INVISIBLE FATE BOOK THREE: ALEX NOZIAK (INVISIBLE RECRUITS)

by Buckham, Mary

  “Makes sense,” Sabina admitted, chewing her lower lip. It wasn’t a rousing endorsement. More a grudging acceptance, followed by her starting to walk again, though she kept her gaze averted. I was reminding myself to go slow, though it wasn’t my way, at all, when she started talking, “I don’t know what kind of witch I am.”

  Okay, maybe we did have something in common. If there were a category of screwed-up witch, I’d be head of the class. But what I said was, “Did someone teach you magic or did the magic manifest itself without study of the craft?”

  “You mean like when I made Damion Brown get warts in first grade?”

  “Without knowing a spell?” I would not laugh. Of course it wasn’t warts I’d created in grade school, it was a bloody nose. Stevie Urbanik deserved it though. Who knew that would cause so much trouble?

  She nodded her head. “My mom didn’t believe I’d done it, but she was pissed about it.”

  Now this sounded familiar. Do something that came natural, like being athletic or super smart in math, and you got gold stars and way-to-go’s from everybody. Cast a few rudimentary spells and you were either a liar making things up, or needing to see a therapist.

  “Do you know if your mom was a witch?” I asked, looking straight ahead.

  “Nah, she didn’t hang around that long.” Sabina creaked her neck as if a physical movement could release the kind of tension riding her. I could tell her it wouldn’t, but some lessons we had to learn for ourselves. She continued, her voice lower, “My mom came and went when I was little. Then after my dad died, she stuck around just long enough to get tired of the mom-gig and disappeared. The landlady technically kicked me out because mom forgot.” She used air quotes. “To pay the rent for three months before she took off.”

  I was not going to get all mushy and teary-eyed, no matter how easy it would have been. Noziaks were more the kick-butt and take-prisoners type than the warm and fuzzy kind, though the kid’d had it rough. At least I still had my dad, even if I wasn’t on speaking terms with him, and three out of four brothers since Van’s death. I tamped down the grief long enough to admit that I wasn’t totally alone. “You sound American,” I said out loud. “Not that it matters.”

  “Was born in Minneapolis.” She shrugged. “Dad was a musician. We followed him around a lot.”

  “Must have been hard.”

  She jerked to a stop, her chin cocked up. “I’m not asking for sympathy. Dad was a great guy. Mom … well, some folks just aren’t meant to be parents.”

  I held my hands up in surrender. “Got it.” Time to get back on track. “So we’ll assume you’re a hereditary witch.”

  “Which means?”

  “You’re born to the craft.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “I am too. Through my mom.” The mom who’d tried to contact me not that long ago and I’d ignored. Not that turnabout wasn’t fair. She’d ignored me for twenty plus years, so it was my turn. As long as she didn’t disappear entirely, a small voice within me whispered.

  “So what’s so special about being born a witch?” Sabina asked, jerking me back to the present.

  “It’s like any other gift. Some people can practice for years to be a musician or baseball player, and they can be very, very good. But if you’re born with those talents, it usually means you can tap into your own magic easier and deeper. If you have the proper training.”

  Sabina snorted. “Which I don’t.” She made it sound like I’d just opened a door and slammed it in her face at the same time.

  “Neither did I,” I admitted.

  “But you did all those spells. Back there.” She drove home her point with her thumb pointing behind us. “Can’t tell me you don’t know anything.”

  “Now I do but I wasn’t trained as a child. Except for three months that ended abruptly when I did a bad thing.”

  Sabina’s brows arched. “How bad?”

  “Bad enough my witch mentor sent me packing.” Okay, maybe I was still a little sensitive. Or wary.

  “Okay, okay, you don’t need to get yourself all riled up.”

  We moved on, as the streets were getting more and more populated with Parisians going about their early morning routines, small zippy cars and mopeds already chugging down the main streets. Sabina and I had to have more in common than being witch born and ill trained.

