by Shona Husk
It had been longer. She was sure, but did she trust her own mind when so much seemed to be missing?
He gave her one last lingering look and left the room. When he was gone, she turned back to the window to draw the heavy curtains. A large crow landed on the balcony railing. It cocked its head and stared at her.
Help me. But the words never formed. The plea remained stuck in her head, and no matter what she did it was trapped. She was trapped in her own body, unable to do anything to aid her own escape from the evil that was Thomas Quigley.
“I need to talk to you.” Oskar stood in the doorway. He’d been watching Mason go through a complicated series of karate moves. The kata looked beautiful and was one way above him, but Mason had made it look easy. He made everything look as easy as if being a witch was a natural state, not something that had to be worked at.
Mason beckoned him into the large room they trained in. Oskar bowed and toed off his shoes, then decided he’d better take his socks off, too, since Mason was still on the mats and wasn’t walking over to talk. If he wanted to talk to Mason, he had to step onto the mats. And stepping onto the mats meant he had to be ready to fight.
“Is this about your misappropriation of company time to research your great uncle?” Mason watched him, looking for a lie or a denial. To do either would be stupid. Mason hadn’t gotten this far by being kind and forgiving. On the other hand, only one witch had been killed in the last five years, and the Uncommon Raven Agency, which employed many coven members, was doing well, so whatever Mason was doing was working.
“It could be.” Oskar stood opposite the man who’d kept him from going off the rails as a young teen, and who’d brought him into the coven at eighteen. He was also the man who wouldn’t fully initiate him despite nearly twelve years of loyal service to the coven and the Morrigu. He was an outsider and it wasn’t from anything he’d done—that he could have accepted.
Mason bowed and the sinking sensation that Oskar was about to get his ass kicked into next week grew. He couldn’t afford to lose a week.
Oskar returned the bow and the bone bracelet around his wrist gave a hollow clink. “I’m not dressed for fighting.” Jeans and a t-shirt—it could’ve been worse, at least he didn’t favor the skinny jeans that were in fashion.
“A warrior is always dressed to fight.”
Great. Mason was in one of those moods. Quiet and deadly with no trace of humor. Last time they’d crossed paths like this, Oskar had been banned from using magic for three months. It wasn’t that Mason hated him, he just didn’t trust him. The Quigley bloodline had turned bad about a century ago. Hell, half the time Oskar wasn’t sure he trusted himself. But he worked hard, harder than some of the others, to prove he was worthy.
Oskar raised his hands, his fingers loosely curled. The mats were cool and firm beneath his feet. Familiar. He was going to miss this place. With only a few months until the death curse took his life, there were things he needed to do.
He needed to tell Mason he was resigning. It wasn’t as though the coven would miss him, they’d probably be glad to see him go. He caught his thoughts before they turned black. He had friends, and the people he trusted were here, even if that trust didn’t always flow back. The coven was his default family.
“What do you want to say?” Mason threw a couple of quick punches that Oskar barely sidestepped and blocked. Mason was just too damn fast.
“I quit.” Again Oskar defended, but didn’t attack. He didn’t get a chance as Mason kept him dancing, but Mason was only testing. If Mason had wanted, he could have put him on the mats already.
“You’ve got three months until the Morrigu claims you.” Mason caught Oskar’s wrist. To avoid getting it broken, he threw himself over Mason’s arm, rolled, and came back up. Mason was waiting with a kick that came very close to clipping his jaw.
Oskar slid under Mason’s guard, hoping to at least get one good strike in. “I’m not going to sit and wait for Her to come.”
“You’re going after your uncle.”
“Great-great-great uncle.” They weren’t that closely related. The only thing they had in common was the curse. Thomas, his uncle, had pissed the Morrigu off plenty, not that She wanted Thomas’s soul anymore. He was no warrior, but a coward afraid of death. As punishment for Thomas’s actions, all the Quigley men died at thirty. It was a bitch of a curse and not an easy thing to live with. There was nothing nice about knowing the day his life would end. “You’d do the same.”
