Enchantress Under Pressure

by A C Spahn

  Chapter 21

  I WOKE IN A STRANGE BED. A flash of panic surged through me, but then the previous night’s memories flooded back. Glancing beside me, I found Desmond asleep atop the blankets, black hair sticking in all directions, his mouth slightly open as he breathed in peaceful rest. An urge to run my fingers through that hair tickled my fingertips, but I let him be. Smiling, I lay back on the pillows and stared up at the ceiling.

  Nothing had happened last night. We’d kissed, fervently, drawing up so much passion my skin seemed to burn. But before we entered the bedroom, Desmond had pulled back and looked me in the eyes. “Are you sure?”

  My body wanted to say yes. Every cell of me yearned for his touch, for him to warm me and chase away the demons of the night. But fear still trod my thoughts, an underlying anxiety that at any moment the windows would break and the door burst open and monsters would rip me out of his arms.

  My hesitation was answer enough. Desmond pressed one last, chaste kiss to my forehead, then whispered, “I can wait.” He shepherded me to the bed, gave me a clean t-shirt to wear for pajamas, and kept his eyes on the hallway as I changed. He tucked me into the bed, then gathered a spare blanket from a closet and curled up on the other side of the mattress, between me and the door.

  Looking around now, I couldn’t regret anything. Desmond kept the store immaculate, but his apartment was very ... lived in. A basket of clean clothes overflowed next to a collapsed hamper with worn outfits scattered around it like he’d tried to seed the carpet with t-shirt trees. Sparring pads for swordplay and martial arts made a haphazard pile in another corner, and a gigantic circular saw was just sitting in the closet with its blade in a case beside it. In the living room I knew video game controllers and magazines strewed the tabletop, alongside a few battered novels and a hardcover copy of the latest entrepreneur-motivation bestseller. I’d gifted him a set of handmade cable organizers a while back, and he’d displayed them on a shelf in his living room, leaving his cords and cables messy as ever. While I loved him, untidiness and all, the mess reminded me that this was not an ideal time for complications. I’d only just admitted I loved him. I didn’t want to rush emotionally into this without a deeper commitment.

  I got up and crept to the door. I didn’t think I made any noise opening it, but when I glanced back Desmond’s eyes were open. “Everything okay?” he asked in Spanish.

  “Everything’s fine,” I replied, also in Spanish. I fidgeted with the doorknob, this way and that. “Thank you. For last night.”

  He sat up, pushing hair out of his eyes. “I know I didn’t have a chance to clean up, but you’re always welcome here.”

  “Not for crashing with you. For your ... understanding.”

  “Oh.” He swallowed, and I caught the flash of desire in his eyes. “It’s okay. You had a terrible night. It wasn’t the right time. The last thing I’d want is for you to regret it.”

  “I’d never regret you.” Heat rushed through my hips. But the fear still lurked in my heart, threatening to taint any action I might take. I squeezed the doorknob. “But you’re right. It wasn’t the right time.” I turned away before I lost control of myself. “I’ll make us breakfast.”

  “Adrienne. Don’t rush yourself. I don’t want this ... us ... to happen by accident. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here for you. And until then ... I’m here for you.”

  Warmth bloomed in my chest. What did I do to deserve this man? “Thank you,” I whispered, and then hurried into the kitchen to hunt for eggs and bread.

  As I scrambled the last two eggs and toasted a bagel, I called Bane Harrow to check in. He sounded strained as he answered. “You weren’t the only victim.”

  My breath froze in my lungs. “Who else?”

  “I’ll tell you more in a secure location. Have Desoto drive you to the downtown monitoring station.”

  “The what?”

  “He’ll know where it is. Get your friend to come, too. The squirrel shifter with the imaginative name spelling. We could use her computer expertise.”

  “Was there a security breach?”

  “Explanations later. Be there in an hour.”

  “Wait, one more thing. Did my tracking enchantment lead you to Vince? Did your trackers catch him? Did they recover the drawing of my tattoo?”

  Harrow’s voice dropped a weary octave. “My trackers are dead. The normals’ police found three bodies in a dumpster down near Fresno early this morning. Bullet wounds to the head, execution style.”