  “What about lately?” I asked, sidestepping a matron with three poodles decked in rhinestones. I thought of Franco, a Didi shifter who could become any kind of dog. He’d have loved the look of these three and probably worn the stones with the same élan.

  Back on task, Alex.

  “Did anything happen recently that might have brought attention to your abilities?”

  By the way Sabina became very quiet, I knew I’d hit the nail on the head. But before I backtracked I smelled something that I’d been ignoring for a bit. Wafting between the scents of bakeries, dark coffee brewing and petrol exhaust there was something deeper and darker.

  Weres.

  I sidled closer to Sabina. “Don’t look around but I think we’re being followed.”

  Her shoulders tightened but Lord love a duck she didn’t panic, even if her voice sounded a little breathless. “By the bad guys?”

  What she meant was the ones who held us captive. I nodded, not telling her these weren’t guys at all. Sometimes too much information only scared the crap out of you. “If they attack.” Not really if, but when was more like it. “I want you to run, as fast and hard as you can.”

  “Leave you?”

  Wouldn’t be the first time. What I said though was, “Yes. No questions. Get yourself safe and then—”

  There was no more time as two burley guys stepped out of an alleyway half a block ahead. To our left a trio emerged from a doorway. A quick glance over my shoulder showed me a half dozen behind us.

  How had they found us so easily?

  Better yet, how could I have been so stupid? Yeah, it was broad daylight but we were on a side street that was all but deserted, except for the threats moving in. Why hadn’t I paid more attention to the fact some smelled preternatural?

  Too late for recriminations now.

  I grabbed Sabina’s arm and tugged her against the closest building. That left me facing almost a dozen Weres who, judging by their expressions, were out for blood.

  “Remember what I said,” I huffed, pushing Sabina behind me as I stepped forward, rocking on the balls of my feet. As if I stood a chance. I was running on adrenaline but not much else.

  Not the best odds but that’s what juiced a Noziak. Sick, yes, but I could feel the blood pumping through me, my skin cold as steel, ready to rock and rumble.

  “You jerks want something?” I asked, my voice saccharine sweet and taunting.

  “You’re coming with us,” one Were thundered. I glanced in his direction. One look told me this was only a spokesman, and not the biggest threat.

  “Think again, doggie breath.”

  Oh, big bad Were didn’t like that. His eyes darkened, his face tightened. All Weres had anger management issues. Some were easier to prod into rash action than others.

  “Come on, big guy,” I whispered under my breath, but loud enough that even a deaf Were would get the message. “Or you afraid to fight an unarmed woman?”

  His face started elongating. Yup, easy peasey to stir up this one. And one Were changing tended to kick-start others. One thing about Weres was they were most vulnerable when changing. I was counting on that. If I could take out a few, I’d stand a better chance. Not that his fellow thugs were going to wait around and twiddle their thumbs.

  Best defense was an offense. New Noziak rule.

  I launched myself forward, head down, a bowling ball of pissed off witch, hitting him against his shoulder, hard enough to hear bone crack.

  Damn, that hurt!

  A voice shouted, “Take them.”

  Free time was over.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Bran landed hard o
n his feet, bent in two, blood-red smoke billowing around him.

  “C’est des conneries!” he cursed, waiting for his gut to spew. When it didn’t he glanced up, looking around.

  The tunnels. More specifically the one where he’d left Jeb Noziak and his son.

  If he had any sense of irony left he’d laugh. Right now, all he could manage was to make sure the simin fae hadn’t followed.

  They hadn’t. Which gave him some breathing room, but not for long.

  May as well check to see if the Noziaks had remained in the Were house or left. Out of the fire, looking for the frying pan.

  It took a few steps to make sure his legs held before he headed deeper into the tunnel. Last time he’d tried that particular spell he’d been seventeen and avoiding his mother. It’d worked then but hadn’t felt like he’d been put through a wringer. Good thing he hadn’t appeared someplace where the fae could find him quickly. He didn’t have enough resources left to try that stunt again. Like any energy, magic had its own price. Right now, leaving him turned inside out.

