by Lori Drake
Swallowing a sigh, I glanced over my shoulder in the direction of my car before following them up to the tiny landing that didn’t even really qualify as a porch. Hector knocked, and the door cracked open a few moments later. My view was blocked by the pair in front of me, but I thought I caught a glimpse of steely gray hair and one brown eye before the door closed again. I could hear the muffled rattle of a chain lock being unfastened. The door opened again, and Hector moved inside, followed by Tracy, and finally me, the unlikely caboose on this little mystery train.
The scent of incense washed over me, heavy in the air as I entered the dwelling. The floor creaked quietly under our feet in that way manufactured homes do, old enough that I was a little concerned that if I put my foot down too hard it might go right through the floor. It took my eyes a few moments to adjust to the change in light level. Outside, the sun was just getting around to setting, but inside it was already as dim as twilight. The windows were covered by woven blankets, and the only sources of light were a floor lamp and the television, which was turned down low. Two small children lay on the floor in front of the television, watching raptly as cartoon characters cavorted and sang. A wizened old woman sat in a rocking chair near the floor lamp, a smoking pipe between her yellowed teeth. Her hair was completely white, her brown skin wrinkled like an old prune. She stared at me for a long moment while Hector, Tracy, and the middle-aged man who had opened the door stood quietly, watching her for… something. I wasn’t sure what, but I was suddenly very keenly aware that I was the only non-witch in the room. Even the children had that telltale spark. I stood there awkwardly, like an ant under a magnifying glass, trying not to fidget. After lengthy consideration, the old witch gave her head a little nod and went back to puffing her pipe. Whatever the test was, I guess I passed.
Hector turned to the man who had opened the door and said a few words in Spanish.
“Thank you for letting us come by, this won’t take long.” He glanced over his shoulder at me and I gave him a confused look. It wasn’t much of a stretch, because I was pretty confused, just not about what he had said. But it’s always interesting to hear what people have to say when they don’t think you can understand them.
The older man seemed to wear a perpetual frown. He eyed me in a none-too-friendly fashion, but nodded to Hector and walked toward the kitchen, beyond which was a short hallway and a closed door.
Hector followed him, and Tracy shot me a supportive smile before following. I was starting to like her a little bit, but it’d probably pass. Left to bring up the rear again, I trailed quietly in their wake, looking around as I went. Though the house was humble in its appointments, it was well cared for and clean. The furniture was mismatched, the walls a faux-wood panel with various family photos, cheap art prints and children’s drawings hanging on it. The kitchen sink was empty, with clean dishes drying in the drainer beside it. There was a battered old gas stove but nothing so luxurious as a dishwasher—which was a bare necessity as far as I was concerned. It was surprisingly tidy for a house with two small children in it, and I wondered if whoever kept it resorted to magical means to manage it more easily.
Down the hallway I went, but the closer I got to the door at the other end, the more the hair on my arms started to stand up—which is a pretty odd sensation when you’re wearing a long sleeve shirt and a coat. I could sense magic, powerful magic, behind that door, but I couldn’t see anything. It was strong enough that I felt like I should be seeing the glow of it through the crack between door and doorframe, but there wasn’t anything there.
The older man opened the door and stepped into the room. As soon as he opened it, the glow from the next room nearly blinded me. I flung up a hand to shade my eyes and squinted into the sudden brightness, while ahead of me Hector and Tracy continued forward as if nothing were amiss.
My feet had halted when faced with the sudden glare, but I pressed onward again only to stop just before crossing the threshold into the room. The doorway was webbed with an intricate latticework of nearly invisible lines of power. They were blurry, like smudged residues of once-sharp images, and while I could recognize them as warding lines I wasn’t at all certain what they were warding against. Hopefully not confused, in-over-their-head mundies, or I was in trouble.
