by A C Spahn
“You’ve never talked about your extended family before,” said Desmond. “Are your grandparents still alive? Maybe we could reach out to them. They might have information from your parents about what the cult is doing, to help us solve this murder Harrow assigned to you.”
I shut that down fast. “The cult cut off everyone’s family ties. I’m pretty sure my grandparents are dead, and I have no idea where to find any other relatives. Even if I did, they might tell my parents I’d talked to them, if they were asked.”
“My grandma did that,” said Sam, sinking to a squat. “I asked to live with her, after things with my dad started getting bad. She told him I’d asked, and he made sure I never did it again.”
I winced. I knew some of Sam’s story, but it helped to remember I wasn’t the only one with a dysfunctional family.
Kendall was staring at Sam with a mix of mistrust and sympathy. “Well,” she said finally, “you can all come hang out with my family at holidays. I have six older siblings and forty-seven cousins, so at least one of them ought to get along with you. Or you could go to Desmond’s house.”
He shook his head. “My family still isn’t sure about me. The Union let me tell my parents I’m a Void, but they don’t really get what it means. My siblings don’t know anything, they just think I’m into some weird social club. I doubt they’d react well to two enchantresses and a squirrel shifter showing up for dinner.”
“You’re the only paranormal in your family?” asked Sam.
“For Voids and enchanters, that’s pretty common,” answered Desmond. “I have an older brother and sister, and younger twin sisters, all normals. For paranormals under enchantment, though, it runs in families.”
“Tell me about it,” said Kendall. “We’re basically an entire zoo at Christmas dinner.”
“Does the zookeeper serve nuts?” Sam asked blandly.
Kendall glared at her, then cracked a smile. “I’ll let you have that one, kid.”
“I’ll let you call me kid, this time.”
Anxiety receded from my gut. I needed to remember I had friends. No matter what attacks we faced, no matter how close the cult might be, they were there. This time, if Geralt came for me, someone would defend me. Someone would be by my side. I didn’t have to face him alone.
I had only just started to smile when Desmond’s phone rang.
He glanced at the screen and tensed, then put the phone on speaker. “What is it, Axel?”
“Get over here,” the big man grumbled through the phone. “All of you. We found something.”
Chapter 7
WE STOOD AROUND a metal autopsy table, on the floor above the medical ward of Union HQ. The dead boy’s corpse lay atop it, covered up to the waist by a pale blue sheet. Autopsy scars puckered his skin. Now that he was laid out, I could see several more enchantment tattoos on him, though there was no way to know what they did without taking the magic out. The thick circular design around his heart made a knot form in my throat. Everyone in the room tried to avoid looking at it, but I made a point of letting my gaze rest on its familiar lines. For one thing, it meant I didn’t have to look at the rest of the corpse. For another, it was a reminder of why I had to be careful. This is what I am, I thought, cementing the truth in my mind. This is how I will end up, if they catch me.
Desmond stood beside me, shifting his feet as if prepping to fight. Kendall waited on my other side, chewing on her fingernails. Her shifter instincts must be reacting with fear to the smell of death. Sam slouched near the door, for once obeying my directions not to get too involved.
Across the table, Bane Harrow himself greeted us, flanked by Axel. Harrow was the only one besides me not pointedly ignoring the dead boy’s tattoo. When we’d come in, he was giving it a long, appraising stare. Evaluating its danger to his people? Or wondering whether he could weaponize it?
“Thank you for coming,” he said, as if we’d had a choice. “Our mortician wasn’t able to come in until this morning. We’ll receive any pertinent lab results over the next few weeks, but the initial autopsy has been performed.”
“You said you found something,” said Desmond.
“We did,” said Harrow. He glanced behind me, his storm-grey eyes sizing up Sam. I moved in front of her. My tiny frame didn’t do much to block her from sight, but the glare I leveled at Harrow more than made up for it. He flashed me a knowing smile, before turning that appraising gaze on Kendall. “While we have you all here, though, something has come to mind. Since the lot of you seem to travel in a pack ...”
