by May Dawney
(09:55) Masserli: Apologies.
(09:56) Joyce: I vote in favor of going after the body. Reisch has a point.
(09:56) Anderson: Then I vote for getting the body as well.
(09:57) Reisch: Masserli?
(09:59) Masserli: Steven’s idea about finding a seer of some sort is also valid. Perhaps we’re lucky to have this take place in Poland after all; it’s a free state, magic-wise. You might find someone who is willing to do business with you. Or, of course, you could try to make them. That is up to you. I’m willing to forgo punishment of the mage in question if they provide valuable information.
(10:00): Masserli: I don’t type as fast as you youngsters, apologies.
(10:01) Wagner: That’s all right. We’re in agreement. I’ll try to find a seer in town and I’ll keep you updated.
(10:01) Joyce: THE POLICE REPORT IS IN! No body, like they told Pietrzyk. Wasn’t on the scene when they arrived. I’ll get you all a copy through the secure server.
(10:02) Reisch: Your caps lock got caught there, you might want to see to that. Good luck, Warner. We’ll await your progress report.
Viktoria shoved the laptop off her lap with a grunt borne of frustration. “Why is it that they appear to be adults in a boardroom, but as soon as you put them in a chat, they devolve into toddlers?”
Tempest chuckled and shook his head. He sat behind his computer again, at the breakfast table. “I wish I knew. Joyce’s files came in, I’m translating them now.”
“Thank you.” She slid off the bed and walked over to the window. “They suggested I find a seer.”
“I read. And what do you think?” His fingers flew along the keyboard. The tapping was oddly soothing, like rain onto a window when she tried to sleep.
She smiled, despite the situation she was in. “I think that it’s going to be a witch hunt—literally—to find one. We don’t have contacts here, no clues on where to start. In London, I’d know some places to start, but here?” She shook her head. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“I have some ideas.” He stopped typing. “But it depends on what kind of approach you want to take.”
She thought about that. “The kind that will get results.” She turned her back to the window. “If that means I strongarm them, then that’s what I’ll do, if that means we blend in and buy a service, that’s fine with me.”
He hummed. Without seeing his expression, it was hard to interpret the meaning of his reply. “There are probably a few places we can start, same as everywhere: fortune tellers, a carnival in town, perhaps, or even some more obscure pubs.” He turned to her, finally. “You might have to prove yourself.” He glanced at her hands before he met her gaze. “I have horns, you…”
“I have magic.” She sighed. “If I have to, I will. I think I can get away with not mentioning how I got the services rendered to me.” The idea of using again filled her with a mixture of dread and desire. Everything in her primed to activate these processes she’d fought so hard to bury. “But just once and hold me to that. I—” She swallowed and looked at her hands. “I can’t allow myself to do it more often, or I’ll have trouble stopping again—especially with this damn wild magic. It’s left me…I don’t know. Undone, I guess. Such raw magical power.”
“I know. It’s—”
His laptop pinged.
“Your translation has been completed. I’m adding it to the server now.”
“Thank you.” She headed back toward the bed. “Let’s see what—”
The second the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, Viktoria realized what was about to happen, but the wave hit too quickly after to catch herself.
This ripple of wild chaos magic was less powerful and far shorter in both duration and aftereffect, but she still found herself on her hands and knees on the plush carpet once it passed. “W-What…?”
“A-Another wild mage?” Tempest’s voice had reached a depth far below baritone, a level reserved for monstrous Otherkin alone. He sat up in his seat and pressed his hand down on his crotch.
She looked away; she had to deal with her own body’s sensory overload. Everything inside of her buzzed and ached. Her fingertips stung with the power gathered there. The need for release was overwhelming, but there were far more pressing issues to attend to.
“N-No, not another one.” She shook her head. “There hasn’t been one in over a century and now two in two days? No, it’s worse.” She managed to sit up on her hunches.
He still cupped his crotch and his eyes had gone hooded. His chest heaved. “Then what?”
