Stray Magic

by Kelly Meding

  “Yes, fine.” His cape fluttered in the rearview as he settled back on the rear bench seat. “Your driving skills are worrisome.”

  “Blessed car came out of nowhere.”

  And now that we’d narrowly avoided crashing into it, the Cadillac was quickly leaving us in its wake. It must have merged onto the highway and not realized how fast I was driving. Idiot. The merge lanes on this stretch of highway were long enough for people to gain speed to merge safely into fast-moving traffic.

  “We’re both fine, Ms. Harrison, please calm down.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I can sense your fear.”

  “We almost had a traffic accident, give me a br—just let me deal with it, okay?” The adrenaline rush was still working its way through my veins. I inhaled deeply via nose, exhaled hard through my mouth. Several times, until the anxiety faded. The Quarrel—and the headache—stayed put.

  And Tennyson stayed quiet. Another half hour passed, filled with the radio station of my choice. Half a dozen times I was tempted to call Novak for an update. He said he’d call me when he knew something, or vice versa. It was our last conversation before I drove away with Tennyson.

  “Don’t turn your back on him, if you can help it,” Novak had said, his usual gruff demeanor tempered with concern. Concern he’d deny, if pressed.

  “No kidding,” I had said. “Got some advice I don’t already know?”

  “Powerful witches can be as manipulative as vampires, especially over your human half. The Master knows this, so he won’t introduce you. Don’t give the witch your full name.”

  Okay, that was good advice. Most demons will trick you into willingly giving them your full name, which in turn, gives them power over you. Some witches and warlocks possess similar skills, apparently. It was also good to know Tennyson wouldn’t give me up—I hoped.

  “Well, don’t turn your back on the Dame Alpha,” I said.

  Novak, Jaxon, and Kathleen were flying south to speak with the Dame Alpha of the Florida werewolves. It was a position she held over a dozen other Alpha males in the state. She also had the distinction of being the only Dame Alpha in the country—a place she hadn’t reached with her looks and gentle temperament.

  “I’ll be fine,” Novak said. “Jaxon’s the one who’ll smell like a venison dinner to the wolves.” Sending a fallen incubus, a stag skin-walker, and a dhampir to see the Dame Alpha wasn’t the smartest play in our book—a job like that normally fell on Julius (a “helpless” human) and me. Djinn and werewolves get along well, mostly through our shared hatred of vampires. But someone had to talk to them, sooner rather than later, and that meant we couldn’t wait for me to talk to this witch and then talk to the Dame Alpha.

  “Just remember, Novak, we need to know what, if anything, is special about the mated pairs who were taken. Specifics of when, from where, how long they’ve been mates—”

  “I know the drill, Shi.”

  “Yeah, I know you do. Just . . . honey and vinegar, okay?”

  “We’re questioning them, not catching flies.”

  “You’re catching answers, so the metaphor holds.”

  “Point. Good luck on your witch hunt.”

  I had smiled. “Don’t go seducing anyone’s mate. Werewolves have big teeth, long memories, and are slow on forgiveness.”

  “Never on the job, kiddo,” he had replied with a heart-melting grin.

  “At the next stoplight, make a left turn.” Tennyson’s voice jerked me out of the memory, and I paid closer attention to our whereabouts.

  I merged into the next lane, then slowed to a crawl in the turn lane. We were somewhere in northern Delaware, a part of the state with which I was not familiar. Funny, considering I’d lived in Maryland most of my adult life. Funnier still, I was coming here with a vampire, in search of a witch.

  My life often felt like a punch line.

  “How far on this road?” I asked. We were heading into somewhat hillier, tree-studded country, and seemed far enough north that Pennsylvania had to be around the next bend.

  “Ten miles,” he replied. “Follow the signs for the University of Delaware.”

  “Are you kidding? Our witch is in college?”

  “No, our witch, as you say, has relocated near the college. She likes the youthful and vibrant.”

  “Not to mention drunk and disorderly.”

  Tennyson’s warm chuckle caressed the length of my spine. I shivered.