“A scurry,” said Kendall, her voice high and tense. “That’s the word for a group of squirrels. I mean, I’m the only one here, but I’m also the only shifter in our group, so ...”
“Since you travel in a pack,” Harrow interrupted without raising his voice, “we would like each of you to have some connection to the Void Union. Miss Kendall McAllister, Miss Samantha Lindholm, we’d like you to officially begin working for us.”
From the narrow-eyed gaze Axel threw at Sam, I guessed that “we” was more metaphorical than objectively accurate.
“Sam’s a minor,” I said quickly. “She can’t sign any legally binding contracts.”
Harrow smiled thinly. “I’m aware of that, however, we are willing to disclose the situation to her father ...”
“No,” Sam snapped.
“Miss Lindholm, the Union only has your best interests in mind.”
“I said no. You go anywhere near my dad, and I’ll ...”
I glared at her over my shoulder and mouthed Shut up! The last thing we needed was her threatening the guy who could ensure we all vanished and our bodies were never found.
Harrow studied me. “Perhaps we can discuss this later.” Instead he arched an eyebrow at Kendall. “What about you, Miss McAllister? The Union is moving toward a more inclusive view of the paranormal community. You could put a friendly face on our growing shifter relations.”
“You mean like a mascot.” Kendall’s tone was dry enough to bake bread.
“An ambassador, let’s call it.”
“I’m not really the diplomatic–”
“We’ll pay off your student loan debt.”
“Where do I sign up?”
Desmond and I both whirled on her. Shock painted my face. “Just like that?” I choked. “You’re letting them get a handle on you?”
Kendall shrugged. “College is expensive. Besides, if you guys are in, I may as well be, too.” She flashed a bright smile at Harrow. “Yo, I’m not going to be the face of your organization or anything. I’ll tell people you Voids aren’t so bad, spread good vibes around. I’m pretty good with computers, too.”
“We’re familiar with your course of study,” said Harrow.
“‘Course you are, you dirty snoops. Anywho, I’ll keep working with Adrienne and Desmond, but anything else you want me to do, I get to veto if I don’t like it or it gets in the way of finals or some shit. Deal?”
Harrow smirked. “So long as you do at least one assignment for us each month, that is acceptable. Axel will have you fill out the appropriate paperwork.”
The bald man grunted and headed for the door. Kendall trailed him, keeping right on his heels, no doubt eager to leave the morgue. “Yo, make sure you spell my name right,” she said. “It’s Q-H-A-I-E ...”
I folded my arms and squinted at Harrow. “Great. You’ve roped my best friend into your organization. Now, what have you actually found about this guy?”
Kendall’s voice carried from the hallway. “N-G-D ...”
Harrow pointed to bruises on the corpse’s wrists. “He was bound at one point. “
“H-A-O...”
“Then he must have escaped,” said Desmond. “He wasn’t working with them voluntarily.”
“Precisely,” said Harrow. “But there’s more.”
“U-G-H ...”
“Shut the door, young lady,” Harrow ordered Sam. She jumped, then pulled the metal door shut behind us.
“No, it’s three L’s,” Kendall said before her voice cut off.
Harrow flashed me a satisfied smile, with another significant glance at Sam. See, his face seemed to say, she obeys my orders whether or not you protect her. He turned to a counter behind him and retrieved a clear plastic tray containing something red and stringy. All thoughts of Harrow’s manipulation fled. My stomach turned, and I heard Sam gag behind me. Desmond paled. “That’s ...”
“A nerve cluster, from this young man’s right arm.” Harrow set the tray on the table and gestured to blackened flesh amidst the red. “You can see the burn residue.”
“They burned him?” Sam squeaked.
“No,” said Desmond. His hand twined in mine. “He did that himself.”
