Wicked Magic (7 Wicked Tales Featuring Witches, Demons, Vampires, Fae, and More)

by Deanna Chase

  “Let me at least carry him into the house and do first aid from the vet kit.”

  “He stinks,” I countered. “I’m not letting him my house like this.”

  Wyatt glared at me. It was a good glare. We stood that way for a while in a silent contest of wills.

  “Okay!” I threw up my hands. “I’ll fix him.” I couldn’t say no to Wyatt. Especially now that our friendship was teetering on the edge.

  “I thought you said you weren’t good at that when it wasn’t yourself. Let’s just take him to the vet,” Wyatt urged.

  Wyatt had enough to freak out about without my explaining that Boomer wasn’t a normal dog. That would have to wait.

  “I can do Boomer. He’ll be fine. Really.”

  I picked up a rubber handled screwdriver and looked around. Crickets and spiders were too small. The barn cat hadn’t had her kittens yet, or I would have used one of them. Ah, there was a big mouse over behind the feed tub. I locked eyes with it holding the animal in place as I carefully moved the feed tub. Then I impaled him with the screwdriver.

  “Here,” I said handing the squirming bleeding mouse–on–a–stick to an incredulous Wyatt. “Take this and stick him in the bug zapper.”

  “Can’t we just take him to the emergency vet?” Wyatt asked, holding the mouse with an admirably firm grip.

  “The mouse?” I asked confused. “He’s almost dead. I don’t think they can do anything for him.”

  Wyatt sighed in exasperation and left the room with the mouse.

  I surveyed Boomer, and when I heard the distinctive sound of the bug zapper, I put my hands on him. Before I fixed him, I wanted to check out his damage and make very sure that he hadn’t been in close contact with an angel. I couldn’t imagine an angel would scratch and bite, but just in case I sent energy down inside the wounds to explore. No angel or demon energy. Just plain old bites and scratches, thankfully. Satisfied, I pulled my energy back and readied myself to fix my dog.

  One way I can fix is by driving cell reproduction into overdrive and accelerating the natural healing process. It involves minimal energy, but has its issues. You’re making a copy of a copy of a copy, and those cells aren’t as stable as what they originally were. For a really good heal, you need to recreate and that involves conversion. The resulting cells are solid and perfect. Better than they were before injury in most cases.

  Unfortunately conversion has a very specific energy signature. Any angel who senses conversion (and they have very acute senses for this) knows exactly what he is dealing with and usually can track the energy to its source. So basically, what I was about to do to Boomer was like sending up a flare. I hoped that the energy of the bug zapper electrocuting the mouse would mask my own energy. Human energy usage often did, if the energy I used was small enough. Still, it was a risk. I was a fucking idiot risking myself like this just to make Wyatt happy.

  It took seconds. I fixed everything at once. Cracked bone, chipped rib, torn muscle, veins, nerve connections, skin cells, regrew hair. He’d had a bowel perforation which was just disgusting. I had to recreate the section of intestine, and then search throughout his abdomen taking out bacteria and microorganisms that had no business outside the digestive system. As I stared down at the newly whole Boomer, I realized that Wyatt was still electrocuting the mouse.

  “Okay, I’m done. You can stop now,” I called.

  Wyatt came running in and handed me the screwdriver with a blackened, reeking lump of burnt mouse on the end. I looked at him in astonishment. What did he expect me to do with it? Eat it? It looked like a macabre shish kabob.

  “I thought you needed that,” he explained. “For a magic spell or something to heal Boomer.”

  His voice trailed off as he noticed Boomer was whole and standing beside me thumping his tail.

  “Oh yes, worked great,” I told him tossing the mouse and screwdriver into the metal trash can. “Thank you”

  I wasn’t about to go into lengthy explanations of how I hoped the electricity would cover up my quick fix of Boomer. How I hoped that I didn’t have an angel bearing down on me right now.

  We finished with the horses and turned them out to pasture for the day, then stood awkwardly looking everywhere but at each other. Neither one of us knew what to say; how to end the morning.

