by Sierra Cross
My knees were bent, and my swollen belly rose between us. He reached forward and let his fingers trace lazy circles on my taut skin. I felt the baby kick, razor blades of energy flowing from inside me to meet Tenebris. He placed his hands on my knees and started to spread them apart.
Every thought I examined was a like a razor searing across my head. I prayed my moans sounded like pleasure and not pain. Though I suspected he’d enjoy both equally. More of Tenebris’s memories flowed over me. A dinner tray flying across the room. A syringe of blue liquid. The back of his hand across another doctor’s face. Signing a receipt for an order to be sent to the El Diablo port.
A chill of knowing ran down my back as I remembered where I’d heard that name before. Masumi’s videos. The person ordering the torture and yelling at the techs to get those bodies on ice for ‘El Diablo.’
The muscles of my throat constricted, and bile surged up from my belly. My leg reacted on instinct, foot connecting with his balls with the force of my fury.
Like losing a game of tug of war, the rope slipped through my fingers. I landed flat on my proverbial ass, back with Charice. My stomach twisted, and I doubled over, dry heaving.
But I had what I’d come for.
It was a liquid sunshine kind of day in Seattle. That was my special term for when the mist was so fine it was almost invisible—but it still got you wet. I was the only person dumb enough to be sitting on a bench outside the Council Suprema building. I may be making this up, but I had this weird feeling Masumi wouldn’t call me unless I was alone. If she called me at all. I’d asked her to call me in the morning, and it was going on noon.
At 12:01 p.m. my phone rang. Masumi’s way of showing me I had no control? I looked at the screen, no caller ID. “El Diablo,” I whispered.
Masumi went dead silent for a long uncomfortable beat. “Of course it is.” The minutes stretched out before she said anything else. “No matter what I say, you’ll try to find a way in,” Masumi said. “So when you die horribly—shredded by the bullets of an alchemic cutter, or the new tertiant anti-magic lasers the Fidei have invested in—I won’t feel guilty.” But she sounded like she felt guilty already. Guilty and angry. “It’s on an island off the coast of San Blas, Mexico. It’s not on any map and the whole damn island’s warded. I’ll text you the longitude and latitude.”
“Thank you—” I knew what she was risking. I wanted to tell her how brave I thought she was but didn’t get the chance.
“Don’t thank me. I just gave you your death sentence.” And the line went dead.
I called the guys and asked them to meet me there. Which is when I realized we had a totally Wont problem—money. Asher’s credit cards were maxed out. Neither Matt nor I had any extra cash, and a trip to 21.6213° N, 111.3247° W wouldn’t be cheap. Not to mention we’d have to buy battle gear for the hot jungle climate.
The vampires had tons of cash, but wouldn’t let us near it. And if we told them of our lead they’d probably have us locked up so we couldn’t pursue it. As proficient as they were, their agenda wasn’t the same as ours. I didn’t trust them to rescue Liv and Bethany and set Callie free. All they really cared about was Tenebris and the amulet.
I couldn’t hit up Aunt Jenn for another favor so soon. As painful as it would be, there was only one place left we could go to for funding. We were going to crash a Witches Assembly meeting. Let the fun begin.
An hour later, Matt, Asher, and I stood in the basement office facing down a whole conference table of pissed off witches.
“You are no longer a coven,” Assemblywoman Hicks said with a cruel glee in her voice. “You have no business before this Assembly. We’d kindly ask you to leave.”
“I know our charter’s been, ah, temporarily revoked—” I started.
“There’s no temporarily about it,” Assemblywoman Rogers said with malice. “You are done as a coven.”
Asher handed her the print out he’d prepared. “We’ve taken the liberty to check into your ward outsourcing options. After all, it is our fault you are in this jam.” He was laying it on thick. “We’ve found you’ll have to hire a new group and the costs—as you see there—have increased drastically.” He frowned. “On the next page, you’ll see what the five-year average would be for those services.”
Assemblywoman Rogers gasped.
