Witches Protection Program

by Michael Phillip Cash

  “It was an accident. Only her face was supposed to be hurt. The spell went wrong, Morgan.” Bernadette looked at Alastair. “You were supposed to want me.”

  Morgan turned to Wes’s partner as if just noticing he was there. “What is she talking about?”

  “Your mother and I…”

  “No…” Morgan backed away from him.

  Alastair shook his head sadly. “I loved your mother. We were married. You were heir to your mother’s portion of the Pendragon empire. After the…accident, Bernadette wanted me, but I couldn’t look at her. I knew what she did. You were supposed to be with me, Morgan, but she swore she would kill you too, if I didn’t give her total custody. I’m sorry, but I can’t fight her magic.” He reached out, but she tore her hands away. “I had no choice. She changed your name to Pendragon and purged me from your life.”

  Morgan looked at them both through a veil of tears. “You gave me away…”

  “I never wanted to,” Alastair said quietly.

  “I don’t believe this.”

  “I joined the Witches Protection Program so I would learn how to protect you. It was all for you. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.”

  The door to the helipad cracked. Wes stood in the entrance, listening to Morgan’s sobs.

  “How could you?” Morgan turned on Bernadette.

  “How dare you?” Bernadette demanded, her face white. “I raised you as if you were my own. I did all this for you! I sacrificed my life for you!”

  “All you ever cared about was power,” Morgan shot back. “You don’t love me; you don’t love anybody but yourself. You just want to control me. If you really did this for me, you wouldn’t insist I sign those papers giving up everything.”

  “It was all for you!” Bernadette insisted. “You’re too stupid to comprehend. Just like your mother. She didn’t understand either. Dutiful Davinas. Let’s create pretty makeup to let women feel good about themselves. Let’s fix the sick. Let’s donate money. For whom? For what? Women do all that for men, who hold the real power and get nothing in return. It’s our time now! Men will be our slaves and do what we want.”

  “I don’t want to listen to this!” Morgan held her hands over her ears, her face awash with tears.

  “It is your birthright!” Bernadette threw her book of spells at Morgan, hitting her squarely in the chest. It bounced off her to land on the ground, the pages fluttering in the wind.

  “Stop. This is madness! You have no right to do this,” Morgan told her. “I don’t want any part of you.”

  “It’s over, Bernadette. Look at her. She hates you. It’s time to stop,” Alastair said.

  Bernadette levitated, her arms spread wide, her eyes hard, gray marbles ignoring them all. “I will control everyone. No more bleeding-heart Davinas! No more witch hunters! No more persecution of my kind!”

  “The way to end persecution is to not repeat the offense,” Alastair told her.

  Bernadette continued as if she hadn’t heard. “All the individuals who suppressed us, kept us in our place, frightened us will be under my dominion! My will will prevail!” She circled Alistair and Morgan. “The world will bow to me! To me!” Her laughter echoed down the streets of Manhattan.

  As if noticing Scarlett for the first time, she held out her long-fingered hand to her. “Join me, Scarlett, my loyal one. You’ve always been there for me, haven’t you? Silent and steady, my right arm. Join me. Let’s finish this together.”

  Wes burst through the door, launching himself at Bernadette’s dangling feet. He passed Morgan, his foot landing on the book, ripping the pages so that they caught on the wind, flying off the top of the building.

  Bernadette angrily watched the pages of her book wafting in the air. They were gone. She didn’t have the time to retrieve them. “I thought you said he was dead.” Bernadette glared at Scarlett. Her hand rotated, producing an ice ball, which she threw at Wes.

  Both Morgan and Alastair saw him. Morgan started running to him, crying, “Wes!” She only knew she needed to feel the safety of his arms.

  Scarlett pushed her back, saying, “I’ll get him.”

  Bernadette grabbed Scarlett by the hair, pulling her head backward, her face snarling. “You incompetent twit. You’ve ruined everything! Watch me do it.”

  “Get down, Wes!” Alastair called, pulling Morgan with him and sprinting to duck behind the boxlike generators.

