The Problem With Witches: An Arcane Shot Series Novel

by Joey W. Hill

  The tunnel opened up into a wider chamber. Marcie, already marveling at the idea she was walking through tunnels running beneath New Orleans, now understood why Ben had said Elagra used additional abilities to expand the underground system. The stone walls went straight up in a way that seemed higher than possible, because the ground had stayed level, going neither up nor down. As they fanned out, examining the new terrain, Raina came to a halt, facing a narrow tunnel that ran off to the right. Almost in the same instant, Mikhael and Ben turned in the same direction. Raina cocked her head, gaze fastened to that side tunnel. And waited.

  A foot scuffed against stone. Marcie shifted to Ben’s left, clearing her field as she drew the gun, held it muzzle up, her finger at ready on the guard.

  When they saw the boy, she almost holstered it. Then she took a closer look at him, and kept it out.

  Face of a boy, body skinny as a scarecrow’s, eyes flat as a shark’s. He wore only jeans, not a surprising choice in the cloying humidity. Marcie’s shirt was already sticking to her. His upper body was covered in tattoos, all white against the dark skin. Bones. A skeleton tattooed to his outside, showing rib cage and limbs. The body art depicted more than bones, though. Fingers like claws curved over the rib bones, as if something was about to emerge from that cage. Or showing that there was something trapped within. She wondered what tattoo artist had come up with the design. Or had felt about being given the template, if it wasn’t his or her original creation.

  The boy wore the jeans a couple inches below his underwear. Sky blue boxers were an innocuous contrast to the rest of his macabre appearance, though they were dirty and worn.

  “Boys come and go, but some, we know they come back. A dog chained to the yard still knows its yard, even when he thinks he breaks free.”

  The boy had a feminine, sibilant lisp. Marcie was almost certain he was a teenage prostitute, possessing a mesmerizing androgyny that allowed him to pass as either male or female. He also had a gift for theatrics, though the well-rehearsed line was obviously not his own.

  “Follow me,” the boy said, and turned toward the shadows.

  Chapter Eight

  The humans likely thought the boy was delivering a line, but Raina could feel the witch’s magic gripping her puppet like barbed wire, controlling his vocal cords, his movements.

  Such use of dark magic could take Raina to a bad place. Even as she shoved that away, hard, to focus on right now, she thought of how much she was going to enjoy taking this witch apart piece by piece, when and if the opportunity presented itself.

  And she’d damn well make sure it did.

  Then the singing started, before the boy could take them anywhere. It seemed to come from the walls of the tunnel above, below, in front of and behind them, which would be disturbing if the song itself wasn’t alive with hope, joy and all the comforts of being held to a loving mother’s breast.

  Sleepsong. It was a lullaby. One that Gina, one of her succubi, would sometimes sing to the others to help them drift off to sleep, calm them after a busy night in the bordello. Sex demons had limitless sexual appetites, but that was how they were nourished. When it was not about sex, the younger ones, those under the age of thirty, were almost childlike and innocent in their yearning for simple pleasures. Like the comfort of a sung lullaby.

  Raina remembered a night they’d decided to entrance their visitors by putting a provocatively dressed Gina in a human-sized bird cage, hung from a center beam of the choosing room. She’d sung to the guests as they milled, meeting the males and females who could be theirs for a price. Gina had won the top bid, a starry-eyed tech millionaire visiting the area on business from Houston. He’d wanted his own personal nightingale for the evening, cage and all. Gina said he was an amazingly inventive and generous lover. His sexual energy had sated her for several days afterwards. Since the young ones needed to feed almost every forty-eight hours, Raina had marked him down for special perks, to encourage his repeat business.

  On other nights, the male sex demons sang. They particularly liked Barry Manilow songs, like “I Write The Songs.” When the girls joined in for the chorus, their melodious voices were like a ribbon winding through every room that all could grasp, connect to the vibration.

  There was no sense of connection to this version of “Sleepsong,” but it was haunting. The poignancy of the notes awakened a strong wistfulness, the desire to believe, hope overriding skepticism, judgment.