“And we feel awful about the Council having to make that kind of a financial sacrifice.” I jumped on Asher’s bandwagon. “But we have a proposal to save you from having to say goodbye to all that hard-earned money.”
The ghost of a grin crinkled Matt’s eyes, but he kept his mouth shut. Though his actions saved numerous witches, he was not a favorite with the Assembly what with being a Mal and all.
“If you turn to the third page,” Asher continued. “You’ll see our request for ten thousand dollars to retrieve our lost coven member, along with the amortization schedule with ten percent interest over three years.” He said the last part fast, so they wouldn’t get hung up on the initial number.
“A wise investment, really.” I tried to sound convincing, like someone who knew her way around investments.
Hicks folded her arms. “And what if you fail and get yourselves killed?”
“Then the money will be paid from my estate,” Asher said without inflection. “You can’t lose.”
They made us wait in the hall while they debated the merits of our request. Finally, the door opened. Nose in the air, Assemblyman Rogers walked across the floor in her high heels, handed us a check with a contemptuous expression, and closed the door. We were not asked back in. No one wished us good luck. I guessed either outcome was okay with them.
Now we just needed to get packed and get the hell out of dodge, before the helpful Assembly witches informed the Director of our plan.
Chapter Eleven
Gate B17 at SeaTac Airport hummed with the bustle of harried travelers. Most seats were taken by others waiting to board the plane to Mexico, so Matt and I cuddled up on the long window bench. The tip of Matt’s finger traced circles on bare skin at the back of my neck—it was doing crazy things to the fireworks factory that lived in my brain. Asher, having snagged a seat to himself, was playing a game of magically enhanced solitaire—glamoured from Wont eyes, of course. Beside him, a Wont dad rocked his baby with one hand while texting with the other, oblivious to the glowing cards that kept rearranging themselves above their heads.
I let my eyes fall closed, and leaned back into Matt’s chest. The promise of being this near his heat made five hours in a middle seat sound heavenly. My phone vibrated with an incoming call, and the Wont dad glared at me as if this was the one sound that was bound to wake up his kid. I hit decline without looking at the number. Moments later, it rang again. Whoever it is really wanted to get in touch with me. I pulled myself from Matt’s arms and looked at my phone, as it rang again.
Bonaventura.
No surprise, the Witches Assembly would’ve contacted him.
“Director.” I answered his third call, hoping I sounded less rattled than I felt.
“I gave you specific instructions that were painfully clear.” Anger vibrated in his voice. “You’re not a simpleton. It’s evident that your actions are in willful disregard of a direct order.”
“Director, I can—”
“Don’t bother ‘explaining.’ I know you’ve already cashed the check. You will rue this day. I will unleash the hounds of hell—”
“Okay! Okay! We’ll be at your house in an hour and give you all the specifics we have.”
The line was deadly quiet. The gate agent picked up the mic ready to begin boarding. If I hit mute on the call, he would know something was up…
“Fine. I’ll see you in an hour.”
I hung up quickly and grabbed my carry-on. “Let’s go.”
Asher swiped his hand, and the floating cards fell in a heap. “Really?”
“Caving without a fight?” Matt’s eyebrows were up.
“No, I mean let�
��s board the plane,” I said.
“Ok, now that sounds more like the Alexandra we know and love.” Matt laughed, then paused. “You know we’re going to have a passel of angry vampires after us?”
“Yeah, but the next flight’s not until the morning. And it’ll take them at least that long to get their private jet fueled and flight plans logged. So either way, we’ve got a twelve-hour head start. Let’s make it count.”
No one would ever accidentally end up in San Blas, Mexico.
Two planes and one bus ride with chickens later, we were walking down the hard-packed dirt and broken stone alley just off the small shopping district. As our official interpreter, Matt had spoken to a fisherman at the docks who said the only charter that would take us to the coordinates Masumi gave us had gone home to have lunch with his family. After some financial persuasion, we got the man’s home address.
