Bad to the Crone

by Amanda M. Lee

  “He’s outside,” I prodded. “All we have to do is go out there and get him. That’s what we agreed on twenty seconds ago.”

  “And we’re keeping to that,” he shot back. “We need to ascertain where Irene is first. She’s key to this. We’re not doing anything that will put her at risk, which means you can’t run out there half-cocked.”

  “Is that what you assume I’m going to do?”

  He didn’t back down, instead shrugging as he held his hands out. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen you in action. All I know is that so far you set a spriggan on fire even though it could’ve raced through the woods and ignited the entire town and you smacked a fire spell against an ice spell and are lucky you didn’t detonate something in the process.”

  If his words were meant to temper my determination, he’d failed ... miserably. “I’m going out there.” I wasn’t in the mood to be trifled with. “That man ... he ... I’m not letting him carry on like this.”

  “So, you’re going to kill him, are you?” Rooster pinned me with a serious gaze. “Do you think that’s the best way to go about things?”

  “Look what he did to her.” I gestured toward Raisin, who had rolled into a ball on the floor and started sobbing as Marissa and Bonnie flanked her. “I’m not going to let that stand. If you think I am, well ... .”

  “Don’t walk away from me, girl.” Rooster grabbed at me again when I moved to storm through the door.

  “Don’t call me ‘girl,’” I snapped as frustration, hot and acidic, spewed forth. “I hate that. You have no idea how much I hate it when people call me that. It’s rude ... and demeaning. I have a name.”

  “Fine. Scout.” Annoyance flashed in the depths of Rooster’s eyes as he shook his head. “I’m not done talking to you.” He was firm. “I don’t know how they do things in Detroit, but you can’t simply roll through that door and blow up Steven Morton. That will make things worse for Raisin.”

  “How do you figure? He won’t be able to touch her again. Isn’t that the most important thing? Other than saving her grandmother, I mean.”

  “Keeping Raisin safe is most definitely important,” he agreed. “But if you kill Steven you’ll change the course of her life.”

  “How is that the wrong move?” I wanted to slam him into a wall of itchy magic to get him out of my face, but I managed to rein in my temper. “If he’s gone he can never touch her again. That’s a better course for her life.”

  “Maybe. But killing him won’t fix what’s been done to her.” Rooster kept his voice low so Raisin couldn’t hear. “She’ll always wonder if she’s responsible for his death if you do this. She’ll blame herself even though she’s the victim here, and you know it.”

  I swallowed hard. He had a point, loath as I was to admit it. Still, I wasn’t ready to back down. “A man like him shouldn’t be allowed to live. He’s been terrorizing her her whole life.”

  “And yet she still loves him.” Rooster looked sad. “Children have an instinctive need to please their parents. You probably don’t understand that because ... well ... you have your own trauma that revolves around absent parental figures. She still loves him, and killing him will make her a victim twice.

  “Besides that, if you kill him, the state could be called in as part of the investigation,” he continued. “They could overrule Graham and remove Raisin from Irene’s home. Depending on what sort of shape she’s in, we can take care of her and Raisin. If she’s not on her feet, the state won’t let Raisin stay ... and then her entire world will be erased. Is that what you want?”

  I hated being put on the spot. “No. I ... no. But he has to be punished.”

  “Of course he does. That’s where Graham comes in.”

  “Graham already let him out once.”

  “And that will eat away at him something fierce. I know him better than you do. He won’t let it happen a second time.”

  I didn’t have the same faith he did, but I knew he spoke from the heart and had Raisin’s best interests in mind. “Fine. What are you thinking?”

  He offered me a cocky grin. “Well, you’ve got a lot of magic ready to burst out and pull a horror movie maneuver. Let’s give Steven a show. We need to get Irene first. More than anything, she’s our priority. Once that happens, if you give Steven a nightmare or two — or ten — I wouldn’t be opposed to it. The more he rants and raves, the better it is for Raisin.”