  Wes stood tall, walking purposefully toward Bernadette, his glowing revolver in his steady hand. “My name is Wesley Rockville.” An ice ball flew close to his face. He bent backward, avoiding it. “I’m an agent with the Witches Protection Program.”

  Bernadette lobbed a flurry of iceballs, now encased with fire. One grazed his shoulder, scorching his shirt, but didn’t stop his single-minded determination to reach her. Pages from her book plastered against his body. Bernadette screamed in frustration, pitching one that hit him full in the stomach. Wes went down, rolling to the edge of the building, his weapon flying from his hand when he hit the floor.

  Morgan’s quick intake of breath revealed their spot. Alastair pulled his revolver from his ankle holster, aiming at Bernadette. The gun ejected from his hands, sliding to the middle of the helipad from a roundhouse kick to his jaw from Scarlett, now hovering over them. He reached for his Trance Lifter. Scarlett snatched it, throwing it into the center of the helipad, laughing. “What else have you got, old man?” She kicked him again, and he went down like a stone.

  Morgan leaped onto Scarlett, who backed her into the generator, causing sparks to fly into the dark night. Scarlett took Morgan’s head into both hands, banging it on the metal box. Morgan slid senseless to the ground, a line of blood on her forehead.

  To Alastair’s groggy surprise, the blond woman now turned to her mentor. “You can’t minimize me! This is my company! This is my fortune! I wasn’t some witch’s bitch for five years to become your personal assistant. I will be bigger than you, Bernadette! I will be bigger than you!” she repeated, her face contorted with rage.

  Wes crawled toward Bernadette, determination written on his face. Alastair slid his lasso chain from the back of his jacket. One shot—Scarlett or Bernadette? He waffled, and Scarlett’s fingertips darted him with a blaze of light, incapacitating him. She winked out of sight.

  Bernadette waved her arms in giant circles, gathering a maelstrom of energy. Baring her teeth, she grunted, aiming her deadly attack on Wes.

  Wes watched a giant ball of icy fire head toward him. His gun was laying in the middle of the helipad next to Alastair’s. Backed against the wall, he felt something hard in his pocket. Reaching in, he slid out the small compact. “You’ll know when to use it,” Alastair had told him. It seemed as good a time as any, he thought. He was out of any other alternatives, anyway. Touching the lever with the pad of his thumb, the clamshell opened. He turned it to the oncoming fireball. The heat of the flames singed his flesh. The iceball hung for a second in midair, then rolled backward, its direction reversing, smacking Bernadette in the face, covering her with a gel-like substance. Bernadette screamed, the sound echoing off the rooftop, her hands covering her face, skin bubbling underneath her fingers.

  Alastair stood on rubbery legs, swinging his lasso feebly to Wes. “She’s all yours. Don’t be fooled; she’s quite dangerous,” he called.

  Bernadette stumbled backward, away from Wes, falling on her knees.

  Wes caught the device, snapping it. “How does this thing…” The lasso surprised Bernadette, wrapping around her waist, but instead of reeling her in, the chain towed Wes to her with amazing speed. Bending, he scooped up Alastair’s revolver as he was dragged past it, pushing it into the back of his pants, while his feet desperately fought to gain purchase on the helipad.

  Bernadette faltered, backing to the edge of the building until her heels slid off. Wes saw her waver and reached forwar
d to grab her, but they both toppled off the helipad, plummeting toward the street below. The chain that connected them caught on a flagpole, hooking them so they were dangling on either side. Wes held on, his bleeding hands wrapped around the metal chain. He looked at Bernadette, recoiling at her skull-like features. Her skin festered, making her look like an ancient crone. “You have the right to remain silent,” he told her, breathless but determined. “Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in—”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Bernadette said. Kicking out, she launched herself into a window behind her, shattering it and leaving both Wes and the lasso chain dangling from the sixtieth floor.

  Wes cursed loudly as the chain began to move with no counterbalance weight to hold him there. Reaching out, he grabbed it with his other hand, feeling it shred the flesh of his palms. Using his weight, he inched his way to the shattered window. Swinging back and forth to gain momentum, he leaped through the glass, landing with a crunch on a bed of broken shards.