  Ben’s shoulders had stiffened on the first note. He was affected by it, but his reaction proved he knew it was a trap. He’d obviously been caught in it before and remembered it vividly enough he could shrug off its effects, keep it from clouding his judgment without aid. Which was good, because buffering dark persuasion magic introduced a muffled effect to one’s senses that neither she nor Mikhael could afford. So Raina nodded to her mate, letting him know Ben was okay. Marcie was the concern.

  Or perhaps not.

  The young woman threw her a glance, her lips twisting. “Good grief,” she murmured. “Who told her she could sing? I’d drop a twenty in her hat just to shut her up.”

  “It’s not pleasant to your ears?”

  Marcie shot Raina an incredulous look. “Only if listening to a cat’s tail being stepped on has suddenly become music.”

  Raina glanced at Mikhael, the realization in her mind.

  A Pure Light.

  They didn’t say it out loud.

  A Pure Light was a rare soul, one unaffected by dark magic, at least its webs and snares. Marcie would still be vulnerable to direct attacks, but her senses couldn’t be fogged so that she couldn’t see such an attack coming. It was a tremendous advantage, one that Raina wouldn’t diminish by revealing it in a place where every word they spoke was likely being heard.

  “Your caterwauling isn’t impressing anyone,” Ben said abruptly. “So shut the fuck up and stop playing games.”

  The boy turned his head toward them, his eyes widening. Then he stiffened, and cringed back against the wall. As he pressed himself into the shadows, he gestured, a nervous movement. “Go that way to her,” he said. “Her mercy and wonder are forever.”

  Marcie shuddered at the flat lifelessness of the tone. Possession was now on the list of things she knew were real, that she wished she didn’t. The vibration of pain from him made her want to reach out, touch, give him ease. As if sensing her unwise intention, Ben took her hand and drew her past the motionless boy. Her husband’s gaze never left him, but the scarecrow was staring at the ground, making no eye contact.

  Raina in contrast, moved a few feet into that narrow side tunnel. As the boy shrank up against the wall, she positioned herself square in front of him.

  Marcie noticed the witch had taken off her shoes at some point. She must have left them behind, because she wasn’t carrying them. Despite the rough, muckish substance beneath her soles, she didn’t seem uncomfortable, her painted toes curled to grip, arches relaxed. Slowly, the witch extended her hand. There was a concentration to the movement, as if she was pushing through a wall of water. The boy stared at it. He shuddered abruptly and jerked, like a desperate fish, with a hook embedded in flesh. Raina took another step toward him. The temptress was gone. Her eyes were sharp as a warrior evaluating the battlefield before her.

  Mikhael shifted closer to her, but whatever she was doing, he was apparently satisfied she had it under control, for he was continuing to sweep their surroundings with his alert glance, even as he’d put himself in a strategically better position to aid her if needed.

  A wind cut through their tunnel, cold as winter. It whistled a mournful note that became sinister, like a growling cat.

  Raina ignored it, though Ben’s hand tightened on Marcie’s.

  The boy moved one step toward Raina. His expression creased, as if in pain, and his mouth opened on a soundless cry.

  “Let…him…go,” Raina said through her teeth. Marcie blinked, then jumped against Ben as a sharp crackle broke the tense silence. A wave of e
lectricity jolted all of them, the boy most violently, knocking his young body against the rock like a rug being beaten free of dust. Marcie started forward, wanting to help, but Ben caught her and Raina’s right hand lifted toward her, a warding off, though her gaze remained on her task.

  The wave of electricity passed, bringing back the sticky close air. Ben’s hands were on her damp shoulders, now steadying her. The boy’s knees went out, but Raina caught him, in surprisingly strong arms. He clung to her, gasping, his dazed eyes darting about and eventually finding her face. She put her hand on his jaw, stroking his cheek, murmuring to him as he clung to her.

  “Fire and earth, wind and seas, restore the balance, drive out disease. Take your ease, child. Take your ease.”

  She did not have a perfect voice, a little off key, but it was female and warm, strong and sure. After she repeated the musical lines several times, the boy had stopped trembling, and his eyes had focused.