Within a few blocks, we’d left the tourist world behind and were surrounded by whitewashed buildings and graffiti-tagged fences. Low white brick buildings with flat roofs lined both sides of the narrow road. As we walked, the scents of rich spices wafted through the air. The streets felt uneven under the soles of my hiking boots.
Through the wooden screen door, I could see a small boy with huge brown eyes playing with toy trucks on the kitchen floor. Behind him, a stout woman in a cotton dress and white slippers stood cooking over a stove. Matt knocked on the door frame. The boy looked up and shouted, “Mama!”
The woman dropped her spoon and scooped the boy into her arms. “Diego!” she called out the back window before Matt could utter a word.
A short man, who obviously spent lots of time in the sun, came in through the back door, wiping grease from his hands on a rag.
“Qué deseas?” His tone was curt as he sized us up.
I didn’t have to speak Spanish to understand the definitive shake of his head at our request.
Matt turned to us. “Diego’s not a fan of navigating those waters.”
A fat stack of pesos later, though, he told us to meet him at his slip in two hours. We had one reluctant charter boat captain at our service.
Thinking I could sense a shortcut, I led the guys back toward town, through the narrow alleys. Streets began and ended abruptly, as if someone had started with a plan and changed their minds midway through. It was more like a maze than a neighborhood, but I was convinced we were on the right track.
The sun was beating down on us as we emerged from the neighborhood 180 degrees from where we started—on the opposite side of the market from the docks. This wasn’t the tourist district we’d walked through earlier—we must’ve taken a wrong turn along the way. Everything was a bit more rustic, beautiful in a homespun way. Colorful awnings flapped in the breeze. Carts overflowed with jewel-tone wares…and enchanted signs with dancing hand-drawn lettering surrounded us. We were in their magic district. The pull of the currents of energy had led me here.
“Ah, nice job, Alix,” Asher said brusquely. “Some shortcut.” He wiped sweat from his brow. “Looks like it only added a couple of miles to our trek.”
Matt stepped between us. “Knock it off, warlock.”
“No, Asher’s right.” As much as I hated to admit it, I’d screwed up. Again.
I could feel all of our fatigue and hunger swirling in our coven bond.
“Taqueria dead ahead.” I grabbed Matt’s big hand and tugged him forward.
The seats at the bar were full, so we sat on rickety folding chairs just out of the flow of traffic. The paper plates were too thin for the amount of delectable food heaped on them, but I didn’t care. I bent the plate and continued to chow down. The savory mix of spices was nothing short of perfection. I let my taste buds soak it all in as sweat ran down my back. Wait it wasn’t sweat, it was rain.
Huge drops of frigid water pummeled us from above. But as I looked around…it was only raining on us.
“What the hell?” Asher stood and moved closer to the bar. But the rain followed him right under the awning, pelting him with fat, sideways drops. Laughter erupted from the crowd that was gathering around us.
The deluge soaked my plate, making the already fragile thing useless. A mound of red-tinged pork plopped into my lap. Matt poured the water off his plate and took the last bite of food without moving, his eyes fixed on a spot across the square.
“Care to enlighten us, oh zen one?” I asked Matt.
He just shrugged and pointed.
Asher followed Matt’s gaze. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
There on the other side of the street, bangle-clad arms outstretched, stood Pillar, the shop witch from Las Calles, Barcelona. Gold magic swirled on her hands, and her fingers waggled in an imitation of falling rain. After we basically blew up her shop, I should be glad that she was only assaulting us with water.
“Okay! Enough.” I shouted over the laughter. My hair was matted to the sides of my cheeks. My wicking tank top was under-qualified to handle this amount of moisture and was now stuck to me like a second skin. But Pillar’s fingers just kept waggling. Tossing my plate in the trash, I stomped across the cobblestones, followed by my own personal rain cloud.
Rain was running into my eyes and bouncing off my skin. But not a drop touched her. “We get it.” I stood and faced her. “You have a right to be pissed.”
