Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers
Chapter 5

One would think thatfour days without Ms. Astraea Vardan – or Crazypanties McNutjob, as I've takento calling her in my head – would be peaceful. No one disrupting the pack'sdaily routine, no one inciting acts of insubordination, and no one making everydamn second a rollercoaster of insanity.

And no one to cheerup an increasingly morose Jose. No one to channel all the Momma Fox instinct noone knew Greta possessed. No one to lighten the atmosphere during meals. No oneto explain to me what the hell Reggata Root is and why Kooky Claire would useit in her spell o'doom.

Things have beenanything but peaceful. The bedroom renovation has continued nonstop. Jose'schanged the paint color twice, and I've made more trips to Ikea than I care toremember. Greta disappears for long phone conversations every few hours.Sally's left four voice messages. Hank and Ike have started planning a 'WelcomeHome' party complete with a banner and a floral arrangement.

On the fifth daypost-Crazypanties McNutjob, after listening to a debate over whether Astraeaprefers blueberry or chocolate pancakes, I abandon my omelet in favor preservingwhat sanity I have left with some alone time in the garage. It's my sanctuary.It's also the armory. There's nothing like a little weapons maintenance to takeyour mind off the lunacy around you.

"Hey," afemale voice calls out while I'm in the middle of cleaning the Walther PPK Ikegave me for my last birthday.

My reaction isinstantaneous. More muscle memory than thought. My arm is steady, my fingerpoised to pull the trigger. The gun in my hand has saved my life a hundredtimes.

Astraea goes cross-eyedstaring at the barrel. "Yeah. I can see now where this might have been amistake."

"Youthink?" I return the gun to the table. No. Wait. I tuck it in thewaistband of my jeans. There's no telling what flavor of whacko she is today."How did you get here?"

"Taxi. Then bus.Greta gave me the keys to the Mustang in her garage, but I can't drive."

"You don'tdrive." Who over the age of eighteen doesn't drive? How do you getanywhere? I taught myself how to drive when I was ten. Someone had to get tothe store to buy food.

"Don'timplies that I chose to ride with the very talkative but kinda skeevy Mr.Balducci and then chose to navigate the confusing and crowded Metro system. Can't,which is what I said, implies a physical or legal inability to perform a certainaction."

A few days ago, Ithought there was nothing more annoying that Astraea at the peak of madness. Iam secure enough in myself to admit that I was wrong. It is apparent that thereis an inversely proportional relationship between her insanity and her abilityto be exasperating. Fucking wonderful.

"I'm notteaching you to drive. Neither of us would survive the experience."

"That's fine. Ibrought you a present." She circles the table and plops on the extra stoolbefore tossing a white business card between us.

The cardstock is niceand heavy. The blocky script is done in a dark shade of blue. The card issimple yet professional. Tasteful. There's only one problem with it.

"R & AInvestigations?"

She shrugs. "Ifigured AA Investigations sounded a little too hokey."

"Bitpresumptuous, Princess."

That damn shrugagain. "We didn't too badly with that witch."

"You busted aglass table, lost your marbles, and left me to do the clean up."

"But we caughtthe bad guy." She pops up from the stool and holds out her hand. Her neatbut still-too-long-for-my-peace-of-mind fingernails are painted hot pink."Maybe we should start over. My name is Az Vardan. I'm a void, but I knowmagic inside and out. Knows how it works. How it moves, how it breathes."

Her blonde hair isclean and pulled back in a single, fat braid. The bruises on her face havefaded enough that she no longer resembles a hooker caked with makeup or a boxerafter a rough match. Dressed in dark jeans and a t-shirt the same color as herfingernails, she looks normal. The only things dancing in her eyes are impishnessand laughter.

She is pretty. It’snot something I took the time to notice before –with her trying to set me onfire and then generally acting like a lunatic and all – but I sure as hell amnoticing now. She looks normal, orwhat passes for normal when magic's involved, but it could all be an act. Agirl growing up like she did had to learn a few tricks.

"What am I goingto do five minutes from now?"

"Get reallysnarly again." She grins and taps her temple before plopping back on thestool. "Sorry, no future-watch up here. Just regular ol' Az braincells."

I'm pretty sure thatlast statement was an oxymoron. "That's not exactly reassuring."

"Well, that'sjust because you know me." She gives the stool an experimental twist. Itsqueaks but turns smoothly. Her glossed lips curl into an even wider grin, andshe transforms from merely pretty to downright beautiful. Shame all that beautyonly serves as disguise for a wealth of trouble.

