War Witch

by Layla Nash

  "They're still trying to save her life." Stefan rubbed his charmed bracelet, watching me once more. "None of the witches at the hospital would touch her. Said she was contaminated with demon magic."

  My knees wobbled and I reached out to steady myself on Leif's shoulder. Saints preserve me if any of those witches recognized my magic from trying to keep the girl alive. They could use my magic for identification, place me at the scene with the victim as sure as if they'd witnessed the whole thing.

  Leif caught me, expression unreadable as he reached once more into the pocket of my borrowed coat to fish for the lighter. I concentrated on breathing, on not letting the panic bubble up higher, on keeping my magic back enough that Stefan's bracelet would never register it. Sometimes those charms recorded magical signatures like fingerprints.

  And then the External spoke in a carefully disinterested voice. "It looks like your witch is not wearing a ring to identify herself."

  My heart stuttered, and I resisted the urge to stuff my hands into the coat pockets again, not only because the humans would call it aggressive, but because Leif still searched the pocket himself. He drew out the lighter and focused on puffing the cigar to life. I wasn't sure whether to hide behind him or make a run for it.

  The Chief Investigator let the cop's subtle accusation hang in the air along with the cigar smoke, then carefully replaced the lighter. "Come now, Stefan. In this neighborhood, in this bar—that's not really a crime."

  "Perhaps." Stefan's thin lips compressed, almost disappeared entirely. "And as a professional courtesy of course I won't write her a ticket—but it does raise questions about how many witches are not wearing their rings in this neighborhood. Perhaps the dark witches I'm looking for are hiding right inside that bar."

  Leif smiled, a bit of an edge starting to show. "You're welcome to go in and check, of course. Although I can't guarantee your safety if you do so."

  Stefan considered it for a moment, staring at the door as if waiting for the dark witches to trot out voluntarily in collars and chains. I gave him credit for even considering walking into the Pug. He might get a dozen steps into the bar, but he'd never make it back out. His reputation preceded him. The Bureau of External Affairs was not known for its even-handedness, and every Other in that bar had suffered at their hands at one point.

  The External's attention landed once more on me. "Very well. We'll just test this one for dark magic, make sure she isn't going to carry tales to any of her covenmates. We don't want the perpetrators to get a head start, do we?"

  I rocked back on my heels and my hands fell to my sides. I didn't intend to but that didn't matter as the Externals barked warnings and Stefan reached for something in his pocket. Leif pivoted before I registered what the cops meant, and put his back to the Externals as he gripped my shoulders. He walked me back several steps, the entire security team forming a half-circle between us and the humans.

  Leif's blue eyes held sparks of gold, and the shadows across his face made his expression fierce, all angles and fury. My skin prickled as Warrior Leif confronted me, and I shrank away. His voice cracked like ice breaking on ice. "Are you out of your Skoll-blasted mind?"

  "I didn't do anything," I whispered. A small lie. "I can't feel my feet. I lost my balance."

  Behind him, Stefan smiled, a specialty taser aimed at me. My eyes narrowed, alcohol stealing what remained of my good sense. He mocked me. Thought me funny. Thought he could even slow me down with that ridiculous child's toy. Magic seethed and beckoned, just at the end of my reach, as the War Witch edged out of the past.

  Leif squeezed my shoulders, his red pack magic flaring up and calling to my witch magic—reacting, no doubt, to my fear and the human threat, and driven by the protective urge of a leader. "You will get yourself killed, witch."

  My teeth chattered but not entirely from the cold—anticipation and tension gathered in my stomach, the magic beckoning. I could solve all my problems in a flash of blue, and thank all the saints, I wouldn't even feel badly while I did it. I stared at the humans; Stefan would have to go first, the pudgy one would be slow enough I could leave him for second. Words hushed past my lips, unbidden. "They called me a dark witch."

  "No," Leif said, and his scowl grew. "They implied it, hoping you would give them a reason to arrest you."

