Quinn replied, “She texted back no.”
“Maybe we have some phantom po-po,” Vic said. “I have my cross-o-matic packed around here somewhere for an exorcism.”
Despite his handicap, or maybe because of it, he relished going into the field. He would have been the best for an exorcism since spirits hated vampires, and Red wasn’t much of a believer. She wasn’t convinced he was right. Ghosts usually gave her a distinctly eerie feeling. Those cops had looked corporeal and were probably chasing after those teenagers.
“We’re just here to take pictures,” Quinn said. “Do you see anything unusual? Or any sigils with your third eye, Red?”
She wanted to say it was all unusual. Instead, she used her spirit gaze, her most useful witch trick.
Protection sigils were written on the glass doors in spiky calligraphy-like neon graffiti, invisible to regular humans. She recognized one that she had seen before on mystical safes, called prison boxes, for magical objects. It was only used to contain energy. No wonder she hadn’t sensed any mystical activity.
“They’re storing hot goods in there, but the building is cloaked. I can’t feel anything from here.” Red frowned. “Do you smell people in there, Quinn?”
“No. Only the trash in the street. I don’t hear any heartbeats.” Her boss squinted at the warehouse, his voice unusually hesitant. “We might as well go inside.”
“I have something for the sigils.” Red patted the borrowed police utility belt on her waist. It wasn’t her hunter’s kit, but she had packed it with salt and powdered cold iron anyway. She stepped out of the van.
The earlier wind had completely died, leaving the chilly air feeling heavy and still. She wanted to stay in the Millennium Falcon, but Quinn couldn’t be trusted with a camera phone even if he was a talented sketch artist. The vampire was all thumbs.
Not like Kristoff Novak. Red had debated internally on texting him since the unsouled vampire dealt heavily with real estate. Now, she wished she had.
“Watch the security system. Call if we need to run,” Quinn said to Vic in the back of the van before leaving to join her on the street.
Red squared her shoulders, and they walked to the entrance. She took care with the slippery front step to avoid the female cop’s fate. Blowing powdered cold iron on the sigils scribbled in the ether, she felt them wane but not disappear.
Hardy buggers. A tingle of energy seeped out from behind the door. It brushed over her like a texture she couldn’t describe. It wasn’t demonic but still unnerving. No auras glowed inside the glass doors to indicate a human or supe.
“Something is emitting serious vibes in there. It won’t melt our faces off, but don’t hold me to that.”
Quinn tried the door, but it had locked itself again. After a call to Vic, they were inside the narrow front room.
Blank white walls stretched to an open stairwell in the rear. A small built-in reception area partially broke up the space. The thick presence of the strange force distracted her from wondering where the officers had gone. It made the nearly empty room feel full.
Red inspected the dusty, curved front desk. There wasn’t even a chair. A haze of ether and energy lingered like fog in the corners. She took a quick picture of the lobby.
Quinn waved her over to the only interior door. He went inside first, shielding her smaller form in case of a surprise attack. The wind howled outside, but a hush lay over the dark, windowless space. “I don’t sense anyone else.”
Containment sigils on the walls and doors cast a strange glow to her third eye. She shivered. Was this a warehouse or a prison?
Documenting their patrol, she used her phone’s camera light as a lantern.
Less than a third full, the large room had wide makeshift aisles. Cargo bins, boxes, and crates lined the walls and occupied the center. Some were opened to reveal foreign handicrafts, woven baskets, and pottery. They weren’t reproductions but fragile and old, packed with plenty of cushioning.
A stone Olmec head, face carved into the rock, stared out from a crate taller than her. The artifacts were spectacular even in the wan light of her phone. Were these high-value cultural items smuggled from their homelands?
Red walked quickly to keep up with Quinn’s long legs, recording a video as they looped around the storeroom. She told herself that video was better than still pictures, but she just wanted to get out of there quicker. She didn’t know why. Usually, she’d be curious about historical goodies.