I swallowed, forcing the bile back down my throat. “He was scared,” I said, filling in the conclusions I was sure Harrow had already reached. “Running. Probably being chased. He drew in magic to defend himself, but he didn’t have any materials to make an enchantment. So he used himself. Target, channel, focus.”
“Fleshwriting,” Desmond murmured.
My skin crawled, but Sam needed to hear this. “He sent too much magic through his body and overloaded it. He burned from the inside out.” I glanced at her, willing her to finally grasp the dangers of what we were. “This is why we don’t fleshwrite. Not unless there’s no other choice.”
Sam stared at me, understanding dawning in her eyes. But when she spoke, it wasn’t what I expected. “You said if the cult ever takes that magic out of your tattoo, it’ll overload you. Does that mean you would ...”
“Yes.” I closed my eyes briefly, walling away remembered pain. They didn’t have me. Wouldn’t have me. I’d kill myself before I let them hurt me like that again.
Desmond’s hand moved to my shoulder, drawing me closer. Shame colored my cheeks. I should be strong enough to bear this. But the trembling had crept back into my arms. Again the shadowy image of Geralt stalking me flashed through my mind.
Harrow observed all of this as he might a chess game, then returned his attention to the burned nerves in the tray. “As you can see, the victim was in a panic. Clearly he thought the risk of overloading himself was less than whatever he faced if his captors seized him again.”
“They brought him out here. They were moving him, getting ready to sacrifice him, to release the magic in his tattoo,” said Desmond.
“Not necessarily,” I interjected. “Maybe he escaped the cult in Virginia, like I did. He could have led their chase all the way across the country.” I could see it all playing out in my head. The boy trying to disappear into San Francisco, unknowingly copying my own escape years ago. Fleshwriters catching up to him. Snatching him beneath the full moon, tying his hands, preparing to haul him back to Virginia. The terror that must have swallowed him, the panic as he fleshwrote to free his wrists and make a desperate bid for freedom. The throbbing magic oppressing him as he fled into the graveyard, turned to face his pursuers, and accidentally took his own life.
“He must have seized an opportunity, thinking it was his best chance to run,” I said. “But it wasn’t good enough. Nobody escapes the cult twice.”
I took a deep breath and faced Harrow squarely. Then I voiced the conclusion he had already reached, the conclusion he had brought me here to verify. “The cult is on the move. Whatever they were planning to do with these ...” I touched my tattoo through my shirt, then nodded to the boy’s matching one, “... it’s happening now.”
War is coming, I thought. I stared down at the dead young man, at the enormous well of magic trapped in his body. The first battle had already been fought. And lost.
Chapter 8
HARROW DIDN’T SPEAK for a long time. When he finally did, he looked as grim as I felt. “I’m afraid my conclusions were the same.”
“But they can’t do what they were planning, right?” said Sam shakily. “This guy’s dead, and they don’t know Adrienne is here.”
“Death doesn’t make his magic unusable,” I said quietly. “Enchantments take some time to dissipate into the air from a corpse. In the meantime, it’s still there, waiting to be tapped. If they get their hands on his body, they can use it.”
“Which means they’ll still be around,” said Harrow. “Watching. Waiting.”
“So what do we do?” Desmond asked. “Obviously we need to get Adrienne out of the city.”
“Nowhere else is safer, Reserve Desoto. The only stronger Unions than ours are in New York and Chicago, both closer to the cult’s home base. We must assume they are operating throughout the rest of the country as well.” His gaze flicked to me, a warning not to bring up the attacks on the smaller Unions. “Moving her is the most likely way to attract the cult’s notice and ensure her capture. Here, with a strong Void presence, she is the safest she can be.”
“Could we stay here, at headquarters?” Desmond asked.
“No,” I said. “That’s a terrible idea, and I’m not doing it.”
Harrow’s eyes narrowed. “If I decided it was best for you to remain here as a guest, Miss Morales, you would have no say. But it happens I agree with you. We already hold one cache of magic in our facility. Should the fleshwriters attempt to retrieve it, we would not want them to get their hands on a second one at the same time.”