“She’s alive. The damn wild mage is alive and the Society has her.” She dragged herself to the bed and crawled on like an injured animal and entered the chatbox again. She ignored the messages awaiting her.
[(10:16) Wagner has entered the chat]
(10:16) Wagner: I will keep this short because I need to find a scryer. The wild mage is alive. Another wild magic surge just hit. Less powerful but definitely wild magic. I don’t have answers.
(10:17) Reisch: Are you sure?
(10:17) Joyce: What the hell? Is that even possible?
(10:18) Messerli: I believe it. Just like before, the Penitentiary inmates went wild.
(10:18) Messerli: The pun was not intended.
(10:18) Joyce: We’re calculating the source now, but if you’re right, Wagner, it’s unheard of.
(10:18) Reisch: If she IS right, someone has a wild mage. Do you have any idea what the Society could do with a wild mage?
(10:19) Wagner: Destroy us all, even if she has to do it one at a time.
(10:19) Reisch: Damn right, she could!
(10:20) Reisch: Why are you not searching for a scryer right now? We need that girl found. I’m scrambling everyone—including your squads, Viktoria.
(10:21) Wagner: Permission granted.
“Viktoria?”
Tempest’s voice drew her gaze away from the screen. “What?”
“I was monitoring traffic in and out of Poland, but because of this mess, I extended the parameters.” He’d recovered some, it seemed, as he was using both hands to type.
“Yes?” She glanced at the screen to catch up with the frantic conversation.
“Senna’s daughter is currently on a plane back from the US, using one of the aliases Berlinger pulled from his Vienna source before he blew his cover.” He still didn’t look up. “She’s due to arrive in, give or take, four hours.” He finally tore his gaze away and met hers. “Four hours is enough time to get a squad in the air and intercept her.”
“To what avail?” The messages on the screen kept pouring in and she had trouble keeping up with both at the same time.
“To the avail that if we control Senna’s daughter, we control Senna. If we control Senna, we control the London Charter. If we control the London Charter—”
“We control the Society.” The words on the screen were forgotten in an instant. Her mind raced along with her heart. “That could work.” She nodded. “Scramble a team, scramble…” She thought for a second. “Scramble Anderson and his team. They aren’t doing anyone any good in Vienna anyway. File a flight plan, set them up to arrive before Senna’s daughter, no matter what.” She pushed up on her knees, just to relieve some nervous energy.
Calls for her reaction popped up on the screen.
“Let me take care of these people while you set that up, and after that, we’re going witch hunting.”
CHAPTER SIX
A man must make bold choices where his family name is concerned. I have worked harder than any man in the Inquisitio ranks to get higher up, and I have succeeded. Slowly but steadily, I have gained the respect of my peers. I have become a person to fear and to boast about to other Houses.
How did I do this?
By being ruthless, and doing whatever needed to be done, consequences be damned. Consequences can be undone. What can’t be undone is the appearance of weakness. Weakness is the one thing no man can recover from, because once you�
�re bleeding, the sharks will come.
– Rudolf Wagner, ‘A Guide for the Death of Witches’
THE POSSIBILITIES TO find a proper contact were not endless, which was both a blessing and a curse. A Google search revealed two ‘magic shops’ in Kraków, no traveling circuses making the rounds, and if there were bars that supported Otherkin and mages, they didn’t advertise it in public.
So, a ‘magic shop’, it was.
The closest was in a busy street and probably drew bundles of tourists. Viktoria decided that the odds of wasting more time by trying their luck there were greater than taking a gamble on a longer taxi ride to the outer edge of town where the second fortune teller had their shop listed.
Once they arrived—having told the taxi to stop up the road so they could walk the last stretch and appear more like tourists—Viktoria’s spirits rose. The shop was a new age kind of thing with crystals in the display window and bookcases lined up along the walls. The smell of incense was strong even outside. It could still be a dud, but it was better than ‘Madam Fortuna’s Vision Imporium,’ which was what the other shop name had translated to.
