Water Witch

by R. J. Blain

  When the ladies rutted in my father’s pack, I’d learned to get the hell out of the area, because they would go after their mate rather like sharks went after bloodied prey in disturbed waters.

  Wendy growled.

  “Who is that with you?” Laurel demanded.

  “My aunt,” I lied, although I supposed my answer was honest enough. The way the devil clung to my uncle put Wendy in an honorary aunt position.

  My self-appointed aunt huffed her amusement.

  “You have an aunt?” One of the sickened females drew closer, emerging from between two stacks of crates. My witchcraft had warned me, but it took seeing to believe how far she’d fallen. Not much of the woman remained, and my witchcraft flared brighter. In Laurel’s shadow lurked a ghostly wolf, who was bound to my former lover with a decaying chain. They both crumbled.

  I loathed my witchcraft, which detected too much.

  It didn’t help I shied from the illness I sensed growing within her. While unsure of what to do, I couldn’t ignore her. She deserved better.

  So did I.

  “Yeah. I have two aunts.” Wendy counted as my favorite, but I’d learned to hide my dislike for Mary, my uncle’s mate. “Just between us, though, my uncles are kinda dicks.”

  Wendy nipped my hand, and I knew she’d tattle on me, assuming the Fenerec outside hadn’t heard me. I guessed they had, unless they’d already abandoned our skimpy plan and gone back to the truck to wait for me and Wendy to finish cleaning up the mess.

  Yeah, right.

  “And your dad? Is he a dick too?”

  I got the unnerving feeling the crazed bitch meant it far more literally than I wanted to think about. “He’s my dad, Laurel. I try not to think too much about what he does with my mother, thank you.”

  “We need him as our Alpha. I need you as my mate.”

  I needed the woman I’d enjoyed so much time with back, but I doubted that would happen. Laurel stepped closer, and the sickness wafting off her in hot waves her made my skin crawl.

  The ghostly shape of her wolf heeled at her feet, and the rusting chain binding wolf and woman together flaked. I blinked, but the apparition remained. Then, as my witchcraft couldn’t leave well enough alone, I became aware of the wolf’s misery.

  The wolf’s incorporeal heart ached between beats, and through the pain, a new knowledge rose to the surface.

  The beast understood death came, and she acknowledged it would come at my hands.

  I hurt for them both.

  Damn it. I understood the Inquisition too well; Laurel and her pack wouldn’t leave the warehouse alive. If any of them even looked at Wendy wrong, the devil would tear them apart, and it would be a brutal, albeit swift, end. The truth of the devil’s choices weighed on my shoulders.

  He trusted me with his mate, and he trusted me to handle the issue. Worse, he trusted in my wayward, out-of-control magic to do something right for a change.

  I left the grenade in my pocket, and I expected the gun would remain in its holster, untouched.

  She deserved better.

  So did I.

  “Come here, Laurel.” At my invitation, her eyes brightened, and she scurried forward, her movements erratic and lacking the grace I remembered from when we’d had something yet nothing.

  “Dusty?”

  “You look like you need a hug.”

  Since I couldn’t change what I couldn’t ignore, I’d do what I could for the beleaguered wolf and the woman who should have remained human but hadn’t. The wolf knew, but she came forward without hesitation, her eyes bright and eager for a respite from the illness eating away at them both.

  Laurel stepped into my arms, and I gave her what I had so many times before. With me, she felt safe. It wouldn’t change anything.

  All I could do was hope the illusion of safety remained intact even as I betrayed her so her illness wouldn’t spread—and so she’d have a merciful end. The wolf watched me with grieving eyes.

  Most of the time, my witchcraft and I barely coexisted without clashing. I wanted peace. It wanted constant acknowledgment. For whatever reason, it cooperated with me for a rare change. Rather than being bombarded with everyone and everything nearby, it focused on the ill Fenerec nearby. Six strained, diseased hearts beat, their blood sluggish in their veins.

  Time would’ve done the Inquisition’s job for them, if time had been an affordable luxury.

