War Witch

by Layla Nash

  As I looked for the right place to begin unraveling, it became clear two witches had been at work. One, more subtle, burned out half a dozen specific memories. The second had unrolled a magical carpet over the burned patches, hiding the other’s work but not doing permanent damage as other memories were hidden as well.

  Brandr tensed, and I frowned as part of the hex slipped away. “Don’t move or you could spend the rest of your days reliving one memory, over and over. I haven’t lived many days that would make that a pleasant end, and I know you haven’t either. So quit moving.”

  He went still; everyone else held their breath.

  My hands shook and my back ached by the time I thought I had it figured out. Pain gathered in the lines around his eyes, and his hands gripped the table in a white-knuckled vise.

  I dragged the weakest point of the hex away from him, untangling strands as I did so. A growl started in his chest, building as the tension around his mind stretched, tearing apart his memories and awareness and control. The table creaked, then bent with a sharp crack, and the metal crumpled to the floor. Brandr’s growl turned desperate as he searched for an anchor.

  He grabbed my waist, fingers bruising. I concentrated on breathing and ignoring the heated strength of his grip as another crash echoed in the room. Brandr’s grip created the connection I’d dreaded, and his pain flooded through me.

  Feeling drained from my legs as he crushed my hips, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. I worked feverishly on the hex. It had to end. It had to come apart or he would go mad and tear me to pieces. I pulled at the magic faster, desperation replacing caution as his growl turned into a howl.

  Veins stood out in his throat and forehead, his cheekbones sharpening. Nails dug into my jeans until the fabric ripped. I gritted my teeth. “Don’t you dare shift.”

  And then—as my bones creaked in his grip, as he lost control and another howl emerged from his clenched teeth, as the door crashed open and more bodies crowded the room—there it was.

  There it was, small and inconsequential. The path to undoing.

  “Saints be praised,” I whispered as I seized the thread of magic, just as Brandr bared wolf’s teeth at me.

  The whole mess came free with the bang of a car crash. Brandr shouted, lifting me off the ground as he seized and shook, and then collapsed in the chair, his head resting against my stomach.

  I blinked sparks from my vision, resting my hands on the back of his head when I couldn’t hold my arms up anymore. “I think I got it.”

  Moriah, face bloodless, helped Soren pin Leif against the wall, all three of them staring at me in silence. Half of the guards from the hall stood frozen in the doorway. I swallowed hard under the collective weight of their gazes. Despite so many shifters in the room, the only sound was Brandr’s labored breathing, at least until Leif spoke. “Are you okay?”

  It took effort to even breathe, much less speak. “Yes.”

  My legs wouldn’t hold me, though, and I leaned into Brandr just to stay upright.

  Soren released his death grip on Leif, though Moriah didn’t budge. The Peacemaker straightened his clothes and smoothed his hair, moving with deliberate care around the crumpled table. “Do you need assistance?”

  I shook my head, still fighting a fog in my head that made responding difficult, but Brandr chose that moment to force himself upright. As his hands fell away from my hips, my knees buckled and I hit the floor.

  Two guards leapt at Brandr, a third knocking Soren out of danger with a well-placed elbow, and Leif hurled Moriah out of his way before scooping me up, arms like steel bands.

  It happened too quickly for my fatigue-muddled brain, even more so as the magic faded from my grip. We were nearly in the hall by the time Soren snapped, “Stop.”

  Leif froze, grim as he watched the Old World shifter on the floor, buried under the guards as they struggled to restrain him. Brandr’s eyes found me, though, and he smiled.

  I took a deep breath. I really didn’t need this complication.

  “Put me down,” I said to Leif, since he just stood there in the doorway and scowled.

  He didn’t notice, glaring at Brandr and growling when Moriah took a step in our direction. I resisted the urge to put my head on Leif’s shoulder and let him carry me away to a bed, where I could sleep and he could sleep and we could sleep together. Leif went rigid, as if he’d heard my thoughts, and pack magic swirled in a red rush around us.