This shop was called ‘Wonderland,’ or something that translated to that, at least. It was a very new-agey name, but that wasn’t necessarily bad.
Tempest pushed the door open and a sprinkling of bells went off above their heads. They continued to sound well after he’d shut the door behind her.
It was a small shop, much deeper than it was wide, and the center was taken up by display tables and cabinets.
Tempest wisely decided to stay standing on the doormat. He’d be a literal bull in a magic shop if he stepped from the relatively open space of the entrance.
Viktoria ventured inside and ran her fingers along necklaces with stones on them, then ventured onward to take in the explosion of colors, scents, and the quiet mood track of a flute and calmly meandering brook that drifted through the shop along with the incense smoke.
Memories pushed to the forefront of her mind even though the settings they had been created in were countries away. Strong arms around her waist and whispered words in her ear; Amethyst is a soothing stone. Maybe you should get one.
Her lips curved into a smile without her permission, and she forced it off the second she realized. She’d been so naïve then—too naïve. She’d gotten wiser since. And yet, her gaze was drawn to a large block of the purple gemstone, and she wondered what had happened to the little lump of it she’d left behind when she’d been forced out of London.
Had she kept it? Had she given it to someone else?
A spike of something hot jammed itself into her chest at the thought. She shivered. Jealousy, after so many years. She shook her head. Did you ever really get over your first?
“Hello?” The greeting was followed by a string of words in Polish and they originated from a short, stubby woman who had either just appeared behind the counter or who had blended in so well against the multi-colored backdrop that Viktoria had overlooked her entirely.
“English? German?”
“German.” The woman nodded. “Welcome, are you looking for something?”
Viktoria hesitated and glanced at Tempest.
He didn’t react, just watched the woman from under his fedora.
“I…I’m new. To Kraków. We are, we’re on a vacation of sorts.” She smiled. “My boyfriend and I.”
He bristled in his corner but didn’t counter her.
She couldn’t blame him, despite the occasional relief, the thought of him being her boyfriend made her queasy. She turned the volume of her smile up a bit to cover the lie.
“Welcome again, then, to Kraków! Beautiful city, many beautiful things. Have you looked? Seen things?” She pointed at her eyes.
“Yes, we visited the basilica this morning—we arrived last night. We’ll see more things, I’m sure, but we were…we were looking for something. Some people.” She tried to steady her heartbeat as she met and held the woman’s gaze.
“Some people?” The woman arched a brow and shook her head. “What people do you want to meet?”
She glanced at Tempest again, who shrugged almost imperceptibly, which was a trained skill for someone with his bulk.
The woman was still looking at her when she looked back. “People who would come here. For herbs and crystals. People who are maybe not like other people?” She wondered if there was a secret handshake. Twenty years ago, she’d only had to follow along and get taken for the grand tour of paranormal and Otherkin London. All doors had opened for her because of her companion. What were the protocols surrounding the establishment of credentials?
For several seconds, the woman stared at her, then she watched Tempest for the same extent of time.
Another thought struck: was there a wanted poster out with her face on it? Was her identity common knowledge in mage circles? It had been twenty years ago, and twenty years was a long time. London was far away from a little back alley in Kraków. If this woman had heard about her rejection from the Society and her subsequent return to the Inquisitio at the time, would she have kept up with her whereabouts and changing looks?
She should have taken all of this into account earlier.
“Not like other people, you say?”
Viktoria nodded. Her fingertips stung with magic that was at the ready to release should this backfire.
“Not like other kin, perhaps?” The woman’s gaze darted from one to the other.
Viktoria let out a sigh of relief; she didn’t even have to pretend. “Yes! Yes, that’s what I mean!” She beamed at Tempest.
He did his utter best to smile—a skill he was still perfecting.