“Callous, much?” Sam muttered.
“Aside from that, we need Miss Morales’s expertise. She is the only enchantress working for the Union, and the strongest one in our territory by far. If anyone can help us stop these fleshwriters before they complete their plan, it is she. To that end ...” He returned the tissue sample tray to the counter and picked up another one. Instead of burned flesh, this one contained a broken chunk of concrete, about softball sized. Red stained the edges, bloody fingerprints left on the porous stone. A sinuous line of gold threaded its way through the jagged rock, looking like a bit of paint or pyrite caught up in the cement mixer.
I stretched out a hand and brushed the concrete with my finger. Kadum! Kadum! Kadum! Fear surged through me, a gibbering sort of terror only mortal peril could induce. I yanked my hand away, gasping to cover the shriek that tried to escape. Desmond helped me catch my balance, steadying me as the magic’s effect faded.
I had to swallow before my dry throat could speak. “It’s enchanted to induce fear. Don’t let any non-Voids touch it.”
Harrow didn’t move. “I see. The gold line is the magic?”
“Yes.”
“Our teams found this a quarter mile down the road from the cemetery. The blood matches the victim’s. I assume he was the enchanter.”
“Why would he stop running to enchant a random chunk of concrete?” Sam asked.
“For us,” I breathed. “He knew he was in Void territory. Knew somebody would investigate the area where he was found. He left that enchantment for us. It’s a message.”
“One that can only be read by another enchanter.” Harrow held the tray out to me.
My fingers tightened on the strap of my purse. “You want me to take the magic out? Now?”
“Is there a better time?”
“I don’t have all my stuff with me. If I take the enchantment off and it needs to be channeled by a material I don’t carry around ...”
Harrow turned to the counter for a third time, reaching under it. He wheeled out a rolling cart of drawers. One by one he opened them, revealing tray after tray of art supplies, a sampler platter of the type of stuff I kept at my workshop. “We have more, should you need it.”
I felt the Union’s claws sink another inch into me. “You’ve studied my work.”
“Both magical and mundane, yes. Your art often serves as a vehicle for your magic. I thought it best to be prepared for your needs.”
I sighed. “Fine. The sooner I do this, the sooner we know just how big a problem we have.” I held out a hand toward Harrow. “Give it here.”
He lifted the concrete chunk from its tray and passed it over. The concrete was heavy, and I quickly
shifted my grip to support it with both hands. Its magic pulsed in my mind, its enchantment working itself upon me. Terror turned my nerves to water and slid knives through my gut. It’s not real, I reminded myself. It’s just the magic.
That thought didn’t help much. This enchantment had been focused by fear. On the run, with no materials but his own body, the dead boy had used himself. What I was feeling now was what he felt just before he died.
Kneeling on the floor, I set the concrete in the middle of an open space. My nerves steadied once the magically-induced fear disappeared. Harrow wheeled the art supply cart over to be within easy reach. I opened drawer after drawer, taking note of what I had to work with and pulling out the materials I thought most likely to safely re-channel the fear magic. Then I took a deep breath, counted to three, and let my fingertips rest on the gold line running through the concrete.
Fear returned, clutching me in talons. It was only the beginning. With a supreme effort of self-discipline, I seized the magic in the concrete and pulled it into myself.
KADUMKADUMKADUMKADUM!
All the terror I’d felt before was a mild anxiety compared to the horror that enveloped me. I felt wrapped in barbed wire, crushed beneath fallen rubble, adrift in a stormy sea, all at once. Every sense of entrapment, every conceivable danger assailed me as one maelstrom of overwhelming panic. Dimly I felt tears streaming down my face.
I’d only been this afraid once before. Then I had escaped what the boy had not.
Impressions mingled with the terror, thoughts and feelings imprinted in the magic.
A shadowy figure chasing me.
Terror. Terror. Terror.