  My hand slipped on the spatula. Egg spattered across the stove. “Vince couldn’t have done that alone.”

  “I know.” Harrow’s simple acknowledgement made goosebumps prickle my flesh. “Come to the monitoring station. We have a lot to discuss.”

  He hung up.

  A burning smell came from the pan as the eggs overcooked. I didn’t care. Suddenly I wasn’t hungry at all.

  The downtown monitoring station turned out to be a small coffee shop a few blocks from Pier 39. Nothing special in the decor, nor in the offerings on the chalkboard menu posted on the wall. A businessman seated at a small bistro table by the window typed away on his laptop, coffee cup at hand. A student in a UCSF hoodie slurped a coffee-ish smoothie from a straw while speed-reading Crime and Punishment.

  I lowered my voice as Desmond let the glass door shut behind us. “¿Este lugar, es real?” Is this place real?

  Desmond nodded and answered in Spanish. “It’s a legit business. Good enough to make some money for the Union. Not good enough to draw too much attention.”

  “It’s a revenue source?”

  “Yeah. The Union owns businesses in just about every market in the city. They’ve tried to buy a share of Crafter’s Haven a few times.”

  “They have?”

  “I turned them down. Obviously. I don’t need a focus group deciding how I should run my business.”

  “They probably would have frowned upon the whole ‘enchantress renting space in the corner’ thing, too.”

  “You fooled me. You could’ve fooled them.”

  “Maybe. I think somebody like Maribel or Janette would’ve slunk along and sniffed me out sooner or later.” One of the shop patrons got up and went to the bar of coffee fixings. He squeezed a packet of honey into his cup, then returned to his seat. I caught a glimpse of the dark brown liquid within. That was definitely coffee. Honey in coffee. Gross. “So, where’s the monitoring post part of this place?”

  Desmond shepherded me to the counter. “Are you hiring?” he asked the cashier cleaning one of the gigantic coffee machines.

  “No, sorry,” said the young woman. Her brown hair was bound with an enormous clip, and her makeup was just a touch too heavy. I guessed she was in late high school, maybe early college. She didn’t look up from her work.

  “I have a lot of experience,” Desmond said. “I ran a coffee shop down in San Jose for three and a half years.”

  The girl’s eyes flicked up and locked on Desmond’s face. Her gaze raked him, evaluating, before she wiped her hands on a towel. She licked her lips nervously, then jerked her head toward a small doorway behind the counter. “Come on. You can talk to the manager.”

  “You ran a coffee shop?” I asked Desmond as we rounded a display of pastries to cross behind the counter. Wait, I was using my Spanish more. Amazing how easy it was to switch back to English by instinct. I repeated, “¿Administraste una cafetería?”

  “No,” he whispered in Spanish. “It’s the passcode to get in. I don’t know if the girl is a Void or not. Sometimes the Union finds them young and gives them jobs and scholarships to secure their loyalty. Either way, she’ll know that I’m supposed to be allowed in.”

  “How delightfully secret agenty.”

  “Maybe one day I’ll even tell you my code name.”

  The door led to a cramped office. A desk squeezed against the far wall, topped by a set of shelves that climbed almost to the ceiling. Papers crammed the shelves, sorted into piles and folders label
ed in tiny print I couldn’t make out. An ancient computer tower hunched on the floor, so big I could have squeezed myself inside it. An equally ancient monitor squatted on the desk. Cardboard boxes were stacked on either side of the door almost to head height, labeled “dark roast,” “hazelnut vanilla,” and “decaf.”

  A large woman sat on a short swivel chair at the desk. Dark brown curls from a waning perm poured off her head, over a print blouse patterned with dogs chasing tennis balls. In her pale hand she gripped the stem of a coffee mug with cinnamon-topped whipped cream puffing out over the top. She spun her chair to face the door as we entered, eliciting a strident squeak from old metal swivels. Wrinkles creased her face, betraying her age. “Problem?” she asked.

