Dead Witch Walking (32 page)

“That him?” Edden said, his voice cold.

I nodded. Jenks walked down my arm and stood on the sill of the window. His wings were a blur as he used them for balance. “Yeah,” the pixy snarled. “That’s the pancake.”

Glancing up, I realized I was almost in Nick’s lap. Embarrassed, I put myself where I belonged. The aspirin was starting to wear off, and though my remaining amulet would be good for days, the pain was starting to break through with an unsettling frequency. But it was the fatigue I was really worried about. My heart was hammering as if I had just finished a race. I didn’t think it was just from the excitement.

Francis kicked his car door shut and tottered into motion. He was the picture of self-importance as he strutted into the depot in his loud shirt with the turned-up collar. I smirked as he smiled at a woman coming out and got a quick brush-off. But on remembering his fear while sitting in Trent’s office, my contempt took on a shade of pity for the insecure man.

“Okay, boys and girls,” Edden said, pulling my attention back. “Clayton, stay here. Send Briston in when she arrives. I don’t want anyone out of plainclothes in sight of the windows.” He watched Francis go through the double doors. “Have Rose move everyone in from the airport. Looks like the witch, er, Ms. Morgan was right.”

“Yes sir.” Clayton reluctantly reached for the car phone.

Doors started to open. It was obvious we weren’t your typical group of bus patrons, but Francis was probably too stupid to notice. Edden stuffed his yellow FIB hat into a back pocket. Nick was a thin nobody; he looked like he belonged. But my bruises and sling drew more attention than if I had a bell and a card that said, “Will work for spells.”

“Captain Edden?” I said as he slipped out and stood waiting. “Give me a minute.”

Edden and Nick looked wonderingly back at me as I rummaged in my bag. “Rachel,” Jenks said from Nick’s shoulder. “You’ve got to be kidding. Ten makeup charms couldn’t make you look better right now.”

“Go Turn yourself,” I muttered. “Francis will recognize me. I need an amulet.”

Edden watched with interest. Feeling the press of adrenaline, I awkwardly rummaged with my good hand in my bag for an aging spell. Finally I dumped the bag onto the seat, grabbed the right charm and invoked it. As I set it around my neck, Edden made a sound of disbelief and admiration. His acceptance—no, approval—was gratifying. That he had taken my pain amulet earlier had a lot to do with me agreeing to owing him a favor or two. Whenever a human showed any appreciation for my skills, I got all warm and fuzzy.
Sucker.

Jamming everything away in my bag, I creakily eased myself out of the van.

“Ready?” Jenks said sarcastically. “Sure you don’t want to brush your hair?”

“Shove it, Jenks,” I said as Nick offered me a hand. “I can get down by myself,” I added.

Jenks made the jump from Nick to me, settling on my shoulder. “You look like an old woman,” the pixy said. “Act like it.”

“She is.” Edden grabbed my shoulder to keep me from falling as my vamp boots hit the pavement. “She reminds me of my mother.” His eyes scrunched as he made a face and waved his hand before his nose. “She even smells like her.”

“Shut up, all of you,” I said, hesitating as my deep breath made me light-headed. The jarring pain from my landing had gone straight up my spine and into my skull, settling itself for a long stay. Refusing to let my fatigue get a foothold, I jerked away from Edden and hobbled to the doors. The two men followed, three paces behind. I felt like a slob in my fat jeans and that awful plaid shirt. Carrying the illusion of being old didn’t help, either. I tugged at the door, unable to open it. “Someone open this door for me!” I exclaimed, and Jenks laughed.

Nick took my arm as Edden opened the door and a gust of overheated air billowed into us. “Here,” Nick said. “Lean on me. You look more like an old lady that way.”

The pain I could deal with. It was the fatigue that overwhelmed my pride and forced me to accept Nick’s offered arm. It was either that or crawl into the bus station.

I shuffled in, a stir of excitement quickening my pulse as I scanned the long front counter for Francis. “There he is,” I whispered.

Almost hidden behind a fake tree, Francis was talking to a young woman in a city uniform. The Percy charm was having its usual effect, and she looked annoyed. Three boxes were on the counter beside him. My continued existence was in those boxes.