Mason didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Oskar could see the concern etched in the lines between Mason’s eyebrows and in the thin press of his lips. He’d expected Mason to try and talk him out of it. One mistimed kick and Oskar was swept onto his back. Before he could get up, Mason was on him, pinning him to the mats. “You think you’re ready to take on a witch of that strength?”
They grappled, the fight moving from controlled technique to rough and dirty. “Do I have a choice? I can’t ask any of you to join me. Too many have already died trying to right his wrong.” An entire coven had been wiped out sixty years ago. But that wasn’t all. There was a pattern to the other deaths—or disappearances as they were called. Unsolved cases, missing men, none of whom had any connections to other covens that Oskar could find.
“You want to die sooner?” Mason gripped the front of Oskar’s shirt as if he could shake sense into him. Put that way it sounded a little insane.
“I don’t fear death. It’s coming for me anyway.” He’d known since he was fifteen that he was going to die like his father. Midnight on his thirtieth birthday. He’d been told why. At first he’d pleaded, begged the Goddess for trials and quests to prove he wasn’t the same, but it had all been in vain. Eighty-nine days to go. Some people might pack their bags and go to Thailand. Others take out a loan and live big in Vegas. He intended to meet the Morrigu head on and prove he would go down swinging right to the end.
“And the Morrigu?” Mason raised an eyebrow. The fight was now over. Mason would let him walk away if their Goddess was in agreement, but Oskar still couldn’t lie to Mason, not totally anyway.
“She is silent on the matter.” Well, not entirely. But since She could only invade his dreams unless he actively sought Her out, he’d been choosing to ignore them. Ignoring the Goddess he was sworn to serve probably wouldn’t end well, but shit, really, how much worse could things get?
Mason released him and stood. After a pause he offered Oskar a hand, which he accepted. “Your mind is made up.”
Oskar nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He’d rather live a long life, have a wife and children, but he wouldn’t allow himself either. He didn’t want to pass the curse on. He’d seen too many cousins die. While the Morrigu only required the service of the youngest son, She’d been so incensed by Thomas’s misuse of magic that all Quigley men wore the death curse, not just the witches. He had nephews that would die before they’d hit their stride. Before they ever had a chance to leave their mark.
When he’d die, no one would give a damn. His father had died when he was three, because of the curse, his mother when he was seventeen, because of cancer. The coven might pause for a moment, they’d have to find someone else to do their research and background work.
Oskar took a breath and looked Mason in the eye. “I’d like to be fully initiated before I go.”
“No.”
“Damn it. I have spent my life working for Her and the coven, you could at least grant me full rank and privilege before I die.”
“When you die you get full rank and privilege. I will not hand you that power when, by your own admission, you are going to see Thomas.”
“And if I live?” The odds of that happening were small, but a chance was still a chance and it was better than the alternative. He couldn’t lie down and accept his fate.
“Live naturally or join him?”
“When I kill him.” There was only one way to end the death curse, but killing a hundred-year-old witch who was using death
magic to stay alive wasn’t going to be easy. If it was, people wouldn’t have died trying. But he had a plan. One that sucked and put him in Thomas’s hands, but he needed to get close since he couldn’t beat him with magic.
“If you kill him, you will get full admittance. The first Quigley in one hundred years.” Mason stepped back and bowed. The conversation was over. “Put your resignation letter on my desk. Of course, if you live, you can have your job back.”
Oskar snorted, he wasn’t even thinking that far ahead. He couldn’t. There was too much that could happen between now and his thirtieth birthday.
“Thanks.” He couldn’t erase the sarcasm from his voice.
“You’ve put everything you have into training, both as a warrior and a witch. You’ve been an asset in the office, but I will not breach the restriction put on your bloodline by the Morrigu.”
