War Witch

by Layla Nash

  “Not that good,” I said, cheeks heating. I caught the door, started to close it.

  “Be careful,” he said. “And call if you hear anything.”

  “Sure.” I shut the door and leaned back against it, closing my eyes as I massaged my temples. Saints save me.

  I amped the wards back up and staggered to my bedroom.

  Chapter 10

  For a few months during the war, I forgot what I really looked like. I hid my face behind a glamour every day, every waking moment, and tweaked my appearance even when I used something like my real face. I avoided mirrors, fearing the demons who could appear within their depths and not wanting to see what the years had done to me. My real appearance faded from memory until, one day, I looked into a scrying bowl and didn’t recognize the person staring back at me. It didn’t bother me until a dream reminded me I had my father’s eyes and my mother’s cheekbones. Mammo’s chin, Farfar’s unfortunate ears. And then I dreaded losing even the smallest details of their memories—including my own face.

  I got dark hair from my mother, long chestnut locks that she attributed to her old Irish roots and their fae ancestors. She told me stories of the Old Celts and their warrior queens, fighting the Romans and maybe even the Vikings. At which point she would laugh and claim that was why she and Dad were destined to meet, since his people had been chasing after hers for centuries.

  My blue eyes came from Dad’s side of the family, and he joked a Viking princess stared back at him when he tried to punish me, chilling his blood to face a descendant of Erik the Red. Never mind that his eyes were just as blue and could be just as cold when he worked magic. The first time I saw my own Morrigan face, it was looking at Dad in the middle of a complicated, powerful spell.

  Unearthing an authentic photograph took days of searching through boxes in our old house, most of Mother’s meticulous organization overturned as the hunters destroyed everything. There was only one photo I knew of where all three of us used our true faces, so we would always remember what we really looked like. At the time I had more freckles than sense, so I whined about at least covering my complexion, but Mother insisted. Memories are tricky, she’d said. She was right.

  The photo froze us just after the Breaking, as magic revealed itself to the world and humans realized Others walked among them, but before everything descended into the chaos and hatred of war. My parents sensed what was coming, though, and tried to hide it from me. And still the unspoken fear that none of us would survive the approaching conflagration haunted us.

  Though I resented having my freckles immortalized along with my overbite, I treasured the glossy rectangle that preserved their memory. I carried it with me everywhere, even after the Truce, not because I feared losing my face again, but because I did not trust its safety anywhere. But as I jumped into an alley to avoid multiple External vans parked outside the restaurant, keeping a family photo of two executed witches and my real face seemed instead an unbelievably stupid thing to do.

  I hid near the staff entrance, debating the best way to walk away from the restaurant as Externals in riot gear loitered outside in the street and crowds of humans lingered to witness heavy-handed justice being dealt the animals and witches. Maybe Leif hadn’t been serious about that head start. Saints preserve me.

  A hand, weighty with authority, propelled me around the corner as I peered out of the alley. Something jostled me into a shadow and I fought back, kicking and punching because magic would drag the entire arrest team on top of me. We made fun of the humans’ crude gadgets and inelegant efforts to understand and quantify magic, but some of their sensors worked well enough to give us trouble. I grabbed the hand and bent it back, bringing my knee up into their gut just to get some room.

  The pudgy External, Eric, staggered back. “Just wait, just wait.”

  “What the fuck?” I put my back to the wall, trying to catch my breath as my hands shook.

  “Hear me out,” he said.

  “You’re not going to arrest me,” I said, and meant every word of it. If he couldn’t hear the warning, it was his own fault.

  “Don’t be stupid.” He frowned at the mouth of the alley, where authoritative voices drew near, then gestured for me to ease farther into the shadows.

  I edged in the general direction, eyes narrowed to study him and that weird glamour he used. “Who the hell are you? What do you want?”

  “I want you to survive the next couple of days,” he said under his breath, straightening his coat and tie. “And I’m a friend.”

