War Witch

by Layla Nash

  "Easy for you to say," Mary said. "You didn't get woken up at six a.m. by a bunch of jackbooted thugs knocking on your door."

  No, they tried to grab me on the street in front of the Chief Investigator himself. But I kept my mouth shut, offering only a shrug as I eased to my feet, picking up the swans and the flat napkins. "I'm nonaligned. If they can find me, they don't have to knock."

  "Well, they're detaining whoever they want now, apparently, because Rowanwood coven can't find two of their members. They think the humans took them, but even Leif can't get the Judge to disclose where they are." Mary watched me with narrowed eyes.

  "Rowanwood?" Lucy rose, forehead creased. "Who's missing?"

  "Danielle and Cara. No one's seen them since last night, they aren't answering their phones, and they left their purses at home."

  Cheryl patted her cheeks dry, and I fought down irritation that she was one of those women who looked prettier when she cried. Her voice wobbled charmingly. "The Styrma can't find them? What about the Morrigan?"

  "No one knows anything." Mary rubbed her upper arms, still shaking her head. "It's like they just vanished."

  My stomach dropped and my feet stuck to the floor, though I'd intended to walk away. Two witches who had vanished into thin air. Or through a rift into a demon realm. I unfolded one of the napkins, trying to sound disinterested. "What class are they? The missing ones?"

  "Cara's a sender, Danielle is a basher." Lucy's head tilted. "Why?"

  Saints preserve me. The two dark witches had been strong enough to be bashers, and the one used a sending spell to push me away. Typical. "Well, the Externals never arrest anyone over charmer without the Styrma present, and they can't hold anyone over mender class in their jails, even collared. Only Alliance jails can hold bashers or senders. So they're probably just hiding out somewhere."

  Relief cleared Lucy's expression, but she still started calling people, trying to figure out where the missing witches could be. Mary comforted Cheryl after she started crying again.

  I gathered my things, leaving the swans on the counter where someone in the dinner shift would get them, and paused at the door to copy my schedule. It looked like a busy week, but no telling if I'd make enough tips to buy another coat with the rent due as well. I stared blindly at the schedule for a long moment, and vertigo washed over me. I'd had more free time as a war witch during war than I did as a peacetime waitress. Maybe Mo was right. If I joined her pack, I could cut back my hours, benefit from the wider employment opportunities that Alliance members enjoyed, and pick up odd jobs with healing and mending or other magical chores shifters hired out.

  I turned to leave, almost walking into the door as it swung in, and stopped dead in my tracks. Tracy looked at me, her eyebrows raised, then inclined her head and tugged on her earlobe as she did so. I nodded back, ignoring the tension in the room behind me—Lucy, at least, knew about my falling out with the coven. I edged the rest of the way out the door and into the hall to take a breath. Saints preserve me. There was no telling what convinced Tracy to break our agreement never to meet in public. I drew my borrowed coat tighter as I punched out and retreated to the alley behind the restaurant to wait for her. Chances were it wasn't good news, and might even be some of that bad news, getting worse.

  Chapter 6

  I’d decided to leave at least twice by the time Tracy appeared. She looked younger than I remembered in the watery sunlight, but it could have been a glamour. I straightened from leaning against the brick wall, half-hidden by a dumpster, but stayed out of the line of sight of the street. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” She tugged on her dark ponytail and hitched the strap of her messenger bag up on her shoulder. “Sorry it took so long, I didn’t expect to take statements on External misconduct. They’re pretty worked up inside.”

  “Not surprising, I guess.”

  She shrugged, dark eyes moving quickly, searching me and the background. “Some people don’t know what it feels like to really be cornered, right?” She didn’t wait for me to agree, instead offering an uneasy smile. “How have you been?”

  “Worse than some, better than others.” I smiled so she might believe me. “Seems like there’s a lot going on lately. For everyone.”

  She made a face and glanced down the alley toward the street. “You could say that. Look, I don’t want to keep you from anything, but I couldn’t do this over the phone. I need a favor.”

