My Favorite Witch

by Lisa Plumley

  Deuce groaned, a guttural sound that wanted to be words but could not be. His eyelids flickered with disturbing speed.

  “Leave me be while I deal with this,” the healer said.

  T.J. planted his feet. “I’m not leaving him alone. Whatever you have to do, do it with me here.”

  “I’m not going to hurt him. You have to trust me.”

  “I’ve trusted you enough to bring you here.” T.J. slanted a grateful look at the window through which his familiar had retreated. The hawk had done well. “That’s as far as I go.”

  “Very well,” the healer said. “But this won’t be pretty.”

  Feeling distraught and rebellious, Dayna stepped off the Covenhaven trolley at the Janus Resort and Spa with her backpack in tow and her mind awhirl. She’d arrived at the resort half on autopilot, with no clear sense of where to go or what to do next. All she knew was that her life had just changed forever.

  She couldn’t confide in Camille about what had happened—about what her parents had done or about being a vixen. Her best friend, as wonderful as she was, would never understand. She couldn’t go to T.J. or Deuce either. Technically, Sam and Margo Sterling had broken the law; Dayna was upset, but she wasn’t ready to report her own parents to two IAB tracers. At a loss, she’d wandered the Covenhaven historical district for an hour or so before realizing who she could turn to: Francesca.

  Francesca had always told her the truth, however hurtfully. Ironically, that meant she could trust Francesca. Besides, Dayna had a link with her fellow vixens that surpassed all others.

  Francesca had said it herself: You’re one of us now.

  How true that had been. Suddenly eager to tell Francesca the news that she was a vixen, too, Dayna headed toward the Janus lobby. The place looked awash in lights and festive Samhain decorations, filled with even more tourists and cusping witches than had been there earlier. From amid the crowd, one bald, suit-wearing warlock separated himself and came toward her.

  Garmin. Exuding power and authority, he moved faster.

  Not him. Not now. Reluctant to deal with him, Dayna swerved to the left, then ducked behind a group of uniformed porters.

  She was too late. Garmin arrived there first, transported via whatever magical means he favored. He crossed his arms.

  “Ms. Sterling. I thought we had an understanding.”

  “Look, I’m kind of in a hurry. So if you don’t mind—”

  “You’re always in a hurry.” With deceptive smoothness, the IAB agent stepped straight into her path. His shoulders loomed above her. His aura—which, she realized with a minor thrill, she could actually see tonight—gleamed with a metallic shimmer. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to make time for me.”

  “Fine.” Stopping short, Dayna stared up at him with an elaborate show of patience. “What do you want now?”

  “I want the same thing I’ve always wanted—for you to stay away from T.J. McAllister.” With menacing intensity, Garmin moved closer. “But since you’re unable or unwilling to do that—”

  “Unwilling. You nailed it.”

  “Hmmm.” Garmin arched his brow. “And yet you called me.”

  Well, that was true. Uncomfortably, Dayna shifted. Janus’s New Age music wafted toward her, accompanied by the spicy scent of the clove cigarettes that cusping witches favored to hide their magic. Her kitten sank its claws in her shoulder, then peeked its head around. Its soft fur grazed her ear.

  Garmin glanced at it, then smiled. “Your familiar?”

  “Yes.”

  The agent waited for more. Stubbornly, she shut her mouth.

  “You’re not feeling chatty. I understand.” Garmin’s smile flashed, indescribably appealing. Under the circumstances, she should not have found him so charismatic. “All I need from you is one thing: McAllister’s location. Then I’ll leave you alone.”

  “You’re the IAB. Can’t you track him yourself?”

  The agent’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

  “Well then. Bureaucratic shortcomings aren’t my problem.” With a flip of her hair, Dayna turned toward the lobby. She fluttered her fingers. “Good night, Agent Garmin.”

  Without moving, he seized her. Dayna felt her arm lock in position; her leg froze up next, fixing her in place. Dismayed, she glanced over her shoulder. In the darkness, amid the laughter and frivolity of the Janus courtyard, Garmin waited.

  “He’s dangerous,” he said. “Tell us how to find him.”

  Struggling against his warlock grasp, Dayna frowned.