  My phone lit up. I checked the screen, surprised to see Weller’s name. Even though he was being sent updates, I hadn’t spoken to him directly about Julius, Tennyson, or our current situation, and this wasn’t the time for a chat. Besides, I’d have more for him after Tennyson and I completed our errand, so I sent the call to voice mail.

  The road expanded into a multilane highway, then narrowed again as we came closer to town. A large sports complex stood on the right-hand side, its parking lot filled with cars. We passed a couple of fast-food joints mixed with local restaurants, and then the speed limit dropped.

  Given the miniscule size of this state compared to those around it, I half expected its university to be likewise . . . understated. The sprawl of the campus shocked me, as did the hundreds—probably thousands—of students patrolling the sidewalks and lawns spread over several city blocks. We passed dormitories, classroom buildings, fraternity houses, various offices, and onward, into town.

  “Pull over a moment, please,” Tennyson said.

  I wedged my Element into the next available public parking space. Parallel parking wasn’t my specialty, but I managed with little fuss and no fender dings. It was a metered spot. I fished in the cupholder for some quarters while my undead map figured out our next step.

  He’d closed his eyes. I saw them moving beneath the lids as he searched—his mind or his other senses, I had no idea. I kept an eye on the sidewalk, armed with a quarter, in case a meter maid came strolling past.

  Across the street, an old brick building sported a painted wooden sign: Perk Me Up. The front door opened, spilling four students onto the sidewalk, each armed with a backpack, textbooks, and cups of coffee. Nothing unusual about that so close to a college campus, of course. The attention-grabbing part was the oak fairy flying behind the group, nose in the air, as though leashed to the group by the bitter scent of coffee. Its heavy, brown wings beat the air silently, somehow keeping its toddler-sized body in the air.

  Neither the students, nor anyone else on the street could see the oak fairy. Only my djinn blood gave me sight to see the Fair Folk who kept themselves invisible from humans. Apparently oak fairies like coffee—I filed that away under Things I Learned Today.

  “Continue on this road,” Tennyson said so suddenly I actually jumped.

  “How far?”

  “Until I tell you to turn or stop.”

  I cast a poisonous glare at the rearview, then pulled back into traffic. The number of cars buzzing around town surprised me. Newark was a busy, busy place. Foot traffic eventually thinned out as we left the campus behind and moved into a more residential neighborhood. Residential and affluent, if the sizes of the houses and gated driveways were any indication. One of the three-storied, white homes looked straight from the pages of a Southern gothic romance novel, sans the weeping willows and climbing moss.

  “No, not here,” he said.

  “What?” I hazarded another look at him. He was frowning, his lips pressed together, forehead pinched.

  “We’re going the wrong way.”

  “You told me to go this way.” I pulled over and double-parked as close to the sidewalk as I could get. A passing car blared its horn, so I flipped on the hazard lights, then twisted in the seat to glare at Tennyson. “So what now? Is your vampire radar on the fritz, or is your witch sending mixed signals?”

  He huffed. “She isn’t at home. Her trail is split.”

  “Awesome.”

  “Be silent a moment.” He closed his eyes and went statue-still. Enough time passed f
or me to get an ache in my neck from glaring at him sideways. He looked at me, finally. “Turn around.”

  I bit back a frustrated retort and did as ordered. We coasted back through the array of fancy homes.

  “Left turn here.”

  Side street, winding toward town again. I recognized several fraternity signs in front of different homes.

  “The one with the omega symbol.”

  I saw it, but had to drive past several homes in order to find a parking spot on the crowded street. Tennyson scooted forward between the front seats and gazed through the windshield at the glaring morning sunshine.

  “You’re not exactly going to blend in,” I said. “Especially if you go running down the sidewalk in a big, black cloak.”

  “I have little choice,” he replied. “Causing heads to turn is a small matter compared to burning flesh.”

  “Point taken.” I glanced at Julius’s carrier and debated bringing him along. The notion of terrorizing frat boys with a talking severed head appealed to my quarrelsome djinn side. I was a law enforcement professional, though, so instead, I tucked him onto the floor, out of any direct sunlight.