  "I didn't—”

  "Don't move a damn muscle." He released my shoulders and the fiery tingle of pack magic faded. He sent a dark look at his security team, so I had no doubt they would prevent me from getting Leif, or myself, killed. The Chief Investigator cracked the vertebrae in his neck as he faced the Externals. "Come on, Stefan. You know better than that."

  "A simple request," the cop said. He lowered the taser to his side, though he didn't put it away. "And a ringless witch is required to comply, particularly in the vicinity of dangerous or unexplained magic."

  "She's drunk." Leif sounded bored and dismissive, and heat flushed my cheeks. "And alcohol makes people stupid. So why don't you go meet Nate at the scene and he can start going through the evidence?"

  The tall External's head tilted as he studied first Leif, then me, and then he smiled, putting the taser away. "Very well. As a professional courtesy. But I want a list of every witch in that bar, and this one's name at the top. So we can clear them from the egregious crimes committed tonight. Agreed?"

  Leif's teeth ground loudly enough to make me shiver, but his tone remained so calm I wouldn't have known anything about the night bothered him. I envied his self-control. "Joint investigation, Stefan, per usual. Call my office tomorrow and we'll make arrangements."

  He didn't move as Stefan returned to the car, where the pudgy External watched me with fierce concentration on his nondescript face. Something was wrong with him, as if he used a cheap glamour to disguise his face and body, and no human cop would do such a thing. The edges of his shape blurred, shrank, when I squinted. The short cop grinned, winking at me as he ducked into the car, and I swallowed unease as they pulled away.

  Leif turned, gesturing for me to precede him into the bar as the security detail closed ranks behind him, and he flicked ash off his cigar. "Just had to get aggressive, didn't you?"

  "A real gentleman would have been quicker to defend my honor so I didn't have to," I said, not looking back as I shoved the door open and almost clobbered the unsuspecting bouncer.

  Leif snorted, as close to a laugh as I'd ever heard him. "Well, I'm a little out of practice."

  I stumbled on my shoes or numb feet, and flushed from my toes to my hairline as he caught my waist again. "Easy, ace."

  I shrugged out of his coat as I made a beeline back to Mo's table, trying not to notice my friend's raised eyebrows and pointed look. Leif either didn't notice or didn't care, retrieving his coat as he held a phone to his ear and disappeared toward the back door.

  Mo lined up shots in front of me after I collapsed in the booth. "You look like someone just walked over your grave."

  I made a face and pushed all but one of the drinks away. I'd passed my limit if attacking two human cops in front of the Chief Investigator seemed like a good idea. Getting totally hammered wouldn't be a good enough defense when the Externals kicked in my front door to arrest me when I got home.

  Mick tapped the table in front of me, expression difficult to decipher as he canted his head at the door. "Trouble?"

  A basket of fries seemed a good chaser for the shot, and I waved a handful of the greasy mess in the general direction of the door. "Externals outside, looking for trouble. Called me a dark witch."

  His expression turned grim. "I'll register a complaint."

  Mo leaned into me, eyes bright. "Then I guess you're coming home with me, tutz. So drink up," and she returned the shot glasses.

  "It's not worth the extra attention," I half-shouted at Mick as a ruckus rose behind us. I didn't know if he'd heard as Mimi collapsed in my lap, and I drew breath to repeat myself, to beg him not to raise me any higher on the Externals' radar.

  Before
I could even lean forward, most of the pack crowded around the table, carrying a birthday cake covered in what looked like road flares. The band cut off and the entire bar started bellowing "Happy Birthday." I leaned back, trying to breathe. Saints protect and keep us. I said a prayer for Mo, three for the coven, and a couple for myself as well.

  Chapter 4

  By last call I could barely see, and the earlier panic faded as no one tried to arrest me and the sticky magic from midnight dissipated like a bad dream. Birthday cake covered most of Moriah as she slid under the table, and even Mick had trouble keeping his head up. Leif rejoined the party eventually, but remained diligent about answering his phone. Some things never changed.

  He checked up on the investigation but never said anything useful despite how much I eavesdropped. Accusation never crossed his expression on the two times he talked to me, so I had no idea whether Stefan pushed for more information or waited in the dark to arrest me. The memory of his hands at my waist, and the look in his eyes when he said he remembered me, kept me warm even after they propped the doors open at last call.

