Witch Hunter Olivia (2 page)

The pain is worth it to save a life
, I keep telling myself.

“Shit,” Tara fumes, causing me to jerk my head up to look over my shoulder at her. She’s standing there analyzing two bolts lodged into her chest while shaking her head. “This is an Ann Taylor dress. Do you know how much an Ann Taylor dress costs?” She looks as if she wants to rip someone limb from limb.

“Will you quit showing off and get down? You may be a zombie, but you only get one body,” I reprimand.

“You know I hate the Z-word,” she complains while ripping out each bolt, one by one, before tossing them to the ground. “I prefer the terms ‘living impaired’ or ‘husk,’ thank you very much.”

“Sorry, but now’s not the time to be arguing about what you’d prefer to be called,” I mutter, letting go of Angelica when I can’t take the pain any longer. “Now, would you please get your living impaired ass down here and out of sight before your body ends up holier than the Pope?”

Without another word, Tara drops to her hands and knees and scrambles over to join us. There’s a cease in fire for a moment. The living room has emptied out, and we’re the last three in here as I look around. It actually sounds like we’re the last three in the entire house.

“What now?” Tara asks.

“I want you to take Angelica and get to the car. Warm it up for me, I’ll be there in a sec,” I say, tossing her the keys. She catches them and then sends me a worried look.

“But—”

“No buts, just go. You’ve died on my watch once already, and I don’t feel like having a repeat of that event, okay? I need to keep frosty, and this could prove to be a good workout for me anyway.”

Tara nods and then takes hold of Angelica’s arm before pulling her up into a crouched position. “Please don’t get too carried away with the ass kicking, all right?”

“I can’t make any promises. Now go!” I shout before somersaulting to take cover in front of the couch. Thankfully, I made the sensible decision to wear flats instead of heels to this shindig. Summersaulting in heels would’ve been a nightmare and a half.

I watch the pair scurry off as another small volley of bolts pelt the furniture in the living room. The recliner across from me is starting to resemble a pincushion with all the bolts stuck into it.

The sound of more windows shattering behind me sends me jumping to my feet and barreling forward as shards of glass shower down around me. I clear the dark wood coffee table with a single bound (in a skirt!) and tumble over the recliner to hide behind it, putting my back to the set of large windows again.

Peeking around the arm of the chair, I see three figures standing there amongst the wreckage that is now the living room. Dark smoke drips from their fingertips, and their intense, glowing violet eyes shimmer like jewels from underneath the hoods of their black cloaks.

Maulers … Why does it have to be Maulers?

These guys are the workhorses for a Witch Hunter. They’re nimble and super-fast zombie types that do all the heavy lifting in combat so a Hunter can gain the upper hand in a fight. Born of dark magic—one of three spells the Elders “borrowed” from witches—Maulers are only as strong as the person who controls them. This Hunter must be a beast, because the max number of Maulers any single Hunter has been able to command at one time is four. To put it in perspective, I could only command two at a time on a good day, and one of them was practically useless and really only played the part of a glorified punching bag.

I can hear their snarls echo throughout the room as I try and steady my breathing. They don’t seem to be moving though. They must be waiting for something.

All right, I may be a bit rusty at this, but here goes nothing.

I draw in one last calming breath as I mull over the fact that I could change my mind and run away like the rest of the partygoers. Shaking my head, I jump to my feet and spin around to face the three with my hand instinctively grabbing for one of the bolts protruding from the recliner. A gasp parts my lips when I’m met with the very last visual I was expecting. A fourth figure is now standing amongst the three Maulers, holding a Guild-certified automatic crossbow pointed in my direction.

“Malcolm?” The name escapes my mouth before I have a chance to swallow it.

A confused look crosses my older brother’s face. “Sorry, but do I know you?” he asks.

I can honestly say it’s the weirdest and most heartbreaking feeling in the world to be standing no more than twenty feet from your own brother, and have him not recognize you. At least I know the masking spell I had done is working. It was the only thing I could think of that would allow for me to truly hide from those who knew me before I left the Guild.

I notice the Maulers are all in their attack stances. They’re ready to get this party started, but my brother holds up his right hand and clenches it into a fist, causing them to relax.

“How do you know my name?” His voice is deep and rough.

“Would you believe me if I told you it was a lucky guess?”