  I climbed out of the Element and into the cool air and sunshine. The faint scents of coffee, frying meat, and alcohol lingered around me—the odors of young men living on their own for the first time. Above it were the sweet scents of earth and trees. The neighborhood was well-maintained.

  I opened the rear door and stepped back. Tennyson slid out, his cloak pulled tight around his body. The hood hung low over his face, obscuring it from view. I had the briefest flash of the Ghost of Christmas Past from some movie I’d watched years ago. Except instead of revealing memories, mine was a ghost who’d suck your lifeblood out of your neck.

  “This is your show,” I said when he didn’t move.

  His tall, cloaked form seemed to float down the sidewalk toward his destination. The frat house was one among many, a four-story brick building from a century long forgotten (except by those who’d lived it), with a fraternity banner hung across the front porch. The house seemed quiet—my first clue that something wasn’t right.

  “What’s your witch doing at a frat house?” I asked, keeping pace near his left side.

  “Enjoying herself, I would imagine,” he replied.

  I did not want elaboration, so I stayed quiet. He didn’t knock. He simply pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped into a messy foyer. A center table overflowed with stacks of mail, books, and papers. To our left was an enormous living room, equally full of mess—clothes, beer bottles and cans, dirty dishes, pizza boxes, and their accompanying stenches. To our right was a dining room, same décor.

  The neat-freak in me wanted to grab a garbage bag and broom.

  I closed the door quietly, but it didn’t seem to matter. If anyone was in the house, they weren’t downstairs. Tennyson loosened his cloak and pulled the hood back, shaking his hair free. He marched toward the wide staircase straight ahead. I barely kept up with his long, two-steps-per-strides. He paused on the second floor and listened. Or sniffed, or whatever the hell he did to sense the witch. The long hallway had at least eight doors, probably bedrooms and at least one bathroom.

  He turned abruptly and ascended to the third floor. Similar hallway, this one with five doors, spaced farther apart. I followed him to the second door on the left. Again, he didn’t knock, just turned the knob and strode in like he owned the place.

  I stepped into the doorway and noticed several things at once. First and foremost was the overpowering, musky odor of sex. A lot of sex. It rolled from the room like invisible fog—thick and tangible without obscuring my view of the activities in the bed. Activities I’d need serious therapy to wipe from my brain. A woman with the thickest mane of spiraled auburn hair I’d ever seen was crouched in the center of a four-poster bed, on all fours, utterly naked. Cantalope-sized breasts hung too perfectly and were being serviced from below by an equally naked young man. A second boy knelt next to her head and was being serviced by her mouth, while a third was behind her—

  “Holy crap.” It was my squawked protest that finally got the foursome’s attention. The three frat boys stared at us with glazed eyes, red faces, mouths wide with pleasure and exertion. Not one of them stopped what they were doing.

  Only the woman looked at us with a clear expression. She released the boy she was enjoying and licked her cherry-red lips. Her round, heavily lashed eyes were the color of spring apples. They drank in Tennyson first, flickering with lust and pleasure, before landing on me. I didn’t meet her gaze; instead, I studied her face. She was beautiful, with a delicate nose and strong jaw, each feature perfectly placed. Only not.

  The illusion was amazing, because it took me so long to see it—the left half of her face was covered by a porcelain mask that blended perfectly with her natural skin.

  “Come to join us, Tenny?” the woman purred, a touch of Irish in her voice.

  “Not today, love,” Tennyson replied. Lust made his voice thick, husky.

  My entire body trembled with the need to flee.

  “Pity.” She flicked her tongue at me. I redirected my attention to the floor, but couldn’t block out the wet, slapping sounds still coming from the bed. “Give us ten minutes, Tenny?”

  “We’ll be downstairs.”

  At Tennyson’s words, I turned and left without prompting, proud of myself for not running. I made tracks downstairs, not stopping until I hit the foyer. My cheeks flamed, and my heart was pounding hard enough to crack a few ribs. I pressed my hands against the wall and closed my eyes, gulping in deep breaths of air.

  “Does sex frighten you so, Ms. Harrison?”