  “I’m going to grab a nap. I’m having some friends over for a gaming party tonight and we’ll probably be up all night,” Wyatt said looking at the rafters.

  “Me too. Nap I mean, not the gaming party. So, see you around?”

  He nodded, still looking at the rafters. We each paused a moment, then left. One step forward, two steps back. At least he was still talking to me.

  I made a ham sandwich, showered, and curled up for a long nap. I had a busy evening ahead, and unfortunately it didn’t involve crashing Wyatt’s gaming party.

  Chapter Five

  I languished in bed a good chunk of the day, curling up in the feather pillows and indulging in some much needed sleep. Late afternoon, I hauled myself up, showered, and ate some leftover Chinese food from my fridge while in the nude. I saw the blinking light on my cell phone telling me I missed a call from Michelle.

  “Hey girl,” I said as she picked up. “Sorry I left last night without saying anything.”

  I was undecided what excuse to give. I couldn’t very well tell her that I was running for my life, or that I had a date to suck the life force out of my sexy neighbor. Luckily Michelle herself supplied a plausible alibi.

  “No problem, I know you and Candy had business to discuss.”

  Ahhh , right. Candy had left when I did. I was surprised she hadn’t stayed and pawed the angel with everyone else. She must have really wanted to sell me those canal properties to follow me out the back door like that.

  “Were you there when that movie star arrived?” Michelle asked.

  For a second I was confused, and then I realized she must mean the angel.

  “I’m pretty sure he was in that action flick from this spring with the runaway train. They’re filming some Civil War romance out at Antietam battlefield this week and he must be in it. He was so nice. Everyone mobbed him and he didn’t get angry or snotty or anything. Huge guy, built like a tank and just gorgeous. All those curls, and his eyes were black. I mean black. They were darker than mine. He signed a few autographs. Jeff thought he was that wrestler, but this guy had longer hair and was older than him.”

  Yeah, much older. I listened to Michelle continue to speculate on what movie star the angel might have been.

  “Did he mention where he was staying or how long he’d be in town?” I asked. Or if he was hunting down a demon?

  Michelle didn’t know where the angel was holed up, or if he was still in the area or not. She didn’t seem to know much and I wondered if angels had the ability to wipe memory or influence emotion. I wished I could do that. It would be a very useful skill.

  I hung up with Michelle without much more knowledge than before, and with an unsettling hunch that I would probably see this angel again. Finally, around dusk, I threw on some running clothes and laced on my shoes. Boomer was waiting for me on the doorstep.

  Boomer isn’t a full blooded Plott Hound. He was what humans would have called a hell hound. One of my kind had impregnated a female dog, and the result was Boomer. It’s really not as disgusting as it sounds. We have sex with just about anything we can catch. Breeding, though, is a different matter that requires intent on our part, even cross species breeding. Spawning a hell hound wasn’t cause for embarrassment, but it would get you teased a bit. Producing animal hybrids could be very lucrative, as there was a good market for them. So, some of us put up with the teasing and earned a good living through hybrid breeding.

  I hadn’t sired Boomer, I’d actually won him off another demon in a bet. Back home, there was a certain enhancement to my reputation in having him in my household. Unfortunately, I’d had to lock him down tight when I’d brought him here and he was not as useful as I wish
ed. I don’t have the best impulse control, but Boomer has none at all.

  The first time I’d brought him here, we’d had to run for our lives hours later. Several times, I’d experimented with different degrees of reduction of his powers, but I’d ended up having to practically neuter him to keep him from being detected. He was little more than a regular dog in his current state, and that made me feel a bit guilty about his injuries. If he’d been at his full strength, nothing shy of an angel or one of my kind could have hurt him. Of course, I was a little pissed at him too for not backing off and retreating before he was so dangerously injured. A normal dog would never had made it home in that state, but Boomer had enough minimal use of his energy to keep himself going and drag himself home.

  “Take me there, boy,” I told Boomer softly, and he headed down our lane toward the main road.

  As we passed Wyatt’s house, I saw the cars lined up all over his grass with people laughing and cheerfully carting boxes of electronics toward the front door. Wyatt jogged out to the road when he saw me. Boomer eyed him, then wiggled up to him and nudged his hand for petting.

