Chapter Twenty-Two
The moon was nearly full, and Carl was nearly out of time. The marked one’s signature—and his odds of finding her—would only get weaker as the moon’s power waned. His locator spell only had a few days of juice left in it, and soon he would be so sick it wouldn’t matter anymore.
His locator spell had gotten several pings, since it targeted any marked witch. But they’d all turned out to be discarded shells living on the streets. He’d drained a few, but the energy left in them had been nominal and ultimately probably a waste of his time.
Just when he’d almost lost hope and was seriously contemplating blowing his brains out in his dingy motel room, the spell had pinged again. Using a map, he’d scried for his mark and pinpointed a spot somewhere near Willow Creek, which sat at the fork of two forest service roads in the Trinity River valley. He’d taken his last vitality spell and gone as far as he could on each road until he’d hit strong Zyne aversion wards.
Not only had he found a marked witch—hopefully the one the Grandmaster wanted—he’d uncovered a Synod fortress. The possible rewards were enough to make him forget the ache in his gut and the yellow spots on his pale, flaky skin. But as long as the witch was behind those walls, she was unreachable.
He could not go back to the Grandmaster empty-handed; his best bet was to wait for an unsuspecting witch and capture them. Perhaps with a firm location on the marked one, another fresh witch to be added to the collection, and the location of a Synod fortress, the Grandmaster would grant him leniency.
So he’d found a spot off the fork where both roads met and began his stakeout. A day passed. Then a night. A storm moved through. He sat there, trying to ignore the stench of his own rotting flesh and the fire in his gut.
By the second day, he was retching every twenty minutes. Usually only dry heaves, but with an occasional clot of black blood as the vitality magic began to wear off and the elixir resumed eating his body from the inside out. He could do nothing but sit in his car and watch the rain slick down the windshield. The cold made his joints ache, though he felt feverish, and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
He’d brought a bottle of Jack but couldn’t keep it down long enough to feel anything. What he wouldn’t give for a needle…sweet abyss.
You’ll be useless soon. You should put yourself out of your misery while you can.
This night, the storm had finally let up to reveal a clear, dark sky and a bloated moon. What if he just withered and died here while waiting to hit pay dirt?
No less than you deserve.
But if there was one thing he’d learned about himself over the years, it was that he wanted to live.
Carl’s lip curled, and spittle dribbled down his chin. He wiped it away with his sleeve and then doubled over and hit the horn as he felt the sharp tug of his locator spell. The mark was close, and his heart pumped his sludgy blood furiously, making his head throb. He grinned through the pain.
Ah. Another stay of execution.
Not a moment too soon—he needed a taste so badly. He fumbled to lay the map out, seeing double as he poured what little magic he had left into scrying. The mark was on the western road, moving fast in his direction. Most likely in a vehicle.
He started the engine and peeled out.
He was in no shape for a fight. The element of surprise was his best shot. He arrived at the vantage point he’d staked out and did a half-assed job of concealing his car. Trudging through the woods was twice as difficult as it had been the day before, but he made it to the boulder he’d marked just in time to see a black Range Rover coming down the switchbacks along the side of the mountain.
As the Rover neared, he set up his rifle, thankful he’d brought the tripod. His hands were too shaky to get a clean shot, and he only had one chance. The other road would have been easier; it was flat and open. With this one, he had to stop the vehicle before he launched the stunning spell, or the car could drive right off the cliff. The mark was no good to him dead.
His knees protested as he lowered himself to the ground and hunched over the scope to get a better look at his quarry. There were two of them—a man and a woman. They came around a bend, then over a few small hills, and then his line of sight was clear. He exhaled and stilled over the rifle, sighting the front driver’s side tire as the distance between them closed. Two hundred yards…one hundred…fifty.
He squeezed the trigger.
Thirty yards out, the Rover jerked to the side, then corrected and skidded to a stop.
Carl calmly changed out the rifle for his retrofitted flare gun as the man got out and bent over the tire to investigate.
He loaded the spell pouch into it, held it up, and took aim with his pitifully weak arms.
The crack! of the gun echoed through the canyon. The male witch straightened just as the spell hit. A cascade of blue sparks settled over the Rover in a thirty-foot net of magic, and the man took one step back, then toppled down the dirt road’s embankment into a ditch.
Carl shuffled back to his car for what felt like an eternity, his nerves buzzing with excitement. He was about to get his first hit in over a week. The Grandmaster had explicitly told him not to touch the marked one, but it was near the full moon. Surely he could have a sip without anyone noticing. Besides, if he didn’t, he might keel over on the way back. It was a matter of necessity to complete his mission.
He left the car door open as he walked toward the Rover with his Glock out. Neither of them was going anywhere for hours, but experience had taught him caution. The blond woman was slumped in her seat, the belt the only thing holding her up. The male was facedown in the thick mud off the side of the road. Carl was thankful that wasn’t his mark. Getting him back to the car would have been impossible, even with a hit of magic. He looked to be about two-twenty of solid muscle.
He planted two bullets into the man’s back before he turned to the woman. He opened the car door, and the sweet ambrosia of her magic hit him like the first jolt of coke—sharpening his senses and strengthening the beat of his heart. He laid his hand on the crown of her head, and his emerald ring flashed with bright light. He took a slow, gentle draw, hissing in pleasure as potent power infused him.