Dead Witch on a Bridge

by Gretchen Galway

  If only Malcolm had felt the same, Protectorate agents wouldn’t be approaching with orders to take me into custody. Even without my beads, I could feel them getting closer.

  “You should’ve told me,” I said.

  “Your ignorance saved you,” he said.

  “You couldn’t resist its power. You’re just like the rest of them,” I said.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, avoiding my gaze.

  The front door of Birdie’s house banged open, revealing Phoebe with a wand in her hand. Her posture sagged to one side, as if she’d been drinking. When Jasper appeared behind her, I realized she had been drinking something, something he’d given her to keep her inside when her car had exploded.

  “Demon!” Phoebe shouted suddenly, pointing her wand at Seth. She marched down the steps and came full speed toward us. “Step aside, Alma. I recognize his picture. I’ll take care of him this time.”

  “No, he’s not—”

  Without waiting, Phoebe sent a blast of exorcising magic at Seth’s heart. Taken by surprise and already weakened, he caught the full force of it in the chest. He glanced at me with an expression that looked an awful lot like regret before crumpling to the ground again.

  With a triumphant grin, Phoebe took out a small pocket knife—silver, folding, regulation Protectorate—and flicked it open as she moved in to finish the job.

  I stepped in front of her.

  Phoebe recoiled. “What are you doing?”

  “You have no right to kill him,” I said.

  “I have every right. I have a duty.”

  “He’s not a demon.”

  The look of contempt on her face was mixed with pity, which made it worse. “Sure he isn’t.”

  “He’s done nothing to you, nothing to anybody.” I looked over her shoulder. “Unlike Jasper.”

  Jasper was slowing taking in the disaster in the front yard: the dead body on the grass was Launt, not Birdie.

  I’d saved her life, but I still felt terribly guilty for leaving her so vulnerable to Jasper and his fairy henchman.

  Jasper, my friend, who was a killer. He’d always had a knack for liquids.

  “Jasper poisoned the river,” I told Phoebe. “Tristan caught him in the act, so Jasper killed him.”

  Phoebe scoffed. “You’re just angry he won’t help you hide your father’s crimes.”

  “For a while I thought you’d helped him,” I said. “You thought if Tristan was out of the way, you could be Protector.”

  “You’re pathetic,” Phoebe said. “Jasper told me how you cry on his shoulder about losing everything, about being such a loser.”

  I looked over at the charred BMW. “You really should wash your car more often. You know, to make a good impression.”

  The car fire had gone out with Launt’s death, so only now did Phoebe notice what had happened.

  “My car!”

  “Jasper is responsible for that too,” I said. “He told his fae accomplice to kill Birdie. The car was collateral damage.”

  Jasper spoke for the first time. “Where is the poor girl now, by the way?”

  The residue of so much magic from the battle with Launt and Seth must’ve blinded him to her presence. She’d moved into the Sauters’ backyard, near the spot where I’d glimpsed Willy in the vegetable garden, and was hiding behind the raised beds.

  “She’s harmless,” I said, suddenly unable to hide my rage. “She’s untrained and ignorant and harmless. Only a monster would want to kill her.”

  “Demons like him are the monsters,” Jasper said. “Don’t you think, Phoebe?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Phoebe raised her knife and tried to push past me.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I said. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s trying to get you to fight Seth so he can blame your death on him and get away with everything.”

  “You’re the stupid one,” Phoebe said. “That demon is a threat. They are always a threat. That’s why we exist.”

  “He’s not a demon,” I said. “He’s a changeling. His spirit is fae.”

  “I always knew you were crazy,” Phoebe said, “but I didn’t believe anyone and certainly not a witch screened by the Protectorate could ever have perverted thoughts about the enemy.”

  I knew how severely injured Seth must’ve been when he didn’t raise his head and wink at me. Which meant anything Phoebe did could finish him off for good.

  “I won’t let you murder him,” I said, raising both my hands. I still didn’t have my beads, but my rage gave me focus. Hopefully it would be enough to deal bare-handed with Phoebe and Jasper until the Protectorate guys arrived.