Nick pulled gently on my good elbow. “Let’s sit you down over here, Mother,” he said.

“Call me that again and I’ll take care of your family planning for you,” I threatened.

“Mother,” Jenks said, his wings fanning my neck in fitful spurts.

“Enough,” Edden said softly, a new hardness in his voice. His eyes never left Francis. “All three of you are going to sit over there and wait. No one moves unless Percy tries to leave. I’m going to make sure those boxes don’t get on a bus.” His gaze still on Francis, he touched the weapon hidden behind his jacket and casually made his way to the counter. Edden beamed at a second clerk before he even got close.

Sit and wait? Yeah, I could do that.

I gave in to Nick’s gentle pull and moved toward the bank of chairs. They were orange, same as at the FIB, and looked equally comfortable. Nick helped me ease down into one, taking the chair next to mine. He stretched out and pretended to nap, his eyes cracked to watch Francis. I sat stiffly with my bag on my lap, clutching it as I had seen old ladies do. Now I knew why. I hurt all over, and I felt like I would fall apart if I relaxed.

A kid shrieked, and I took a quick breath. My eyes drifted from Francis, busy making an ass of himself, to the other patrons. There was a tired mom with three kids—one still in diapers—arguing with a clerk over the interpretation of a coupon. A handful of businessmen absorbed in their business, striding importantly, as if this was only a bad dream and not the reality of their existence. Young lovers pressed dangerously close, probably fleeing parents. Vagrants. A tattered old man caught my eye and winked.

I started. This wasn’t safe. The I.S. could be anywhere, ready to tag me.

“Relax, Rache,” Jenks whispered as if reading my mind. “The I.S. isn’t going to nack you with the captain of the FIB in the same room.”

“How can you be so sure?” I said.

I felt the wind on my neck as he fanned his useless wings. “I’m not.”

Nick opened his eyes and sat up. “How are you doing?” he asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” Jenks said. “Thanks for asking. Did you know some lunker at the FIB snapped my freaking wing off? My wife is gonna kill me.”

I managed a smile. “Hungry,” I answered Nick. “Exhausted.”

Nick glanced at me before returning his gaze to Francis. “You want something to eat?” He jingled the coins in his pocket, left over from the cab fare to the FIB. “You have enough for something out of the machine there.”

I let a faint smile come over me. It was nice to have someone worried about me. “Sure. Thanks. Something with chocolate?”

“Chocolate,” Nick affirmed, standing up. He glanced from the vending machines across the room to Francis. The snot was leaning halfway across the counter, probably trying to get her phone number. I watched Nick walk away. For someone so thin, he certainly moved with grace. I wondered what he had done to have gotten hauled into the FIB.

“Something with chocolate,” Jenks drawled in a high falsetto. “Ohhhh, Nick. You’re my hero!”

“Get stuffed,” I said, more out of habit than anything else.

“Ya know something, Rache,” Jenks said as he settled himself further on my shoulder. “You’re going to make one really weird grandma.”

I was too tired to come back with anything. I took a deep breath, making it slow so nothing would hurt. My eyes flicked from Francis and back to Nick, anticipation making my stomach feel tight. “Jenks,” I said, watching Nick’s tall shape as he stood before the candy machine, his head bowed over the change in his hand. “What do you think about Nick?”

The pixy snorted, then seeing I was serious, settled down. “He’s okay,” he said. “Won’t do anything to hurt you. He’s got this hero complex thing going, and you seem to need rescuing. You should have seen his face when you were flat out on Ivy’s couch. I thought he was going to turn up his toes to the daisies. Just don’t expect him to have your ideas of right or wrong.”

My eyebrows pinched, hurting my face. “Black magic?” I whispered. “Oh God, Jenks. Don’t tell me he’s a practitioner?”

Jenks laughed, sounding like wind chimes. “No. I meant he doesn’t have a problem stealing library books.”

“Oh.” I thought back to his unease in the FIB office and then in the van. Was that all it was? Somehow, I didn’t think so. But pixies were known for their judge of character, no matter how flighty, flaky, or mouthy they were. I wondered if Jenks’s opinion would change if he knew about my demon mark. I was afraid to ask. Hell, I was too afraid to show it to him.