  Sort of like Alex.

  Now the laugh came, but it sounded more bitter than anything.

  Oh yeah, when he found his witch there’d be some reckoning.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  It took a few seconds to realize the Weres meant to take me alive and not outright kill me. That was the good news. The bad news? Weres didn’t fight like humans, even when holding back. Think wolves, bears, or pumas playing rough with your family pet and you’ll get the idea.

  What surprised me is I was getting a few good licks in. Go, team Noziak! An oomph here, a squeal there, had me grinning, even as my energy seeped though every pore. All I could think was, run, Sabina, run.

  As if calling her I could suddenly smell her near. Damn, she hadn’t left.

  Throwing punches in any direction I could I tasted my own sweat and blood. All the kid-witch had to do was escape. One little thing.

  I was so pissed I didn’t realize it was her tugging at my arm, holding it in a death grip.

  Like I could fight one handed. Whose side was she on?

  With a growl that was mostly a curse I spied her between arms and bodies, her expression one hundred and ten percent determined. I recognized that look, having seen it in my own mirror more than once. But what did she want?

  “Come,” she snarled, tugging me closer to her.

  Trust whatever the hell she was doing? Or get us both killed?

  Did I have a lot to lose? Not really. I was flagging. The stuffing would be pummeled out of me soon.

  So I followed my gut and threw myself toward her, tripping a few Weres in the process. Enough to give us a foot or two of breathing room.

  That’s when she did it. Grabbed my arm with two of hers, looked to the sky and I don’t know, jumped or blasted off, or who knew what. Next thing I knew, the Weres were lunging toward my feet dangling above their heads as Sabina and I rose in the air. Not like a helium balloon either. More as in jerky bursts of flight that spun us around until I wanted to hurl. We kept moving like that, as if a strong wind caught crumpled paper in its grasp and was beating the snot out of us.

  Before I could scream Sabina smacked us against a stone ledge, causing us both to cry out.

  Clawing my hands against the gritty rock, I closed my eyes. We were a hell of a long way up and the ledge wasn’t all that big.

  “You okay?” she whispered next to me.

  I shook my head negative, trying to figure out what I needed to know first. Finally I mumbled, “Where are we?”

  “On Sacré-Cœur.”

  That had my lids popping open to glare at her, not at the distance to the ground, or the little stick figures running around on the plaza below.

  “You mean the big church on Montmarte?” My mouth was so dry I was surprised I could say anything. Especially with a WTH attitude.

  “It’s a basilica, not a church, and yeah. That one.”

  Whatever!

  “So what just happened? You can fly?” I tried to keep the anger out of my voice but not the awe. Flying? Now that would be a cool skill to have. Then I remembered. “If you were able to fly, why did you make me drag you across the water pool? You damn near drowned the two of us.”

  “I didn’t say I was good at flying.”

  Understatement.

  “Oh.” There were too many spells I’d bombed lately not to immediately understand.

  “Yeah, we were lucky we made it this far. Almost—”

  “It’s okay. Got it.” I was already focusing on the ramifications of what she’d said. “Flying is a pretty damn rare and powerful ability, in spite of what all the movies and TV shows indicate. It means you’ve got some serious magic mo-jo.”

  “Really?”

  Now she sounded like she was about ten. I could recognize the sound of hope. That spark of wanting so bad it clawed a hole deep in your stomach just by thinking you might be able to do something well, something right, instead of being a freak.

  No way was I going to burst Sabina’s bubble by telling her that fragile belief would burst and sooner rather than later.

  “I think if you found a witch mentor, one strong enough and experienced enough to handle your gifts, you might make something of your … well, what you can already do.”

  I was focusing on the mundane until my stomach stopped twisting and I could deal with what had just happened. And not just the flying. But how the Weres had found us so easily. And how the Sam hell we were going to get off this damn ledge.

