Witch Fire

by Anya Bast

  And hoped for the best.

  Immediately, a blast of air threw the man who had ahold of her backward. He took some of her hair with him. Mira cried out in pain, her hands instantly covering her aching head.

  The room descended into chaos.

  Wind swirled around her but did not touch her and, if she'd done it right, not Jack either. Anxiously, she hoped so. She couldn't see him because debris formed a tornado around her. It obscured everything in her view but did not enter the four-foot bubble encasing her. Wind shrieked and furniture smashed.

  Mira clamped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. She fell to her knees, screaming at the top of her lungs, though she couldn't hear her own voice over the pandemonium she'd unleashed.

  Everything fell silent.

  "Mira," Jack breathed in a rasping voice.

  Mira opened her eyes to find Jack standing in the center of the room, glancing around wide-eyed. His clothes were ripped and blood smeared his face.

  Shaking violently and clutching the place in her chest where she'd torn her magick, Mira struggled to her feet and looked around her. The whole room had been swept clean. All the furniture, rugs, artwork, books—everything that had been in the room previously was now smashed and splintered along the edges of the walls. Only she and Jack stood unharmed in the center of the room.

  Everything else was ... destroyed. Everyone was ...

  Her breath came in short, fast gasps. No, no, no. "Tell me I didn't kill them," she said in a rush, glancing around at the debris.

  Pain throbbed in her chest where she'd ripped out the hank of her magick. Metaphysically—if one could feel metaphysically—her chest felt bloodied and wounded. The pain reached all the way up through her throat to her head. She tottered to the side a little and caught herself before she fell.

  "Mira." He paused, breathing heavy and wincing from his own wounds. "It was self-defense. They would've killed me in a heartbeat. Eventually, they would've killed you, too." He shook his head. "Don't doubt it.”

  The door to the penthouse slammed open, and more men in black poured through. They all stopped short, expressions of amazement on their faces as they surveyed the scene before them.

  Jack shot them a disgusted look. "You're late," he snarled. His sudden anger lashed her with fire, making her flinch.

  The pain she'd felt when she'd ripped the magick from her chest fully registered.

  Mira met the floor.

  THIRTEEN

  MIRA AWOKE TO THE LOW SOUND OF YOICES AND the motion of a vehicle. Her body thrummed with pain, especially where her hair had been ripped from her head. Her chest hurt too. Every time she drew a breath, it burned.

  Merely opening her eyes ached, so she closed them again after glimpsing the interior of what appeared to be a limo. There were others in the car, but she could sense Jack next to her and decided she was safe. Physical discomfort precluded any further musing on the subject of her personal security.

  Strong hands eased her up and cradled her against a chest. She winced at the movement. "Jack?" she murmured. She knew the feel of those hands, that chest.

  "It's me. It's okay," he whispered. He brushed the hair away from her forehead. "You keep passing out on me. We have to figure out how to keep you from doing that.”

  "Tell her to stop rupturing her magick. That'll help," said a woman from somewhere in the interior of the automobile.

  Jack placed his palm over Mira's forehead. The skin he touched grew warmer. The pain slowly leaked away. "Ingrid," he sighed, "if your men had been there a little sooner, she would not have been forced to do what she did. You know Thomas isn't going to be very happy about this mess." He placed a hand between her breasts, and the pain eased there as well.

  "Not even Thomas foresaw the Duskoff being able to crack those wards. It must have been their kidnapped air witch who tipped them off to the move. They pulled out all the stops to break in before you left for the airport. Crane wants her badly.”

  "I'm not talking about the break-in. I'm talking about your men's inability to reach us in time." Jack's voice trembled with threat, and his body grew noticeably warmer with his carefully restrained anger. "If Mira hadn't pulled that magick, I could be dead and she might be gone.”

  Ingrid, whoever she was, fell silent, clearly chastened.

  The pain in Mira's head and body receded enough for her to be able to function, thanks to Jack. She opened her eyes groggily and struggled to sit up. Jack was bruised and battered. A bit of dried blood marked his forehead and he held his right hand as though it hurt.