  A rude noise was the best response I could manage.

  “Here,” and he held out a handful of metal. A necklace.

  “No way in hell.” I put my hands behind my back. If he tried to collar me, a killing hex was the only response.

  “It’s not iron,” he muttered, taking a step closer. Held up a ring on the end of the necklace. “Wear it, hide it under your shirt, but let them see it. It’s the only way you’re getting out of that,” and he nodded in the direction of the restaurant.

  “I could just walk away,” I said. “Kill you and be gone.”

  “Stefan has your name already, regardless of how the dogs are trying to protect you. The fact that they won’t identify you only makes you a better target. He’s bucking for a promotion and he’ll get there by crushing you.”

  “He’s your partner,” I said, heart beating faster. “Why are you telling me this? What’s in it for you?”

  “I have my reasons, but this,” he said, gesturing at the alley. “Is not the place to discuss them.” He tossed the necklace and ring at me; out of reflex, I caught them both.

  A delicate summoner’s ring rested in my palm, done in fancy filigree with a dark blue lapis lazuli stone, threaded with gold. It was a beautiful ring, but I didn’t recognize the coven symbol on the panel. “What…whose ring is this?”

  “I’ll explain later. But you have to wear that. They won’t believe you’re a mender.” And he raised his eyebrow as I touched the jade ring on my finger.

  I started to argue, confident in my deception, and he rolled his eyes, face slipping under an oil rainbow. “No one would believe that—you’ve got too much attitude to be a mender. When he questions you, show him the blue one. He’ll let you go.”

  “Why?” I shook my head, backing up with the necklace clenched in my hand. “It’s just a ring, it—”

  “This is the only way. Trust me.” Eric called over his shoulder, “Got one here,” and then turned back to face me. “He doesn’t have enough to arrest you yet. Don’t give him a reason.”

  “But—”

  I trailed off as two Neanderthals in utility belts and body armor approached, looking grim. Eric stood aside as one grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the restaurant, through a crowd of more Externals guarding employees waiting to be processed.

  I had no reason to trust him. None. But he was still a question mark, and Stefan, at least, was a clear threat. If I could delay long enough, the Alliance would show up to defend at least their aligned members, and I could benefit from their presence. I clenched my jaw as the behemoth shoved me into a chair in the dining room of the restaurant and I faced a sour-faced young woman in uniform.

  The silver chilled my neck as I worked to control my breathing and look like a meek mender, not the War Witch. Scared girl, not guilty witch with reason to fight. The easiest way to keep Lily alive was to forget I’d ever been Lilith. But in the back of my head, anger at Stefan’s hounding, at the targeting of young witches like Cheryl, at all the unfair treatment we dealt with since the Truce, began a slow burn.

  The officer in front of me was bored with me before the interview even started, looking around with palpable envy at the Externals interviewing the far more dangerous shifters. Her cheeks puffed out as she exhaled. “Name.”

  “Lily.”

  “Coven.”

  I tried to remember the lies seeded into their files over the past few years. The fake coven I’d given them when I first applie
d for the waitressing job floated up through my memory. “Dogwood West.”

  Her lips twisted. “Rank.”

  My skin crawled as the burly External behind me shifted his weight and the steel chain at his belt sent a frisson of iron shivers through me, but I concentrated on the positives—the wolves all had two or three guards, so only having one was a good sign. I held out my right hand, the jade ring sufficient proof, and made my fingers tremble for added benefit. “Mender.”

  She sniffed, unimpressed. “Where were you last night?”

  “At home.”

  “Can anyone verify that?”

  For a hysterical moment, I considered telling her Leif, just to see her reaction. The Chief Investigator could be a useful friend, but more often he was a liability. Better sense prevailed before I opened my mouth. “No. Just me.”

  She retrieved a small black box from under the table, and my heart plummeted. A divireader, one of their damnable gadgets but unfortunately one that usually worked. It could be fooled, of course, since nonmagical humans designed it, but fooling the box required having a glamour already in place.