To a non-mage, nothing was out of the ordinary for what seemed to be a storehouse for upscale international imports. None of the sigils were malicious; all were prudent precautions for storing magical artifacts. It was simply the amount that unnerved her. She agreed with the dead asshole, Michel de Grammont, that someone should monitor the place.
The strange energy didn’t grow as they explored. There were no temperature shifts like a spirit manifesting, and nothing had leaped out with claws.
Yet.
The two returned to the lobby after inspecting the empty loading bay. Starting up the stairwell to the second level, Quinn seemed slower than usual, his scrutinizing gaze lingering on every shadow.
It wasn’t the shadows Red worried about.
Power radiated from a closed door at the top of the stairs. It was stronger with every step. Spectral flotsam passed her third eye, bobbing like driftwood on invisible currents that were as fluid as rain, persistent as a hurricane, and limitless as the ocean. She’d never felt anything like it.
Yet, paradoxically, it was familiar, as if she were experiencing this phenomenon in a different quantity than usual. The difference between having a smear of jam on your toast and being dumped into a vat of it.
Quinn hovered by the doorknob as if he weren’t sure if he should open it. An unnecessary breath moved his chest. It was never comforting when the dead were nervous.
Nothing jumped at them on entry.
The top floor was empty. Outside, streetlamps streamed in from the windows, breaking up the shadows between the support pillars. Sigils swathed the ceiling. Faded as if distant constellations, they didn’t glow like the ones downstairs, eroded by the force they imprisoned.
Red’s phone was good as a flashlight as she aimed the camera lens to show on the record that there wasn’t a single cubicle in sight. Whatever the city thought, this wasn’t an office. Her light drifted over a still white face.
She nearly dropped her phone, assuming it was a vampire, until she realized it was stone.
The statue, a bearded man in a cloak and Grecian tunic, was slightly larger than life size. The sculptor had given it an inquisitive yet solemn expression, like a philosopher from the school of hard knocks. It peeked at Red from behind a pillar, only yards from the stairwell as if the movers couldn’t tolerate it any further.
Energy pulsed from it.
She gave the statue space as she circled to record it from different angles and zoomed in on the details. There weren’t any curses carved into it or painted sigils. To all three eyes, it looked like any other Greek statue. How did it radiate a force that she couldn’t see?
The alarm blared suddenly again, jamming at her eardrums. Red twirled around and hit stop on her video recording.
“Downstairs,” Quinn ordered, rushing into the stairwell.
She followed, jamming her phone back into her utility belt. Every step felt oddly sluggish and evitable. Her gut told her the lobby would be empty before it came into view. It was like a prophecy. The glass doors of the front were open again, but the sirens had shut off.
Who was here? Had those cops or the teens come back? Hopefully, it wasn’t the Bethesda Group. Somehow, she doubted they’d found that statue lying around somewhere.
“Meet me behind the loading bay,” Quinn ordered, directing her outside. He rushed into the storeroom. What had he sensed?
Lowering her hat brim, Red ran out the front, automatic doors closing behind her. There were no cars in the parking lot, only their black van across the stre
et.
She took a right and ran around the side of the building. Her ears were too muffled from the shrill alarms to fully hear the wailing wind whipping her cheeks. Once she reached the loading bay, the alarm stopped.
Quinn exited a side door before shrugging in confusion. The back fence of the warehouse was flush against another building. There was no hopping over it unless you climbed over three stories. He sprinted to the left side of the building, toward the front.
She sighed. If he had seen something, it was faster than them. She was used to monsters outrunning her, but Quinn was another story.
Rain soaked her suddenly as if the clouds were wringing themselves out. Twice in one night? That had to be an LA record. The weatherman would crow about it tomorrow.
Red jogged back to the front entrance, glancing up at the second floor, trying not to think too hard about what was up there. She had the unsettling sensation that it might think back at her. Meeting Quinn by the front door, she whispered from yards away. His supernatural hearing would pick it up as clearly as a yell. “Did you find someone?”