My eyes began to adjust, and I lowered my hand to reach out and brush the near side of the ward with my fingertips. The lines of power flexed but didn’t offer much in the way of resistance. My fingertips slipped through easily, and though it tingled a little it didn’t hurt. A good thing, since I liked my fingertips as they were. Holding my breath, I stepped through the doorway and into the next room, which felt kind of like stepping through a cold spider web. It clung to me a little, and I shook myself on impulse on the other side, even though it’d already rebounded into place.
Hector, Tracy, and the older man were all standing there staring at me like I’d grown a third eye.
I cleared my throat softly and squared my shoulders, ignoring them as I took a few steps forward and looked around the room in the hope of seeing what it was that had brought me all the way out here. It wasn’t just the doorway that was warded, but all four walls, the floor, and the ceiling. There was barely a square inch of paint or plaster visible anywhere in the room. Like the rest of the house, it was dim. Unlike the rest of the house, it was lit entirely with candles and an ancient-looking oil lamp, rather than any electrical source. I could imagine why. With this much magical energy lining the walls, it would disrupt any electrical current that tried to pass through it.
Also, like the rest of the house, the room was meticulously tidy, with everything in its place. My eyes were drawn to the conspicuous disruption to the order of the room. Namely, the lump under the covers on the otherwise meticulously made bed. A woman lay there, tucked under layers of woven blankets. Only her head and neck poked out from under them. She was bronze-skinned with dark hair parted down the center and plaited into thick braids that disappeared under the blankets. Her brown eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling much like Jane Doe’s had; she lay there like an empty void in the center of a shimmering magical web, completely devoid of magic herself.
“Oh. Shit,” I said. Sometimes I can be so damn eloquent.
Hector & Co must have recovered themselves by then because I heard a quiet click behind me of the door closing and then sensed a flare of power to my left. It was the only warning I got before a glowing spiderweb of power pushing a wall of air flung me backwards. I’m a little ashamed to admit that I squeaked in alarm, finding myself pinned against the back of the door that had just closed, pressed against the shimmering wards that seemed very aware of my presence. I felt them moving against my back, cold and alive. It was creepy.
“Hector!” Tracy’s green eyes were wide as she lifted a hand to cover her mouth, looking on in alarm.
“Seconded!” I exclaimed, squirming to no avail. “What the fuck, man?” The magical bonds tightened, which only angered me further. I really hate it when people get the drop on me, and I’d walked right into this with the full knowledge that it might be a trap.
Hector stepped in front of me. “Where is he?” Even with him right in my face, it was difficult to focus on him with the amount of power he was wielding. He was either exceptionally gifted or in serious danger.
“Shit, calm down, man! I don’t need another burned-out witch on my hands, and I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Who are you, really? Did he send you?” He stepped even closer. I could smell green chile on his breath. It wasn’t super pleasant, second-hand.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about. I told you who I am. My name is Emily. I’m a nurse at St. Vincent’s. I treated your friend. Victoria, right?” I was getting desperate, and I looked over at Tracy for help, but she just stood there with her hand over her mouth. Power flared around her a moment later, and I hoped that meant she was prepared to step in if she needed to. But even the presence of a potential ally made me angrier.
I hate feeling helpless, and this situation was a keen reminder of just how powerless I was in the face of this sort of opposition.
“You’re not a Davenport,” Hector insisted, and I think his eyes narrowed, but I was getting a little dizzy. Why the hell did I give them my last name? I must not have answered fast enough, because he started rifling my pockets until he found my wallet, then started pulling shit out of it and letting it all sift down to the clean floor like so much detritus.
When he found my driver’s license, he frowned as he studied it, then held it up to compare the terrible DMV photo against my actual face. Fortunately, there was enough resemblance for verification. The spiderweb of power securing me to the wall ghosted away, and I slid down the door a few inches until my feet made contact with the floor again. I stumbled forward and landed on my hands and knees, just trying to get away from the discomfort of the wards at my back.
“You know,” I said after a moment, lifting my head to shoot a small glare up at him, emboldened because the glow around him had faded. “If you’d just asked to see that to start with, you could have saved yourself some embarrassment.”