  The jig was up, as Dad had often said, twiddling a cigar between his fingers.

  I balanced my fingers on the edge of the table as she pushed buttons on it and the thing lit up. “What if I refuse?”

  Her gaze drifted to the behemoth behind me, and cruelty chiseled a smile across her face. “Go ahead.”

  An unspoken “I dare you” lingered. Doubtless the guard would break my arms and they’d do the test anyway. I took a deep breath and put my fingers on the small metal pads on each side of the box, and said a brief prayer. Electricity jolted into my left hand, through me, and out my right, where it registered in the box. I yanked my hands away at the sting.

  The box beeped and a blue light went on. She looked at the screen, then my ring, then her notes, then the box. She cleared the results. “Again.”

  So I did it again, and again the blue light went on. I held my breath. Luckily only the most sophisticated divireaders could detect war witches. There were so few of us that the majority of divireaders only read to summoner, the next-most powerful rank.

  The woman scowled, shoved her chair back, and strode over to a thin External supervising another interrogation. He didn’t look away from the Kodiak bear shifter who looked about ready to treat him like a salmon, but I recognized Stefan’s mousy hair. Great. I slid away from the table, needing space, but froze as sharp steel rested against my neck.

  My flesh burned as my magic reacted to the hint of iron. I leaned to escape the pain, but the knife followed. “Not another move, witch.”

  Blood trickled down my neck in a warm crawl.

  I took a breath to argue or defend myself, or maybe just to hex him and run, but swallowed my objections as the woman returned. She straightened her papers with exaggerated care, squaring the corners. “You,” she said. “Are not a mender.”

  “What do we have here?” Stefan sauntered over to stand next to her, the delighted smile on his face implying we were long-lost friends. He upended my bag, the contents sliding across the table, and all motion in the restaurant ceased as everyone noticed my interview deteriorating. Stefan poked through my things. “No Chief Canine to protect you today. How unfortunate.”

  “No, he had plans with your sister.”

  A fist slammed into my ear and I pitched out of the chair. I lay on the cool wood floor and tried to be grateful the knife wasn’t on my neck when the goon struck, else I might have been beheaded. I wobbled to my knees, leaning against the chair and rubbing my jaw. It hurt almost as much as Leif running into my wards. The shifters scented blood, and filled the air with low growling.

  Stefan didn’t seem particularly disturbed as he hefted my bag of salt. “Really?”

  I closed one eye to squint at him, hoping the room would steady and at least give me one target instead of three. “Might have been your mom.”

  I ducked the first punch, but the second caught me in the kidney. “Or not,” I wheezed from the floor, laughing at my own stupidity. Saints grant me the sense to keep my mouth shut. As I used the table to pull myself up, Stefan wrenched the jade ring from my finger. My head pounded and the world blurred around the edges, but I forced myself up. “No, that’s—”

  The guard hauled me back, shaking me hard enough to rattle my teeth. Stefan toyed with the jade ring, then held out his hand. “Your true ring.”

  I concentrated on breathing despite the stabbing pain in my side, and hoped I hadn’t broken a rib. Saints guide my path, saints protect my cast, saints guard my fate.

  But the ringing in my ear made it hard to hear whether the saints chose to speak.

  “That is my ring.” I didn’t look away from it, desperate. It was all I had left of Sam.

  “You’re not a mender. That’s one felony. You have five seconds to give me your real ring, or I will start adding to the list.”

  The goon shook me again and the necklace slipped from inside my shirt. I caught at it, stomach lurching, and the woman lunged for it as well. Stefan beat us both, announcing, “Summoner,” as he seized the ring.

  In a heartbeat, three more goons loomed over me and aimed juiced-up tasers at my head. The behemoth put his knife to my throat once more, doubtless for the pleasure of killing me personally.

  Shit.

