Herheart rate hasn’t increased at all. Her breathing is still slow and steady. Shetries to stand. I push her back down on the bed. Whatever’s driving the bodyisn’t Az, and I’m not letting a hijacked void go anywhere.

Theaunt? No. Surely whatever it is that makes Az a magic killer would protect herfrom a witch’s mind control. The draugr, then. I’ve read that they can causenightmares. It’s not a far leap from causing nightmares to causingsleepwalking.

“Ike.Get Sparky.”

Ike’sface lights up like it’s Christmas morning. His feet thunder across the flooras he rushes to the supply closet down the hall. He returns moments later witha shotgun and a handful of dragon’s breath shells. Greta offers to switchpositions with me. I hesitate only a second before waving her over.

Ikereluctantly hands over the shotgun and the ammunition. I load the gun and aimit at the draugr. “You want her? You’re going to have to do better than awannabe zombie.”

Thedraugr catches fire as soon as the incendiary round hits him. Ah, hell. Roasteddraugr smells worse than the non-flambé version. The witch hurriedly floatsaway from the human torch. She opens her mouth, probably to curse me again, buther eyes roll back in her head and her jaw goes slack.

Shecrashes to the ground in a boneless heap.

Definitelynot the puppet master. My ego will survive another day, at least. Ike retrievesGreta’s Desert Eagle from the windowsill and puts two rounds in the witch’sbody. Good man. There’s no such thing as overkill. It’s better to be safe thanhexed.

Unlikedead not-Shifters, neither corpse in front of my house dissolves into a puddleof goo. I give Ike the always pleasant task of calling Greer. Greta takes theshotgun from me and steps away from Az.

“Shestopped moving,” Greta says.

I’mnot sure if that’s good or bad. It means she’s not suffering fromdraugr-induced nightmares. It also means that she’s not awake to help me figureout just what in the hell is going on. I need to get my head back in the game. Thepuppet master needs Az for something and is willing to kill a Mage’s wife toget her back. That definitely smacks of desperation.

Ifhe needed her so desperately, why would he let Vardan send her to Houston? Whynot take her from New Orleans or Minnesota? Why not woo her into cooperation? Whatdid Shica’s wife mean when she called Az a weapon? Who is controlling thenot-Shifters now that Olivet is unquestionably dead?

Thereare so many questions that need to be answered.

Buta few minutes won’t make much of a difference. I gather Az up in my arms againand bury my face in the curve of her neck. Dust fills both nostrils when Iinhale. While it’s better than the lingering aroma of draugr, it’s notparticularly pleasant.

“Okay,Greta, you win. Time to give Sleepy Beauty a bath.”