  The woman, Ingrid, was slim and dressed in a charcoal gray suit and sensible heels. Her ankles were crossed primly and a pair of stylish black glasses teetered on her heart-shaped face. Mira couldn't tell how long her blonde hair was since it was pulled up severely in a French twist. She would've been pretty were it not for her scowl.

  Two men sat on either side of Ingrid, both hunky and wearing black. What was the deal with these guys in black? Mira recognized them as two of the men who'd burst into the apartment right after—

  She put a hand to her temple, remembering. "I killed them, didn't I?”

  Jack put his arm around her shoulders. "Mira—”

  "Wait a minute." She pulled away from him and held up a hand. "I don't want to talk about that right now. I don't even want to think about that right now." She needed time to digest what had happened.

  "The cleanup of that incident is under my authority," Ingrid said. "I have Coven witches sifting through the mess. We don't know what became of the warlocks who attacked you yet.”

  She glared at Ingrid. Had she not just said she didn't want to talk about it? Incident. Cleanup. Mess. She'd killed people, and this woman talked about it like she'd dropped the milk carton on the kitchen floor.

  Jack sighed. "We're on our way to the airport now. Once we're at the Coven, the Duskoff won't be able to touch you.”

  Mira put her hand back to her temple. "Does it hurt so much because I pulled a lot of power?" Her body still ached despite Jack's healing, and she felt nauseous.

  "Yes. Think about your magick as a garden, Mira," answered Jack. "You tend it carefully and it nourishes you. Abuse it, yank big handfuls out of it, and there are consequences. When you take as much power as you did in the way you took it, it can make you sick. Your magick needs time to replenish itself.”

  "Where does it come from? The magick, I mean?”

  "That's a question for the philosophers at the Coven, Mira," answered Ingrid. She rolled her eyes. "They'll discuss it with you endlessly if you inquire.”

  Jack sighed in irritation. "Mira, meet Ingrid Harris. She's Thomas's right hand.”

  Mira massaged her temples and glanced at him. "Does that make you his left hand?”

  His mouth twitched. "Something like that.”

  "You're a very powerful witch, Mira," said Ingrid. "You'll get the training you need in Chicago, and once you've got your magick on a leash"—Ingrid smiled—"Crane will be the one running from you.”

  Mira moved her hand from her temple to look at the woman. "I would really like to see that," she replied with vehemence she felt to the tips of her toes.

  Ingrid's smile widened.

  The limo came to a stop in front of Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport, and the driver opened the door. Light poured into the dark interior of the car. Mira squinted while her pupils adjusted and shivered as cold wind rushed in to fill the warm space.

  "Have a good flight," said Ingrid. "I'll be traveling to Chicago in about a week. See you then.”

  Jack only shot Ingrid a dirty look. There was definitely some tension there. She wondered for a moment what kind. Was it sexual or professional? Both? Then she pushed the drought from her mind. It was none of her business.

  After saying goodbye to Ingrid, she garnered her winter coat, which someone had laid on the seat beside her, and climbed out of the vehicle. Jack followed.

  Mira quickly shrugged her coat on against
the frigid temperature while the driver set their luggage on the curb beside them. Yay for only destroying Jack's living room. The bedrooms, and their clothing, had been fine, apparently.

  Jack spoke to the driver, then turned to her. His face was truly a mess, now that she could see him clearly in the light. "Oh, Jack," she said in a rush of breath that clouded white in the cold air.

  He'd changed his clothes before they'd left the apartment and had wiped some of the blood away, but his lip was split and his left eye and side of his face was one big bruise.

  "Warlock had a wicked right hook," he grumbled as he picked up their bags and headed into the airport.

  After they'd checked their bags in—they were booked first class, to Mira's surprise—and navigated through security and the shops on the other side, Mira yanked him into the women's bathroom.

  "Ah ... Mira?”