  Hopefully very soon.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Jasper said, reaching into his jacket.

  I grabbed Phoebe’s sleeve. “Listen to me. Jasper’s the one you want.” I tried to turn her around and face Jasper, who was now holding a thick silver chain in his fist, but she jerked away and tried to get to Seth with her little knife.

  “Demon filth,” she said.

  “She makes this so easy,” Jasper said to me as he aimed his fist at Phoebe. Silver fire the same thickness as the chain spiraled through the air and hit the young, ambitious witch in the shoulder. It knocked her to one side so that she fell facing him.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  “They’ll blame the demon and the rebelling fae,” Jasper told Phoebe. “I’m really so lucky you’re here tonight. A Protectorate agent, greedy and stupid, pretty face, well connected. They’ll go crazy when they find your body.”

  Phoebe’s mouth was locked open in a silent scream, her body frozen in a sideways crouch. Her eyes fixed on Jasper, wide with dawning comprehension.

  Yeah, I thought. He’s the one.

  She’d dropped the knife as she’d fallen, and I hurried forward and snatched it up. I could see from her softening expression that Jasper’s spell was already wearing off, and I didn’t want her making a last-ditch attempt to kill her favorite enemy.

  “When the war begins,” Jasper said, “humanity will finally be forced to attack the ancient fae threat. Witches have lived in bondage”—he pulled the silver chain between both hands—“long enough.”

  “You’re… crazy,” Phoebe said, crawling to her knees. She had her wand out again, this time aimed at Jasper.

  I glimpsed movement on the road. It was almost time.

  While Phoebe and Jasper began to enact fighting spells in the air between them, I turned to Seth. He was awake, staring at the sky, making no effort to escape.

  “Go,” I said. Evening had become night. Soon the stars would be out.

  “Go where?”

  “Anywhere, just go!”

  Seth rolled his head toward me. “I thought I would be dead by now.”

  “You will if you stay here.”

  He sighed as if that wasn’t such a bad thing. But when a tendril of Jasper’s magic shot past Phoebe and narrowly missed his nose, survival instinct kicked in and he held out a hand. I took it, impatient to be rid of him, and pulled him to his feet.

  “Take the torc before I leave,” he whispered, patting his pockets.

  “I already did.”

  He gave me one last grin before disappearing.

  At the same moment, one of Jasper’s spells hit Phoebe in the throat. She spun through the air and landed on her back with a sickening thud. From the way her hands jutted upward, it looked like she wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. Trainee agents called it the “dead bug” pose.

  “That’s it?” Jasper demanded, sounding genuinely put out. “That’s the best she can do? I’m only using folk magic with a fae signature.”

  “You always were too impressed with Protectorate agents,” I said, preparing a defensive spell in the back of my mind, readying for battle.

  “You won’t mind if I finish the job,” he said, taking a step toward Phoebe. “You hated her too.”

  I got in front of him with my hands fisted, telling myself the beads and
silver were only crutches that directed power, not power itself. “I won’t let you.”

  He frowned at me in surprise. “I don’t want to kill you,” he said. “I never did.”

  “It’s over, Jasper.”

  “No, it’s just beginning.” He flicked the chain at me, just to test the waters.

  I absorbed the energy without a word, not letting the pain show on my face. “You’re a killer. No more than that.”

  “I’m much stronger than anyone suspected. More than Tristan, more than that stupid fae, more than Phoebe, more than you.”

  “Being a killer doesn’t make you strong,” I said.

  He laughed. “That’s how you make yourself feel better, isn’t it? So young and already such a failure.” He sent another flick of magic at me, as small and deadly as a laser point.

  I swallowed it like the last one but was unable to hide my flinch as it nicked a vertebra. “If you sit quietly, the Protectorate might take you in without killing you.”

  “The Protectorate thinks you’re the criminal. Didn’t they take you in last night? Phoebe assured me they would get the truth out of you.” He snorted. “Those idiots couldn’t even hold on to a sweet little hearth witch like you for more than a few hours. But they’ll get you. They’re probably on their way.”