"Don't do it."

She does it. Fourtimes. Laughing long and loud with every spin. There's been more laughter inthe garage in the past two minutes than in the ten years I've lived in thehouse. After the last spin, she clutches the edge of the table and pants like agreyhound after a lap around the track.

The sound of paperbeing ripped isn't particularly loud, but it makes a great attention grabber.Astraea's head snaps up when I tear the business card in half. That's right. Playtimeis over, Princess. "Putting words on paper doesn't make somethingreal."

"Unless you're adjinn or you were trained in Cao magic."

She's going to giveme a nervous tic. And send my blood pressure through the roof. "Yeah.Yeah, that." One mental train successfully derailed. Judging by the smuglook on her face, she knows exactly what she's doing. Ha. You won’t win thateasy, sweetheart.

"You can't justwake up one morning and decide to be a PI. To be my partner. That's like tryingto run a marathon the day after waking up from a coma."

"Baby steps. Iget it." She winks, spins the stool. My next project is going to bewelding the damn thing so that it doesn't move. My hearing is more sensitivethan a normal human's, and the stool's squeaking makes my eardrums ache.

"Not just babysteps, Princess. You need to learn to crawl first. For the love of all that'sholy, sit fucking still."

I can't believe whatI'm about to offer. It's going to drive me straight to the loony bin or anearly grave. Not doing it, though, will mean living through the last four dayson repeat. Stuck between Crazypanties McNutjob and a pack of demanding, moody Shiftersis not a comfortable place to be.

"If you want tohead out on your own, that's fine with me as long as you keep your head downand stay out of your daddy's way. I'll give you half the money and the name ofa contact who can hook you up with identification."

She stops fidgeting.Her gaze has the intensity of a laser, but she has no hope of winning thisstaring contest. Hank's five-year-old niece taught me well. I have eyelids ofsteel.

"Houston's notsuch a bad city. The humidity reminds me of home. I'm tired of snow and ice.And states that start with 'M'."

"I know you’vegot nowhere to go, and trust me, we understand that around here. I’m notkicking you to the curb, but this isn't a hotel. It's a pack house. Officialand everything." My pause isn't for dramatic effect. It's to make sure Istill have her attention. This is something I've only offered a handful oftimes. "It could be your house, too."

Her eyes achieve awidth I'd thought only possible for anime characters and ugly kids' toys. Shereminds me of a kid coming down the stairs on Christmas morning. "Really?"

"It won't beeasy."

She nods eagerly."Nothing worthwhile ever is."

"You'll be pack.Bound by the same rules as everyone in the house. You have to follow my orders.Put the pack first. Always. If you step one dainty toe out of line, Iwon't hesitate to kick your ass."

"I can dothat."

"Really? Causedisappearing like that wasn't a smart move, Princess." Remembering thesound of the glass table breaking and the span of silent seconds sets my teethon edge. "Neither was leaping on that bitchy witch. You don't act as anindividual anymore. You act as pack."

"I wasprotecting the pack. Protecting you."

Puff out that lowerlip all you want, Princess. It won't do a damn bit of good. Lessons start earlyaround here. Mistakes are too costly to be lax. "There has to becommunication. Trust. Without it, we're just a bunch of strangers sharingspace."

"And you don'tknow me well enough to trust me."

At least she's a fastlearner. "You have to learn to trust the pack to protect you, too. Youcan't sneak off to lick your wounds."

"That was toprotect you, too. Did you feel that magic?" She shivers, wraps her armsaround her waist. "Couldn't risk exposing you to all of it. Had todischarge it before Greta showed up."

Which brings up awhole list of questions. I've been compiling it for days. If I am going toallow her to live with my pack, with the people I've vowed to protect at anycost, then I need to know how much of a threat she poses.

"How did youtransfer that magic to me? Why did you do that?"

"It's one of theways I can discharge energy or magic. I can only put it in someone or somethingwith the capacity for it. Can't walk around handing out magical joltswilly-nilly. Which is probably a good thing. That's dangerous and rude. Shiftersmake good receptacles. You're made of magic. It's in your muscles, yourbones." Her lips curl down in a frown. "Sometimes, if the magic isexceptionally… painful… I have no choice but to discharge it into the air orthe ocean. It disperses it. Makes it hard for anyone to reabsorb."

"Dark magic likewhat Kooky Claire was using is painful?" The little she'd given me hadn'thurt, necessarily. It had been uncomfortable as hell and a little frightening.

