Water Witch

by R. J. Blain

  Holly stared at me, and her face paled.

  “What?”

  “Your father…”

  “Yep. They’re avoiding all risks thanks to me. Sorry about that.”

  Her gaze dropped to my arm. “What happened?”

  “Found out what getting shot felt like first-hand. Dad wasn’t very happy about that.”

  “What happened to the shooter?”

  “Sharks ate them.”

  “What?”

  I grinned. “Is it really that hard to believe?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was leaving class when the idiot brigade, Bent Nose, Tweedledee, and Tweedledum, grabbed me. They decided to take me out to sea, chum the water, and feed me to sharks. They shot me before they tossed me overboard. Alas, I’m too stringy for sharks, so they ate the idiot brigade instead of me. True story.”

  “The idiot brigade?”

  “You want to know about that?”

  “Seems like the safest option.”

  I chuckled. “They got eaten by sharks while attempting to get revenge on my father. I thought the name suited them.”

  “That’s different.”

  Sighing, I shifted to ease the discomfort where my phone pressed against my ankle. “Dad’s going to lock me in a padded room after this. I’m going to start calling him my jailer.”

  “Most kids would start thinking about making a run for it.”

  “You’re joking, right? You have to be joking. He’d love every minute he spent hunting me down.”

  Holly grinned. “Looks like we’re going to have to save ourselves then, and find out. It’ll be fun.”

  There was only one explanation for her suggestion: insanity. Why did I always have to find the crazy ones? Why were they so much fun? Who the hell made a crazy Fenerec a cop in the first place?

  Then again, I had nothing to lose. “What are you thinking, sweet cheeks?”

  “Sweet cheeks?”

  Ignoring the complaint in her tone, I watched Mr. Fishnet Stockings, my attention on his rifle and the sprinkler nozzle overhead. “Hey, Holly?”

  “What?”

  “How wet does one of those guns have to get before it stops working?”

  Holly frowned. “Water in the barrel could make it malfunction, but it’s unlikely. Water won’t stop the gun from firing, but it might fail in a spectacular fashion. Rain won’t stop a gun like that. Takes a lot to break one. Maybe something jammed in the barrel could cause a misfire.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I considered my options. I hadn’t tried using any witchcraft on purpose. My experiences boiled down to frighteningly close relationships with sharks, banned from getting within two blocks of Mandalay Bay, and two incidents of making it rain in the kitchen. The Inquisition’s little white pills had put an end to my incidents, but they angered my mother and worried my father.

  “How spectacular are you talking about?”

  “Boom.”

  Maybe I wasn’t a Fenerec, but I’d always believed there was at least a little bit of wolf in me, and he reared his bloodthirsty head. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”

  “Won’t hear me argue with that.” Holly glanced at the clock. “Ten minutes to showtime.”

  I had ten minutes to figure out how to make with the witchcraft without getting caught.

  We were fucked.

  I stared at the sprinklers overhead and decided if I survived, I’d do more than just study Forensic Sciences. I’d learn how to improvise with the best of them and use my magic with so much finesse no one would realize I’d meddled, not even a nosy Inquisitor. If knowledge was power, I’d best everyone I could, and to hell with anyone who tried to stop me.

  Assuming I survived, I’d find a way to blame my parental jailers for my current situation, too. Keeping them on their toes would provide a certain amount of entertainment while I learned how to be a proper witch.

  What I needed to know was how the sprinkler system worked. I could sense water flowing in the pipes overhead, but I had no way to reach it. Water alone wouldn’t do me any good, either. It needed to get into the gun, and once inside, it needed to jam the barrel or otherwise bust the firing mechanism.

  Steam-cleaning the weapon wouldn’t do me any good, but icing it might, if I could figure out how to make the water do what I wanted. If I could disable the gun, dealing with the man would be a lot easier—and safer.

  I really didn’t want to get shot again. It hurt. It hurt a lot. Of course, my ongoing battle with fever and infection wasn’t helping matters. I really wanted my painkillers, and a moron with a gun and fishnet stockings stood between me and relief.