  I drew a circle in the air between us to stop his laser-like attacks. “They are. Give up now.”

  He gave me a pitying look. “I will kill you, don’t you realize? I love you, but I’ll do what I have to do.”

  “Time’s running out,” I said.

  He punched the air with his fist, and a meteor shower of red light spattered my shield. Most fell apart, but two—no, three—broke through and struck me in the stomach, ear, and shoulder.

  “Give it up, Alma,” he said, angry now.

  I shook my head, tasting blood. “You killed the fae. You killed Tristan. You tried to kill Birdie and a Protectorate agent.”

  “But I didn’t kill you, and I could have.” He began frantically searching his pockets. “This is your last warning. Please, Alma.”

  “This is your last warning, you idiot. Sit down and—”

  “You can tell the Protectorate that you fought the demon as I tried to save Phoebe’s life.”

  “He’s a changeling,” I said.

  Jasper didn’t care what Seth was or wasn’t. “We can both come out of this better than we went in. The Protectorate will know you tried to save Phoebe, but… sadly, as they know, you are unable to kill, so she’s dead.” He pulled a vial hanging from a chain out of his pocket. “And she will be, Alma. Why should you be blamed for it?”

  “Time’s up.” I dropped the shield and waited.

  He frowned at me, fiddling with the vial in his hands. “We both know you can’t kill me. Why do you want me to kill you?”

  “Just try.”

  “I meant what I said. I love you. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  I turned my attention inward to the well I always had with me.

  “Your love is crap,” I said.

  His head snapped back as if I’d blasted him with a silver-driven punching hex. It took a moment for the rage to hit the boiling point, but when it did, I was ready.

  He flung the open vial at me. True to form, he did it underhanded.

  It spun through the air, spraying white raindrops of death for anyone it touched. I was too close to jump out of the way, and my clothing would be useless against the Shadow magic embedded in the liquid. My shield would stop most of it, but the single drop or two that got through would be enough to destroy me. Willy had helped me earlier, but I didn’t feel him now. Maybe he’d only gotten involved to protect Random, the animal I’d neglected too many times.

  But I still had my Witchwell, the magic that was unique to me. It was magic that had failed me with my father, who would’ve loved me more if only I’d been the right kind of daughter. It had failed me with the Protectorate, who would’ve given me power and prestige if only I’d been the right kind of witch. And now I was asking it to save me from Jasper, who would kill me for not being the right kind of friend.

  Like so many powerful feelings, it rose up from my stomach. Then it spread to my chest, my heart and lungs, and then down to my toes and up to my eyes. Finally it was strong enough, like a song getting loud enough to hear the words, and it pumped down my arms and pooled in my bare hands.

  Power like nothing I’d ever experienced before vibrated through me. Time slowed, allowing me to see each droplet, each molecule, each atom of magic shimmering and burning through the air.

  Yet I discovered that even now, I couldn’t kill him. My hands wouldn’t move; my well of magic wouldn’t serve as a weapon. All that power wasn’t enough.

  For my weakness, this damn weakness, I was going to die.

  But then I thought of Random, damaged and abused, in my father’s arms.

  I thought of Birdie in the neighbor’s vegetable garden, injured, motherless, fatherless, alone.

  I even thought of Phoebe, who I disliked intensely, powerless to stop her own murder.

  Angry and desperate, I pulled up my shield and fueled it with every trace of power inside me. I fed it as if it were a lost child, a starving dog, a dying grandmother. I gave it everything.

  And this time, luckily for me, it was enough. The shield held firm, forming a solid wall of impenetrable energy. The vial struck the center and ricocheted, its glass walls shattering as it spun in the opposite direction, spewing its poison at its sender.

  But more than that: the shield followed the vial, shaping itself into a funnel, directing the spray toward Jasper’s face. When it reached him, it formed a globe around his head, trapping him inside with the mist so that even when he tried to pull out another vial to save himself or use the silver chain in his fist, he was unable to reach his mouth, his nose, his eyes. The poison was inside him.