  “Leif,” Soren barked, but his voice was tinny and far away. The Peacemaker’s fury was insignificant. Inconsequential.

  I closed my eyes and let the pack magic diminish all the worries of the past few days. I didn’t have to think about Anne Marie or Tracy of my apartment or people wanting me dead. Someone else could worry about that. I exhaled, Leif’s arms drawing me closer as—

  “You’re out of your fucking mind,” Soren said, growling, and the world crashed back into place as everything tore apart.

  Moriah dropped me in the chair as Soren propelled Leif into the hall. My cheeks caught fire under Brandr’s scrutiny and the raised eyebrows of the guards. Mo wasn’t having it, though—she snapped her fingers at them and jerked her chin at the hall. “Get out. You didn’t see a Skoll-damned thing, understood?”

  It was a testament to her fierceness that they tripped over each other to get out of there.

  Then her ire turned on me. “Why do you let him do that?”

  I shook my head. “It just happens.”

  “Please,” she said under her breath as Soren stomped back in, alone. “I haven’t accidentally influenced someone since I was four.”

  Soren returned to his post behind where Brandr clambered into the remaining chair, his voice deceptively mild. “Witch, are you well?”

  “Fine,” I said. I ignored the heat in my cheeks and the ache in my collarbone from getting jostled around. Imagine, behaving like a love-struck teenager when Leif picked me up. I concentrated on Brandr, leaning my elbows on my knees. “What do you remember?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Everything is cloudy—worse than before.”

  “It might take a while for your mind to recover. There was a great deal of trauma from the hex, as well as the removal.”

  “And the witch who hexed him?” Soren folded his arms over his chest.

  “It looked like Anne Marie’s work.”

  “That’s just not—”

  “Two witches worked on him,” I interrupted, too tired for tact. “She was one of them. There wasn’t enough for me to recognize the other; that damage was hidden under her hex.”

  The Peacemaker frowned, and I wondered if he was irate because of my interruption or because of what I’d found. A muscle in his jaw jumped, then he announced, “We’ll discuss this in my office,” and he strode out, throwing the door open like it weighed no more than a handful of spaghetti.

  Moriah helped me stand and shuffle to the doorway; we were almost outside before Brandr spoke. “Krigen-heks.”

  I turned, holding my breath. He pushed to his feet and Moriah tensed, propping me up against the wall so she could tackle him if necessary. Using the chair for balance, Brandr of Cold River bowed to me—a real bow, not a trifling nod. A lopsided smile gave him a boyish look, though it was not as easy a smile as when we started our little conversation. “Perhaps you are too dangerous a woman for me after all.”

  Moriah snorted, tugging on my arm, and as Leif swung the door shut, I put the remark out of my head and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Rest seemed so very close, yet so far away.

  Chapter 32

  Soren paced behind his desk as I hobbled into the office, my cheeks heated from the very long walk back from the interrogation cells. Shifters crowded the halls between the dungeon and his office; apparently rumors got around fast and the entire Alliance wanted a look at the witch who’d made an Old World alpha scream.

  The Peacemaker drew out his chair, sat, and squared himself at his desk. He straightened some papers
before aligning his keyboard and address book and ledgers. When everything was at right angles and appropriately spaced, Soren pressed his hands together at his chin. “I find myself, witch, with a magical crime scene and no one to interpret the evidence.”

  My heart sank.

  As the silence stretched, he smiled a very small smile. “Going to make me ask, hmm?”

  “Asked and answered is a very different thing from volunteered,” I said, the response automatic. It was the first rule of magic: never volunteer for anything. Volunteering put the cosmic debt on your shoulders, instead of the requestor’s. I hoped Brandr learned that lesson well after our little encounter.

  The Peacemaker cleared his throat. “Examine Tracy’s house for evidence and assist us in determining the perpetrators, and I’ll rescind the charges against you.”

  “I can’t.”

  At length, he sat forward. “I’ll request the Externals drop their investigation. Will that suffice?”