  I whirled around, fingers clenching, to glare at Tennyson. He watched me from the base of the stairs, as composed as if we’d interrupted a Girl Scout meeting instead of an active four-way. “No, sex doesn’t frighten me,” I said.

  His nostrils flared. “You’re right, it’s not fear. I apologize.”

  “Will you stop sniffing my mood? It’s creepy. And for the record, so is walking in on people having sex.”

  “Why?”

  “Because sex is private, so it should be done in private.”

  A slow smile crept across his face, curling his lips back over his teeth and fangs. “So it wasn’t the sex that bothered you, it was the voyeurism.”

  “Well, yeah—no! I mean . . . I’m not having this conversation.” I didn’t talk about my sex life with anyone except my current lover. If I wouldn’t discuss it with Novak, who was an incubus for crying out loud, why would I discuss it with a vampire I’d just met?

  Pinpricks of green flickered in his eyes. “Have you never had fantasies of being pleasured by several men at once?”

  My temper roared to life. “Not. Having. This. Conver. Sation.”

  He stayed silent, lessening my overwhelming desire to use garlic spray on him. Ten minutes stretched into fifteen. Neither of us moved in what had to be the strangest unofficial standoff of my life. I wasn’t about to show weakness to Tennyson by fidgeting first. Not when I could see the smirk lurking beneath his blank stare.

  High upstairs, a door slammed. Moments later, the witch descended the stairs like a queen at a ball. She wore a red-floral sundress, cut low enough to show off her ample cleavage while still being decent. It hugged her curves and flowed in gentle waves to her knees. Thin, freckled legs ended in simple sandal flats. Her thick mane of ringlets was tied back in a loose bundle, making her neck seem longer, her lovely face rounder. Her visible cheek glowed with satisfaction that was reflected in her glittering, pale green eyes.

  I admit, I had expected black corsets and spike heels.

  “Tennyson, my friend,” she chirped, smiling like a woman in love. “It’s nowhere near my birthday, but I do love the gift you brought me.”

  I bristled.

  Tennyson laughed. “No, love, she’s not for you. She is here under my protection.”

  “Pity.” The witch pouted her lower lip. “He
r aura is pure. What sort of protection are you offering her?”

  “We’ve come for your advice on a volatile topic involving the black arts.”

  She stilled, her seductress routine melting away, leaving behind the persona of a businesswoman. She straightened her shoulders and smoothed her skirt. “A favor, then?”

  “My favor, Brighid, not hers.”

  Brighid heaved a dramatic, put-upon sigh. “Very well, your favor.” She extended her hand to Tennyson, who took it in a loose grasp. When she did the same to me, I stared. “I don’t bite, girl.”

  “She’s taking us to her home,” Tennyson said.

  Reluctantly, I took her hand. Her palm was smooth and cool, her grip strong. A shock of power jolted my arm, as though I’d poked a paper clip into an electric outlet. My hand and elbow tingled. Tennyson took my other hand, completing the circle.

  The frat house dissolved in bits and pieces, and I watched in utter fascination as the paint dripped from the walls, wood from plaster, layer upon layer, until nothing remained around us, except darkness. Energy slammed through me, a blast of winter air, and I nearly fell. Tennyson’s strong grip kept me upright, kept the circle intact. I’d never traveled this way. Unlike full-blooded djinn, I can’t teleport on my own, and traveling via Novak Express was nothing like this.

  The chill ended abruptly. I blinked once, and we were no longer in blackness. We stood in the middle of a large, circular room decorated in lush shades of purple, red, and hunter green. A bed the size of my apartment’s kitchen took up space to one side, bogged down with satins and silks, drapes and pillows. More cushions covered the floor in various formations, all in the same rich colors. The very center of the room held a hexagon-shaped stone fireplace. The fire roared so hot the flames burned blue, but the room remained a comfortable temperature. Scents of herbs, beeswax, and sex mingled in the air.

  She had a bookshelf overflowing with books, scrolls, and loose sheets of parchment, as well as a cupboard of . . . well, things. Jars and bowls and baggies and even a couple of Tupperware containers. Dozens of symbols painted the walls, most of which I did not recognize, though they seemed vaguely Gaelic.