"To me. Burnsfrom the inside." Her frown deepens. She's staring right at me, but it'sobvious she's not in the room anymore. "Tasted like ashes and fur. Boilingblood and shifting bones. Almost as nasty as seer energy. Reminds me of a man Imet once in Michigan. Blech, another 'M' state."

"You mentionedtest tube Shifters to Greta."

She blinks andreturns to the room. "Really? I don't remember that, but anything'spossible. Magic and energy from clairvoyants scrambles my brain for days.Everything gets jumbled. I absorb more than I should and get the not-so-niceparts. I try to put my thoughts in order, but they scatter like marbles everytime I touch them. It's the worst."

"You recognized theitems Kooky Claire was stealing."

"Of course. Itold you, I know magic."

"What could sheuse them for?"

"Number ofthings. None of them pleasant." She gives the stool a final spin beforehopping to her feet. "She has a master."

"That's what shesaid. I searched her house, but there was nothing that pointed to hisidentity."

"Sally haswolfsbane."

"I haven'tforgotten." I have started to go to her house three times, but each time Iget in the truck my anger grows. I don't want to go over there when there's arisk I could rip out her throat. Who knows how long she's been growingwolfsbane in her backyard while serving me tea in the parlor. Duplicitous,conniving bitch.

"We could take aride to see her. Dig up the wolfsbane. Poke around Claire's place."

Because what I reallywant to do is take a road trip with the recently insane. And dig up somethingthat could kill me. Not to mention the fact that Claire's apartment is ahoarder's version of Eden.

"On a scale ofone to ten, how crazy are you at this moment?"

"Four. It's mybaseline."

Which is par for thefucking course. I suppose a lifetime of absorbing more magic and energy thanyou're designed to handle takes its toll. Then again, Greta maintains aone-point-five, and in my opinion the average woman is around a two, so itcould be worse. I'm afraid to ask where her state at the coven headquartersranks.

"Twelve,"she answers. She throws her hands up before I can ask the question on the tipof my tongue. "No psychic vibes, I swear. That only happens when I absorbfrom seers, and I try to avoid them. I spent a lot of time reading expressions.It’s how I learned to avoid punishment.” She winces. “Sometimes, at least. You'repretty transparent."

No poker withPrincess. Got it. "You need to spend time with the pack. Acclimate to themand let them get used to you."

Usually there's athree-day camping trip involved with bringing new people in. I'm willing toforgo it in this instance. I can't picture Princess sleeping under the stars inthe middle of the Sam Houston National Forest, and I don't think she'dappreciate the moonlight run.

"You can't letSally twist for much longer. She needs to be dealt with. Need to replace Claire'smaster. The one with the preference for wolf skin rugs."

"Because thisis, after all, my first case. I don't know where I'd be without you."

"Chained to asuccubus's bed and slowly losing your life force one glorious orgasm at atime." She tosses her head back and laughs. When she's not nuts, it's apleasant sound. She doesn't titter like some women nor do that stupidhalf-laugh that makes me think I'm a drooling idiot. It's a full-bodied laugh richwith amusement and joy. I’ll give her this: she doesn’t do anything half-assed.

"You were nohelp with that. You don't get credit."

"Sure I do. I helpedyou catch an active, unregistered succubus."

"You almost gotme eaten."

"But only in thebest of ways." She reaches across the table to pat my cheek. It's all Ican do to keep from nipping her fingers. "You make good succubus bait. Ifthe PI thing ever gets old, there's a market for that."

"I loatheyou."

"Yeah." Shebobs her head once, continues to smile. "That happens. You'll get overit."

She skips toward thedoor before I can make a grab for her. "The natives are getting restlessinside. I should go see my room before Jose implodes." She chews on theinside of her cheek, crinkles her pale nose. "Is it really as pink asGreta says?"

"More so."Every shade of pink imaginable is crammed into the room next to mine. The rugson the floor are hot pink. The gauzy canopy over the bed is pastel pink. Hankpainted an entire rose garden on one wall. It's a room fit for a fairytaleprincess about to celebrate her fifth birthday. Or a blind person.

"Perfect!"She shoots me a quick salute. "I'll run up and squeal over it until Jose'shappy. Meet you back down here in ten. Grab a shovel. And some salt."

The door slams shut.Wait. What? Meet me back here for what? I hadn't agreed to go anywhere withher. Especially not anywhere that involves a shovel or salt.

Hear that sound?That's the last of my sanity fleeing in terror. It's going to be a long, long day.