  “I can’t.” My gaze slid away. I wasn’t a coward. Just because he asked didn’t mean I had to face the gruesome scene at Tracy’s and the deaths of close friends. “I’m too weak to do anything until I recharge a bit. Can’t it wait until later? It’s still the middle of the night.”

  “It’s almost dawn, actually, and no, it can’t wait. The Externals want to examine the scene before noon, and we don’t know what they’ll fuck up. Our best chance to figure out what happened is now, before they show up. So what do you need? Caffeine? Food?”

  Typical shifter, thinking food fixed everything. “I need a few days of no magic, or to borrow power from another witch. You can see how that’s a problem.”

  Soren picked up the phone on his desk, said, “Send Kyle in,” and hung up.

  “No, that’s—”

  “He’s happy to help,” Soren said. “And even if he’s not, he will do what he’s told.”

  My lip curled, disgust making me unwise as I caught Moriah’s gaze. “You asked me before why I would not align. That—right there, what he just said—is why.” I shook my head as I concentrated on the desk, unconcerned with the Peacemaker’s irritation. He hadn’t changed much after all. “To take power from an unwilling witch is crossing the line into dark magic.”

  No one spoke until the mender, the floppy-haired kid with big eyes, opened the door, dry-washing his hands as he gazed around the office. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  Bile rose in my throat and I looked away as Soren gestured for the mender to approach the desk. “We need Lily’s help but she’s too weak. Let her borrow some of your magic.”

  Kyle recoiled, not looking at me. “Sir, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “I don’t see the problem.”

  Of course he didn’t. The mender stammered and I shook my head, unable to raise my eyes from the floor. “You just told Kyle to let me rape him magically.”

  Soren’s expression soured. “I certainly did not.”

  I forced myself to sit upright despite the exhaustion, and inclined my head to Kyle. He was just a kid, but his instincts were good. Sharing magic created debts and bonds that could not lightly be put aside. “It was asked and answered, witch. Go your way in peace.”

  Kyle retreated, relief in every line of his body, but froze as Soren’s voice cracked into the silence. “She might be the only way to find the Morrigan and the rest of the First Coven.”

  The mender paled, glancing between us. The wheels turned in his head, and it was Anne Marie’s lucky day that the kid wasn’t as power-hungry as she was. His voice shook as much as his hands as he held them out. “Freely offered, summoner. Take what you need.”

  I shoved to my feet, muscles aching, to face him. “We will be connected, mender, for the rest of your natural life. Are you prepared for the consequences?”

  New resolve built in his expression. “If it helps the Morrigan, yes. I knowingly offer my power.”

  Soren’s growing impatience echoed in his fingers, drumming on the desk, but I would not rush. The only witch I’d taken power from was Sam, and part of me feared I might form a similar attachment to this scared kid. Which would be downright embarrassing. He had cojones, that was true enough, since he marched into a fight between a war witch and some wolves to hex me, so at least he had the power of convictions in his corner.

  I exhaled the trepidation; nothing could be changed until we finished. “You are thrice-named?”

  He shook his head and I pinched the bridge of my nose. By his age and demeanor, he’d probably come from human parents, and attended one of those fly-by-night academies before joining the Alliance. I held my hands over his. “Then that is the first thing we will remedy.”

  His magic waited in a puddle compared to the river of Sam’s power. My palms rested on Kyle’s and the floodgates opened. He went rigid, making a surprised noise as his eyes widened, and I shut mine so I wouldn’t see him as the ecstasy of free magic rolled through me. With Sam, trading power had been better than the best sex.

  In the maelstrom of magic, they were Sam’s hands I held, Sam’s magic I drew like air to breathe. I held on in desperation—I wasn’t ready for it to end. I felt so weak and alone, and finally someone else was there to help me stand. And I couldn’t lose Sam a second time. Even as the power disappeared and only static remained, I couldn’t let go.