  “Tell us how to find him,” Garmin repeated as he advanced closer, “and we’ll make sure you pass your cusping class. We’ll license you today. You’ll be able to go home again. Tonight.”

  His voice rumbled over her, filled with everything she wanted to hear. Filled with escape. But this time Dayna couldn’t run away from the challenges in Covenhaven…could she?

  Amid all the turmoil she faced, the offer felt tempting.

  “You can run,” he said intently, again demonstrating his uncanny witchfolk clairvoyance. “You can run. Or…” Garmin stopped beside her, his polite demeanor giving no sign of the hold he kept on her. His expression brightened with interest. He tilted his head as though listening to something. “Or you can make sure your parents aren’t prosecuted for breaking the law when they hid you. When they hid your vixen birthright.”

  Shocked by his insight, Dayna couldn’t help jerking.

  The agent detected that faint tremor. His voice pursued her, relentless and seductive. “I know what they did, but you can protect them. Agent McAllister is a big boy. His problems with the IAB are his to deal with, not yours. He’s bitter about his suspension. I get that. But that’s no reason for you to—”

  “T.J. has been suspended? From the IAB?”

  This time, Garmin did release her. His satisfied expression told Dayna everything. He knew he no longer needed magic to hold her there. “I suspended him weeks ago. He didn’t tell you?”

  Mutely, Dayna shook her head. She couldn’t believe T.J. hadn’t confided in her, especially about something so important.

  This explained the subterfuge, the protective charm, the way T.J. had refused to confide more than scant details about the Patayan mission he’d been on. She wondered if the “conflict” he’d warned her about was real. If any of it was real.

  Garmin chuckled. “I didn’t think he would. I already told you—Agent McAllister doesn’t trust easily…if at all.”

  “He trusted me.” Just not enough. Drawing in a calming breath, Dayna regrouped. “And I trust him. I guess you’ll just have to deal with your administrative issues on your own.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Garmin frowned. “You mean—”

  “I mean find him yourself,” Dayna said. She spotted Francesca nearby and, encouraged by the appearance of her fellow vixen, straightened in front of Garmin. “I’m done helping you.”

  With a plaintive meow, her kitten familiar retreated back to her hood. At the same moment, Francesca arrived.

  Her vivacious smile lit the resort’s courtyard. “Dayna! What a nice surprise. And Agent Garmin! I thought you’d already left for the night. What brings you back to Janus so soon?”

  Back to Janus? Dayna wondered what he’d been doing there.

  “Just some unfinished business.” The agent nodded at Francesca, then at Dayna. “It’s concluded now.”

  His intimation was clear. He would not give Dayna another chance to pass her class, get licensed, return to Phoenix early…or save her parents. How had he known about their lie?

  Before she could figure it out, Garmin turned abruptly. An instant later, the warlock vanished into the crowd of tourists.

  Francesca burst out laughing. “Wow! Those IAB types aren’t big on small talk, are they?” She looped her arm in Dayna’s, gave the departing agent a curious look, then smiled. When she gazed more closely at Dayna, her smile wavered. “Wait a minute. You’re not here for a mani-pedi touchup, are you? Something is
wrong. Really wrong. What happened?”

  Awash in Francesca’s comforting tone and empathetic look, Dayna realized she’d done the right thing by coming to Janus. Probably she and Francesca shared a vixen-witch connection—one that made her new friend unusually sensitive to Dayna’s turmoil. With a hesitant smile, Dayna gestured toward the resort.

  “Why don’t I tell you over a drink?” she suggested with an overwhelming sense of relief. “This might take a while.”

  “Of course.” Crooning with sympathy, Francesca ushered her inside the resort. The crowds parted to let them pass, murmuring and smiling, obviously recognizing Francesca as a VIP. “Tonight, I think you need a very special cocktail. Let’s go.”

  With his face cast in conjured shadows, the Patayan healer motioned for T.J. to come closer. Solemnly, he gazed at him.

  “Are you all right?” the healer asked.

  “I’m fine.” Still reeling with the effects of absorbing the fear and pain in the room, T.J. straightened. Sweat beaded his brow; his fists clenched at his sides. “How is Deuce?”