“I heard a car park. Over the alarm, I couldn’t tell if it was in front or back. There was only Vic out there, so I figured it must be in the loading bay.”
She gaped like an idiot at the top level, then shook herself. Get a grip; it’s raining! Running to the small awning for shelter, she slipped on the wet step and bumped into his big shoulder. “Shit!”
Quinn steadied her.
“Damn, that’s slippery,” Red muttered.
The real cop had fallen here. In the face of such contained power, she had almost forgotten about the officers. The hair stood up on the back of her neck. Where did they go?
Quinn stared down at her. An unsettled realization skittered over his face.
They gawked at the Millennium Falcon across the street. It wasn’t the wet uniform that made Red shiver.
Her own face stared back at them! An exact duplicate of Red and Quinn talked behind the windshield, illuminated by the dash lights and Vic’s laptop. The van door opened.
She raced to the vehicle.
Suddenly their doubles were gone, leaving only the open door behind.
Hauling ass at top vampire speed, Quinn reached the van first.
“How’d the door open?” Vic asked, completely settled in his wheelchair with his computer. In the same position that they had left him in.
“We’re leaving,” Quinn said, nearly pushing Red into the passenger seat. Leaping over the hood, he hustled to the driver’s side door almost too fast to see.
The engine was on before she had fully closed the door.
She grabbed a bundle of sage from the hunter’s kit between the seats. Lighting it with trembling hands, she waved it around her and Quinn.
The vampire leaned into the smoke, shaking his head like a wet dog as he broke the speed limit out of the warehouse district.
“Hello!” Vic grew louder with each word and peppered them with questions. “What happened? Are you okay? Did you see something? Were the cops in there?”
Red ignored him to climb into the back behind his chair. She stripped off the top of her wet uniform, down to her undershirt, and rummaged through her get-out bag. The statue’s energy lingered on her like secondhand smoke. She pulled on a sweater and discreetly changed into jeans. Taking a blanket with her to the front seat, she wrapped herself in it, still shivering.
Vic scowled. “You guys are weirding me out now.”
“What was the statue, Quinn?” Red asked.
“This job is over.”
“For fuck’s sake, we saw ourselves in the Millennium Falcon! I slipped on the same spot. Then the rain. You can’t tell me that doesn’t just make you go hmmmmm, how unusual.”
“It was Chronos.” His expression hadn’t moved much, but he looked more freaked out than she had ever seen him.
“The Time God?” She glowered at the vampire when he didn’t say more.
Vic gasped, eyes lighting up. “I’m picking up what you’re laying down, sister. A time anomaly. Those are rare. Were you guys caught in a loop? How many times did you Groundhog’s Day?”
“We’re only discussing this once. Don’t interrupt,” Quinn said, deathly serious as he called Cora. He explained how they’d arrived, how the cops had appeared and then disappeared. Distracted by Vic and the smell of rotting garbage, he hadn’t gotten an ID on them.
Red handed her phone to Vic to upload the video for the Supreme. They had enough data on the mobile hotspot to send it now. She wanted it off her device. The urge was strong and primal—like hunger after doing magic.
She added to Quinn’s story by describing the sigils and the force she could feel yet not see. “Whatever that statue was, it was leaking power like a cracked nuclear reactor spewing toxic waste. Did the energy sink into the building, warping reality inside and around it? Or was it just a powerful confusion spell?”
“I don’t know,” Cora said. “What else did you see?”
“Us.” Red faltered. She’d had other encounters with strangers wearing her face, but this was the most peculiar.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” Quinn began.
Red hoped that, after all his years, he could. After studying for the hunter’s challenge, she was fresh on the lore, but she was still an intern. The Fae were said to steal humans to their realm then return them after a century had passed in the fairy realm and a minute in the human world or vice versa. Yet all the hunters swore that you’d know if you were kidnapped by Fae.