  From far away, another man—someone else who wanted more from me than I was prepared to give—shouted my name. Something grabbed my wrists, yanked—tried to steal Sam from me again.

  I held on, and didn’t open my eyes as a different set of hands, large and callused, grasped mine and the static disappeared. Something wild and strange but powerful replaced it.

  Powerful.

  The wild magic cascaded through me in red sparks and electric snowflakes, building into the sound and scent of an old forest. A wild urge to run and hunt, to chase prey under a new moon, sang in my blood. I dragged at the wild magic, inhaling the unfamiliar strength, and it snapped through me like pure adrenaline. Too much. It was too much.

  My heart raced, blood pounding in my ears, as something hungry inside me rejoiced. My skin stretched to contain all that energy, threatening to split apart unless I did something. Anything. Cast or shifted or just broke into a million pieces.

  “Stop,” I said, the words slurring as I fumbled to free my hands and break the connection. “Too much.”

  I trembled like a leaf in the wind as I looked up and found Soren with his paws around my wrists. Pack magic roiled up, the wild hunt strangling me with blood and lust and hunger. I flailed at the end of his grip, terrified he might somehow push me to shift as well as his features turned predatory and hair sprouted along his arms. “Moriah. Help.”

  But she was across the room, supporting the unconscious mender, her face pale as she stared at the Peacemaker and me. Mo dropped the witch as another wave of magic went through Soren and sparked, zinging around until his bones started breaking. She couldn’t beat Leif, though, as he threw his shoulder into the Peacemaker and knocked me back to freedom.

  Soren and Leif flew across the room, tripping over the mender as Soren snarled and snapped. Moriah dragged me out of the way and propped me up against the wall. “What the hell happened?”

  “I don’t know.” I trembled, dazed from the wild magic. Soren paced, animal gaze fixed on Moriah and me, as Leif tried to corral him near the desk while he talked him back to humanity. The words stuck in my throat as I looked at her. “Why Soren?”

  “Kyle froze,” she said, grim. “Soren stepped in. I tried to get there first but he beat me.”

  My heart thundered against my ribs and my hands shook as I covered my face. I’d never heard of witches using pack magic or even being able to feel it, and I wondered if somehow Soren’s wild magic broke something in my head. I couldn’t concentrate on anything, and it still felt like my muscles spasmed and popped unpredictably, just sitting there.

  Kyle groaned as he rolled to his side. “Did you get enough?”

>   Shame whittled at my soul. I’d almost killed the kid, draining his magic, and he wanted to make sure I got enough. I nodded. “Yes, and thank you.”

  I couldn’t sit still, not with all the pack magic zipping through me. I got out of the way as Moriah lifted Kyle into a chair and Soren limped back to his desk, mostly human. I glanced at the rumpled Peacemaker, wondering if I looked half as crazy as he did. “That was not pleasant.”

  “Not pleasant doesn’t do it justice,” he muttered. “Are you prepared to evaluate the scene at Tracy’s house?”

  “Maybe.” Part of me still didn’t want to go, but after taking Kyle’s magic, I felt obligated to at least use it for the purpose he’d intended. “Something feels really... off.”

  “Leif will go with you to the scene.”

  I glanced between them, searching for some clue to the lingering tension as Leif inclined his head stiffly to the Peacemaker. I picked at my jeans as he made a beeline for the door without a backward glance, though he froze as Soren added, “And for Skoll’s sake, get that purple shit off him.”

  I tried to walk calmly over to Leif, but the wild energy made it a skip despite my best efforts. An echo of pack magic, like what caused so much trouble at the bar, rose up when I reached for his arm, and I hesitated. Neither of us could afford that kind of distraction. I laced my hands together behind my back instead, and looking back at the droopy mender. “Kyle?”

  He swayed, half-conscious, as I used our fledgling connection to pull him upright. I urged a little power back to him despite the way he shivered, and nodded at Leif. “It’s time you learned something useful.”

  A little life—and irritation—flooded his expression. “I attended one of the most prestigious—”