  “Take the tunnel back the way we came,” Raina said, touching his hair. It was dyed red with hints of orange, the colors of flame. “Go out of this place and never come near it again. Do you understand?”

  She repeated it a couple times as well. Eventually, it seemed to penetrate. His wits returned, his awareness of where he was. As he made it all the way to his feet and looked warily around him, Raina brought his attention back to her with a hand to his face.

  She touched the brace of earrings on his right ear and bent forward, taking a closer look. “A mouse. It’s a little silver mouse, this middle one. Where’d you get that?”

  “My…girlfriend. Then. Before. She liked mice.”

  “I like that. May I?”

  He shrugged, fumbled to remove it, put it in her hand. The mundane task helped steady him further. When he straightened, he was taller than her by a few inches. He also had a vaguely sick look, as if nausea had come with the change in his circumstances. One more heartbeat, and Raina’s admonition to get the hell out of here sank in fully.

  He jolted into motion, skirting the wall past Mikhael. The Dark Guardian had stepped back to allow him passage, but Mikhael’s formidable demeanor and penetrating gaze weren’t exactly reassuring, so the boy quickened his pace to get clear of him. Yet after he’d moved a few steps beyond their position, he recalled himself enough to turn, look at all of them. “You shouldn’t go in there,” he said. He still had that feminine lisp, but a man’s voice was starting to break into it, giving it a rasp.

  “I know,” Ben told him. “It’s okay. I’ve been there. We know what we’re doing.”

  The boy seemed unconvinced of that, but Raina spoke. “Go now,” she reminded him with gentle firmness.

  The boy turned and disappeared around a curve in the tunnel. As he did, Ben’s hands tightened on Marcie, a fraction of an instant before another wave of energy shuddered through the open chamber, penetrating muscle and bone, gripping the heart and turning flipflops in the pit of the belly.

  Anger, violence. Fear.

  Turning to face it, Raina spread out her hands. As that disturbing wave reached her, she stood, absorbed it. In another blink an answering wave came from her, and it was all the opposite things. It was a day at the beach, in bright sunshine, with the warm surf rushing in against bare legs. Marcie was able to take a deep breath. Ben’s tight grip became a caress of her upper arms.

  Marcie noted that Mikhael didn’t react to either energy wave. But his dark gaze was focused on the shadows ahead of them as if he was staring into the abyss, daring it to blink.

  “Now, bitch,” Raina said pleasantly. “As our friend said. Enough with the games. Show yourself.”

  “Pride goeth before a fall, sex witch.” The voice that had sung the lullaby could purr like Raina’s, but the notes had a different form of ensnaring enchantment, one that gave Marcie the heebie-jeebies. “Come forward. Into my abode, though it be too humble for a witch who has removed herself from the earth by planting her wide backside in a fancy house. One who chains herself to a man, rather than chaining him to her, as nature intended.”

  The satisfied look Raina threw Marcie reminded her of their exchange in the board room. This might just be a woman’s fight, the men’s presence notwithstanding. Raina stepped fully out of the side tunnel, coming to Marcie’s side. She even gave Marcie’s pony tail a light tug, a smile flirting over her features, but there was no humor in her vibrant eyes. “Trust your instincts down here,” she murmured.

  Marcie nodded, setting her jaw. Raina, satisfied, looked toward Ben. Ben considered them both, then pivoted. As he led them onward, the two women proceeded shoulder to shoulder behind him, Mikhael bringing up the rear.

  Back out of one chamber, through a narrow tunnel, around a hairpin curve, and then they were in another chamber. One that made Marcie wonder if it was real or an illusion.

  The damp, bad-smelling tunnel they’d traversed had been what Marcie would expect in a city at or below sea level. This room was another circular chamber, only much larger. Shelves were built into the walls, from floor to high ceiling. Those shelves were crammed with mismatched books, some spineless and others looking as if they’d been shredded by a cat’s claws. Jars full of oddities had been placed onto the strips of shelf space in front of them. Some had been thrust between books, becoming book ends. Beer cans and bottles hung from the ceiling, around a light fixture made up of a strange mix of candles, lanterns and flashlights.