Chapter 6
I couldn’t get out of that house fast enough. Away from Hector, away from the burned-out witch in her magical tomb, away from the children quietly glued to the television set and the cloying scent of incense and tobacco smoke. No one tried to stop me, but Hector and Tracy followed me outside, the former calling thanks and apologies to the hosts for the “rude white bitch” in Spanish on the way out.
That didn’t do much for my already-flared temper, let me tell you.
It wasn’t until I was halfway to the car that he tried to stop me, reaching out to catch hold of my arm. This time I was ready, and instead of pulling away from him I balled up a fist and twisted, bringing my fist upward in a stiff uppercut that landed squarely on his jaw. His head rocked back, and he released me instantly. Tracy cried out in alarm, magic flaring around her as she rushed to him. I tensed, but she wasn’t paying me any attention. No, she reached up to touch his face, probably mending whatever minimal damage I had done.
Backing up, still angling in the direction of my parked car, I shook my hand out. Punching someone hurts, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.
Hector brushed Tracy off once she was finished, brow furrowed as he focused his attention on me. “Where do you think you’re going?” He was clearly not as finished with the conversation as I wanted to be.
“Wherever the hell I want!” I retorted, gloved fingers fumbling for my car keys around all the junk now loose in my coat pocket. “Away from here, that’s for damned sure. Where do you get off, anyway? I don’t know who the hell you’re looking for, but I don’t have anything to do with any of this. I’m just a nurse.” I jammed my thumb down on the remote entry button, and the driver’s door unlocked behind me.
“Daniel Davenport,” he said.
The name gave me pause. Enough pause that he smirked and folded his arms.
“So you do know him,” he said. That telltale glow came alive around him again, and I responded by yanking the car door open and trying to dive inside before he could sling another spell at me. It’s a lot harder to cast magic through a hunk of glass and metal. Not impossible, but harder. I almost made it, but a rope of power coiled around my foot and dragged me back out the open door and across the snow toward where the witches stood.
I was getting really tired of being magically manhandled by this asshole. “Goddammit! Quit that!” I grabbed at the snowy ground but found no purchase. My gloved fingers left furrows in the snow as I slid backward until he stopped pulling.
“Just tell us where to find him, and we’ll let you go!” Tracy finally spoke again, but I wasn’t sure if I could trust Hector to honor the offer.
I glared over my shoulder at both of them. “I haven’t heard from him in years. I don’t know where he is. Assuming the Daniel Davenport I know is even the one you’re looking for.”
“Awfully big coincidence, two Davenport witches showing up in Santa Fe at the same time, isn’t it?” Hector challenged.
I glared at him some more. “If I was a Davenport witch you’d be strung up from a tree by your short and curlies right now, buddy. I told you, I’m a nurse. I’ve been here for years. Hell, I’m a regular at the cafe. That’s how I found you in the first place.”
“But you could see the wards. If you’re not a witch, what are you?” Tracy asked, her confusion clear.
I gave a mighty tug against Hector’s mystical tentacle, my overactive imagination half expecting it to start creeping up my leg like some sort of Japanese schoolgirl hentai nightmare. But he released me, and I rolled over, pushing myself up to sit on my ass at their feet. “Witch Lite? Tastes great, less filling? I’m a null. I don’t have any power. I never did. I don’t even know what those wards in there are warding off. Wait, now that you mention it, what are they warding off?” I frowned up at him, but it was Tracy who spoke up this time.
“They’re protections, preventing further harm from coming to Christina. They keep magic, magical creatures, constructs, and magic users—except for those attuned to them, anyway—from passing through them into the room. We expected them to stop you, but they didn’t,” she explained, earning a glare from Hector, but she stood her ground.
Well, that certainly explained the way they were looking at me when I jumped that particular shark. “Okay,” I said. “Now, what the hell does my little brother have to do with two burned-out witches in the ass crack of New Mexico?”