It had to be more dramatic than a patrol through a warehouse.
The human realm had enough possible suspects. There were warlocks, alchemists, necromancers, and empaths, among other mages. Some could induce hallucinations or skew your perception. Mind and matter were one thing, but true time manipulation was supposed to be beyond the reach of any mortal or demon.
Some might have seen Red’s job as dealing with paranormal mysteries, but they were always something she could explain with known supernaturals. It was rare that she found the truly unexplainable.
Cora listened to their story, as subdued as Quinn. She promised to take care of it. After ending the call, silence reigned in the van as they fled west on the San Bernardino Freeway.
---
Sleep eluded Red.
She gave up at dawn and trooped to the living room with a blanket and a book. By the time Vic woke up, she had moved on to attempting origami. Her clammy hands fumbled to create a crane as a TV morning show droned on in front of her.
“You look like fried ass,” he pronounced with a grunt, wheeling from his room toward the kitchen attached to the living room. “Didn’t sleep?”
Shrugging, she accepted the observation. She had already seen the dark circles under her green eyes when she brushed her teeth.
Upon reaching the kitchen counter, he did a double take back at her. “You didn’t make coffee? Now, I’m concerned. How long have you been decaffeinated?”
“I thought I’d fall asleep by now, but I gave up by the third hour of The Today Show. Maybe I could go bowling? I haven’t been in a while.”
Vic puttered around to get the java going. “I don’t know if swinging a heavy ball is a good idea when you’re sleep deprived.”
“It feels like a good day for hobbies until our shift starts. Maybe I’ll learn to knit. I can pop into the craft store for some yarn.”
“I think your hobby is going to the craft store.” He snorted, eyeballing the stack of origami paper. “Trying to distract yourself, huh?”
“Yeah. Quinn called earlier. Said that Cora went herself before dawn, but the warehouse was cleaned out. Either way, she already wired payment to the agency.”
“That’s a co-inky-dink,” he said sardonically and rolled over. “I was doomscrolling in bed, and I saw this.” He showed his phone with an article on the screen. “Breaking news: the warehouse has been upgraded from empty to on fire. Good, huh?”
Red shrugged, resisti
ng the urge to crush her half-made paper crane. “Where did that statue go? I don’t like the idea of anyone having it.”
Vic cringed and smoothed back his sleep-tousled mullet. “I’ll make sure to tell Fat Crispin in London. This is something the Brotherhood will want to track.”
The weatherman appeared on the TV screen. “If you were in San Bernardino, you were lucky enough to get a few minutes of rain last night. It was a single downpour, but we certainly need it.”
Red was too confused to keep listening to the forecast. “It rained twice last night. First when we got to the building and later when we ran out.”
Vic raised an eyebrow. “I only remember it happening once.”
“Do you think it’s possible?” She dropped her origami, chilled hands fumbling. “To affect time. Or was that just a spell to fuck with us?”
“I’ve been working this job for a long time.” He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers on his belly like a philosopher. “Every time I think something is impossible, the world proves me wrong.”
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Six Months Later – July 2, 2020, Sunset, Los Angeles, California
Red closed the van door on the contents of her old life in Los Angeles.
She climbed into the front seat next to Vic Constantine, ready for the long drive back to their new home in Oregon. Cardboard boxes obscured the rear window view of the pink apartment complex. Sorting and packing had made her relive everything from her brief flirtation with origami to the Brotherhood’s rejection. It poked at old wounds as she knew it would.
The public health travel advisories had been her go-to excuse to avoid the chore since moving to Charm (and even before that, in Las Vegas). Then the landlord had given them an ultimatum—get their stuff, or it would be junked. A buyer had appeared for the unit in the competitive LA housing market.
She sighed. If she could go back in time to talk to her old self, she wouldn’t know what to start with—the baddies, the global pandemic, or the heartbreak. What a difference half a year made.
Witch in Time: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 6) Page 2