  A favor. My phone vibrated and I jumped, then glanced at the screen to buy some time before I blurted out the first response that came to mind. I’d have to be out of my mind to get involved with the coven again. When I didn’t recognize the number on the screen, I tucked the phone away again. “What kind of favor?”

  A smart witch always asked.

  She rubbed her mouth, as if to hide a smile. “Nothing strenuous, I promise. I hoped you could come to the Slough tonight. We’re meeting for the second part of the spell, and I wanted—I need you to observe what we’re doing.”

  My eyebrows rose before I thought to school my expression into neutrality. “Observe? Observe what?”

  She winced and edged closer, fidgeting with her earring and lowering her voice. “Look. I know you felt what happened last night. We were—most of us, anyway—surprised by how things worked. Anne Marie sort of explained it, but... We’re casting again tonight and I’m a little concerned. Maybe not concerned, maybe worried, I don’t know. Just…if it happens like it did last night, I don’t know if we’ll be able to handle the backlash.”

  “What were you doing before it went sideways last night?”

  “A Calling.” She chewed her lip, a trace of panic in the tension around her mouth, gathering around her eyes and in the way she picked at her sleeve. “A powerful summoning, but I can’t get into why or who. I just…I’d feel better if you could watch tonight and tell me what you see.”

  My phone rang again, the same unknown number, and I frowned. Once was an accident, twice was a problem. I took a deep breath as I looked at Tracy. She’d been a good student, when I was still willing to teach, and a better friend. Almost a sister. As much as I hated Anne Marie, I couldn’t walk away from Tracy. “What time?”

  She exhaled, shoulders sagging. “Thank the saints. Midnight.”

  Midnight. Always the witching hour. “Okay. I’ll do my best, but with the cops all over the place—” I shook my head. “I’ll do my best. If anything changes, call me.”

  “We’re not going to change anything for this cast. It has to be tonight.”

  “Well, call if anyone gets arrested,” I said, and I canted my head at the door leading to the restaurant. “Or just disappears. Since that seems to be happening a lot these days.”

  She made a face. “There’s no telling what’s going on. It might be the humans flexing against the letter of the law, there could be a legitimate reason for it... Hell, it could be Soren cleaning house again.”

  “Cleaning house?” I leaned forward, heart in my throat. “Getting rid of witches?”

  “Well,” she started, then stopped, gaze darting away. “It’s not really something...”

  “Trace.” I put a little Morrigan in my voice. “Cut the crap. What’s going on?”

  Her lips compressed in a thin line. “It’s nothing to do with nonaligned. Not really your problem.”

  “Bullshit. At the Pug last night, two Externals called me a dark witch and tried to blame the shit you did on me. So between them and you, doing fucked-up magic again tonight and asking me to watch, it clearly is my problem.”

  She rubbed her temples, turning away for a moment. When she faced me, she looked older, more mature. Committed. “Okay, but this goes no further, got it?” She waited for my nod before going on. “Soren’s been in charge for too long. People are calling it a dictatorship instead of the democracy we signed up for. The wolves are mostly content to go along because it benefits them. But there’s a lot of dissent building up with the other canines, the bears, the cats... Even some of the co
vens are making noise. Everyone is on edge. A bunch of people were arrested a couple of months ago and it doesn’t add up except that most of them challenged Soren’s leadership.”

  And she looked at me, waiting.

  My thoughts clicked too slowly, trying to calculate what it meant for Moriah and Mick. If Soren fell from power, a lot of wolves would fall with him. And his replacement would destroy anyone who supported the Peacemaker. Such was the nature of shifter politics. I pinched the bridge of my nose, ignoring the vertigo that had me reaching out to the grimy brick wall. “So this could be a purge. Or another civil war.”

  “Or an exodus.” Tracy took a deep breath. “The Australians are offering sanctuary to Others, so are the Irish. The Russians, too, but no one’s falling for that. Again. Or it could just be a new war with the humans, Lil—the Externals stir up the Alliance against the only man who kept it together through the war, get Others to depose Soren, then the humans can sweep in and tear us apart. Which is why I have to make sure what we do tonight is legit. If someone is setting us up, we’ve got to know.”