  While the heart pumped blood and fueled the body, my magic focused on the brain as the core of each life. I agreed with my witchcraft for another rare change.

  People spoke often of hearts, but minds were what made an individual. Only from there could I send them into a painless sleep, one they’d never awaken from.

  But who?

  During my time working in the morgue, I’d learned a lot about the ways people could die, but the medical examiners and coroners I’d spoken to tended to agree that a severed spinal column came a close second to a catastrophic injury to the brain in terms of painless demises. Without a functioning spinal column, the brain could no longer receive signals from the nervous system.

  With my magic, I could wrap them in the equivalent of a warm blanket, tricking them into believing one thing while I worked my witchcraft. I already regretted what I needed to do, but if I could keep a rein on my magic, it would be over in the time it took me to draw a few slow breaths.

  Assuming I found a way to cleanly sever the nerves leading into the brain, they would feel nothing while I lived through everything. I would welcome the pain. Long after their deaths, I would remember the moment I’d been forced to become a weapon, a judge, and an executioner. Part of me would die with them.

  But I could change nothing for any of us. I would live. They would die.

  Water made up the majority of the human body, giving my witchcraft many ways to burrow into my victims. I picked the weakest point where the brain and spinal column met, pulled out every last molecule of liquid from the area, shunting the fluid away from their brains, and blocking their blood from flowing.

  My magic took mercy on them—and on me, as well. Without oxygen feeding their brains, their bodies attempted to survive the unsurvivable. Laurel slumped against me, and while her body hurt and her heart spasmed, she remained euphoric and incapable of understanding she died, betrayed while she believed in the worst of lies.

  More merciful for me than for her, it didn’t take long until she slipped into sleep. Among the crates, bodies slumped to the floor. Death took its bitter time claiming them.

  Through it all, the wolf spirit waited, her eyes glowing.

  The chain binding her to Laurel flaked away, and when death finally snapped it, the apparition stretched out her paws and bowed her head. Moments later, she, along with Laurel, were gone, as were the other sickened wolves. I lowered Laurel’s body to the cold concrete. Her eyes were closed, and a small smile creased her lips.

  Later, I would regret my choice. I already did. My questions would haunt me for years to come, I presumed. Could I have changed anything?

  I’d never know.

  I found a single consolation in the wolf, freed from Laurel’s madness. Perhaps, in time, I’d find some form of acceptance in what I hadn’t been able to ignore or change for the better. The wolf’s gratitude helped.

  Somebody walked away benefiting from the tragedy.

  Stepping over Laurel’s body, I eased my magic’s grip on the cooling bodies. Outside, I sensed my uncle and the devil waiting, wary and alert. They listened, and the silence stoked their worries. The witchcraft detected the six bodies as ice on my skin, and I shivered. I’d seen plenty of bodies before in the morgue, but none so newly killed.

  Beneath the chill, life still flourished. That life would grow as microscopic organisms went to work breaking down the corpse. One day, their bodies would become dust and soil, just another part of the Earth.

  Life would go on.

  Life sucked.

  Two living bodies, both quiet and gentle to my wit
chcraft, lured me deeper inside. It took me a moment of concentration to identify the sensation as someone nearby asleep. I assumed one would be my father. Who was the second form? Curiosity drove me deeper into the warehouse.

  Wendy trailed behind me, bumping me with her nose whenever I hesitated. In the back of the building, I discovered a makeshift den hidden behind a stack of boxes, positioned to guard the entry to an office.

  The forms slept in the office, and I recognized the deep snores of my idiot werewolf father.

  I sighed. “Damned wolf, sleeping on the job.” If my father woke up, he might go for my head before recognizing me, a risk I’d have to take. I peeked into the office.

  My father sprawled just inside the door, and he cradled a wolf puppy in his arms. My magic identified her as a young bitch.

  With a little female to guard, my father wouldn’t do anything that might put her at risk, which made my job a lot easier. Crouching, I pinched my father’s nose shut.

  It took three failed breaths to jar him awake. My father bolted upright, and his emotions erupted against my witchcraft, a chaotic blend of confusion, fury, and anxiety.