  “You hump his leg and I’ll rip your head off,” I told him. I meant it.

  “Me or the dog?” Wyatt asked in good humor. “You’re going for a run this late?”

  “Yeah, I slept all afternoon and my internal clock is out of whack,” I said.

  Wyatt looked up. “Should have some decent moonlight. Come over when you’re done to help us kill insurgents and protect the homeland. We’ll be going until the wee hours.”

  I nodded, and Wyatt broke away to answer one of his guest’s questions regarding cable compatibility. He seemed more comfortable with me. Almost like before. I felt an ache of hope and longing as I watched him carry a box in his house. If I got back early enough, I think I might just go kill some zombies.

  Boomer and I reached the end of the lane, close enough to hear the cars on Route 26. Boomer looked at me expectantly and broke into a trot. We headed west weaving through country roads and cutting across fields. Although I appreciated the efficiency of as–the–crow–flies travel, I struggled to get over barbed wire fences and undetected through people’s lawns. The terrain was hilly with rather treacherous footing given the dim light. We crossed from Carroll into Frederick County and I wondered how far Boomer had been ranging. Finally, about five miles from home, we paused at the fence line of a mowed hay field. There was a tiny, one story ramshackle house at the back edge of the field. Boomer again looked at me expectantly.

  There were no lights leading up to the house, and no porch light, although the lights in the house indicated someone was home. I wasn’t sure what was going on. Boomer’s injuries didn’t look like they were caused by any guard dog that this human might have. I couldn’t imagine this homeowner having a bear or a mountain lion as a pet. Finally. I just walked up to the front door and knocked, figuring I’d ask the resident if he’d had any bear trouble lately.

  The door swung open on its hinges from the weight of my knock. You would have thought with all the movies I’d watched that I’d know better than to walk in. In every cop show, in every horror movie, bad things happened when the door was ajar like this and the hero/victim walked right on in. I wasn’t used to considering myself as either a hero or a victim, so walk in I did. And I got knocked sideways into the wall. A dirty, unshaven, vagrant–looking man glared at me. Then, I did my second stupid thing. I pulled out my mean and ordered him to back off.

  I should have realized he was bumfuck nuts. Insane. Mentally unstable. Mean works great on just about everyone except crazy people. They are very sensitive to my kind as it is. They recognize us, and they won’t back down ever. No matter what you throw at them, what you do to them, they will not back down. They will vocally and physically fight you with every whacked out insane skill they have. They will out you to everyone they see. Luckily, no one believes them most of the time. Insane people have followed me all over downtown and for blocks informed all passerby that I was a fire–breathing, plague–spreading devil come to kill them all and end the world. The only thing you can do is look embarrassed and hope the cops come to haul the guy away.

  “Demon,” this particular crazy guy shrieked at me in a pitch so high it hurt my ears. “You send your hell hound to spy on me, and here you are to take my soul. You will not succeed.”

  He started grabbing random things and throwing them at me. He was very accurate in his aim. I deflected the pillows and shielded myself from the bottles and books. I ducked and dodged while running around the room trying to get in a good position to dive at him, or to force him in a place with fewer potential projectiles. He didn’t seem to be running out of ammunition anytime soon, so I dropped to the floor and dove under a table. This crawling on the floor thing was beginning to be a habit.

  “Could use some help here, you fucking worthless cur,” I shouted at Boomer who peeked in the door and laughed at me.

  The house was like a damn hoarder’s, I thought as I hid behind chair legs and avoided picture frames, headphones, lamps and ashtrays. Ashtrays. Who the hell smoked in the house anymore? All the while, the guy continued to shrill accusations about my kind and my supposed intentions. According to him, I had been stalking him for decades and was planning on forcing him to eat his own eyeballs while I gnawed on his spleen.

  This could go on all night, and the guy could easily overpower me if he found an opening and grabbed me. I knew the risks involved, but didn’t have much choice. I shot a burst of electricity at him converting so I could get it past the air’s resistance. It wasn’t much, only twenty five thousand volts, but I kept the amperage low and the burst short. Hopefully it was just enough to throw him off balance and get him calm enough to tell me where the bear was.