I looked up as Francis laughed, writing something down on a paper and pushing it toward the ticket lady. He wiped a hand under his narrow nose and gave her a ratty grin. “Good girl,” I whispered when she crumpled it up and tossed it over her shoulder as Francis headed for the door.

My heart seemed to catch. He was headed for the door!
Damn.

I glanced up for help. Nick was struggling with the machine, his back to me. Edden was deep in conversation with an official-looking man in a bus uniform. The captain’s face was red, and his eyes were fixed to the boxes behind the counter. “Jenks,” I said tersely. “Get Edden.”

“What? You want me to crawl over there, maybe?”

Francis was halfway to the door. I didn’t trust Clayton outside to be able to stop a dog from taking a leak. I stood, praying that Edden would turn around. He didn’t. “Get him,” I muttered, ignoring Jenks’s outrage as I plucked him from my shoulder and set him on the floor.

“Rachel!” Jenks shouted as I hobbled as fast as I could, trying to get between Francis and the door. I was too slow, and Francis cut ahead of me.

“Excuse me, young man?” I warbled, my pulse racing as I reached out for him. “Would you tell me where the baggage area is?”

Francis spun on a quick heel. I struggled not to show my alarm that he might recognize me and my hatred for what he had done. “This is the bus depot, lady,” he said, his thin lips twisted in annoyance. “There is no baggage area. Your stuff is on the curb outside.”

“What’s that?” I said loudly, mentally cursing Edden.
Where the hell was he?
I grabbed Francis arm in a tight grip, and he looked down at my spell-wrinkled hand.

“It’s outside!” he shouted, trying to tug away, reeling as my perfume hit him.

But I wouldn’t let go. From the corner of my sight I saw Nick beside the candy machine, staring blankly at my empty seat. His gaze rove over the people, finally catching mine. His eyes widened. He darted to Edden.

Francis had tucked his papers under his arm and was using his other hand to try and pry my fingers from him. “Lemme go, lady,” he said. “There’s no baggage claim.”

My fingers cramped, and he jerked away. Panicking, I watched him tug his shirt straight. “Freaky old bat,” he said with a huff. “What do you old hags do, swim in your perfume?” Then his mouth dropped open. “Morgan,” he hissed, recognizing me. “He told me you were dead.”

“I am,” I said, my knees threatening to buckle. I was up on adrenaline alone.

His stupid grin told me he had no idea what was going on. “You’re coming with me. Denon will give me a promotion when he sees you.”

I shook my head. I had to do this by the book or Edden would be ticked. “Francis Percy, under the authority of the FIB, I am charging you with conspiring to willfully run biodrugs.”

His grin vanished as his face went white under his ugly stubble. His gaze darted over my shoulder to the counter. “Shit,” he swore, turning to run.

“Stop!” Edden cried out, too far back to be any good.

I lunged at Francis, grabbing the back of his knees. We went down in a painful thump. Francis squirmed, kicking me in the chest as he tried to get away. I gasped, hurting.

A whoosh of air streaked over us where my head had been. I jerked my attention up. Stars crossed my vision as Francis struggled to escape.

No,
I thought as a blue ball of flame smashed into the far wall and exploded.
Those stars were real.

The ground shook at the force of the blast. Women and children screamed, falling back to press against the walls. “What was that?” Francis stammered. He twisted under me, and for a heartbeat we watched, mesmerized, as the flickering blue flame plastered itself in a sunburst across the ugly yellow wall until it folded back in on itself and vanished with a pop.

Frightened for the first time, I turned to look behind me. Standing confidently by the hallway to the back offices was a short tidy man dressed in black, a red ball of ever-after in his hand. A wisp of a woman dressed the same blocked the main doors, her hand on her hip and her white teeth grinning. The third was a muscular man the size of a VW bug by the ticket counter.

It looked like the witch conference at the coast was over.

Swell.

F
rancis’s breath came in a gulp of understanding. “Let me go!” he shrieked, fear making his voice high and ugly. “Rachel, let me go! They’re going to kill you!”

I dug my fingers into him as he struggled. Jaw gritted, I grunted in pain as his effort to flee pulled my stitches out. Blood flowed, and I fumbled in my bag for an amulet, watching from the corner of my sight as the short man’s lips moved and the ball in his hand turned from ever-after red to blue.
Damn.
He was invoking his charm.