  Which, really, since where that’s where it had come from, was where it belonged.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Jasper collapsed not downward in a heap but like a tree falling, stiffly and with a lot of noise.

  Shaking, I stared down at his body and tried to be glad he was dead. Instead, I turned aside and doubled over to vomit.

  I’d killed a man. A witch. A friend. A person with thoughts and feelings, a mom and a dad. He’d told me once about a sister in San Diego. Now they would hear he was dead and grieve, cursing life, cursing me.

  A man came out from the shadows and patted me on the back. “Excellent work, Bellrose.”

  I froze, feeling the urge to be sick again. After a long moment, I turned to Raynor. “Took you long enough to get here.”

  “I was watching to see how things played out.”

  “You would’ve let him kill me,” I said.

  “Oh no,” he said.

  I didn’t believe him.

  “Agent Day is still alive,” I said, gesturing at Phoebe. I didn’t want him to bother Birdie. The last thing she needed tonight was more questioning by the Protectorate.

  Raynor shot Phoebe a distasteful look. “Indeed.” He turned to the road. “Lorne should be here shortly.”

  “Why isn’t he with you?”

  “The disturbance on the bridge was too much for him.” Raynor’s contempt was obvious. “He waited for his agents to clear it so his car could get through.”

  “You walked.” I’d glimpsed him on the road. Quite a long time ago, relatively speaking. He should’ve seen enough to know the whole story, but I didn’t trust him to share it with the Protectorate. Maybe with Jasper’s dead body, the evidence of his potion, and both Phoebe and Birdie as witnesses, they would believe me.

  But I wasn’t counting on it.

  “I don’t think she’s seriously hurt,” I said. “But she needs some help.”

  “She’ll probably be all right. Lorne can take her somewhere.”

  “Jasper hit her with a Shadow hex,” I said. “Intending to kill.”

  He gave me a funny look.
“You’re worried about her comfort?”

  “I need her as a witness. Just last night you and Lorne had me locked up for conspiracy, theft, and accessory to murder.”

  “His decision, not mine,” Raynor said. “But you’ll have come to San Francisco to make a statement.”

  “Not tonight.” I needed to get both Birdie and the torc safely into my house.

  “Now the Protectorate has the opportunity to right the wrongs you’ve experienced.” Raynor nodded at Jasper’s rigid body. “Your skills have matured. Perhaps your status within the Protectorate could be reevaluated.”

  “Now that I can kill people?”

  He made a face. “Don’t be childish.”

  I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue. “I’m going home.” They could make me return to Diamond Street now, but not without a fight. I would go willingly after I had some sleep.

  Raynor looked me over, perhaps coming to the same conclusion. “Tomorrow,” he said. “When the sun sets. I’ll see to it you’re treated well.”

  “You? Not Lorne?”

  Raynor’s lips curled in a cold smile. “After the events of recent weeks, combined with the behavior of local management and”—he glanced at Phoebe, who had rolled onto her back and was groaning softly—“his regrettable protégé, I’ve been given full authority, in a provisional capacity, over the San Francisco office.”

  I was too tired to care. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” He took a little packet of herbs out of his pocket and sniffed it. “You can also thank me for allowing the changeling to get away.”

  “So, the Protectorate always knew he wasn’t a demon, but they—”

  “I’m only repeating what you said,” Raynor said. “He seemed like a demon to me.”

  “He killed his… brother. The human in his fairy body.” I hated to ask Raynor anything, but I couldn’t resist. “Is he going to die?”

  “If he’s really a changeling, yes. That’s the lore.” He put the herbs back into his pocket and shrugged. “But who knows?”

  Who knows. Not very comforting.

  Raynor turned to face the road where a row of headlights was snaking up the hill. “If you want to avoid making a statement tonight, you might want to get out of here before Lorne arrives. I’ll go inside and pretend I don’t know where you are.”