  Bernadette’s wails filled the room. She turned, her face a bloody mess. “Look what you’ve done to me!” she screamed. “Look at me! Look at me!”

  “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice—”

  “Look at my eyes,” she urged. The yellow glow filled the room.

  Wes shielded his face. “You can’t control me. I have my free will.”

  Wind blew all around him, buffeting him. Wes opened his eyes to find himself back on the helipad. Alastair was frozen, covered with ice.

  Bernadette was kneeling, exhausted, her yellow, blazing eyes a beacon that Wes refused to look at.

  Scarlett stood in the center, her hands emitting a blue light that encased Morgan, rolled into a frozen ball, hanging suspended in midair.

  Alastair floated next to her, in the same blue cloud, his beard making him look like a hip version of Father Frost.

  Scarlett rose above them. “I am the CEO. I am the board of directors. I am the almighty. I am the most powerful witch. I will control everything! I will disperse my DNA! I am the sorceress and the center of this earth!” She turned her palms to face Wes.

  Lethargy enveloped him. Ice crystallized on his skin. Numbly, he watched his vision dull; he heard his own heartbeat slow. Something pulled him. He noticed dully that he was on the edge of the building again, next to Morgan.

  Bernadette looked up. “No,” she said weakly, inching to the trance lifter. Picking it up, she aimed it at Scarlett. “Not my child,” she said, wondering if she meant Morgan or her empire.

  The beam caught Scarlett in the chest. Her spell vanished instantly, throwing her backward to land on her ass. The blue haze surrounding Alastair, Morgan, and Wes faded at the same time. Wes reached for Morgan but lost his balance. They teetered in a macabre dance, then fell into the blackness.

  Bernadette dragged herself to the edge of the building, screaming despairingly, “Nooo. Morgan.” Then she called out, “Use your fucking powers! Fly, damn you.”

  Bernadette’s wail cut through the night sky, rousing Morgan. She peered up, her eyes locking on her aunt. “Use your powers. If not for you, then for him.” She pointed to Wes. Wes was below her, looking up, his face stark. Closing her eyes, she searched for a spell. She knew she had to find one fast. She didn’t have a wand. She leveled out next to Wes, wanting nothing more than to have his arms around her. As if he read her thoughts, Wes reached out, his fingers grazing her. They touched, and spangles of bright light sparked from her fingers, the words coming out of her mouth without a thought. “Let me soar, with my love, give us flight, just like a dove.” The air thickened. Their descent slowed as if they were cocooned in soft wool. Their arms surrounded each other and they bounced as if they were buoyantly catching waves in the ocean. Morgan smiled triumphantly. Wes laughed out loud. He reached to carry her.

  “I’m really sorry about this, but I think it will be the only way,” Morgan told him, the wind ruffling her hair. Placing her hands under his knees, she lifted him up with a burst that took them to the top of the building.

  Bernadette turned to a white-faced Alastair. “She can fly!” she said triumphantly.

  Alastair closed his eyes with relief. “Wes?”

  “Safe. They’ll be here in a minute. So will your team. They’ve surrounded the building.” They both looked at Scarlett’s crumbled form. “All I ever wanted was you,” she told him simply.

  Alastair looked at her ravaged beauty, shaking his head. “No, you didn’t. You wanted to control me. When you couldn’t, you went after the rest of the male population.”

  “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

  The door to the helipad opened, disgorging a team of agents. They surrounded the prone body of the blond witch, placing tape over her mouth, tying her hands with chain, and finally covering her face with burlap.

  Harris and another agent approached Bernadette.

  Alastair smiled when he recognized him. “Harris.”

  “Alastair.” He nodded. “Where’s Wes?”

  “On the way up, I’ve been informed.”

  Harris held out a burlap bag. Alastair faced the other way. He heard the tape rip. Bernadette held up her hand.

  “Alastair?” He turned around to face her. “You’ll take care of her?”