“I don’t have time for this!” I muttered, angry as I lay half atop Francis, trying to tag him.

People were running now. They scattered into hallways and unhindered past the woman and into the parking lot. When witches dueled, only the quick survived. My breath hissed in through my nose as the man’s lips stopped moving. Pulling his arm back, he threw the spell.

Gasping, I yanked Francis up and before me.

“No!” he shrieked, his mouth and eyes ugly in fear at the incoming charm.

The force of it slid us across the floor and to the chairs. His elbow jammed into my bruised arm and I grunted in pain. Francis’s scream cut off in a frightening gurgle.

My shoulder turned to agony as I frantically pushed him off me. He sagged to the floor, senseless. Scooting backward, I stared. A pulsing blue sheet filmed him. A thin smear of it was on my sleeve. My skin crawled as the haze of blue ever-after reality slid from my sleeve to join that coating Francis. He was convulsing, covered in it. Then he went still.

Breath fast, I looked up. All three assassins were speaking Latin in tandem, their hands making unseen figures in the air. Their motions were graceful and deliberate, looking obscene.

“Rache!” Jenks shrilled from three chairs away. “They’re making a net. Get out! You gotta get out!”

Get out?
I thought, looking at Francis. The blue had vanished, leaving his arms and legs sprawled in unnatural angles on the floor. Horror flashed through me. I had made Francis take my hit. It had been an accident. I hadn’t meant to kill him.

My stomach clenched, and I thought I might vomit. I pushed my fear aside, using my anger to get to my knees. I grasped for an orange chair, pulling on it to lever myself upright. They had made me make Francis take my hit.
Oh God. He was dead because of me.

“Why did you make me do that?” I said softly, turning to the short man. I took a step forward as the air started to tingle. I couldn’t say that what I’d done was wrong—I was alive—but I hadn’t wanted to do that. “Why did you make me do that?” I said louder, anger swelling as the sensation of pinpricks broke over me like a wave. It was the beginnings of the net. I didn’t care. I scooped up my bag as I passed it, kicking my uninvoked amulet out of the way.

The ley line witch’s eyes grew wide in surprise as I came at him. Face going determined, he started chanting louder. I could hear the other two whispering like an ash-laden wind. It was easy to move in the center of the net, but the closer I got to the edge, the harder it became. We stood in a blue-tinted bowl of air. Past it, Edden and Nick struggled, trying to push their way in.

“You made me do that!” I shouted.

My hair lifted and fell in a breath of ever-after as their net went solid. Jaw clenched, I spared a glance beyond the haze of blue, seeing the muscle-bound mountain of a man outside it, keeping it in place even as he threw ley line spells at the hopelessly outclassed FIB officers who had swarmed in. I didn’t care. Two of them in here with me. They weren’t going anywhere.

I was angry and frustrated. I was tired of hiding in a church, tired of ducking splat balls, tired of dunking my mail in saltwater, and tired of being scared. And because of me, Francis was lying on the dirty cold floor of a cruddy bus depot. Worm that he was, he hadn’t deserved that.

I swung my bag forward as I limped toward the short man. I reached unseeing, feeling the notches of the amulets for a sleep charm. Mad as hell, I wiped it across my neck, letting it go to dangle from the cord. His lips started moving, and those long hands of his began sketching patterns. If it was a nasty spell, I had four seconds. Five, if it was strong enough to kill me.

“Nobody!” I exclaimed, staggering forward by will alone. His eyes widened as he saw my demon scar as I made a fist. “Nobody makes me kill anyone!” I shouted, swinging.

We both staggered as I connected with his jaw. Shaking my hand from the pain, I hunched into myself. The man stumbled back, catching himself. The gathering of power abruptly lessened. Furious, I gritted my teeth and swung again. He hadn’t expected a physical attack—not many ley line witches did—and he raised his arm to block me. Grabbing his fingers, I gave them a backward twist, breaking at least three.

His scream of pain was echoed by the woman’s cry of dismay from across the lobby. She started forward at a run. Still gripping his hand, I swung my foot up, yanking him forward to smack into it. His eyes bulged. Clutching his stomach, he fell back. His watering gaze tracked someone behind me. Still not breathing, he dropped and rolled to the right.