His eyebrows jerked up. He hadn’t realized it was a direct order from Her. Did She realize She was hampering the people who wanted Thomas’s work undone? Probably, but She was a vindictive bitch at times so She probably didn’t care. Of all the Gods and Goddesses out there, he’d had to have been born into a family that was bound to serve the Morrigu because of some ancient battle and agreement. Freewill was ninety percent bullshit. “I understand.”
“Good.” Mason clasped his hand. “And good luck. You’ll need it.”
No, he didn’t need luck. He needed magic. He needed the coven at his back. But all he had was fifty years of research that his grandfather had started and his father had added to. Both had been cops. Oskar had used his time at the Uncommon Raven Agency to add his own notes to the file—misusing company time. He now had a clear picture of what Thomas Quigley had been up to, even if he still had no idea how to break the spell or how to kill Thomas.
“Thank you. For everything.” Without Mason and the coven he would’ve ended it sooner—he’d certainly thought about it when he was younger. Living with a death curse was a sentence on its own. Eighty-nine days. Plenty of time.
Excerpt: Hunted
Rachel had walked past the building several times over the last three days but had never stopped. This evening the light was on and spilling through the window and onto the footpath. People brushed past her on their way home, or to the subway, or maybe going to grab some dinner. They were getting on with their lives while she was running from hers. She glanced over her shoulder, a nasty habit she was developing, but no one was looking at the casually dressed woman staring at the door; she was just another person bundled up against the cold, hoping to hide amongst the millions of New York City.
Why had she stopped this time? Was it the silhouette of the bird, black against the golden light, that drew her gaze? She scanned the writing beneath. They offered women’s self-defense classes and martial arts training. She didn’t want self-defense classes and she didn’t have the time to learn a martial art. If her husband—ex-husband if he ever signed the papers—found her, none of that would help. She swallowed and tried not to think of Cory’s rage and his burning of the papers. He’d stormed out of the house, and the divorce lawyer had been found dismembered the next day. She knew Cory had done it even though there was no evidence linking him to the crime. Since then she’d been running, not wanting to be next.
The last line of writing caught her eye: Personal protection services.
All that went on behind one plain door at the Uncommon Raven Agency. She glanced up at the rest of the building. It was nothing special, just another non-descript, brown apartment block. It looked as though there were flats upstairs—curtains on the windows, lights on in some. Someone bumped into her and she jumped, expecting the worst. It was getting dark. She should get back to the hostel. It had been three days since she’d come to New York. She was living on cash so Cory couldn’t track her by her withdrawals. She’d ditched her old sim card and bought a pre-paid one. Told her parents Cory was trying to find her and that he was dangerous.
Instead of offering their support, they had told her off for leaving him when he needed her most. Cory was the injured hometown hero, the local boy who’d hit the big time and been a professional quarterback. He was beloved by everyone, including her, once. She’d married him with stars in her eyes. Seven years later he wasn’t the man she’d married.
He hadn’t been for about twelve months, not since the accident.
She shivered and tried to blame it on the winter chill. The Uncommon Raven Agency building looked warm and safe, but she couldn’t afford their protection. The account she’d set up only months ago didn’t have enough in it. She hadn’t planned on leaving so soon. She hadn’t expected Cory to react so violently to her desire to leave. In the same breath she admitted she couldn’t afford help, she realized that she didn’t want to die, either, which was exactly what Cory had promised to do if she didn’t stop divorce proceedings.
After what she’d seen, and the more frequent outings of his darker side, there was no way in hell she was going to stay. Perhaps she should have left the first time, but that would have simply fuelled the gossip mill of Liberty. For the last two years he’d forbidden her from working, so she had no money of her own; the papers were simply a request to get things moving so she could start again. Cory had reacted badly. He saw losing her as a sign of weakness.
He hadn’t lost her; he’d pushed her out of his life. They may have lived under the same roof, but they rarely spoke and they hadn’t shared a bedroom in months.