  If the gun died a terrible death, the man would get his day in court. I wouldn’t mind helping him along with a fist to his face, if an opportunity presented itself—or I made one.

  How the hell did the sprinklers work? Mr. Fishnet Stockings stood right beneath one. If all the water in the pipes spilled out, maybe he’d drop his guard, assuming he didn’t open fire when startled, which wasn’t a good assumption to make.

  I’d have to wait for him to point the gun where no one would be hurt if he fired. After that, I’d hope for the best—if I could make the sprinkler do what I wanted.

  I had made it rain in the kitchen twice. I could talk to sharks. How hard could it be? All I wanted was for the water to go where it was designed to go, but in a way the engineers hadn’t intended.

  Dad could yell at me all he wanted later; I couldn’t let some fishnet-wearing dipshit win or kill someone, me included.

  I needed to have another talk with Dad about his life choices. Why couldn’t I have had a sane father with a safe job who didn’t influence me so damned much? Accountants didn’t tend to think about all the protect-the-public issues cops worried about and ultimately taught their children. Secretaries didn’t, either.

  Oh well. If I flooded the bank, I’d blame it on the sprinkler system. Of the problems I could have, it was a minor one at worst unless the Inquisition charged me with reckless witchcraft. Funerals—mine—ranked a lot higher on my general list of problems.

  Damn it. I was screwed either way, no matter how I looked at it. Trusting a desperate lunatic to do what he said amounted to suicide. Acting could get myself—or worse, someone else—killed. I sighed and glared at the sprinkler.

  Break, damn you. Break.

  Every drop of water in the pipes converged on the sprinkler nozzle and erupted with a heart-stopping bang.

  The bursting pipe reminded me of gunfire at close range, deafening in its intensity. Through the ringing in my ears, I was aware of water whooshing to the floor and onto me, icy against my hot skin. The concussive blast of gunfire, a single shot, froze me in place. The memory of bullets thumping into my arm and tearing through me woke every ache and pain born from sitting still for so long.

  I drew in a shaky breath.

  Water cascaded from a hole in the ceiling with so much force it had knocked Mr. Fishnet Stockings off his feet. His gun clattered and skidded across the floor. With a curse, Holly lunged forward. A single kick of her foot sent the weapon bouncing through the growing pool. A Normal would presume her speed was the result of hard work and effort, but I knew better.

  The wolf in her showed as a bright golden gleam in her eyes, and the animal’s fury heated even my blood.

  Holly rolled the bank robber through the water, drove her knee into his back, and grasped a handful of stockings and hair with one hand and his right wrist with the other. From the end of the line of hostages, Holly’s boyfriend, Barry, jumped through the deluge to help restrain the man.

  The Vegas cops stormed in, dressed in full vests and crisis gear, guns out, although no shots were fired. The movement of mouths cued me into orders being shouted, but I couldn’t hear them.

  With a final spurt, the torrent dwindled to a steady trickle through a foot-wide hole in the ceiling. I shivered, not brave enough to attempt standing quite yet. I’d likely flop to the floor in a trembling heap if I tried. Aft
er a few collapses thanks to my ongoing fever had taught me the wisdom of staying down when I shook so much.

  It didn’t take long for the cops to swarm Holly and Barry. I tensed, but within a few minutes, both returned to the wall with several cops in tow while other members of the force dealt with cuffing Mr. Fishnet Stockings.

  Dad scowled down at me. “You were trouble from the day you were born.”

  While his words were soft through the ringing in my ears and the pain in my head, I understood him—mostly. “Oh, look. It’s my jailer. Hi, jailer. Fancy meeting you here. Guess what I did today?”

  “This is going to be good. What did you do today?”

  “I met this pretty cool cop chick and watched some dude wearing fishnet stockings rob a bank. Cool, huh?”

  “No, Dustin. That’s not cool at all.”

  “Which part? The chick or the bank robber?”

  “Chick?” Holly asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Chick. Hot lady. Sweet cheeks.” When Barry bristled, I grinned. “Barry’s Babe.”

  “Did you hit your head, son?”