Gasping, I hit the ground and rolled to the left. There was a boom, and my hair blew back. I pulled my head up from the floor as the ball of green ever-after spread itself on the wall and down the hallway. I turned. The wisp of a woman was still coming, her face tight and her mouth going nonstop. A red ball of ever-after in her hand swelled, streaked with her own green aura as she tried to bend it to her will.

“You want a piece of me?” I shouted from the floor. “Do ya?” Staggering, I rose to put a hand to the wall to stay upright.

The man behind me said a word. I couldn’t hear it. It was too alien for my mind to understand. It rolled into my head, and I struggled to make sense of it. Then my eyes opened wide and my mouth dropped in a silent scream as it exploded inside me.

Clutching my head, I fell to my knees, screaming. “No!” I shrieked, clawing at my scalp. “No! Get out!” Black-crusted red slashes. Squirming maggots. The sour taste of decayed flesh.

The memory of it burnt itself out from my subconscious. I looked up, panting. I was spent. There was nothing left. My heart pounded against my lungs. Black spots danced at the edges of my sight. My skin felt tingly, as if it wasn’t mine.
What the hell had that been?

The man and the woman stood together, her hand under his elbow as she supported him hunched over his broken hand. Their faces were angry, confident—and satisfied. He couldn’t use his hand, but clearly he didn’t need it to kill me. All he had to do was say that word again.

I was dead. The more-than-usual kind of dead. But I would take one of them with me.

“Now!” I heard Edden shout faintly as if through a fog.

All three of us started as the net went down. The shadow of blue hazing in the air fell into itself and vanished. That big witch outside the net was on the floor with his hands laced behind his head. Six FIB officers ringed him. Hope twanged through me, almost painful.

A darting shape drew my eye. Nick. “Here!” I shouted, grasping the cord of the invoked sleep charm from the floor where I had dropped it and winging it to him.

The assassin turned, but it was too late. White-faced, Nick dropped the loop over the head of the woman and backpedaled. She crumpled. The man fumbled for her, easing her to the floor. Mouth agape in surprise, he darted his glance over the room.

“This is the FIB!” Edden shouted, looking awkward in his sling and with his weapon held in his left hand. “Put your hands behind your head and stop moving your mouth or I’ll blow it the hell off!”

The man blinked, shocked. He glanced at the woman at his feet. Taking a breath, he ran.

“No!” I cried. Still on the floor, I dumped my bag. I grabbed an amulet, smacked it against my bleeding neck, and threw it at his feet. Half the charms in my bag were tangled in it. Like a bola, it flew through the air at knee height. It hit him, wrapping around his leg like he was a cow. Tripping, he went down.

FIB personnel swarmed over him. Breath held, I watched, waiting. He stayed down. My charm had dropped him into a sweet, helpless sleep.

The noise of the FIB personnel beat at me. With a single-minded purpose, I crawled to Francis lying alone by the chairs. Fearing the worst, I rolled him over. His sightless eyes stared up at the ceiling. My face went slack.
God, no.

But then his chest moved, and a stupid-ass smile quirked his thin lips as they shifted in whatever dream he was in. He was alive and breathing, deep under a ley line spell. Relief poured through me. I hadn’t killed him.

“Tag!” I screamed into his unconscious, narrow, ratty face. “Do you hear me you sodden sack of camel dung? Tag! You’re it!”
I hadn’t killed him.

Edden’s scuffed brown shoes scraped to a halt beside me. My face went tight, and I wiped a blood-smeared hand under my eye.
I hadn’t killed Francis.
Squinting, I ran my gaze up Edden’s creased khakis and his blue arm sling. His hat was on, and I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off the blue letters spelling out
FIB
glowing against the yellow background. A satisfied harrumph came out of him, and his wide grin made him look even more like a troll. Numb, I blinked as my lungs pressed against each other. It seemed to take an awful amount of effort to fill them.

“Morgan,” the man said happily, extending a thick hand to help me up. “You okay?”

“No,” I croaked. I reached for him, but the floor tilted. As Nick gasped a warning, I passed out.