  My watch read either three or four a.m., depending on how I squinted, and both were far too close to the devil's hour and when my alarm would go off for work. I didn't want to leave the warmth and comfort of the pack, particularly with wind and unknown magic howling outside, but they'd stay until the sun rose.

  Moriah started singing show tunes, one arm waving from under the table. A few more drinks and the wrong word, and she would either pick a fight or burst into tears—neither of which was a good way to end her birthday.

  Leif, perched on the same chair next to the booth where he'd started the night, leaned closer to speak to me. "You should stay with Mo for a while. Stefan will be looking for a chance to detain you, but he won't be brave enough to do it when you're with wolves." He glanced at one of his guys, waiting by the front door, and waved him over. Leif dropped a stack of cash on the table, ignoring Mick's drunken pleas that he wouldn't allow the Chief Investigator to pay, and instead Leif tilted his head at the exit. "We'll be driving past Mo's place. I can give you both a ride."

  The world wobbled; no matter how much greasy food I ate, I couldn't shake the drunken blur from earlier. I gripped the table, weighing the risk of being around Leif against the possibility of that creepy External popping out of the shadows at my apartment. "Thanks, but I think we'll—”

  Mo hoisted herself from under the table and slung her arm around my neck, almost knocking me over for the third time that night. She waggled her eyebrows at Leif. "Sure, babe. Take us home."

  "Sure," Leif said, bemused tolerance in the lines around his eyes as he stood. Mo gathered her presents and purse and coat and a handful of hot wings for the ride, shouting goodbyes to whoever was still conscious.

  I got out of the way so Mo could stagger upright, though I kept my attention on Leif. "It's not any fun, is it?"

  "What?" He offered me his coat, eyebrow raised.

  "Being you." I held onto sobriety and seriousness with my fingertips, though only the alcohol made me brave enough to speak. "It can't be much fun at all."

  He took a deep breath before draping the coat over my shoulders, leaning in as he tugged it together near my throat. Close enough that I could have lurched forward in a drunken stumble and kissed him. For a heart-stopping eternity, I thought he might meet me in the middle. "What makes you think this is actually me?"

  "Because I remember you too."

  His smile went crooked, and not in a good way. He didn't reply as he half-lifted Mo from where she leaned against the booth, sliding slowly to the floor. "Let's go, rock star."

  "It's my birthday!" she crowed, arms in the air, and Mimi jumped up to hug her again.

  Which led to an impromptu round of unintelligible happy birthday singing, only some recognizable as English. Leif tolerated it for a moment, then had his security guy help Mo stagger to the door.

  His car waited outside. I'd expected a limo or an SUV, something large enough for the security team, but instead a sleek sedan idled at the curb. The guard helped Mo into the back seat and then got into one of the identical trail cars. Ready for an automotive shell game, perhaps, if the Externals decided to send a message to the Chief Investigator. Leif opened the passenger door and I paused, looking back over my shoulder at the Slough. Part of me still wanted to be with witches when I felt chased, hunted. The coven could protect me from the Externals, better even than Leif. Even if they'd been up to questionable magic, they could defend me with impenetrable walls of magic. Joanne and Tracy usually went for post-spell snacks at a diner not far from the Pug, I could—

  "Something wrong?"

  And again, I hesitated, instincts rumbling a warning. Yes, something was wrong. I opened my mouth to tell him everything, to admit I was Ivan Darkwing and tossed the dark witches into a demon realm and that one of his covens worked some very bad, very powerful magic, and as his head tilted and he looked more alert, I closed my mouth. He took things seriously; he would take those things seriously, and whatever happened next would get out of control very quickly. I didn't mind getting Anne Marie in trouble—would relish it, really—but I didn't want Tracy or Joanne or Rosa caught up in anything.

  Leif's brows drew together as he leaned in close, dropping his voice as he caught my arm. "Bad news doesn't get better with age."

  "I want pancakes!" Mo kicked at the window from the backseat, waving at us. "Come on already."