  "You're bleeding again, Jack," she answered, pulling him toward the bank of sinks along one wall and garnering both amused and annoyed looks from the women in the bathroom as they went. "You can't go sit down in first class looking like you went toe-to-toe with a badass flight attendant to get in.”

  "I fly first class looking like this a lot," he growled at her. Boy, he was grumpy.

  She ignored him and wet a piece of paper towel under the faucet. "Just humor me, okay?”

  He winced as she wiped away some of the blood on his lower lip. "They have first aid in Chicago? Some kind of doctor there?”

  "Of course. There's a full staff of doctors and nurses, ones who don't ask questions.”

  She moved to a cut near his hairline. "I shouldn't have asked. They probably know you well, don't they, Jack?”

  He grabbed her hand, stilling her movement. "I won't see you much when we get to Chicago." He paused, searching her eyes. "My part of this will be done once we cross the Coven's threshold. You'll be safe, and I'll go on to another job.”

  She masked the sudden stab of melancholy she felt by tossing the paper towel in the trash. What a stupid reaction to have! She cussed herself out in her head. The last thing she wanted right now was to get into a relationship. So they'd slept together a few times. Big deal. It had been great, but they were both adults. Mira was old enough to understand it had been purely physical. Fine. He'd told her he wasn't the man for her right in the beginning. She'd known something like this was coming.

  Still, it pinched.

  "Okay," she replied with a tight, little smile. "And here I thought for sure you were going to ask me to marry you.”

  "Mira—”

  She rolled her eyes. "Joking." Mira inspected her make-upless face in the mirror, ensured she didn't have a bald spot on the back of her head, and grimaced at her reflection. Finished, she turned on her heel and walked out of the bathroom. "I wouldn't marry you anyway," she called over her shoulder.

  "Why not?" he asked as he caught up to her.

  "Well, you're great in bed, I'll give you that much. The rest of you is kind of a mess, though.”

  "Thanks.”

  "Don't take it personally. I wouldn't marry anyone again, ever." She glanced at him. "I think I learned my lesson the first time. Marriage and I don't get along.”

  "Don't blame the institution of marriage. Blame your imbecile ex-husband.”

  Mira shrugged. "He wasn't an imbecile. He was a philanderer." She snorted. "Oh, sorry, I mean he was a sex addict. That's the clinical term for his affliction. He just couldn't help himself. Poor man.”

  "No. He was an imbecile," Jack ground out.

  Mira stopped in the middle of the concourse. She turned to face him. A swarm of people flowed around them. "Why do you keep saying that?”

  Jack's answer came swift. "Because only an idiot would let you go.”

  She stared at him for a heartbeat and then said, "Then what does that make you?" Mira bit her tongue, wincing at the words that had rushed out of her mouth without her permission, then pushed past him toward the gate. Her face felt hot and a lump had formed in her throat. Why had she said that? Stupid, stupid!

  Jack stood alone for a moment before following her.

  They found seats at the gate and fell into a silence. Mira kicked herself over and over for speaking before thinking.

  Her words clearly displayed the fact that, despite trying to feel otherwise, she was not okay sleeping with Jack without some kind of emotional commitment.

  She wished she could say that she was a sexually liberated, cosmopolitan woman who was able to have casual affairs and then go on with her life, but apparently she just wasn't made that way.

  Or maybe she cared about Jack.

  She glanced at him sitting next to her. He had his hands clasped in his lap and looked like he was a million miles away, lost in some strange place in his head where she couldn't follow. Jack was a man with secrets, ones he obviously had no desire to confide. He'd been right. He wasn't the man for her. Of course, since when did common sense have anything at all to do with emotion?

  Mira worried her bottom lip between her teeth and concentrated on the empty seat opposite her. Yes, she cared about him. She'd just have to get over it.

  The flight attendant called for first class to board. She and Jack handed over their tickets and settled themselves into two comfortable seats—Mira by the window—and watched everyone else get on while juggling their canyons and looking generally harassed.

  Mira snuggled into the seat, leaned her head against the window, and closed her eyes. She'd only ever been on a plane once before, when she and Annie had gone to Florida for vacation when she'd been twelve. She'd definitely never flown first class before, but she thought she could get used to it pretty quick.