  “You shouldn’t have helped me. It’s weakened you. Let me—”

  “Is he healed?” T.J. wavered. He flung his arm to the bureau to steady himself, then peered at the healer. “Is he?”

  “It’s difficult to say. I’ve never seen anything like this. This magic is…splintered. It’s forcing his brain to make new connections—the same connections that allow us, as witchfolk, to practice magic.” With his expression bleak, the healer watched as Deuce lay silent. “In humans, able magic has been latent for generations—imagine trying to achieve eons of evolution in just hours. The human mind was not designed to withstand the strain. He should not have survived even this long.”

  “I understand. What do we do now?”

  “Now?” The healer blinked. “Now we wait.”

  T.J. swore. “There must be more. A potion, a spell—”

  “More magic could be deadly. For whatever reason, Deuce has not tested these new connections of his. His ability to resist using this magic probably saved his life.”

  My pops was doing magic, T.J. suddenly remembered Jesse Obijuwa telling him after their basketball game. He was doing tons of magic. Just like all those witches and warlocks in town.

  T.J. looked at the healer. “What if he hadn’t resisted?”

  “You mean if Deuce had tried using his rudimentary magic as it formed?” Wearily, the healer frowned. “It’s difficult to say. An unprepared and unschooled mind—a mind still evolving—would produce fleeting magic, at best. But even that much success would have created a desire to try again.”

  T.J. was familiar with that desire. It was present in all able children, encouraging them to persist after failures.

  “Deuce might have literally magiked himself to death,” the healer said, “unable to stop practicing his new skills.”

  With eerie synchronicity, T.J. recalled the conversation he’d overheard on the night the IAB had found the second gardener’s body. There were certain…artifacts near the body, the female IAB agent had told Garmin. We have reason to believe the victim was trying to practice legacy magic himself.

  “Magic use isn’t deadly,” T.J. protested, half to himself. Dark currents whirled around him, restless and turbulent, as he paced the room. “Otherwise, witchfolk would not exist.”

  “That’s true,” the healer agreed. “But in humans? Magic use is too much for the mind to absorb, especially all at once.”

  Stopping beside Deuce’s bed, T.J. stared down at his partner. It killed him to see his friend this way.

  And if all they could do now was wait…

  “Someone did this to him. They should be forced to pay.”

  Decisively, T.J. turned. The healer swept himself sideways, blocking his path. On the verge of shoving the elderly Patayan, T.J. checked himself. Was he so distraught he would attack an elder of his circle? A Patayan who deserved all his respect?

  Almost. But not quite.

  “Move,” T.J. growled. “Please. I won’t ask again.”

  “Revenge is not productive. It will only hurt you.”

  For a long moment, T.J. stared at the healer’s wise expression. Then he flexed his hands. Magic crackled from them, wicked and ready—ready to punish someone for Deuce’s condition.

  “As long as it hurts them first, I don’t care.”

  “You are bonded!” the healer cried as T.J. brushed past him. “Think of your bonded partner. Would she want you to damage yourself this way? To give over to your darker instincts?”

  Roughly, T.J. stopped. The healer’s gaze swept to his birthright mark tattoo—to the symbol of his bonding. Its usual glow looked dim. Its warmth, he realized dully, had retreated.

  He wondered if that meant Dayna had been hexed, too.

  “Seeking revenge will lessen you.” The healer cast a wary glance at Deuce, checking his condition. “It will damage your bond. If you still want to leave, at least know that first.”

  Caught between loyalty to Deuce and loyalty to Dayna, T.J. stopped. Frustration roiled through him, hard and swift. The air currents he’d picked up increased in tempo, ruffling his hair.

  With a savage gesture, he swept them away. They blew through the apartment, picking up debris and hurling fixtures before slamming into the wall. The items the current had carried fell to the floor in a resounding crash. Glass shattered.

  “I’ll stay.” T.J. glowered toward the bedroom. “For Deuce.”

  Even as he said it, he couldn’t help wondering…

  Where was Dayna? And why the hell wasn’t she there already?

  Surrounded by cusping witches dressed in the chicest autumn resort wear, highlighted by the expertly conjured lighting at Janus’s VIP lounge, and laughing as she cradled her third special cocktail of the night, Dayna gestured for the server.