  “No, but I could’ve used my painkillers several hours ago, and I’m pretty sure I feel worse than I should. On the bright side, I didn’t go totally deaf when the ceiling went boom.”

  “All right, kiddo. Time for you to go to the hospital. When you degrade back to your fifth-grade whining, you need more help than I can provide.”

  Holly coughed. “Would you like us to go with him, sir?”

  Dad glanced at the Fenerec and frowned. After a few long, tense moments, he nodded. “I’d appreciate that. I’ll come to the hospital as soon as I can.” Dad pulled out a business card from his wallet. “If you could call Marcy and fill her in, it’d save me a lot of trouble. You know the routine. We’ll handle your full questioning later.”

  Holly saluted before she grabbed me under my good arm and hauled me to my feet. With inhuman strength, she dragged me out of the bank to the nearest waiting ambulance.

  Holly refrained from informing either of my parents my arm required surgery until after the doctors had finished cleaning out the infection and drugged me with enough antibiotics and painkillers to treat an entire ward. Painkillers were truly wonderful things.

  They made facing Dad so much easier. Using a pair of visiting Fenerec as living shields helped, too. Holly bristled and hovered. Barry took the calm, quiet, and effective negotiator route.

  Smart wolf. I liked smart wolves, especially ones clever enough to toe the line of my father’s authority.

  Barry kept his body relaxed and his eyes lowered. “It was by his request, sir. As we were assured his life was in no danger, we thought it wise to allow you to work without distraction. Considering the circumstances…”

  “He’s a smart one, Barry’s Babe. You should keep him,” I slurred, reaching with my free hand to tug on her sleeve. “He wants in your pants.”

  “Dustin Walker!” Dad snapped. “I taught you better than that.”

  Had he? I tried to think about it, but thinking took too much work. If Barry didn’t want Holly knowing he wanted her, he needed to control himself better.

  All three gaped at me, and I realized I had voiced my thoughts. “Oops. Sorry, Hulk.”

  “Hulk?” Barry asked, arching a brow.

  “Green with envy, able to break me like a twig for running my mouth. You know. Hulk smash?”

  Holly giggled. “We’ll discuss your advice in private.”

  “Well, that’s how you should handle that sort of thing. In private. Not in here, please. Hey, jailer? Can I go home yet? Take me home. Home jail is better than hospital jail. Oh, shit. I ruined your casino trip, Holly. Sorry. I’d make it up to you, except I’m pretty sure my jailers aren’t going to let me out of jail anytime soon.”

  Laughing, Holly turned to my dad. “Is he always so vocal, Chief Walker?”

  “Worse. When he isn’t drugged senseless, he enjoys using convoluted vocabulary to make us plebeians aware we have been graced with his dazzling intellect. Want a kid? I’ll sell him cheap.”

  “Dad, you’re an idiot. I’m over eighteen. You can’t sell me. Wait. Does that mean I can move back into my apartment now?”

  “No.”

  “Fuck.”

  “I’ll give him to you for free if you bring him back for visits once a week.”

  “Wait, what?” I blinked. “Dad? What are you doing?”

  “The sober adults are talking, Dustin. Be quiet for a change.”

  “Dad, they live in Tucson. I’m going to college here. Stop trying to sell me to strangers.” I sighed. “It’s because of the bank heist, isn’t it? It’s not my fault. It’s your fault. You made me go to the bank. I’m telling Mom you’re trying to sell me because you made me go to the bank.”

  “Rob, do you want the spoon?” my mother asked from the doorway of my room.

  I truly loved my mother even though she always picked the worst times to show up.

  “But Marcy, I found people who don’t find Dustin insufferably annoying.”

  “Who are you, and where have you been all of his life?”

  I sighed again. “You, too, Mom?”

  “You’re joking, right? A chance to get rid of you with the assurance someone might be able to rein you in? Thank God. How much do you want? We’ll pay you. Please take him.”

  Holly and Barry stared at each other with wide eyes.

  “Run,” I mouthed to them.