  A horrible thought occurred to her, and she opened her eyes. "Uh, Jack? Could an air witch take down a plane?”

  He flipped through one of the in-flight magazines. "Yeah, sure, a powerful one could." Jack glanced at her. "You could.”

  Mira swallowed hard.

  Jack tucked the magazine in the pocket in front of him. "But don't worry about Crane trying it. He needs you alive.”

  "Ingrid mentioned Crane had a kidnapped air witch?”

  He grunted. "A man named Marcus. He's a hostage. He's not powerful enough to defend himself, which makes him pretty much anyone's meat. Crane caught him, drugged him, maybe broke him. We're not sure. The Coven has tried to extricate him on several occasions without success. Marcus has enough power to hear things on the air, but doesn't have enough ability to raise much more than a strong breeze. Marcus couldn't take down a plane.”

  "Marcus was the reason the men broke in this morning?”

  "We're betting there was a crack in the warding of the phone call Thomas gave me to let me know to bring you in. Marcus heard some of the conversation through it, told Crane, and Crane put the thumbscrews to his wardbreakers.”

  "Can the wardbreakers break into the Coven?”

  Jack shrugged. "The Coven is not impenetrable, but it's pretty damn close. Even if they could get in, it wouldn't be in their best interests." He shot her a lopsided grin. "All the air witches of any talent, the few of them there are, work for us.”

  "But they can still get in," she confirmed.

  "Theoretically, yes, but it would be nearly impossible for it to go undetected.”

  Mira bit her bottom lip and turned her attention to the tarmac outside her window. Images of Jack's apartment after she'd exploded her magick flashed through her mind, and she pushed them away. She still wasn't ready to deal with the fact that she'd killed six men. Evil men. Duskoff men. She had to remind herself of that. Jack was right; it had been self-defense.

  And she hadn't meant to do it. Not consciously, anyway. But somewhere in her mind had lain the desire to see them dead in order to protect herself and Jack... and to give payback for her parents' murders, perhaps.

  She leaned her head against the window and stared outside, sorrow choking her throat.

  The Chicago airport was loud, crowded, and huge. Jack and Mira were met in
baggage claim by a brunette Coven witch named Belinda, who was tall, lovely, and far too friendly with Jack, in Mira's opinion.

  Another limo picked them up and ferried them away from the airport. They battled their way through construction and headed out to the northern suburbs. Mira had never been to Chicago, and it seemed she wouldn't get to see the downtown area now. Frankly, the landscape outside the limo's window looked a lot like Minnesota.

  They'd been near silent for the entire trip. When Jack's cell phone rang, it startled her.

  After a series of hostile "yeahs" and "uh huhs," Jack snapped his phone closed. "That was Ingrid. Good news, you didn't kill any of the intruders this morning. You just injured them pretty damn good. Ingrid's team picked them out of the debris, and they're being treated by a local doctor.”

  Relief swept through her. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling a little giddy, and took a cleansing breath. "So, they're being treated by a local... witch doctor?”

  "Cute. Yes, the doctor is a witch.”

  "What are they going to do with them?”

  "I imagine they'll drug them up enough so they can't use their magick defensively and eventually bring them to the Coven. They're captives now." Jack rubbed a hand across his jaw, which was dark with five o'clock shadow. "Be nice to know why Crane wants to raise that demon. Maybe these guys know.”

  Mira took a moment to respond. "So, you'll torture the information out of them, in other words.”

  Jack shot her a stormy look. "Look, I know you've got some high morals, but we're fighting a war here, Mira, and you're the spoils.”

  She pursed her lips together. "And you don't have very many morals, do you, Jack?”

  He glanced away, stared out the window at the industrial area they were passing through. "I do what needs to be done. That's my job." He turned his gaze back to her. "And I'll do anything to protect you, Mira." His voice shook slightly. "Anything. Understand?”

  "Why? Why do you care? You barely know me. What aren't you telling me, Jack?”