  The cashier jerked her thumb at Desmond. “Veronica, this guy says he ran a coffee shop in San Jose for three and a half years. I know we’re not hiring, but you said anybody with solid experience is s’posed to talk to you, so here he is.”

  “Thanks, Bethany. I’ll take it from here. You go back to playing Enraged Avians or whatever it is you do when the shop’s quiet.”

  Bethany chuckled and let herself out. Veronica raised her enormous mug to her lips and sucked down a mouthful of whipped cream, and perhaps a sip of coffee too. She wiped her mouth on a paper napkin and gave Desmond a studious once-over. “Why are you really here?”

  “Union business. You’re really Veronica?”

  “In the flesh. All of it.” She grinned and pinched her double chin. “And you are? Or should I call you Mister Union Business?”

  “Desmond. And this is Adrienne.”

  Veronica’s eyebrows shot up. “Ohhhh. You’re Bane’s new minion. The enchantress.”

  Instinct compelled me to glance around and ensure no one could have overheard. “I, uh ...”

  “Don’t fear me, sweetie. I’m like a Saint Bernard. Big and intimidating, but all soft on the inside.” She took another sip of creamy coffee. “I’m also one of the Voidyest Voids in the Union, so don’t get any ideas about bullying me with magic. It might work on our weaker brethren, but nothing you can throw will touch me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Great. We’ll get along just fine. Coffee? Then you can tell me what’s got two fine young paranormals dropping into my little outpost.”

  “There’ll actually be three of us,” I said. “My friend Kendall is on her way. Harrow was supposed to meet us.”

  Veronica leaned back in her chair, making the frame squeak again. “Bane’s coming here?”

  “He’s here now,” said a voice from behind me. I jumped, turning to see Harrow standing in the open doorway, flanked by an apologetic Bethany.

  “I’m sorry, Veronica, he just barged in, said he knows you.”

  “He does, sweetie. Let him in, and expect another person on their way. Though I think I’ll be wishing my office was a little larger if this keeps up.” She winked at Harrow. “Not that I don’t wish that already.”

  A bemused Bethany shut the door once again, and Harrow squeezed around us to shake Veronica’s hand. “I’m sorry to surprise you like this.”

  “Not at all, kid. I love visitors. Don’t get enough of them.” She smiled past Harrow at me. “I was Bane’s trainer when he was first discovered by the Union. What was that, thirty years ago?”

  “Thirty-three,” said Harrow. “But we’re not here to chat, Veronica.”

  “Of course not. So busy, you people up there in headquarters.”

  “You were one of us not too long ago.”

  “Indeed. But I’ve earned my rest now, thank you.” She shifted her seat and took another long draw of the coffee mug, emptying it. “So. What do you need, kid?”

  “Priorities first.” He turned to Desmond. “Were you followed?”

  Desmond stood up a bit straighter under his boss’s scrutiny. I could almost feel him aching for some sign, any sign, of approval. “No,” he replied. “We took a roundabout route, doubling back and circling blocks. If anyone was tailing us, they kept out of sight.”

  Harrow gave the slightest nod, and Desmond suppressed a relieved smile. Harrow ignored it and shifted sideways so he could look at all of us at once. “That doesn’t mean the enchanter hasn’t tracked Adrienne here, but I’ve arranged for two dozen Void patrols to supervise this area today.”

  “I hope that’s enough,” I muttered.

  “It has to be. I asked you to meet me here because Veronica is one of the few Voids I can trust completely. She’s been with the Union longer than either of you have been alive, and her immunity to magic is almost one hundred percent.”

  Desmond nodded. “I’ve heard even ghosts can’t give her more than papercuts.”

  Veronica laughed. “That’s an exaggeration, son. But not by much.”

  “She’s taken down over a dozen rogue enchanters and helped eliminate three fleshwriter cults in California,” Harrow continued. “And she’s the only Void in this outpost, the only one who will know we were here today and what we discussed. Even the patrols assigned to the neighborhood have no idea we’re here. Until I determine who is truly loyal to the Union, do not trust anyone outside of this room.”

  Another knock sounded on the door. Again Bethany entered, this time flanked by Kendall. “Veronica ...”