“That’s what we’d like to ask him,” Hector said grimly. “He was… ‘friendly’ with them both. And now all of a sudden they’ve both burned out. Tori is dead, and Christina might as well be. Joseph—Christina’s husband—is out for blood. We just want to find him before Joseph does. Get some answers.”
Suddenly it all started to make a strange sort of sense. “Okay, that does sound like Dan. The friendliness, I mean. Dan’s very friendly.” Sticking his dick where it probably didn’t belong had become his specialty, or so I’d heard through the grapevine.
I started to pick myself up off the ground. “If you touch me with magic again I’m going to start screaming ‘stranger danger’ at the top of my lungs,” I cautioned, brushing snow from my pant legs. He said nothing, so I took that silence as assent. “I don’t know where Dan is, but I’ll try to track him down. I doubt he had anything to do with what happened to your friends. He’s not evil, he’s just… morally challenged.”
“How do I know you won’t help him escape?” Hector asked, frowning hard enough that I could hear it in his voice.
“I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t even know where to start… but, okay.” I ticked the points off on my fingers. “One, I came to you voluntarily with information out of the kindness of my fucking heart, and I like to think I’ve been a pretty good sport about you batting me around like a cat with a ball of yarn. Two, if I’d known Dan was sleeping his way through your coven I wouldn’t have given you a reason to link me to him. Hell, I probably would have just left an anonymous note on your car. Three, if Dan wasn’t involved—whether you like it or not—he could be the best bet you have to figure out what happened.”
Hector had too much pride to accept that last one without a fight, but I didn’t expect otherwise. He puffed up like a challenged rooster, opening his mouth to crow a protest but closing it when I held up a hand.
“You two can wave your metaphysical dicks at each other in person. I’m not getting involved. But there’s a reason you reacted to the Davenport name. You know who they are, and you know what they can do. He may be an ass, but he’s a well-trained ass. If anyone can figure out what happened to your friends, he probably can.” I backtracked to my car. Once I got there, I had to rummage for my keys a bit, because I’d dropped them inside somewhere when I’d been unceremoniously dragged off by the ankle.
“Alri
ght, I’ll let you go on one condition,” he said.
I poked my head out of the car. “What’s that?”
“Leave me something personal so I can find you. A talisman.”
“Orrrrr I could give you my phone number and you can call me.” I tried not to sound sarcastic, but that’s never been my forte.
Witches. Always wanting to do things the hard way.
Chapter 7
It was nearly 9 p.m. when I finally stumbled into my dark apartment, fumbling for a light switch as I fended off the advances of the four-legged furball that was until that moment convinced I was never going to come home and feed him. Purring noisily, he flung himself against my ankles in a display of affection that wasn’t fooling me in the slightest; once he was fed he’d go back to ignoring me as usual.
Barrington—or “Lord” Barrington, as Matt called him—rarely lowered himself to hobnobbing with the servants. He was a big fluffy orange tabby with one blue eye and one green eye, which was unnerving when he took to staring at you, but it was cute when he was a kitten. That’s my only excuse for adopting him from the shelter; he was just so damn cute, and I needed something cute and fluffy in my life in the wake of the awkward end of my romantic relationship with Matt. Little did I know, Barrington would grow up into a lazy beast that shunned social interactions most of the time in favor of lying in sunbeams and in front of doors that needed to be opened. Oh, and hacking up the occasional monster hairball.
The cat got fed before I did, a scoop of dry kibble added to his bowl before I contemplated the slim pickings in my fridge. “Sandwich it is,” I said to the empty kitchen and set to making one. The blossom of color on my right hand drew my attention while I worked. The knuckles were bruising up nicely from the contact they’d made with Hector’s face. At least I hadn’t split any of them the way I had that time I punched my sister—but that’s a story for another time. Let’s just say she had it coming, and growing up Davenport wasn’t easy for a null. Throw in raging teenage hormones, and I was basically a ticking time bomb for a few years.