  I locked my knees and straightened, no easy feat with my head swimming and Stefan pulling me off-balance with his grip on the necklace. I would not die quietly, even with four mountains of muscle at my back and iron at my neck. The shifters would join in if I decided to fight—if not because they wanted to help, then at least because all shifters liked a fight and the Externals were their favorite adversary.

  Stefan scowled as he studied the ring. “Where did you get this?”

  I clenched my jaw so a grin wouldn’t give away my anticipation as adrenaline surged and good sense burned out in flashes of memory and smoke. When I hexed him, he wouldn’t get back up. From there, I had to fight my way out of the building and disappear. I knew spells for that, too, and stacked them in my mind.

  A quick calculus gave me a plan: Stefan first, then the four goons behind me, then the woman. The ten more nearest at the interview tables would be next, and another twenty or so after that, long distance. Thirty seconds to clear the room of humans, without any shifter help. A minute, tops, if I missed on the first try. My stomach burbled with a familiar squirm of nerves and giddiness and sheer terror: battle. Under it all, the whispered promise of oceans of magic lured me in—it would be so easy. I wouldn’t be afraid ever again, I wouldn’t be weak or alone. Using all of that magic made me invincible, something those humans couldn’t understand.

  Stefan dropped the ring and turned on his heel. “Come with me.”

  As if I had a choice. Two goons picked me up and carried me into the manager’s vacant office at the rear of the dining room. There was no telling where Paul hid, or if he’d even been called. I swayed in front of the vacant desk as the goons released me. A flash of movement was the only warning before Stefan’s fist smashed into my nose. I landed in a heap, and took a moment to reflect on the choices I’d made as my vision swam and blood filled my mouth again.

  Stefan gripped my elbow as he leaned over me, his voice cold. “Do not ever talk about my family, witch.” He hauled me up and dropped me in a chair, going behind the desk to watch me bleed. “Who do you work for?”

  I staunched the blood from my nose with my sleeve, grateful for the black uniform. My nose throbbed in time with my racing heart, my eyes watering and blurring him further. “I’m just a waitress.”

  He pointed at the necklace. “Who gave you that?”

  I thought of the odd-faced External. I was a dead witch whether I lied or not, and if I brought one of them down with me—more the better. “Eric.”

  “When did you last talk to him?”

  I sat forward, unnerved at having so many Externals in the restaurant behind me, and thought of my j
ade ring. Probably disappeared into someone’s pocket, since we all knew the Externals collected alignment rings as trophies. “Today.”

  “What did you report?”

  “Nothing.” I squinted as the room spun and he drifted from two to three figures, and pressed under my nose. Blasted humans.

  The thin mustache twitched. “What did you see last night?”

  “I didn’t see anything.” Nausea brewed in my guts, amplified by the adrenaline and the blood leaking down my throat.

  “He trained you well,” Stefan said under his breath. He leaned over the desk, jabbing a finger at me. “But the Slough is my area. He will not bungle this investigation. If you or he fucks this up for me, I’ll put you both in the ground. Understood?”

  I shook my head, though it set the world spinning more. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t give a shit about—”

  “Stop denying it.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ll let you go this time, but don’t you dare leave the city. This isn’t finished.”

  I tried to formulate a reply that wasn’t incredulous of my good fortune or questioning what that damn ring meant, but froze as his face screwed into a ferocious snarl. I slid lower in the chair. Whatever he saw behind me wasn’t something I wanted to face.

  Chapter 11

  The door creaked and I braced for another knock on the head. Instead, a gravelly voice said, “Stefan. Imagine my surprise to hear you’re behind these illegal interrogations.”

  “Leif,” the External said, feigning surprise. “Why are you here?”

  “An illegal raid, illegal detainment of Others without recourse to their packs and covens, and threats of reprisal without official charges. Dangerously close to violating the Truce. I don’t want to call the Judge today. Let them go.”

  The External didn’t budge. “We’re almost finished.” And he waited, as if Leif would simply turn and go.