  The guy screamed and dropped to the floor clutching his heart. Drama queen. There was no way that did more than shock his skin. I darted from under the table and held him in place with a chair. I knew better than to try and touch a crazy person. I should have known better than to shock one.

  “Have you had a problem with any bears? Maybe raiding your garbage? Or perhaps someone around here has an exotic pet? A big cat?” I felt like a total fool asking someone these questions while I was pinning him to the floor with a chair.

  Imagine my surprise when, with an inhuman roar stinking of garbage breath, the guy flung both me and the chair across the room and against the wall. Things got blurry for a few seconds. As the guy ripped the chair away and went to slap me, I raised my arm in defense and was again surprised when his nails tore through my arm, raking strips of flesh and muscle down to the bone. Finally focusing, I realized that instead of hands he had claws. And an elongated jaw with sharp teeth. Very unfortunate and unattractive deformities.

  I felt the claws dig into my side, and was flung once again across the room, to skid on the floor and into the couch. Pain ripped through my side, but I was relieved to realize he hadn’t punctured my liver or any other important organ. This was really enough. I wasn’t about to fight like a human while he tore me into jerky strips. I breathed in and threw a much larger bolt of electricity at him. About one hundred amps worth. It was a small amount, but still overkill when converting it through the air between us and pushing it through the skin’s natural resistance directly into his chest cavity. I was capable of producing at the level of lightening, but I didn’t feel like setting the house on fire. A billion volts and a hundred thousand amps would be hard to control too as it blew through the human and out through the wall behind him.

  The guy convulsed as the current crashed his heart, seized his diaphragm, and burned out organs as it exited down his back. He danced like this for a few seconds while I was sure to keep the current going steady. In electricity, it’s important to keep a constant stream as humans have been known to survive short intermittent bursts even at very high levels. It really sucks when you think someone is dead, only to have them get up and stagger at you a few moments later. Finally, he collapsed with a smel
l of burnt hair and skin.

  I walked over and lay my hands on the man, letting my energy explore him. He was dead, which given the oddness of my last twenty four hours I wasn’t taking for granted. He was also weird. DNA is mostly the same among all mammals, but there are slight differences. This guy had human DNA, but there were anomalies. The areas I noticed were similar to those humans with Hypertrichosis, although it was more than the X chromosome link, and he didn’t seem furry enough. Perhaps he indulged in laser hair removal? He didn’t look like he could afford that kind of thing, especially since it would have had to be extensive. Hypertrichosis also didn’t explain the extended jaw and elongated strengthened nails.

  Reluctantly, I pulled away from the man. Curiosity killed the cat, but I couldn’t let it kill me. I had to get out of here. With an angel so close and presumably on the hunt for me, I was worried that my energy burst, even one so common place as electricity, would be investigated. I looked around at the wreckage of the house, and headed home.

  Easier said than done. Five miles with deep lacerations on your forearm and waist, plus a concussion and bruises was not a cake walk. I jogged when I could, and walked a lot. In some spots I needed to go around entire fields as it was too much for me to get over the fencing. The whole way home I cursed Boomer, who had hid outside the door during the entire fight and was without a scratch. The trip in had taken an hour max; the trip back over three hours. I limped by Wyatt’s house at past three in the morning in considerable pain and longing for my bed. His yard was filled with cars, and his house lit up with flashing lights of video games and sounds of shooting, screaming, and laughing. People milled around the porch with the deep hum of conversation. I know I was invited, but there was no way I was popping in to visit Wyatt and meet all his friends dirty, sweaty and covered with blood and gashes. I paused and looked longingly at his house, then walked on by.

  Boomer got another scolding as I locked him in the barn. There’s nothing a hellhound likes more than eating corpses, and I didn’t want him heading back out to snack on the dead guy, or getting in any more trouble. I was thinking of sending him back home for my household to care for if this was the kind of bullshit I’d have to deal with. Bad, bad dog.