The cops didn’t want to get involved. He burned some papers, so what? There was no history of abuse, and Cory was a local hero. Over reacting. Just an argument, they said. He had the whole of Liberty charmed with his smile. However, it no longer blinded her. She’d seen the dark glint in his eye and the curl of his lip, and while he’d had an alibi for the lawyer’s death, he’d smiled as if he’d done it and knew he was untouchable. Maybe he was. Which meant she might as well give up and become a statistic.
She took a step towards the door; maybe they could offer some advice?
She didn’t need to tell them Cory was a quarterback, on the rise again after what should have been a career-ending injury—a miraculous recovery and a darkening of his personality. No one else saw it, but she did. She lived it. While he’d always loved the spotlight, he had become obsessed, convinced people were plotting against him and paranoid that she was cheating—to the point she couldn’t even go out with girlfriends or see her parents without him following her. She couldn’t live like that.
And she didn’t want to live always looking over her shoulder, either. In her gut she knew Cory would never let her go, losing his wife would be a public loss of face. She was supposed to hang off his arm and smile on cue. Surely his popularity and reach couldn’t extend this far? She should be safe here.
But she still needed to reissue the divorce papers, she needed a job and money, and as soon as she started to settle he’d find her. With a final glance into the crowd to make sure she wasn’t being followed, she pushed open the door and then stepped inside.
It was warm and bright, and for the first time in seven days she felt safe. The door shut behind her and a small smile formed as she unbuttoned her charcoal grey winter coat. It was a stupid feeling, really. How could stepping into an office building make her feel safe? There was nothing special about it, it wasn’t big or fancy, just a plain reception area. There was a stand of flyers on one side below an old picture of a man in a white karate suit holding a small child. The desk that sat to one side was unoccupied, a computer and cell phone sat on the desk. Weren’t they worried someone would walk through the door and steal them?
“Hello?” She pressed the bell on the desk. From the back she could hear voices but couldn’t make out the words.
Maybe there was a class on. Rachel hesitated, not sure what to do. Should she wait or go have a look? Maybe she should just leave. It was a dumb idea anyway. It wasn’t as though they were going to help her for free.
She turned around to leave. Rain spattered th
e glass window. Great. If she hadn’t stopped, she’d have been back at the hostel already.
“Can I help you?”
Rachel turned at the voice. She hadn’t heard him approach. She should have. He was a solid, older man, his hair almost all grey. He wore shorts and a singlet and his skin was sheened in sweat. And he radiated power. Some guys tried to be threatening, this man just stood there almost glowing with power. She didn’t belong in here. Her mouth dried.
“I um…I’m sorry for interrupting.” She shouldn’t have come in; he’d obviously forgotten to lock the door. “I saw the sign and the door was open.”
“I was expecting someone.” His gaze drifted over her as if looking for something, and she had the distinct impression that he’d been expecting her and was now assessing her. How was that possible?
She took a step back. Her life had been weird lately but this was really pushing the boundary, and yet, while she should be running, she still didn’t feel threatened, just uncomfortable. It was too warm in here to be wearing her coat. She was sure her face was turning red. She shifted her stance, glad to be wearing runners instead of Cory’s required heels. He’d hate her going out in public looking like this, dressing down, not looking the part of being his perfect wife. She’d bought these clothes without his approval. It had felt damn good. “I should go.”
“Why did you come in?”
She paused. Did it really matter? She didn’t know how to say what was wrong with her life. It sounded wrong, even to her. She’d had the perfect life in Liberty. Women had envied her. She rolled a few ideas around, wishing she’d done this before she’d come in. I’d like some advice on how to stay hidden from my ex. I need help. Please stop him from finding me and killing me. Yeah, people were going to line up for that job…
And yet he hadn’t asked her to leave, and he hadn’t said they were closed. She drew in a breath and decided to go with the truth. “I think I need help.”