  "Pancakes," I said, and slid into the car. I closed my eyes and relaxed against the warm leather—thank all the saints he had heated seats and someone thought to turn them on. Whoever it was deserved a medal.

  "Right," Leif said under his breath, shutting the door.

  As he walked around the car, I whispered to Mo, "This isn't a good idea."

  "It's the best idea," she said with a sigh, and a heartbeat later, as Leif put the car in gear, she started snoring. I couldn't tell if she meant Leif taking us home, or eating pancakes. Either way, I found myself riding in silence through the city with someone I'd avoided for five years.

  I studied his hands where he gripped the wheel, the battered alignment ring on his right hand and the scars crosshatching his skin in pale tracks. The ring's warm yellow gold, dented and smudged, cradled a ruby like old blood. The muscles stood out in his forearms, the sleeves of his dress shirt pushed back as he drove. The years had been kind to him—only a few extra smile lines creased around his eyes.

  He shifted in the seat, about to speak, and I jumped, staring out the windshield as my cheeks burned. I willed myself to aloofness. I'd loved him from afar during the war, when I was little more than a half-grown kid masquerading as a war witch who didn't give a shit about anyone or anything but revenge. But a decade later – I was a grown damn woman. There was no reason his attention should still make me as nervous as a new witch at Beltane.

  Leif glanced over at me. "If there's something I need to know, Lilith..."

  He left the door open—I could walk through if I wanted, get myself and a dozen friends in trouble. My strategy of nonalignment only worked if I actually stayed uninvolved in the Alliance and all of the social and political drama that sprouted around it. The dark witches got what they deserved, and I would answer for it if the girl woke up, but Anne Marie's mistakes belonged to her and the Alliance she obeyed.

  I delayed too long, could tell by his posture that he braced for some very bad news. Instead, I took a deep breath and offered another small lie. "Just a bad night to be called a dark witch."

  "As opposed to any other day?"

  I watched the trail cars in the side mirror, mesmerized by the headlights. "Full moon, or close enough, and an inauspicious anniversary."

  He frowned, using a red light to lean back and jostle Mo until she lifted her head and insulted his manhood. Satisfied she still breathed, he faced me. "Next week is the first battle of Chicago, but—”

  "The day the war started," I said. The words barely sneaked past the knot
in my throat.

  "Is in four months." His tone wasn't confrontational. He gathered data, trying to understand, storing it all away for later.

  "For the wolves." I stared out the window, tried to pretend I talked about ancient history when it still felt like a very recent, personal wound. "For the witches, it started today, fifteen years ago."

  "Very specific," he murmured, hands whisper-quiet on the steering wheel as he turned into one of the nicer suburbs. "And yet we never knew?"

  "You knew," I said, and the wound deepened. They ignored the witches, because as long as the humans hunted witches instead of shifters, the shifters gained time to organize, prepare, plan. Protect their packs and clans and prides as flames consumed the covens, one by one. And they wondered why there were so few witches left to help them, when the war got bad. "You let us fight alone until the humans started attacking shifters. Then your war started."

  Even after ten years of fighting together, I refused to obey Soren or swear to the Alliance. Those four months convinced me witches would always be second class to shifters. And we were—no witches sat on the Alliance governing or advisory councils. Only Anne Marie and her coven were special advisors to Soren, but they had no real power. Once the Peacemaker made a decision, that was that. And his decisions always favored the wolves.

  Leif made a thoughtful sound in his throat, forehead creased as he pulled into Mo's driveway and put the car in park. He turned to look at me. "I remember hearing reports of raids, arrests, that sort of thing right after the Breaking, but we didn't realize the witches observed a different anniversary. I'll inform Soren, perhaps we can—”

  "No," I said, and it came out louder than I intended. Mo snorted in the backseat and muttered, "Pancakes?" before starting to snore again. "No," I repeated, fumbling with the seatbelt. "It's witch business. We don't need a bunch of shifters stomping into it with ceremony and flags and trumpets. No one got medals in our war, so we figured you wouldn't be interested."

  "Ouch," he said, almost a laugh. "Good to know where we stand."