  The cops bolted for freedom, and my parents gave chase. A curious nurse poked her head into the room. “Is everything okay, Mr. Walker?”

  “Everything is fine. Hey. Any chance I can bust out of this joint?”

  She laughed. “Yes, Mr. Walker. I have your discharge papers here for you. Once you’ve finished signing everything, you’re free to go.”

  I escaped while I could.

  Three

  The Water’s Call

  I contemplated the nuances of justifiable homicide. If I killed my father, would I live long enough to face trial? Three months after the operation to treat my infected gunshot wounds, I had finally regained full use of my arm. Dad seemed determined to keep me so busy doing his dirty work I barely had time to breathe.

  Whoever had given him the bright idea of an internship with the police and morgue in exchange for college credits needed to die a slow, painful, and horrific death. I dubbed them the Devil, and the Devil knew better than to reveal their presence to me.

  Bastard.

  The Devil had convinced the college to give me an entire semester’s worth of credits in exchange for practical experience in the morgue. The school listed it as active lab work suitable for my Forensic Sciences degree. Somehow, some bastard—the Devil, I feared—had also turned my minor into a major behind my back.

  If I got my hands on the Devil, there would be a murder. If I had to screw another plug into a corpse so the real technician could avoid the unpleasant job, I would snap and kill somebody. I’d done so many disgusting tasks since beginning my apprenticeship in the morgue I’d grown numb to the presences of bodies, the stench of disinfectant and decay, and the horror surrounding death in general.

  People would complain if they found out what happened to them after they died, of that I had no doubt.

  “All right, Walker. She’s the last one,” my boss announced, ditching his latex gloves in the disposal bin. “Tom’s on cleanup tonight. See you Tuesday.”

  While the Devil made me work in the morgue, some angel in human resources had given me a three-day respite from hell. “Thanks, sir. Any files to go upstairs?”

  I tossed my gloves in the bin, waiting at the door for my boss to answer. I doubted I’d ever understand why the surgeon had taken an interest in corpses and Forensic Sciences halfway into his career. With my hopes of becoming a lawyer chained to my morgue apprenticeship, I worked hard and pretended the science of dead bodies interested me.

  “Not today. You’ve earned an early out. Good job.” />
  I gaped at him, shot him a salute, and escaped. Without the extra forty minutes of paperwork tacked onto the end of my shift, I would be gone before Dad or one of his pack hunted me down—or, as they liked to say, picked me up so there’d be no unexpected incidents. If I hurried, I could reach the bus station and be long gone before anyone noticed I had left work.

  I made like a bat out of hell, took the quickest shower of my life, and fled the morgue. I delayed my escape by pulling a few hundred dollars out of the ATM in the convenience store before making my way to the bus terminal twenty minutes away. A hundred dollars later, I had a ticket to Malibu and two hours to hide out to wait and avoid Dad.

  While it wasn’t technically legal for me to go into casinos until I reached the age of twenty-one, they made a great spot to hang out. The thick crowds worked in my favor; no one paid any attention to me while I fed a penny machine a twenty and prepared to lose. I pretended like I belonged, and the casino staff didn’t card me.

  Fortune didn’t often favor the bold and desperate, but she tossed me three hundred dollars out of pity, which I accepted with a grin. With the two hundred already in my wallet, I’d be able to slum it for a few days in California without breaking a sweat.

  No matter what, I was getting out of town.

  My plan to hide in a casino went off without a hitch, and a little after midnight, I hopped a bus west. In less than ten hours, I’d be enjoying the sun, the sand, and the sea. If Lady Luck continued to favor me, I might even meet a new shark.

  They understood me, and they didn’t demand I spend every waking moment dealing with the dead.

  I basked in my freedom while the California sun roasted my back. The surf crashed over my bare feet, and the cool water soothed me. Despite having contracted a serious case of water witchcraft, I still couldn’t swim.

  Mom became full-out hysterical whenever I got near any water deeper than six inches, convinced I’d manifest in a way my parents couldn’t readily hide. Maybe she wanted what was best for me, but I longed to wade out as far as I could so the waves could wash away my frustrations.