  There were three tables in the middle, six-foot-long folding tables with thin wood veneers on top, like those from an office supply store, though these were likely salvaged from a dump, since the legs were repaired and the tops scuffed. What surfaces could be seen, that is, since there were books, rocks, shells, bundles of dried vegetation and more jars piled on them. There was also a cluster of scrolls, tied with multi-colored threads.

  On the floor beneath the table was a basket, and several snakes were coiled there, winding over and under one another. Two white mice stood upon them, grooming or eating from a small bowl of food that had been left for them. Until they became food themselves.

  Marcie glanced at Raina, noting that the mouse earring now winked from a hole in her multi-pierced ears. From the tiny bit of blood around it, she realized Raina had self-pierced it in the time it had taken them to move from the tunnel into the chamber.

  There was no sign of their adversary. There were several tunnels leading out of the chamber. Marcie fanned out with the others, the four of them scoping all approaches, including three-dimensional ones. Which was good, because suddenly, there she was. Standing between the opening of two of the tunnels, though Marcie hadn’t seen from which one she’d come.

  Having grown up in New Orleans, Marcie knew what the tourist-catering voodoo priestesses looked like. Elagra didn’t disappoint, and managed to look pretty damn authentic. A colorful silk turban bound her dreadlocks, which fell all the way to her waist. Generous breasts and hips, small waist for the size of both. She was barefoot, and wore a yellow cotton dress. It was belted with a wide woven strap hung with what looked like animal parts and other talismans. She had on a necklace strung with various claws, mixed with feathers from different birds.

  When she smiled, Marcie saw she’d filed her visible teeth to sharp points. All of them. Which was probably one of the creepiest things she’d ever seen. Especially when the woman smiled, because she jutted them out. The fingernails matched, a couple inches long, sharp points painted old bone yellow. She’d dyed her hands the same color, up to her bracelet-cuffed wrists. The dress had a low scoop neck, so her breasts were on tempting display. Marcie noticed her feet were coated with dust and mud, a glitter of sand.

  As unsettling as the teeth were, the eyes were more so. With enormous, dark pupils, they were almost perfectly round and dominated her face. They also seemed tilted inward to align with the sharp, slim shape of brows, pointing toward the tiny mouth, slim nose. Tiny red mouth. It was a pixie, childlike face with the expression of someone far older, far less innocent. Her irises were pale go
ld with a darker gold ring around them.

  That disturbing gaze passed over her and Raina, stopped on Ben. The priestess drew in a satisfied breath that made her breasts quiver and her body sway. “Bebe,” she murmured.

  Yeah, screw that. Marcie shifted, coming up on his right. She was sure Elagra was aware of her, but those strange eyes didn’t leave Ben’s face.

  He was staring at her with a granite expression that told Marcie nothing of what was happening inside his head. Only that it couldn’t be good. But like the kid, he likely just needed a moment to get his feet beneath him to figure out his direction. She’d never known him not to be fully capable of facing any challenge thrown his way.

  “I know what you are thinking,” the priestess said. “Yessss. You are thinking you are no longer a child, with a child's fears. Then, I could frighten you. But that wasss because you did everything with your mind. Too much thinking. Now you know the true strength issss in the heart. And if the heart is broken…well, we all know what happens to a broken vessel. It cannot hold onto anything."

  The purr had disappeared. As she picked up a speech cadence obviously inspired by their own, the snakes became more agitated. But then her gaze softened in a way that turned Marcie’s spine to ice.

  “It is so glad I am to see you, bebe,” Elagra whispered. “Never have I forgotten you. What you gave me…I hoped to have the chance to tell you one day. And here you are.”

  As she spoke, she’d sidled closer to Ben. He was still staring at her, his green eyes hard, his jaw rock. Marcie wondered if he was standing fast because he wouldn’t give Elagra the victory of the slightest shift that could be interpreted as a flinch or retreat.

  Mikhael and Raina had also moved. With Ben and Marcie between them, they now formed a semi-circle facing Elagra. No one in anyone else’s line of fire, except Elagra. Marcie didn’t know why they weren’t asking her questions, distracting her, but perhaps this first moment belonged to Ben.