“You don’t get anything,” she hissed in her heavy Spanish accent. “Because of your coven, my life was destroyed.”
Matt flanked me by the time she finished her sentence. Asher, gold magic burning on his hands, sizzling in the deluge, walked deliberately toward us.
“I have a soft spot for shop witches,” Asher said. “But in your case, I’ll make an exception.”
Matt let his blue guardian power bloom all over—he was keeping his amalgam magic at bay. This train getting ready to jump the tracks. I put my arm out to hold the guys back.
“I lost everything I owned.” Pillar’s voice shook with anger. “Left behind everyone I ever knew.”
Shocked as I was to see her, it made sense that she’d emigrated to another magicborn hub, one where her shop’s shady rep didn’t precede her. There weren’t that many hubs in the world, and when you factored in the Spanish-language thing, she’d be left with few options.
I was about to offer more words of apology when I saw the gold firebolt on her hands, pointed right at Matt. From its size, I could tell it was a non-lethal blast. Pulled punch or not, I wouldn’t let her fuck with my coven. I coated my hand with my power and prepared to catch her blast and toss it right back at her. She let the blast loose.
“No!” Matt shouted. Not knowing my plan, he pushed me to the side and absorbed the light blast full-on. He grimaced in pain and tiny white shards of power danced on his skin. He pulled his daggers, and I heard gasps from the gathered crowd. But before he could throw them, Pillar ducked and spun, grabbing Matt’s glowing hand, blade and all. She pressed his thumb against his wrist and twisted it. Sending him to his knees.
I’d never seen a witch touch another’s magic, much less an enchanted blade.
The rain stopped. A tiny rivulet of blood ran down from the crease of her thumb. If it caused Pillar any pain, she didn’t show it.
“He wasn’t going to kill you,” I said, trying to get out of this situation without any more blasts flying. Did this tiny old witch really have enough power to best my guardian?
Pillar narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip. Her long, curly hair fell forward as she looked into Matt’s eyes. “Then he should know better than to make a threat he won’t act on.”
“Do you feel better now?” Matt’s face was relaxed and confident. Without pulling his hand out of her grasp, he stood easily and looked down at her from his full height. “Did you get a little bit of your mad out?”
He’d just been humoring her. Perhaps sensing that there would be no further violence, the crowd around us began to disperse.
“Bah,” the old witch spat out the word but at the last second t
ightened her grip. Not twisting, just pressing her fingers tighter against his. Pillar’s face clouded. “Madre de Dios.” She let go of his hand like it was the third rail and stumbled backward. “So much pain.”
Matt looked as shaken as Pillar.
Something had just passed between them, but what?
Pillar crossed herself. “You must hurry before she is lost forever. The torture she endures—it’s unbearable.”
“What are you talking about, witch?” Asher demanded.
“Este amalgama knows exactly what I’m talking about,” Pillar spat back at him.
“Callie,” Matt said. “Pillar’s a seer. She saw Callie in my mind—”
“The purest soul.” The old witch’s voice was raspy with pain. Whatever the old witch had seen, it was enough to shake her. And I got the impression that she didn’t shake easily. “A light so bright can never be fully joined to the darkness. She’ll fight it to the death. Damn it.” Her expression twisted, as if she were at war with herself. “You, I want never to see again. But this girl’s poor soul has hung on so long….” She sighed and threw up her hands, giving in. “If you act quickly, there is a way to save her.”
“What?” Asher looked stunned.
“How?” My mind was reeling. Was this shop witch really that good of a seer she saw through the Splinter into Callie’s soul? What if Tenebris had planted her here to trick us and give us false hope? I shook my head. I’d lived in the magicborn world long enough to smell a setup at every turn, but Pillar’s anguish seemed as sincere and homespun as her anger had been. I decided it was high time I stopped underestimating shop witches. “We’ll do anything to help her. Please, tell us what to do.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Again she looked at us like we were stupid. “You’re a bonded coven. Together you have abilities most witches can only dream of. And which you do not deserve, I might add.”