  I understood what he was saying and nodded, squaring my shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

  “Wait,” Gunner called out from several feet away as he straightened. The look on his face was murderous. “I’m coming with you.”

  “I think we have all the firepower we need,” Rooster countered.

  “I’m coming with you.” Gunner’s tone told me he meant business. “We’re doing this together. We can’t screw it up.”

  Rooster sighed, resigned. “Fine. But don’t you go losing your head either. I just had to talk this one down off a mountain. I don’t have another inspirational speech in me right now.”

  “I’m sure I can handle myself.” Gunner slid between us and walked through the door.

  THE PARKING LOT WAS DARK and it took my eyes a moment to adjust. Gunner took the center position, so Rooster and I flanked him. The noise was coming from a sports-utility vehicle parked sideways in the middle of the lot. I heard movement inside, but it was too dark to see what was happening.

  “I’m going to get on Whistler about adding more lights out here,” Rooster growled.

  On impulse, I waved my hand and sent a fistful of magic sparkles into the sky directly above the car. They illuminated the vehicle without shining a beacon, and the scene through the glass caused my heart to skip a beat.

  Irene was alive, which was the good news. She looked terrified, tears streaming down her cheeks, but she was alive. If I had to guess, she was sporting some new bruises. That was nothing compared to the violence he’d doled out to Raisin.

  “Oh, well, look who it is,” Steven drawled as he lit a cigarette and focused on me. “It’s the woman of the hour, the stupid lady who broke up my happy home.”

  Rooster didn’t immediately acknowledge Steven. Instead, he focused on the other side of the vehicle. “Are you okay, Irene?”

  The older woman nodded stiffly. “I’ll live. I’m embarrassed this piece of crap is my son, but I’ll live. Is Ruthie okay?”

  “She’s inside,” Rooster replied. “We’re going to get her some help.”

  “She’ll be fine,” I offered. I didn’t want the woman worrying about anything other than her own survival. “We’re more worried about you right now.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” Irene was grim. “Whatever you do, don’t let Ruthie come back out here. He’s done enough to her.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Gunner growled, glaring at Steven, who looked a bit too smug given the circumstances. His eyes were glassy, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

  Realization dawned hot and fast. “He’s lit,” I announced, narrowing my eyes. “He’s completely and totally hammered.”

  “Drunk?” Gunner asked, sliding me a look.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I’d say meth. His pupils are dilated and he keeps picking at the skin around his hairline. I think he’s tweaking.”

  Gunner worked his jaw. “How do you know that?”

  All I could do was shrug. “We saw it enough in Detroit. I’m used to the signs.”

  “That would explain a few things,” Rooster noted, thoughtful. “He’s been pulling in extra money. We couldn’t figure out from where. He might be cooking it somewhere.”

  “We should be able to find the location easy enough.” I moved closer to the SUV. “I don’t think we should drag this out. He has a gun.” I could see that easily enough through the window. It was pointed at Irene. “The longer this goes on, the more trigger happy he’s going to be.”

  “Do you have a sugges
tion for getting the gun?” Rooster asked.

  Steven cackled like a maniac. “I’m never giving up this gun. Never! I’m going to use it on all of you.” He stopped aiming it at Irene and turned it in my direction. “I want to start with you because you’re the busybody who ruined everything.”

  A low growl, one that reminded me of a territorial animal about to strike, ripped from Gunner’s throat. “Do not point that at her,” he hissed.

  “It’s okay.” I held up a hand to still him. The last thing we needed was for Gunner to terrify Steven to the point he started squeezing the trigger. “Let’s not get worked up here.”

  Gunner stretched his fingers as he clenched and unclenched his fists. “We need to move.”

  “We do,” I agreed. “I’m going to start. In fact ... .” I jerked my chin to the left, gathering my magic quickly and funneling it toward one goal.