  “You have to ask?” Alastair responded softly.

  Harris interrupted, “Hornik, book her.”

  The agent placed the tape over her mouth, then covered her ruined face with a burlap bag.

  The rooftop emptied, save for Alastair and Harris, who waited patiently.

  They heard Wes’s voice. “Have they left?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Close your eyes,” Wes demanded.

  Alastair let his lids drop for a second, then opened them, a bark of laughter escaping his lips.

  His petite daughter gently hovered above them, her apparent boyfriend in her arms.

  “You weren’t supposed to look until we landed,” Wes said hotly. His face flushed red when he saw his father as well.

  “Nice flying.” Alastair held out his hand to her, his eyes warm. “Alastair Verne.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She smiled, then looked at Harris.

  “Harris Rockville.” He nodded curtly. “We sort of met earlier.”

  “I’m the real Morgan.” She looked at her father, finishing the sentence. “Morgan Verne.”

  Alastair took her arm, resting it in the crook of his own. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  She looked at him sideways, responding, “Indeed.”

  Harris left them to wrap his arm around his son’s shoulder. “Nice work, son. Excellent fieldwork. I’m…impressed. How did you know that creature wasn’t the real Morgan?”

  “From my gut, sir.”

  Harris gave him a sideways hug, fished in his pocket, and slapped something cold into Wes’s hand. “I expect to see you back in my office on Monday.”

  Wes looked down at the badge in his hand. It was his old one, barely used, but the one he coveted, or so he thought. He glanced up. The moon was three quarters waning, a week or two away from that new moon when he’d promised to return to his old job. He held out the shield to his father, shaking his head. “Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it. I think I’m going to stay where I am.”

  “I thought it would make you happy.”

  “I’ve learned that nothing can make you happy but yourself.” He looked at Alastair. “I think I have a lot to learn here, and that makes me happy.”

  Harris grinned. “I’ll tell you a secret, son. If I could change and go back, I would too. Nothing more exciting than wrestling with witches.”

  “Or flying.”

  “I know. Mom’s a great flyer,” Harris said with a fond chuckle, then walked briskly away.

  Wes’s eyes widened. “What. Dad. What did y
ou say about Mom?” All he heard was the echoes of his father’s laughter.

  * * *

  The street level was a mess of police and official cars. Alastair was parked on the corner. Morgan was in the backseat. Wes ran up, jumping in. “How’d you know to wait for me?” he asked.

  Alastair smiled when he looked at him. “You’re my partner,” he said simply as if that explained it all. “We have to swing by Red Hook to pick up Junie.”

  “Junie, right. What happened with the ships? Did the coast guard reach them in time?”

  “Do you remember the stew she cooked?”

  “I have some still glowing in my kitchen.”

  “Well, apparently Junie stocked the galley with ample supplies of it. Let me tell you what happened.”

  * * *

  It was two and a half miles off the coast of New York, late last night. Five cargo ships, their surfaces covered with stacked corrugated metal containers, bobbed gently in the Atlantic Ocean. Music blared, and someone had decorated four levels of containers with multicolored Christmas lights. Ten Coast Guard cutters surrounded the group of transports. A captain stood on the bow of the largest cutter, a bullhorn at his mouth.

  “This is Luke Carter with the US Coast Guard. Who is in charge of these ships? We demand you turn around and follow us back to the Brooklyn Port.”

  Laughter erupted from the ship nearest the Coast Guard cutter. “Yo, papi chulo!” a slurred voice called. “You wanna join the party? Why don’t you and all the boys come up and have some fun!” A conga line appeared from the cargo hold. A long line of inebriated sailors danced and waved to the cutters, each holding a plastic cup with a phosphorous green liquid sloshing around.

  “What is that, sir?” an ensign asked Captain Carter.

  “I don’t know. Whatever it is, it delayed these ships long enough for us to catch them before they entered international waters.”

  “Should we bring ’em in?”

  Carter shrugged. “Looks like we’re going to have to. Doesn’t look like there’s a sober sailor on any of them. Prepare to board,” he called out.

  * * *