Viktoria focused back on the shop keeper. “Are you, um…?” She hesitated. “Do you know the Society?” She resisted the urge to bite her lip. Her seventeen-year-old self would have, way back when. Something about the smell of incense and the rush of relief brought that part out in her, or maybe it was the memories that still played in the back of her mind.
“I…” The shop keeper looked from one to the other. “I think that depends on who is asking the question, yes? Those questions are not usually asked in public.”
Viktoria’s cheeks stung, which she counted as a blessing, given the circumstances. “Sorry, we don’t travel much anymore, and when we did, we’d always have someone to introduce us. But you’re right, you can never be too careful.” She licked her lips, as if trying to decide on taking a risk. “I don’t know if I can trust you—this whole shop could be an Inquisitio trap—but I could, I could maybe prove something to you?” She held her breath.
Once more, the shop keeper took them both in. “All right, yes. If you do not hurt me or my shop, you can prove that you should know the other kin, yes?”
Viktoria nodded, but trepidation took a hold of her heart and squeezed.
Tempest straightened. “Why don’t I go first, hm?” He made his way to the counter while Viktoria tried to catch up.
Anger flushed through her system at being interrupted and opposed, but when she forced herself to take a step back—literally—she could see the wisdom in his offer. If she didn’t have to show her magic, everyone would be safer, and she would not be so tempted to use again. He was trying to protect her, and of course, she had almost taken his head off for it.
She diverted her gaze.
“As long as you do not hurt my store or myself.” The shop keeper nodded and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“I won’t, I’m Otherkin.” Tempest checked the door, then took his fedora off and leaned forward to show his protruding horn tissue.
“Minotaur?” That lifted much of her scowl. “Not many more in the world.”
He shook his head. “Not many, no. I have only an eighth minotaur blood, I’m not a full Otherkin.”
Viktoria couldn’t help but snort at the statement. Otherkin society was odd; on this side of the Veil, a person was considered full Otherkin if they had one parent whose origins lay in a land beyond the
Veil. On the other side, half-bloods were considered inferior. Tempest, with his diluted blood, would be spit upon by his single ancestor: the Minoan Minotaur, trapped forever in a timeless labyrinth beyond the Veil. His great-great-grandmother had been released from the labyrinth, but not before she—like all female virgin sacrifices who entered the labyrinth—had been subjected to the Minotaur’s lust. It was only the men who served as food.
“All right, a minotaur then. And you? You are not Otherkin, are you? You’re a mage?” The shopkeeper’s demeanor had shifted to one of curiosity.
Viktoria nodded. “I-I’m a mesmer.”
“Ah.” The scowl returned—which wasn’t surprising. People didn’t like to be controlled, and they didn’t like to experience the numbness and stinging that came after. “All right, let me have it then. A little, just enough to prove.”
The warning was clear. “I’ll try.” Viktoria licked her lips and raised a hand, like a puppeteer would raise his hand to hold onto the strings of his puppet—palm down, hand flat. She held the shopkeeper’s gaze.
With extreme caution and care, she allowed her magic up her arm, but as much as she tried to control it, it still felt like touching livewire. Her brain flared with the pleasure of imminent magical release and her hand jerked.
The shopkeeper’s arm flew up, narrowly missed the counter and the assortment of dreamcatchers above it and stayed there under Viktoria’s command.
Sparks went off behind her eyelids whenever she blinked, and heat rushed through her body—not sexual, but filled with pleasure, nonetheless. Dopamine, her father had told her. Like a shot of heroine.
When she’d practiced magic regularly, she’d only felt the littlest rush of power, but now, even that little taste was enough to send all synapses flaring. Her other hand itched to join in. Everything in her screamed to practice, to control, to break.
The woman’s eyes widened when her magic surged.
Tempest’s broad hand landed on the back of her neck and squeezed. “That’s enough, sweetie.” He rumbled the words above her head and he tightened his hold. His thumb pressed against the side of her neck, against the artery she could feel was throbbing.