  The look on Steven’s face would’ve been comical under different circumstances. His eyes went wide as the gun was ripped from his hand and flew in my direction. I reached up and snagged it as it flew through the air. I was familiar with weapons and checked the chamber and clip quickly before handing the firearm to Rooster. “Only two bullets.”

  Rooster accepted it with half a smile as Steven howled about evil demons. “That was ... interesting.”

  “It was nothing.” I meant it. I’d disarmed so many men — and a few women — I’d lost count over the years. “Now we need to get Irene out of that vehicle. I think she’s hurt, so we have to be gentle.”

  “We’re going to talk about your magic once this is over and we can sit down,” Rooster supplied. “I mean ... seriously. You’ve got magic at your disposal I’ve only ever heard about. It’s ... impressive.”

  “I guess I’m just used to it.” I narrowed my eyes when I realized Steven was reaching for Irene. “Hey!” My voice was loud and booming, deep enough that Irene looked at me with terrified eyes. Steven didn’t turn away from his mother; he was clearly determined to kill her.

  I had no intention of letting that happen.

  “Stop,” I ordered, my voice deepening as the fingers on my right hand lit with red fire magic. The fingers on my left hand turned a more muted shade of green as I froze Steven in his place. His eyes went wide as he struggled to fight what I was doing to him. He wasn’t exactly strong, but I couldn’t risk leaving him in the vehicle.

  “I said stop,” I repeated, my voice low and dark, a chill emanating from inside me as I issued what I hoped would be a final warning. I yanked with my left hand, and the door of his vehicle flew off as he was dragged bodily from inside. I wasn’t gentle. I let him hit the pavement and then proceeded to rake him over it as I dragged him in my direction. “Just stop,” I hissed, when he skidded to a halt at my feet.

  “What was that?” Steven screamed. “Demons! Demons! They’re demons!” He was most definitely lit, which meant anything he said would be discarded. That was a bonus for us.

  “Good grief,” Rooster muttered, shaking his head as he crossed the front of the vehicle and headed toward Irene. “We’re definitely going to talk.”

  Gunner, his face drowned in wonder, made a strangled sound as he moved closer to me. “What did you just do?”

  “Created a mess,” Rooster answered, yanking open the passenger door. “She created a mess.”

  “You’re welcome,” I called out, posturing a bit because I enjoyed making Steven cringe. “I believe I managed to save all of us a lot of trouble.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Rooster was gentle as he helped Irene from the vehicle. “How are we going to explain the door being ripped off? That should go over well.”

  “Is that what you’re worried about?” I made a face as I moved away from Steven, leaving Gunner to watch over him, and strode toward the door. “Geez. Don’t be such a baby. It’s easy enough to fix.”

  “We’re not mechanics,” Rooster shot back. “Er, at least the types of mechanics who can weld a car door in place in less than five minutes. I think that’s out of our wheelhouse.”

  I ignored him and gathered the power pooling in my belly. It had been edgily calling out for me to use it again. It was like a drug at times, and when I started using it I often struggled to stop. Upon release, the magic barreled into the door with enough force that it was lifted from the ground and slammed back to its original resting place. The magic wasn’t done; it inched over the door with a glimmering sheen that twinkled and crackled, repairing the damage I’d wrought, and within seconds the vehicle was back to the way it was ... perhaps even a little nicer as some of the dents were now smoothed out.

  “Happy?” I brushed my hands off and smiled serenely at Rooster as he shook his head.

  “We’re definitely going to talk,” he warned as he led Irene toward the Cauldron, their steps slow and shuffling. “We’re going to talk and talk and talk until we no longer have voices.”

  I looked to Gunner for approval. “I handled things and nobody got hurt. What does he want?”

  “He’s not angry with you,” Gunner said finally, his voice low and gravelly. “He’s just ... we’ve never seen anyone use that much power in one go. You must understand, you’re more than a simple witch.”

  His awe made me uncomfortable. “I don’t think so. It’s nice that you think so, but I’m positive I’m just a normal witch.”