  “Could it be Anne Marie?”

  She didn’t meet my gaze, fidgeting instead with the strap of her bag.

  I let the silence stretch, broken only by a honking car in the street. Finally, when it was clear she wouldn’t speak, I nodded. “Not trusting your coven is the first sign you need a new one.”

  Her expression darkened. “Lily—”

  “Trust me.” I held my hands up, forcing myself to smile. “I know from personal experience. But that’s between you and your coven, Tracy. So. Midnight tonight. Anything else I should know?”

  She hesitated and I braced for the worst. I thought of what Leif told me the night before—bad news doesn’t get better with age. Tracy cleared her throat, still not facing me fully. “I miss you. We miss you. If things go sideways, maybe…maybe it’s a new opportunity.”

  A new opportunity that conveniently overlooked all the reasons it hadn’t worked the last time. Maybe Tracy and Rosa and Joanne and I could put aside all of that. Start over in Australia or Ireland. But I only nodded, wanting to hug her, but not certain how she’d react. Jumping at another witch with outspread arms generally didn’t end well for anyone. So I hugged myself instead. “Sure. Good luck tonight. I’ll let you know if I see anything.”

  “Good.” She paused, then tugged at my right hand, holding it up so I could see the bare fingers. “And if I were you, I’d find a ring. Any ring. If they come for you, it might buy you enough time to get away.”

  It hadn’t helped any of the other witches, like Cheryl, although Tracy no doubt remembered my preference for fight over flight. I pulled free. “Sure. And I’ll call you to bail me out when I get arrested for pretending to be aligned.”

  “You got it.” She smiled, glanced at her watch, then lurched forward to hug me, hard enough to knock the breath out of me before I could even lift a hand. “Be careful.” Then she turned and strode away, disappearing into the brighter sun of the open street.

  I blinked. Pressure built behind my eyes as I squinted at where she’d gone. Saints blast it. Maybe staying with Mo another couple of nights was smarter than going home. I needed a few things from the apartment, but the safety of a pack promised better rest than even my wards could provide.

  I took the bus back to my apartment, looking out the window the entire time to check for anyone who might want to arrest me. A few hours separated me from Tracy’s favor, and if I was going to stay with Moriah for more than a day or two, I had to get clothes and magical accoutrements. Just in case.

  Despite being two stops early, I got off the bus at the last intersection before traffic thinned. Some habits faded with time and complacency, but I still knew how to check for an ambush. I needed plenty of time and distance to observe if anyone watched my apartment or me, which beat out the ache in my feet that made it difficult to get off the bus and walk. A local cult stood on the corner outside the shop ’n go convenience store, holding up placards that declared both the end of the world and the condemnation of non-humans to eternal hell. They handed me a pamphlet as I passed; I dropped it into the collection bucket of the love-everyone-love-everything group working the opposite street corner.

  The war destroyed a lot of things, but it certainly revived religion—anyone and anything declared itself a prophet in the early days after magic revealed itself to the world. Panic and fear seemed to generate a lot of devotion, or at least lip service, to a whole suite of churches, temples, cults, revivals, and so on. Not many were organized enough to survive more than a few months, particularly when they relied on a single charismatic leader and the generosity of passersby. Not entirely unlike Soren and the rest of the Alliance leadership.

  I pushed the thought away as I turned the corner and crossed an invisible border between the “mixed” part of the neighborhood and the area that Others dominated. No laws barred humans from renting in my apartment complex, but there weren’t a whole lot applying.

  The militias had something to do with it, but sometimes it was difficult to remember that we had a generation of children and families and young professionals who’d spent ten years fighting us as the monsters who haunted their nightmares. No human wanted to live next door to a witch or a shifter, unpredictable and following laws unlike anything the humans understood. Pack justice, coven trials, and blood debts didn’t play well on the evening news. And the homeowner’s insurance for Other-adjacent properties was astronomical, or so they said.