  As he’d done so often with me, I cuffed his ear. “Enough, Dad.”

  The puppy rolled to the floor and yipped, scrambling in a failed attempt to get to her paws. Careful of my broken finger, I scooped her up and offered her to Wendy. “She’s not sick, so please take her to my uncle.”

  Wendy seized the puppy by the scruff of her neck, turned, and trotted off.

  Dad snarled curses at me, and I cuffed him again. “Bite me, and so help me, Dad, I’ll blow a damned grenade in your face and let the devil deal with you.” To add weight to my threat, I removed the grenade from my pocket and waved it in his face.

  The instant recognition struck my father, he relaxed. I returned the weapon to my pocket so I wouldn’t accidentally send us to nappy land.

  “Dustin?” Dad blinked, lifted his hand, and rubbed his eyes.

  “I’m not Santa Claus, and since I don’t have the spoon, I’m not Mom. Also, I own your ass, old man.”

  Realization dawned on my father that I did own his ass, and with a low groan, he leaned against me. Until I returned him to the pack, I came the closest to a safe haven for him, and injured or drugged wolves needed safe havens. “Damn it. What are you doing here?”

  I assumed I didn’t have to tell him we’d been separated, which meant he’d been conscious for some parts of his captivity. “Well, I got picked up by a really nice lady and two of the most obnoxious bastards I’ve ever met. They decided I needed to rescue you, so I did. You can thank me later. When you get home, you have a lot of apologizing to do. Mom lit Jeremiah on fire, so you really need to get your ass home where you belong before she kills somebody.”

  Dad groaned again and bowed his head. “Shit. What happened?”

  “What happened as in with your new SUV, or what happened with Mom?”

  “Start with the SUV.”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “I was going to take you surfing, and then some college girl was asking me questions about you. I played dumb and said I didn’t know where you were, which was the truth at the time. This isn’t surfing, and I’d rather be surfing. Everything’s blurry, and my head’s killing me.”

  Poor Dad. I patted his shoulder. “Just don’t throw up on me. You know I hate that. So, the two bastards and the lady picked me up out of the crash. I sprained an ankle and broke a finger, so don’t hit the finger. It hurts enough as it is.”

  “Who are the two bastards? Ops?” Dad sat up straighter, rolling his shoulders and grimacing. “What the hell hit me?”

  “I think it was a pickup.”

  The devil poked his head into the office. “Nap time’s over, Rob. It’s go home time so the clean-up crew can clear the bodies.”

  “Shit. Desmond?”

  “Yes, I’m indeed one of the bastards. The lady is Wendy, and the other bastard is your brother-in-law.”

  “What bodies?” Dad shook his head to clear it. “What the hell did I sleep through?”

  “A very important lesson on why we might not want to send promising water witches to the morgue for lessons. Dustin pulled off the cleanest mercy kills I’ve seen in a long time, but I think your puppy might need some quiet time with Mom and Dad or a therapist. Actually, all of the above. Also, you’re adopting a puppy into your pack until I find out why she was here. Dustin?”

  “I know as much as you do, Mr. Devil. She was in here with Dad. All I can tell you is she’s not sick.”

  “Sick? What’s going on?”

  “A pack of wild wolves, Rob, and all of them were at the breaking point. They kidnapped you to get Dustin, and they were so far gone it didn’t occur to them a black man could have a white son.”

  “I prefer to think of myself as culturally confused,” I replied. “I’m also more brown than white.”

  “You’re an Italian who spends too much time in the sun,” Dad muttered, staggering to his feet. He swayed so much the devil entered the office and grabbed my father so he wouldn’t fall.

  “We’re in Tucson, Arizona. Come on. Let’s get you to the truck so you can nap off the drugs. You reek of wolfsbane.”

  With a tired groan, he leaned on the devil. “Wonderful.”

  “As your sarcasm seems to have survived, I think you’ll live. Check the place for your father’s things, Dustin. I want to be out of here before the cleaning crew arrives.”