  “No, you’re not.” He blew out a sigh. “I ... .” He didn’t finish what he was going to say, the sound of approaching sirens tearing his attention to the highway. “Go inside. I’ll handle my father.”

  “I’m sure he’ll want to question me, too.”

  “He will. I want to talk to him first. Alone.”

  I nodded, understanding. “I’ll go fix Raisin and then we should be pretty well set to call it a night.”

  “That sounds like a great idea. I ... wait, how are you going to fix Raisin?”

  I didn’t answer, instead strolling back toward the door. There was one thing left to do, and I was looking forward to it.

  RAISIN WAS HAPPY TO SEE her grandmother, but the pain rolling through the girl in potent waves was so intense it hit me like a tsunami when I entered the bar.

  “Is everything okay out there?” Rooster asked as he helped Irene sit.

  “Gunner has Steven. Graham is pulling into the parking lot. He wants a moment alone with his father.” I didn’t mention who he was, but I figured it was a given.

  “I’m sure he does,” Rooster muttered. “That should be a lovely conversation.”

  “They’ll figure it out.” I crouched next to Raisin. Her eyes were filled with pain and she was sweating profusely.

  “The ambulance should be here soon,” Whistler noted, pressing a cold compress to her face. “I think she has internal injuries.”

  “Yeah.” I lifted my hands, which were now glowing blue, and let them hover over Raisin’s body. “Two broken ribs,” I muttered. “Her spleen is bleeding. She has multiple contusions and a concussion.”

  Whistler’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious. Are you a doctor, too?”

  “No, but I know how to gauge an injury ... and fix it.” I flashed a tight smile for Raisin’s benefit. “Just relax. This will be over before you know it and you’ll feel like a new person.”

  “What will be over?” Raisin asked, confused.

  “I can heal you.”

  “What?” Rooster must have been listening from across the room because he jerked up his head. “What do you mean? How can you heal her?”

  I shrugged. “I just can. It’s something I’ve always been able to do. Chill out.” I started moving my hands, applying the soothing blue magic that accompanied healing without giving it much thought. “It’s much better than casts, surgery and aching bones. Trust me.”

  “But ... .”

  If Rooster kept talking, I didn’t hear him. I lost myself in my work, floating with the magic as it worked to mend bones and eradicate pain. I moved into a trance, as I always did when utilizing this branch o
f my magic, and frowned when I heard screaming in the back of my head.

  I didn’t mean to do it. I should’ve been prepared for the possibility, but it was already too late when I slipped into Raisin’s memories and saw the terror her father had brought to her doorstep tonight. The beating she took at that man’s hands as she cried and begged would stay with me for a very long time.

  Her screams chilled me to the bone.

  And then I realized she wasn’t the only one screaming. Someone else was screaming in my head. It was another memory, one from someplace I didn’t immediately recognize, and I was being dragged into it. I was already captive in a shard of the past when the reality set in that this wasn’t Raisin’s memory.

  It was my own.

  Twenty-Five

  The screaming came from a small girl with blond hair and blue eyes. She was tiny — perhaps four years old at the most — and the pain roving her face was enough to turn my bowels into water.

  “What am I doing here?” I asked the two women buzzing around the room. They both ignored me, one in favor of taking care of the girl and the other focused on the window.

  “I only see one of them,” the woman by the window announced. “There’s only one. We can still run.”

  “Not until we heal her,” the second woman countered, kneeling by the girl and placing a cold compress to her forehead. “There you go, little one. You’ll feel better soon.”

  The girl had stopped screaming and taken to sniffling as tears dried on her cheeks. There was an open wound on her shoulder, a jagged cut that looked to be deep.

  “We need to heal her and get out of here,” the woman closest to the window announced. “We can’t stay. There’s only one of them out there, but soon there will be more.” She turned toward the scene on the floor. “We have to pool our resources and heal her magically ... and then flee. There’s no time to waste.”

  “She would do better with time to recover,” the second woman protested.