“No, not really,” he responds dryly. “Who are you?”

“No one important, trust me.” I begin to inch my way toward the closest exit I can see that isn’t currently blocked—through the kitchen.

Malcolm stalks after me, never taking his eyes off me while analyzing my every move like any good Hunter is trained to do. I know he’s trying to pinpoint where he’s seen me.

“You’re not a witch, so I have no business with you. But I can’t get over the feeling that you seem familiar,” he says, lowering the crossbow to his side. He caresses his chin like some kind of Bond villain as a pensive look overtakes his face. I always hated when he did that before a fight, especially when we trained together. It made him look ridiculous, but he was bound and determined to make it his signature thing.

“Well, I guess I better head out then,” I say. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full here.”

His face goes from a focused look to one of surprise in a split second. His jaw clenches and his eyes narrow. An odd sensation ripples through my cheeks and then it feels like a mask is removed from my face. Oh shit, this can’t be good. I think the magic just wore off.

“Olivia?” His voice is laced with a hint of anger.

I immediately throw my hands up in front of my face to shield my identity before ducking into the kitchen. I hear him order his lackeys to bring me back, which only makes me pump my legs harder toward the back door.

The moment I reach for the door’s handle, one of the Maulers slides in front of me, blocking my way. I jump back into a defensive stance and watch as a sinister grin curls the edges of its lips. It swipes at me in a flurry of punches and I duck, dodge, and weave my way through every attack.

I bump into something solid while trying to put some space between us, and realize it’s the island in the middle of the kitchen. Propping myself up onto the counter with my palms, I launch my body into the air and forcefully plant both feet into the Mauler’s chest when it lunges for me, causing it to stagger backward. It quickly recovers and reaches out for me again. Using its own momentum against it, I shove down the Mauler’s outstretched arms, sending it into a nosedive before rolling over its back. The instant I hit the ground on the other side of it, I deliver a forceful kick to its back, making it crash face-first into the island.

Another Mauler enters the kitchen, and I back away to my only exit and grab for the handle. Throwing my shoulder into the door, I send it flying open and haul ass outside, heading for the front of the house. A loud crash sounds next to me, and I see one of the Maulers smash through the dining room window to my left. The whole scene plays out in slow motion as I watch it barely miss me. I speed up, not giving in to the temptation to look back and see it hit the ground.

Planting one foot onto the trim near the bottom of the wooden perimeter fence, I grab the top of it with both hands and propel my body into a handstand before tumbling over to the other side. In midair, I cringe when there’s a ripping sound, like fabric tearing, and assume it must be the skirt. Tara’s going to kill me. When I land, I take off toward the only car left parked on the street in front of the house. I’ve never been this happy to see Scarlet, my “gently used” soft-top red Impala, in my whole life.

I can feel the Maulers nipping at my heels as I continue to push forward to the car. The engine’s running and I see Tara waiting for me in the passenger seat with an anxious look on her face.

“Hurry, Livie. They’re right behind you,” she calls out.

“Thanks, I kind of guessed that,” I shout back, slightly out of breath. Damn, I’m already out of shape and it’s only been a few months without training.

Reaching the car door, I don’t even bother opening it. Instead, I treat it like I’m in vault gymnastics and leap over it since the soft-top is down. Landing in the driver’s seat, I pull the seatbelt across my chest and buckle in before grabbing the gear shifter.

“Hang on,” I say, throwing it into first and peeling off down the street. I watch in the rearview mirror as the Maulers, all standing there with their glowing purple eyes, glare us down.

Tara releases a deep sigh. “Holy shit, that was close.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me. Hey, where’s Angelica?”

“She took off when I went to unlock the car. I turned around to yell for her to get in, but she wasn’t there. It was like poof, she was gone,” Tara explains.

I shift gears and press harder on the gas pedal before glancing over to her. “Well, she is a witch,” I say wryly. “She must be something special if my brother was after her. And talk about some serious menstrual trauma when she touched my hand. Probably the worst I’ve ever felt. Usually they just go away after a second or two, but not with her.”

“Wait—back up. Your brother was the Hunter who crashed the party?”

I look back over at Tara in time to catch her surprised expression. “Yeah, shocked the hell out of me too. And he was able to control three Maulers at once. I guess big bro has grown even more since I left,” I muse.