  “Barkeep? Another round!” she called tipsily.

  At her side, Francesca gave the Janus bartender a subtle nod of approval. Then she went back to the box of magical amulets she’d been working with, her expression relaxed.

  “I can’t believe those are all for cusping-witch graduation tomorrow.” Dayna goggled at the pile. It easily contained thousands of golden graduation amulets. “And I really can’t believe you’re the one doing the grunt work of engraving them.”

  “Mmm. I enjoy it. It’s nice mindless work.” Francesca shrugged, focusing on the collection. At her direction, one of the amulets lifted from the pile. Francesca consulted a list at her elbow, then waved her fingers. Magically, a cusping witch’s name engraved itself on the amulet. “Besides, it gives me more time to talk to you.” She smiled. “Are you feeling better?”

  “After three of these?” Grinning, Dayna lifted her cocktail—her specially garnished, exclusively offered, invincibility-endowing cocktail. “I’m feeling incredible!”

  “Good. Then you’re probably ready to tell me what happened.” Wearing an expression of concern, Francesca left her preparations alone for a minute. “You seemed really upset.”

  “Well, I can’t imagine why now!” Dayna took a gulp of her drink. Like a good margarita, her cocktail tasted sweet, sour, and delicious. She licked a spill on her glass. “I’m so glad you pushed all these drinks on me. You knew exactly what I needed.”

  “I could help you even more if you would tell me what’s the matter. I’m only sorry I have to keep working on this engraving while we talk.” Francesca gestured at the graduation amulets. “I’m afraid I bit off more than I could chew when I agreed to host the graduation ceremony and the Hallowe’en Festival here at Janus. Back to back, on the same day, no less. Whew!”

  Dayna scoffed breathily. And maybe a little drunkenly. “You can handle it. You’re perfect at everything. And maybe”—she hinted with an elaborately confiding tip of her head—“so am I.”

  “Ooh, mysterious.” Francesca smiled. “What do you mean?”

  “Well…” Dayna paused as the server arrived with her fourth cocktail. She glanc
ed up, startled to see the same witch who’d suffered Francesca’s wrath for delivering the wrong drinks on their girls’ spa day. Tonight, though, the employee appeared to have regained her full head of hair and her job. The realization loosened Dayna’s lips at last. “I’m a vixen witch!”

  Pleased and proud, she slammed back her drink. Then she licked her lips and watched Francesca’s reaction. The other witch wavered in her vision, beautiful and serene and gifted.

  “You’re a vixen witch,” Francesca repeated. “Yes, I know.”

  “You know?” Dayna blinked. “But how? I didn’t even know.”

  Her fellow vixen shrugged. “I just knew. I realized it in cusping-witch class weeks ago. Vixen magic recognizes its like, you know, just as other forms of special magic do.”

  “Huh.” Astonished and a little deflated, Dayna twirled her finger around the sticky rim of her cocktail glass. She pulled away her finger, then sucked its sweet-and-sour tip into her mouth while she considered the way her bond with T.J. had been formed. “I guess that’s true. I hadn’t thought about it before.”

  “Well, you’ve been among humans awhile.” Francesca went back to engraving her pile of amulets. “That’s understandable.”

  “I guess. But what’s not understandable is the way my parents kept the news from me,” Dayna complained. With a twinge of her old rebelliousness, she confided the whole sordid story to Francesca. “But now the secret is out. I’m a trueborn witch!”

  “Of course you are.” Smiling, Francesca continued engraving the piled-up amulets. “I never doubted it at all.”

  “You didn’t?” Dayna peered at her. “Is that why you decided to be friends with me? Because you realized I was a vixen, too?”

  “Oh, come on, Dayna.” Francesca laughed, shaking her head. “I’m not that calculating! I wanted to be your friend because I like you, that’s all. Lily and Sumner do, too. It just took us a little while to realize it. For that, I’m sorry.”

  Warmed by Francesca’s apology and kind words, Dayna beamed at her. It felt good to be part of a close-knit group at last. It felt good to be on the inside, to be linked again, to be drinking special cocktails and brimming with powerful magic.