  Besides, it wasn’t like I was being untruthful. If Sabina could get a little witch mentoring she might survive, but who wants to hear that? Especially at her age.

  “How old are you?” I asked, as the breeze picked up, chilling me to the bone. Not even the pigeons were flying this high.

  “Sixteen,” she mumbled, looking away from me.

  “You’re lying.”

  She snapped her gaze to mine and I thrust out my arm, an automatic reflex to sudden movements in high places. I was playing the mom card again. Lucky me.

  “How could you tell I was fibbing?” Her voice sounded like she didn’t want to believe I could tell, but didn’t want to risk if I really could suss out a lie. Convoluted, but I understood.

  “One of my abilities,” I lied. But if she thought I really was a human truth detector, it’d be more likely she’d be straight with me the first time. Yeah, I could be devious with the best of them.

  “Fine. I’m fifteen.”

  I raised a brow.

  “Next week I’ll be fifteen.”

  “That’s better.” Damn, she was young. And vulnerable.

  “You going to teach me to be a witch?” she asked in a tone that said when’s-my-first-lesson.

  Talk about a spew-your-coffee moment. Not something you want to be doing on a high ledge. “No way.” Then I lowered my voice, but not the intensity behind my tone. “You need someone who has lots of experience.” I raised one finger. “Can consistently use magic.” Another finger. “And will be sticking around.” Third finger popped up until I curled my hand into a fist.

  “You’re not staying?”

  I could actually like this kid. Go for the easiest problem to solve first. Ignore the rest until they bit you on the ass.

  “Not likely.”

  Nothing more for me here. I didn’t know if I was still an IR agent. My brother had been killed by Bran. Who knew when I could face my dad again or even if he was around? And bad guys wanted me for something. Once I took care of Bran, I was so out of here. Unless my team had other plans.

  “But—”

  “No buts.” My tone squashed any question about whether I was serious or not. “Besides, we’ve got to get off here.” I waved one palm to include the church and the sky before us. If heights didn’t give you the heebie-jeebies it really was an awesome sight, Paris spread out for miles, looking like a fairytale kingdom.

  I caught myself. Noziaks so did not do wistful thinking. So I
looked at Sabina. “Can you get us down or only up?”

  By the way she glanced away, I had my answer. Sweet Goddesses, just my luck. I was stuck, even temporarily, with a one-way flying witch.

  I slowly stood, my back against cool stone, swallowing the wedge of vertigo jamming my throat and making my knees shake. “Guess we have to find another way down.”

  “Like stairs?” Sabina scurried to her feet, obviously not having an issue with heights like I did.

  “Unless you have a better idea. Or a mini-helicopter handy.” Yeah, my snark factor was back in full force. But I was also worried. And exhausted. And wondering who in the Universe I’d pissed off so badly. Nah, I knew the answer to the last one.

  Everyone!

  Chapter Thirty

  “Thanks for meeting me,” Bran said to Willie, while scanning the street for threats. He trusted the Were, but only so far. After a lifetime of betrayals better to be wary than disappointed.

  Willie grabbed the chair opposite, waving off the waiter hustling over. The café was small, shabby and out of the way. Perfect for a meeting spot where they wouldn’t be overheard, or recognized.

  “You’re looking drained,” the Were remarked. “But you’re alive and here so I’ll assume the fae didn’t find you.”

  “They did.” At the Were’s raised brow look, Bran chuckled, though it wasn’t a happy sound. “Finding me and taking me before the Council are two different issues.”

  “I see.” The Were leaned back in his chair, but carefully. Even recovering Weres still possessed a lot of strength. “What do you need?”

  “Info,” Bran said, leaning forward so his voice wouldn’t carry. The Were had been right, he was running on adrenaline and determination. Mostly the latter. The Noziaks had not been in the tunnel safe house so he assumed they were both mobile and able to take care of themselves. His most pressing concern was what had happened to Alex. “Any word on the street about our witch?”