  The apartment complex dominated several blocks, twelve and twenty-four unit buildings built in a square around a central courtyard. The buildings looked identical; even the giant green letters painted on the sides for identification purposes had long since faded. I took a shortcut across a side yard comprised of dead grass, dirt, and some dandelions clinging to life, and circled around to my building. Luckily even the most dedicated born-again sects wouldn’t venture out to save souls in this complex.

  The apartments shared open-air hallways and stairs in each building, so some of the small kids who should have been in school stood at the railings and watched my passage. The complex, with the only apartment I could really afford on my pay, was more like one of the shoddy roadside motels in the pre-Breaking horror movies—not even an open management office in case you needed maintenance. It was live and let live, so long as you paid on time, and it was the kind of place you stayed at if you didn’t want to be noticed or remembered. The kind of place where, when the police came to investigate, if they came at all, no one ever knew anything about anyone else and fell back on, “Nice enough guy, quiet neighbor. Never caused any trouble.” I counted on no one knowing my name, if the wrong people started asking.

  And yet my neighbors challenged my commitment to that shared credo every time I passed their door. The witch and his human girlfriend fought, loudly and constantly. I paused in the hall, looking at their door as a crash disturbed the afternoon. Well, he fought. She took the punches. My feet refused to move, to carry me into my apartment and away from desperate “Please don’t”s, repeated over and over. I’d asked her if she needed help and she always refused, made excuses, apologized for disturbing me. My stomach turned over. But I knew something of being so thoroughly entangled with someone that being untangled seemed impossible.

  Another crash. I steeled my nerves, strode up to the door, knocked with authority and a heavy hand. Immediate silence followed, perhaps some whispered threats that I couldn’t quite make out even through the shoddy door. Then the door opened and the witch, dark-haired and smiling, looked at me. “Hi there. What can I do for you?”

  He knew I’d spoken with her, and he’d gone from being relatively friendly to overly friendly. Charming, as if he could convince me she was the liar through force of personality. I hitched my bag up on my shoulder, glancing past him into the apartment. “I thought I heard a noise, just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

  “Everything’s fine.” The smile broadened, displayin
g even white teeth too big for his face. One of the other neighbors, a witch with an addiction problem, referred to him as Chompers once, and it stuck in my head until his real name escaped me.

  “That’s good.” I cleared my throat. “The cops are coming around to all the witches, it sounds like. Arrested a couple, a few more disappeared. You might want to lie low, not give them any reasons to ask questions. You know.”

  His head tilted in a question, though the smile never moved. “Disappeared?”

  “Two from Rowanwood. I’ve never met any of them, so I don’t even know what they look like. Wouldn’t be much help with a search party, I guess.” And I tried a smile and a shrug, ignoring the way his girlfriend held her shoulder as she waited in the hall behind him. The look in her eyes hurt my heart.

  The smile slipped into a frown, then returned. “That’s strange. Is the Alliance looking for them?”

  “Well...” I trailed off, let the silence speak for itself, then shrugged. “The witches are looking for them.”

  “Damn animals,” he said under his breath, and looked over his shoulder. “Get my roster from the desk.” He faced me again and didn’t bother to verify his orders were followed, the girlfriend limping into the apartment. Chompers folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorjamb as he studied me. “Have you joined a coven yet?”

  Small talk among witches always centered around covens—who was in one, which one, which was better, who was leaving. It was even more tiresome when one was totally nonaligned. But whatever roster he would show me was probably worth the small talk. “Oh, I heard a couple of bashers are getting together. I’m supposed to link up with them at some point.”

  “Bashers?” He snorted. “You’re at least a sender, why would you want to go around with bashers?”

  I tried to make eye contact as his girlfriend, Amber, slunk up. She wordlessly offered a stack of papers, and he took it without looking at her. She retreated. My chest ached for her. I wanted to stomp my feet, to hex the shit out of Chompers and drag her away. But she wore a glamour constantly, relied on him for some kind of magic, so it might not have been as easy as I wished. If he provided her medical help, dragging her away without a plan might do more harm than good. Or so I tried to convince myself.