  “Just let her in, Bethany. It’s a spontaneous board meeting.”

  “We don’t have a board.”

  “I can have a board if I want. Go make a big pot of French Vanilla for everybody. And start on some cocoa-caramel espresso whips for afterward.”

  Bethany pursed her lips, but did as ordered. Kendall shut the door and leaned against it. “Sorry I’m late. Some lady was buying the clearance Christmas figurines and took forever to pick through them all. So, about not trusting people outside the room. That didn’t include me, right?” When Harrow frowned at her, she tapped the side of her head. “Squirrel hearing.”

  He grimaced. “I’ll keep my voice lower from now on. No, that did not include you. In fact, I specifically asked Adrienne to bring you to this meeting. It’s time you and Reserve Desoto know what we are up against.”

  Briefly he told them about the falling of other Void Unions, and the likelihood a spy was feeding their locations and other intel to the fleshwriters. “We also believe this individual told Geralt Sauvage where to find Adrienne, and helped the captive fleshwriter escape from our prison.”

  “Why are these secrets okay to share now? Did something happen?” I asked.

  Harrow ignored my question and instead spoke to Kendall. “Miss McAllister, your studies are in computer engineering, correct?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Doubling in mechanical engineering. With a minor in underwater basket weaving.”

  “I have some data I need you to analyze.”

  Kendall’s eyes shot to the fat computer on the desk. “With this dinosaur? I don’t think so.”

  Veronica’s blue eyes sparkled. “Oh, darling. Just watch.”

  She swiveled to face the desk–squeaaaaak–and jiggled the mouse to turn on the computer. An operating system from when I was a toddler blinked to life. Veronica opened the computer’s command prompt and typed a rapid sequence. Kendall made a little noise of recognition, but I was lost until the screen blacked out, then flared to life again.

  In place of the ancient software, a sleek desktop graced the screen. Veronica grinned at it, then nodded to the huge computer tower by her feet. “Don’t let the shell fool you. The computing power in there could run a city.”

  “It does run a city,” Harrow remarked. “Veronica keeps track of all Union activities for me and monitors every news outlet for leads that might be relevant to paranormal interests. She is my eyes and ears.”

  “And stomach,” Veronica said with a laugh. “Speaking of which, Bane, you have to eat something before you leave. You look thinner every time I see you.”

  Harrow took on a longsuffering look that almost made me giggle. Apparently even the most severe man had someone out t
here who worried whether he ate enough and washed his socks.

  His next words stole every ounce of mirth. “There’s been another attack.”

  Desmond shifted his feet, as if prepping for combat. “Where?”

  “Florida.”

  “Vince mentioned Florida,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Harrow. “We assumed he was baiting us, but I warned the Unions down there nonetheless. They had prepared for any fleshwriter incursions into their territory, and used local resources to set up magical countermeasures on their buildings.”

  “And? Did they stop them? Did they capture anyone?” Did they capture Geralt? I silently prayed. Please let my worries be over. Though from the serious look on Harrow’s face, I knew that couldn’t be true.

  Harrow produced a flash drive from his pocket and plugged it into the computer, his face giving nothing away. When he accessed the drive, a single file popped up, a document he opened to reveal blocks of small text.

  “This is an internal document from the Orlando Police Department,” he said. “The information here hasn’t been released to the public yet.”

  “How’d you get your hands on it?” Kendall asked.

  “Connections,” Harrow said, at the same moment as Veronica. She gave him a fond, motherly smile. Harrow didn’t notice. “This report is about a small office building in the Orlando suburbs, where yesterday over two dozen corpses were recovered. That building was the Orlando Void Union’s headquarters.”

  “Another fleshwriter attack,” I murmured. “Our warning didn’t help them.”

  “It didn’t save them,” Harrow corrected. “It did help. Every other building burned where the fleshwriters struck, destroying all evidence on the bodies inside. This one didn’t.”

  “No fires?” Desmond asked.

  “None. Police recovered the bodies intact.”

  “And?” I asked breathlessly. “What did they find? What are the fleshwriters using to kill everybody?”