“Holy shit. Three at once?”

“Yeah, but I think one of them might’ve been for show, because only two chased after me.”

“Did he recognize you?”

“Yeah. The damn spell Heath cast on me wore off. I bet it weakened when I said Malcom’s name out loud, and then got worse when I kept talking to him. Heath did warn me about that.” I groan. “I can almost hear his smug voice in my head saying ‘I told you not to acknowledge any part of your former life.’”

“Is that where we’re headed now? To get the spell touched up?”

I sigh. “Unfortunately, yes.”

She laughs. “Oh please. Don’t act like you don’t have a thing for Mr. Tall, Dark, and Tattooed. You’ve been looking for the perfect excuse to go see him, and now you have one. You can’t fool me, Livie. I may be deadish, but I’m not stupid.”

“As if, Tara. Just because you make out with a guy once doesn’t mean you’re into him. Heath is fun to kiss and mess around with, but that’s it.”

“Uh-huh,” she replies, sounding not convinced in the slightest. “You don’t wear delusion very well, my friend, just so you’re aware.”

Pulling up to a red light, I downshift, coming to a dead stop, and turn my full attention to her. “If you don’t quit it with this whole ‘I’ve got a thing for Heath’ crap, you’re staying in the car when we get there, got it?” The light turns green and I press on the gas before shifting into a higher gear.

“I was planning on staying in the car anyway. Who knows what you two will end up doing while you’re in there. It is after hours, and I, for one, don’t need to be seeing any of that.”

I reach over and give her a little love tap on the arm. “Seriously? There’s nothing, and I do mean
nothing
, going on between us. I’ve only seen him, like, once since … well, you know.”

“Since he brought me back from the dead?” she pipes up.

“Yeah.”

“You can talk about it, Livie. I’m a big girl. I can handle it,” she explains. “I’ve already had my holy-shit-I-died-and-came-back-to-life-because-of-magic freak-out moment, so we’re cool.”

Actually, no, I really can’t talk about it. If Tara knew what happened when she died, she’d probably never forgive me—or any Witch Hunter for that matter—ever again. She’s the reason I turned my back on the Guild, and not a day goes by that I don’t blame myself for what happened to her.

“I know. I just really don’t want to discuss this right now.”

“Fair enough,” she sighs. “Do you want me to check your tattoo? Heath did say it’d lose color when the spell faded away, right?”

I nod, thankful for the change in subject, and lean toward her a bit, rotating my shoulder forward so she can roll up the sleeve of my blouse easier. “So how does it look?”

“Pretty much as expected … colorless,” she replies bluntly.

Relaxing back into my seat, I say, “Well, then it’s a good thing we’re headed to the one person who can fix that.”

Waiting at another stoplight, I can see Heath’s tattoo parlor, Dark Ink, across the street. All the memories from the night I drove Tara’s lifeless body to this place begin flooding my head. Of all the people to recommend that I take Tara here to save her life, the last one I would’ve expected was my mother. She knew only light magic could bring Tara back without all the decaying and evil side effects that dark magic would’ve brought along with it. Dark magic would’ve just made her look like a Mauler. My mother had told me to speak with a man named Gerard, but he wasn’t there, so I had the pleasure of dealing with his son, Heath.

As I pull into the parking lot in front of the parlor, I notice Tara fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, just, you know, memories.” Her eyes never leave the Dark Ink neon sign in the store’s front window next to the open sign that is currently turned off.

“I know exactly what you mean,” I say while putting the car in park. “You still gonna stay out here?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Tara seems to snap out of her glum mood. “Besides, like I said earlier, I don’t want to be around when you and He-Who-You’re-Not-Really Interested-In get physical.” She chuckles, but it’s off.

“I won’t be too long, okay?” I say, knowing it must bother her to be here.

“Take your time. It’s not like I sleep these days.”

I smile at her zombie humor before opening the car door and stepping out. While approaching the entrance to the parlor, I think about what I’m going to say to Heath and how I’m going to explain my lack of contact with him as of late. He seems like the player type since he was so quick to hook up with me. He’ll probably believe any line I toss his way, but there’s a slight chance he might be one of those bad boys with a heart of gold. If that’s the case, then this conversation has the potential of getting all kinds of awkward.