  The devil left town in a hurry, and I checked behind us several times, wondering what could possibly worry a man like Charles Desmond. To my credit, I lasted a full hour serving as my dad’s pillow before curiosity finished eating away at me. “Why are we running like bats out of hell?”

  “Two of those wolves were far too interested in you for my liking. I’m removing any temptation to poke their noses in our business.”

  Oh. Holly and Barry. Since playing dumb often worked in my favor, I asked, “Which two?”

  “The bitch and her friend.”

  Yep. Holly and Barry. “I’ve met them. Their names are Holly and Barry.”

  The devil growled. “It would’ve been nice to know that.”

  My dad snorted, and he cracked open an eye. “Leave it be, Desmond. Count it as trauma. Dusty’s very good at ignoring what he can’t change.”

  Like hell I was. I scowled. “I associate that day with surgery. Of course I try to ignore it. It sucked.”

  Desmond laughed. “Ah. The bank robbery incident?”

  My uncle joined in the general laughter. “Don’t try to keep track of his incidents, Desmond. It’s futile. Let’s just get these two home before Marcy really does kill someone. I’ve had enough bodies for one day.”

  So had I.

  The drugs lingering in my father’s system turned the ride back to Vegas interesting at best. The first time something startled him awake in a panic, the devil had run off the road and about had a heart attack.

  Without a single thought on my part, my witchcraft wrapped around the devil’s heart, forced his blood to pump at its steadier pace, and eased the pressure. Something blocked the flow of blood in the heart, but my magic blasted it to bits the devil’s blood carried away. I’d felt clots in the morgue before, but never in a living, breathing body.

  For one brief moment in time, I became aware of every last drop of blood in the devil’s body.

  Another clot lurked deep within the man’s skull, and my witchcraft sought it out, wrapped around it, and pulverized it. The entire time, the magic controlled everything to ensure blood flow didn’t stop and nearby cells didn’t die off from a lack of oxygen.

  I hated blood clots.

  In the head, they caused strokes or worse. Death often became a mercy in the harder cases, the one where the clot destroyed the brain nearby, removing all traces of the sufferer’s personality. Movement might be impaired along with memories.

  In the rest of the body, if the clot reached the heart,
it became a heart attack.

  The fright of my father bolting awake in a panic must’ve jarred loose a clot from somewhere.

  I counted our blessings it hadn’t been the one in the devil’s head—and that my witchcraft had done something other than destroy for a change.

  It took my father a few moments to calm himself, and once he did, I made certain to keep my hand on his shoulder to keep him from panicking again.

  Once somewhere safe, I needed to tell Wendy about the devil’s strained heart. Then I’d have to find someone who could teach me how to tame the beast within me. I could’ve killed him as easily as I’d helped him. The knowledge I still could, with a single thought, chilled me.

  Maybe the four in the truck with me could become beasts, but I feared myself far more than them.

  Killing had been so, so easy.

  Seven hours after leaving Tucson, the devil parked at my parents’ home, and most of the pack had gathered waiting for my father’s return. I could feel them inside the house, watching and waiting.

  The drive had done Dad some good; he got out of the truck without help and stretched, and he waited for me.

  “Go on in, Dad. I’ll be along shortly,” I promised.

  Dad grunted. “Don’t let my pup wander off, Matt.”

  My uncle chuckled. “Go reassure Marcy and your pack that you’re in one piece, Rob. I’ll bring your puppy in soon.”

  While tired, Dad made it into the house without falling on his face.

  “All right, Dustin.” The devil twisted around in his seat. “What was that all about?”

  I looked in him the eyes and replied, “You need a medical exam done, especially of your heart, old man. You about bit the bullet from a heart attack earlier. Get rest, eat more of whatever makes you fluffballs healthy, and do it soon. Wendy’s too nice to lose you to stress or dumbfuck stupidity. Dumbass wolves.” I unbuckled my seat belt and slid out of the truck. “You’re welcome.”

  The three gaped at me, and ignoring them, I closed the door and headed inside the house to observe the chaos created by a pack of wolves overjoyed by the return of their stolen Alpha.